Doug Ellis Ch. 01

This story series is based on real life experiences with names and some incidents changed for the sake of confidentiality.

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Doug Ellis would have been a heavily built man even if he'd never been engaged in manual work and then, later, obsessively into the gym.

Not more than five feet eleven when his generations were suddenly outgrowing their predecessors, he'd learned at an early teen age that, with a bit of momentum, he could bring down boys and men far bigger and potentially stronger than himself. Though he was always a powerhouse and it pleased him to be, he always wanted to be stronger.

Cropped, dusty blond, icy grey/blue eyes and pale skinned, he was covered in a fine down of almost colourless hair, even on the farthest digits.

He'd been inside for almost 2 years, not for the first time but now for a very long stretch. The Judge had said "let 'life' mean life". The first year acclimatising to life in prison again after the unsettled 15 months of 'remand in custody', trial and sentencing. Back and forth from cell to court, different cell mates, different wing communities, different challenges. He had a reputation, not from his actions but just assumption based on appearances, as a very tough man and people left him alone. That was the way he liked it. He rarely spoke to people and his cold eyes, massive, musclebound walk and thick neck were enough of a disincentive to conversation, so men tended to return the favour. The rumours of cold, cruel and calculating did him no harm at all.

Once he settled into a routine his mind could flatline and the world was just an operation to be repeated. The heady life of a nightclub bouncer in the hottest happening places of London, the glitter of celebrities, royalty, the high class whores, the 'sugar', the gym, the roid rage. All sealed up behind a wall of steel inside his memory. People knew the circumstances of his sentence and what had brought it upon him. That information, though inadequate as a personal profile, contributed to space he was granted by fellow inmates.

In a lifer unit, association time is carefully controlled, as hierarchy struggles are often played out in the showers, food or medication queues and even classes. These scuffles rarely developed into serious fights and Doug would turn his back, disinterested. Challenges were a fact of life since he'd been a small boy, he'd always lived in a very masculine world, aggression was common and someone always wants to topple the top dog. Doug never wanted to be number one.

Even after 2 years without a gym, his body moved with obvious power, few had seen Doug in the showers, he got himself clean, looked at no-one and was escorted back to his cell. He had a routine of morning and evening exercises that had stopped the slide into a flabby laziness.

He carried a massive muscularity with none of the posing associated with cosmetic body building and was not outwardly proud of his appearance. His power lay in his mass not in perfect proportion. He'd not have got through the preliminary round of even big city body building competitions and had no interest in exhibiting his body. His blond body hair would not be shaved to show his sinuous chest, back and abdomen. His arse stuck out like a shelf, a sure way to spot a serious power lifter but his chest was high and his back poker straight thanks to good technique.

But tongues wag. The man was stacked in muscle and undeniably, someone around the wing would have seen his magnificent genitals. Doug was not troubled by this. What none had seen but many had imagined it's full potential, erect, the head of his dick was as big as a woman's clenched fist. The man behind that startling weapon when it was at attention was too busy enjoying the pulse and the weight of it and the surge of adrenaline which accompanied its inflated state to care about what went on in other people's minds. However, like the rest of his past life, he had a fortress in his mind in which to lock down his libido, so, unlike many of his co confined, his testicles did not overrule his thinking. His every enjoyment of his own body came from how it felt to be Doug Ellis.

A lot is misunderstood about men's interaction in long term prison without the potential for a woman's company. It is believed by some that men turn to one another automatically for mutual or non-consensual sexual relief but the taboo surrounding man on man sex is immensely strong. The weakness inferred by having engaged in sex with a cell mate prevents many from crossing that line and after a while the sexual starvation is normalised and men get used to living without., dealing in a variety of ways with the occasional, unbearable peaks of hormone levels. Occasionally, one of the men is inclined to improve his lot on the wing by giving favours in return for protection, better food, drugs or even just for fun and these men are sometimes treated as the property of one prisoner as a wife might be dominated outside the prison walls.

Most often, a tit mag is the answer for those men who have to go without, just as it is outside.

