Doug Ellis Ch. 02

The complex psychology of managing men in long term confinement requires intuition, intelligence and sensitivity. Rarely brute force. The institution, the walls, the doors, the gates, are as important an influence on behaviour as the security staff and, by and large, long term prisoners learn to go with the flow and in amazingly creative ways, make the best of their situation. No-one's saying it's easy but for some the security, the routines, the restriction give a stability lacking in the outside world where drink, drugs, financial pressures, relationships can all conspire to tip a man over the edge. The order, the apparent, relative safety, the predictability of life inside have an influence on staff and prisoner alike. That's not to say that there were no surprises.

Older city centre Jails are still common and though many have modernised, thanks to a lack of financial commitment from governing bodies many more are slow to implement recent developments in technology such as the use of CCTV which can now, and in theory relatively cheaply, turn a prison environment to something akin to Big Brother.

This lack was of some relief to Harry Bantock as he lay in his bed and ran over the events of that lunchtime in the prison gym. His jaw clenched, his familiar self image in tatters and a cold dew of perspiration on his clean shaven upper lip. What was wrong with him?

Gregory had not missed a beat, not given the situation a second thought and Harry was correct in assuming that, having sat up and wiped himself clean of both portions of man juice, then bench and the floor with his now cum soaked shirt, Gregory had showered and left behind any sense of guilt or shame about what had transpired between them, without losing the feeling of excitement and relief. Bantock's colleague was already in the land of dreams, snuggled against his wife, his children sleeping soundly in an adjacent room in their family accommodation a few doors away, the matter almost insignificant and not the least guilt or regret.

There had been no tenderness between the two men, no discussion, no thanks exchanged nor awkward apologies. To Gregory, it had been a function of his sex, nothing more. Bantock had been too stunned to say much and was not given to explaining his feelings anyway. Gregory had simply showered dressed and left unperturbed.

His job required a hard man and Harry was that man. His image in the eyes of his colleagues and the inmates was all important and cultivated from the day he'd started in the prison service more than a decade before. The merest crack in that system of respect and, he imagined, it would all come crashing down. The golden rules were that you don't get friendly with the inmates, you don't get familiar with other officers and you stick to the rule book. He was a highly commended officer, he was respected and trusted by the governor, security department (by no means a certainty, as corruption and a lack of commitment to security were common problems) and by the men.

What was going on? What had brought this to the surface and potentially jeopardised everything?

Doug Ellis. The icy lifer. Under 6 feet tall 230 pounds, a human wrecker ball. Of all the beefcake that passed before his eyes in the last decade, why was this man's presence obsessing him, stripping him of his dignity and controlling his sex as if he were a man possessed.

Bantock thought he'd seen everything there was to see in macho masculinity after 10 years in the service and before that in London boxing clubs and gyms. His father's warning to the young boxer "There's always someone bigger and harder than you.", had rung in his head a thousand times since his boyhood and that nugget of wisdom had stood him in good stead. He'd been in some scraps. He'd attended scuffles and brawls on duty and out, he could handle himself. But here he lay, at war with his own feelings. This man Ellis was different and the effect that his potency held exploded in the instructor's mind and body was powerfully disturbing.

When he admired men, he admired their jab, their left hook, their movement around the ring, their dedication to their training, their ability to overcome adversity, their courage, their physical stamina, their strength. Never once had he looked a man in the eye and thought of sex, not once had he touched himself in a sexual way and thought of another man. What had changed? He'd met Doug Ellis, face to face, that is all. So had this man some kind of power to turn men into homosexuals? Phooey! What kind of belief was that for someone who ridiculed all kinds of spiritual and religious "superstition" as he called it?

Yet undeniably, he wanted Ellis. He wanted to be with Ellis, beside him, inside him to become Doug Ellis, to lose what was Harry Bantock and walk in the flesh of this astonishing creature. Staring a hole in the ceiling, clenched fists at his side, his cock, unbidden, tenting the bedding, his body wracked once again in orgasm, so powerful he almost lost consciousness. His eyes filled with tears. Tears from the effort, failing to suppress this apparent need. Tears from the bog eyed muscle ripping explosion in his loins. Childish tears of fear and anguish. What the hell was happening to him?

***

It would not have comforted the troubled gym instructor to know that he was not alone. on the third landing in the lifer wing of the prison, just over the wall from the block of officer accommodation, a lone officer routinely peered in through the tiny spy hole in the door of 316.

In the pool of moonlight from a high, slit window he saw the unmistakable sparkle of a pale viscous liquid snake out onto the floor in a great glob followed by another, a third, then a winding silvery thread which trailed behind the latter as it grounded and slid to a sticky stop. A shadow crossed the moon, a figure crouched, then knelt, bending it's massive frame and head towards the focus of Jenkins' attention, and a long tongue snaked out to lap at the warm semen. Leaving only the satin sheen of his saliva on the deck paint, the shadow receded and the silent play was over except for the startling images spinning in the mind of officer Jenkins. Breathing slightly more heavily than he would have expected Jenkins wondered if this was a matter for discipline. Should he report the incident? Nothing in his recent training or in his limited experience so far on the wing had prepared him for what he would see on his first night shift alone on the landing. In the quiet of the midnight landings it was impossible to open or close the metal spy hole unnoticed and he was all too aware that the occupants of 316 knew exactly what he had seen to its conclusion.

Below on "The 2's" a senior officer, Lawrence, sprawled in his chair in the landing office with his huge feet up on the desk, his cap down over his eyes and a conspicuous lump of palpitating manhood pressing at the fly of his serge uniform. In the privacy of his dream a powerful male figure paced the landing, naked, genitals swinging proudly ahead of him, head high, chest high and massively muscled, the glint of his pre-cum glistening at the lips of his throbbing cock a lustful leer on his closely bearded face a film of perspiration polishing the perfectly hairless, parading torso. The sleeping Lawrence gave a satisfied grunt as his vision turned to look into the landing office to give a lascivious wink to the sleeping figure of Lawrence which twitched, grunted again and woke with a start to find a very uncomfortable tangle of hard cock, cum and pubic hair in his lap, a crippling stiff neck and his feet and lower legs paralysed with pins and needles from having slept so awkwardly. Momentarily disoriented and shocked to have had a wet dream on duty, Lawrence tried to wrestle his stiff and awkward body back into the dignified form of a uniformed officer of the prison service and hoped that the stink of fresh cum was not too obvious when the time came for the shift change and he'd be obliged to be with colleagues. He was thankful for the disguise of black woollen fabric and the remains of a shift in which to dry before seeing another living soul. He had dreamed himself, perfected in body to the form of an ancient god, further augmented with massively proportioned and fully stimulated genitals, walking about his silent patrol stark naked and hungry for whatever challenge met his gaze. Perhaps it was the bolognese he'd had before the shift began.