Carolina Connections

So, he was caught completely by surprise when DaJon was arrested for dealing. Well, not that completely. He had just been hoping for the best. He'd grown quite fond of DaJon. It had gotten to where he thought DaJon getting arrested and being cleaned up by the system was maybe for the best.

* * * *

It all had sort of a Keystones Cop aura to it from gym to slammer. DaJon had seen the Hispanic hunk in the YMCA gym before, but he certainly hadn't seen him so up-close and attentive before. Maybe the guy had seen DaJon deal some dope to someone. That might have been what triggered the interest. But it had come on so fast and so sudden and so heavy, DaJon hadn't had much time to catch his breath let alone figure out what was happening--and why.

He was on the bench press in the gym and suddenly the man was there, all gorgeous and hunky, volunteering to spot him as he lifted the barbells and then telling him that he was letting his thighs lift up and taking some of the power away from the lift. The guy--his name was Eduardo--said he'd show DaJon what he meant. He got below DaJon on the bench press at the end of it and pressed down on DaJon's thighs with his hands.

"Now lift. Let the power go to your arms. Don't let any of it go to your legs. There, like that."

Amazingly it worked. But that was only the beginning of it. Eduardo stayed there, hovering over DaJon. Only his hands moved. He let them move up under the hem of DaJon's athletic shorts and up higher and higher yet, until the man's fingers were stroking the crease between underbelly and the top of DaJon's thighs on either side and moving toward the center, stroking the crease into DaJon's groin.

They held there, everything else in the gym evaporating, their eyes locked together, and DaJon began to think of the man moving in between his legs, entering him, fucking him. He began to pant and give a little moan.

"I hear you go with men," the man said in a low voice.

"Yes," DaJon answered.

"And you'll go with a man if you want him."

"Yes," DaJon answered, nearly breathless from the stroking of the man's fingertips at the crease of his hips.

The man--Eduardo--was murmuring, "I want to fuck you. Come home with me and let me fuck you. I won't pay you, but I'll give you a good time."

And the next thing DaJon knew, he was in the man's apartment, lying on his back on the man's coffee table, with Eduardo hovering over him, his fingers stroking the crease between DaJon's underbelly and the tops of his thighs on either side. Like in the gym, but DaJon was naked, and so was Eduardo. DaJon was in erection and so was Eduardo. Eduardo's was a champion erection. And then, while holding DaJon's eyes captive with his, Eduardo moved his pelvis into DaJon's groin. Eduardo's hands moved to under DaJon's buttocks, cupping them, separating them, raising them. DaJon panted and moaned as Eduardo entered and entered and entered him. DaJon raised his hands to the man's muscular chest, whether to try to push him away or hold him there, DaJon himself didn't know. Eduardo was deep inside him, holding there, throbbing, staring into DaJon's eyes.

DaJon was panting, moaning, and whimpering. "Do it. Do it. Fuck me," he whined.

"You usually get money for this, don't you?" Eduardo asked.

"Yes, but--"

"Tell me you do it for money."

"Yes, but--"

"Yes, but you'll give it to me for free. Say it. Say you want me to fuck you for free."

"Fuck me. For free. Shit, you're already in me. You're already fucking me."

"Not like I'm going to fuck you; not like you want me to fuck you."

"Do it. Fuck me."

Eduardo laughed and then he fucked DaJon, putting his hips into overdrive, pistoning the young man hard and deep and fast, showing the rent-boy that he hadn't experienced all of the cruelty and passion that he could get from a man until then. DaJon writhed under him, begging for mercy, for more, for relief, for total taking death.

The second time Eduardo took DaJon home with him, after they had fucked, Eduardo said that he understood that DaJon could fix him up with some marijuana. After some denial and another fuck, DaJon admitted that he could. After the third session, Eduardo wanted harder drugs and DaJon supplied them.

After the fourth fuck session, Eduardo Vargas showed DaJon his police detective's badge and informed DaJon he was busted and it would go better for him if DaJon identified his supplier. DaJon was more afraid of Ty Thanawat than he was of Eduardo or the Asheville police department and he didn't reveal. He remained steadfast even after Eduardo slapped him around and beat him with his belt.

DaJon couldn't believe that Eduardo could set him up with sex and could try to beat information out of him. Eduardo said it would be his word against DaJon's and this was North Carolina. If DaJon complained, it would go far, far worse for him where he was headed. DaJon believed him and shut his mouth. But he didn't inform on Thanawat.

The young man thought the sex after being beaten was better than anything before and he held fast on not giving Ty up.

Eduardo dragged him down to the station house, formally charged him, and had him thrown in the tank. He charged him with prostitution as well as dealing.

"But I gave it to you for free," DaJon whined.

"Tell me who your supplier is."

"I can't," DaJon responded.

"Then I'll testify that you confirmed with me that you were a rent-boy--a for-fee prostitute. Hooked on sex from a bruiser like me."

The next evening was Eduardo's bowling night at the AMF Star Lanes with the police department league. His old friend and sometimes flip-flop lover, the private investigator Ryan Bailey, came in to the bowling alley as Eduardo was finishing up his third game. They shared a beer and a few laughs before Ryan mentioned that a special friend of his, who was living with him, was in trouble with the law and was being held at police headquarters--that he hadn't been arraigned yet and Ryan was anxiously awaiting that so he could post bail.

The conversation continued with Ryan showing genuine surprise that DaJon had been arrested for dealing and sympathy that Eduardo hadn't been able to ascertain who his supplier was. Ryan wasn't any more sympathetic to hard drugs than Eduardo was. Eduardo didn't say he'd tried beating DaJon to get the information out of him. Maybe they could discuss this elsewhere. They went to Eduardo's apartment. They drank more beer and smoked joints together--ironically the same soft drugs Eduardo had bought from DaJon. They fucked. They did it rough, just like they liked it. Eduardo whipped Ryan with a belt just like he had DaJon, with the difference being that Ryan asked for it and it added to the passion of their fuck.

Ryan returned to the question of DaJon's bail and trial and possible sentencing. As far as he knew it was DaJon's first dealing offense. Eduardo pointed out that DaJon had been arrested for solicitation before. Ryan countered that solicitation was different from dealing and, anyway, that DaJon was a first-class lay. Eduardo didn't disagree with that, and they both laughed that they both knew of the charms of the young man. Ryan came up with the idea that if DaJon was cut loose and returned to him, that Ryan might be able to get him to reveal his supplier--and that Eduardo might be able to enjoy his services again.

Eduardo said he'd see what he could arrange. What he arranged was a deal with a judge. DaJon had to agree, and Ryan could visit him and talk to him about it, but just maybe something could be done before the process got started and beyond fixing. Ryan went to the jail the next morning and talked with DaJon, and DaJon agreed. That evening, Eduardo checked DaJon out of the jail on the understanding that DaJon was going to go point out his source. Instead, Eduardo put DaJon in the backseat of a black SUV with smoked windows and drove up onto the Blue Ridge Parkway and pulled off onto a fire trail. A judge was in the backseat. DaJon knelt in front of him and gave him a blow job on the way up onto the parkway and once the SUV came to rest on the fire trail, DaJon sat on the judge's lap facing him and fucked himself on the judge's cock.

Eduardo let the judge off at his house with the two rechecking what the judge would do with the paperwork of his arraignment cases in the morning. Eduardo didn't drive right back to the jail. He drove to a warehouse district, parked behind an abandoned building, went into the backseat, and fucked the stuffing out of DaJon himself.

The evening with DaJon apparently was too taxing for the judge. He suffered a heart attack that night and was carted off to the hospital. DaJon faced a new, different judge in the morning, one who was known for cracking down hard on drug trafficking--one who didn't fuck young men.

It was a whirlwind from there for DaJon--through arraignment, a trial, and sentencing, with the sentencing taking into account that DaJon wouldn't identify his supplier. Note was made that the judge would adjust the sentence if DaJon relented later and spilled the beans.

As the sentencing phase ended, Eduardo shrugged and told Ryan he was sorry--that nature and irony had intervened. Ryan said he understood but he wasn't happy. Eduardo said he hoped that wouldn't hinder their own exercise sessions. Ryan said it couldn't help but bother him. Eduardo said he knew the system and the key guards at the minimum-security prison DaJon was being sent to, the Caldwell Correctional Center, in Lenoir, not a great distance east of Asheville, and he'd see what he could do to make life easier for DaJon.

"There's a senior guard there named Swede," he said, "who is key to prisoner treatment. He's likes to flip-flop. He was a Navy SEAL. You having been a Green Beret would appeal to him. Everything about you would probably appeal to him. If you make nice-nice with him, he might cut DaJon some slack."

"It's worth a try," Ryan said. "I'm game for it."

"What else are you a game for?" Eduardo asked.

"Try me."

They went back to Eduardo's apartment and Ryan got bound and tied up and whipped with a hand whip. Tough as nails, Ryan took it with a laugh, glad that it gave Eduardo a raging hard-on. Then they fucked. And then Eduardo put a call into Senior Guard Swede at the Caldwell Correctional Center.

* * * *

"OK, what am I going to find that's so bad at Caldwell? Help me out here." DaJon was sitting on the prison bus making its trip from the Asheville jail to the Caldwell Correctional Center in Leone, a trip by the heavily armored vehicle of a bit over an hour. He sat down by a guy who was looking downcast and was quaking a bit. DaJon at first thought he was in drug withdrawal, but then the guy had muttered something. DaJon had to ask to repeat it louder.

"I asked if this was your first trip to Caldwell."

"Yes. They tell me it isn't too bad. Minimum security. I'll have to work, picking up trash by the road and stuff, but there will be classes. I don't know if the credits will be accepted by the university, though. I was at the Asheville branch of UNC."

"Who told you it was a cake walk at Caldwell?" the other guy asked.

"The policemen at the city jail."

The guy snorted. "They lied. This is my second trip to Caldwell. I'll be lucky to make it to the cell alive. They got a senior guard there, name's Swede. He'll rip me apart."

"Rip you apart?"

"Yeah, he'll beat me and fuck me almost dead, if he don't go all the way with it. He done told me not to come back here again, and he's got a release routine that tears a guy up so he don't want to be coming back here again. What are you in for?"

"Dealing and prostitution," DaJon answered.

"You let guys fuck you?"

"For money."

"Geez, you might not make it to the cell either. Pretty boy like you and you take cock. You'll be getting more than you can handle. You might not make it past Swede."

"So, what does this Swede guy--this guard--do?"

The guy told him--in detail--and DaJon went very quiet for the rest of the ride. The guy told him what the other inmates would do to a small-bodied pretty boy like DaJon too, and looking around the bus at the big bruisers leering at him, he could believe it.

He went very quiet and more than a little green around the gills.

"That Swede. A pretty boy like you. He's gonna beat and fuck you good, turn you over to boys in the cells, and tell you it's for your own good. And you'll be lucky. Me comin' back for the second time? He gonna fuck me dead."

The continued muttering of the guy in the seat next to DaJon wasn't helping.

Once they got to the prison, DaJon found that the guy on the bus was right in one respect. Swede did fuck the stuffing out of him, but he didn't beat him first and he turned him over to Big Mike. On the surface this looked like a bad thing. Big Mike was a trustee who ruled the roost in the cells. He was as big a black bull as they came and he put DaJon under him in a locked cell just for the two of them that no guard was going to open to save DaJon. But if Big Mike liked the new inmate he was given--and he did like DaJon--and if the new inmate gave him a good ride without trouble, which DaJon did, he wasn't too rough on the guy sexually and he became the guy's protector against all other inmates salivating to get a piece of a small, good-looking prisoner like DaJon, especially when they found out he was in for male prostitution.

Swede had cut DaJon out of the line as they were being processed in. The guy who'd been seated next to DaJon on the bus joggled his arm, gestured toward the big bruiser senior guard, and whispered, "That's him. That's Swede."

So, when Swede came over to DaJon while the new inmates were down to their briefs, getting intake physicals from a doctor, and told DaJon to follow him down a corridor, DaJon started to hyperventilate, assuming his life was over.

In a darkened office, after Swede had pulled the shade down on the window in the door and locked the door, he turned and said, "Just to be sure. You're DaJon Taylor, right?"

"Yes, that's right," DaJon said, trying to keep the shaking out of his voice.

"Well, ain't you a looker? In for, what, dealing and fucking for money?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you won't get money for it here, but we can accommodate the fucking part. And if you handle yourself well enough, you might get a little relief on the drugs part. Now, let me tell you, I've been told to watch out for you and see that you get handled gently. Gently's all relative here, though. We don't offer no cakewalks here. Whatever anyone else of importance wants for you, you've got to learn discipline and who's boss here. So, who do you think is boss here, Mr. Taylor?"

"You." DaJon said.

"Got that right. You're gonna be a fast learner, but I gotta make the point stick." He laughed. "Get it? Make the point stick. You climb up on the desk now, on your knees. Slip those briefs off first."

"I'll behave in here," DaJon said. "I know you're the boss. You don't have to--"

"I want to and I don't want any backtalk while I'm adjusting you to life here in the prison. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now do as I say. Strip off them briefs and climb up on the desk on your knees."

What happened next was the first of a series of sessions over the next year of Swede reviewing the power pecking order at Caldwell with DaJon by bringing him to an office like this and fucking him. While DaJon perched on the desk on his knees, Swede crouched behind him, pulled DaJon's dick back between his thighs, milked him, and ate the young man's ass until he was ready. Then he came up on the desktop, crouched over DaJon, mounted and penetrated him, and fucked him.

The only difference between what Swede did with DaJon and what other inmates told DaJon that Swede did with them was that he didn't slap DaJon around or beat him and he wasn't unusually cruel and rough in the fuck. He didn't fuck DaJon first with a nightstick. DaJon had been warned the man liked to do that.

Also, when Swede took DaJon to the cells and turned him over to Big Mike, who power fucked him with the cock of a bull for two days straight before settling down to a routine of every other day or so, DaJon got the impression that Big Mike was holding back a bit on the brutality. They eventually fucked with pleasure, and toward the end of the otherwise boring year with passion. In any event, DaJon had been a rent-boy. This, as long as Big Mike kept the other thuggish inmates off him, was business as usual, just without a monetary payoff.

* * * *

On that first day inmates came to the doors of their cells to give cat calls, proposition DaJon, and make lewd suggestions of what they could do with the young rent-boy, as Swede, herding DaJon in front of him, paraded the new prisoner through the cell block. This was a minimum-security prison, so the prisoners lived in what were more like rooms than barred cells. The wall facing the walkway and interior day room were of tempered glass, though, with the only opening being a barred window in the door. For certain periods of the day and night the inmates were confined to their two-man cell. This was one of those periods, necessitated, although DaJon wasn't told that, by his arrival and introduction to the cellblock. It was late afternoon and the shadows were long.

Swede stopped at a cell, unlocked the door, and opened it. "Here's your present, Big Mike," he called out, pushing DaJon into the cell. "As promised, he's a looker. Remember what I told you about treatment."

"Yeah, yeah." came a deep voice from inside the bottom bunk. DaJon took a quick look around: a bunk bed, two desks against the opposite wall, a couple of metal chairs, a clothes closet at the foot of the bunk, with two large drawers below, a toilet in the corner, a sink under the high window on the wall opposite the glass wall and entry door. The lighting was dim. One desk was covered with "stuff." The other was clear.

Two beefy legs emerged from the bottom bunk and Big Mike sat up on the side of the bunk. He was just wearing athletic shorts, but the waistband was tucked under his balls. He'd obviously been masturbating himself and he was in enormous erection. The rest of him was enormous too--not fat; heavily muscular and crudely tattooed. He earned the "big" part of his name in every way. He was black as black could be and was grinning.

"A half-breed, eh. All the best parts. A real honey. You say he's in for whoring for men. Come on over here and kneel to me and suck me," he commanded in a growly voice.

"You heard the man," Swede said, pushing DaJon forward. "Time for you two to get acquainted. Remember what I told you, boy. Big Mike is your protection if you give him what he wants. And you'll definitely need and want the protection. Be smart now."

DaJon gave Big Mike what he wanted. He stumbled over to the bunk, went down on his knees, took the massive cock in his mouth without being told to, and gave the big black professional head. When Big Mike had had all he could take without blowing, he hauled DaJon up, carried him across the cell to the cleared desk, put him down on the desk on the small of his back, his shoulder blades and the back of the young man's head pressed into the cinderblock wall, folded DaJon's legs up into his chest, and went to work on eating the young man's hole out.

DaJon was still gaping open from Swede's big cock, so it wasn't long before Big Mike was hunched over DaJon and was inside him and pumping. There was an audience. Swede had let the guards who were interested and a few of the trustees gather around in the corridor and watch the debauching. The young rent-boy made a lot of noise. Most of it was dramatics he'd learned that johns liked to hear. Some of it, though, was a genuine response to being pounded by a big black bull.

They put on a good show, although one of the guards was heard to say, "It's better watchin' if the pussy is just a young, undone guy off the street, and not a rent-boy."