It is always assumed that the men on the wing would choose sex with a woman if it were offered, so deeply engrained in our psyche is the orthodoxy of heterosexuality that you dare not assume otherwise. This assumption makes the gossip and innuendo you hear all the more puzzling and intriguing.

Did this have an impact on Ellis? Well apparently not. Prison staff at all levels pondered the question of prisoner sexuality at some time or other in their career, some, perhaps those with vested interests, obsessively gathered data on the question. Some used or abused their position in the equation. What Doug knew of it he kept to himself and no-one had anything on him. As if he was a stone, his emotions were level, his behaviour towards the staff impeccable but not ingratiating, he did as he was bid, no more, no less and for his level constancy he was eventually rewarded.

Exercise. Everyone got exercise in the yard if it was fine but only a few were afforded the privilege of the gym. Only half an hour, closely supervised, three times per week but he and five other lifers were escorted through the gate at the end of the wing, firstly into the anti-chamber between wings, then out of the buildings into daylight, all too briefly, then into the single storey prison gym.

If your vision is conjuring for you the interactive CV platforms and scientifically designed cable machines of contemporary fitness training, in a carpeted, mirror lined room, forget it. This was much more like a school gym set up for circuits. A few pads on the floor and free weights, ancient but comprehensive dumbbell and barbell sets, a pro squat stand, a very wide chinning bar and a frame for dips. Just two rowers.

Two officers accompanied the small squad, one of whom was the prison's chief physical education instructor, Mr. Bantock, the other a towering African; Mr. Gregory, a regular guard but no stranger to this part of the prison, making good use of the facility when the prisoners were locked up and when he was granted leisure to challenge his own body. In addition, two big men accompanied the lifers, men that none but the gym detail boys had seen before, the gym orderlies, whose job in the prison was to tidy the gym, they also got the opportunity to study for P.E. and coaching qualifications. Carpenter, a tall Afro-Caribbean man with immense physique, who obviously trained obsessively after the chores were done and a small, white man, Dent, who looked incongruous among so many powerful forms, a deceptive appearance, as we would all learn.

It was obvious to all present from this first session, where they barely got to touch the weights, that the self-discipline which had bought the group this privilege would be tested fully before any real freedom came to their training but it was a start. Impatience is a very destructive element in a any man, and it's a fast track to a padded cell and a straight-jacket for a lifer. Each man was critically assessed for training and given stretches and additional exercises to do between sessions which were much the same as those Doug Ellis had practiced since his incarceration began.

Officer Bantock spoke briefly to Doug, sternly eye to eye. The same height but lighter in build, faster, a former middleweight boxer and kick boxer, confident, competent and in-charge of the situation. He had piled on the pounds in the prison gym, very much his domain but unlike Ellis, the muscle was an addition to his agility, flexibility and speed. Nothing whatever had escaped his stoney, monosyllabic responses to suggest Doug's admiration for Bantock but he instantly liked the man. In return, Bantock's incomprehension of the rock-like Ellis faded slightly with his instant affirmation of the instructor's ground rules and he knew he would get through to him, however, he could not have conceived the quite bizarre way this would. Bantock knew a power lifter when he saw one and had something particular in mind for Douglas Ellis.

In his office, tucked into the porch section between the inner and outer security gates of the gym, Bantock supervised Dent, who entered data onto the chart. Basic stats, initial assessment information. Height, weight. Blood pressure. All his own lunch time work. The officer knew Ellis was a find. Everything was right about him.

Realising the time and moving quickly from his desk back into the gym proper he shooed Dent out and then barked a few instructions to Carpenter who was escorted back to their wing for their meal and the obligatory afternoon lockdown. Bantock then went back to his quiet space to think before the first of the staff arrived for their private use of the weights.

A small changing room and showers were all that were required for the staff as numbers were few. It was also very basic, just a couple of bench seats, coat hooks, toilet and showers. Anyone who has seen this kind of old institution will get the clean but essentially grim image. The vast majority of prison staff choose to spend every free moment outside the security cordon, a kind of proof that they were not obliged to confinement. Smoking and drinking were common answers to the psychological questions asked of staff during their working lives and though there were some extraordinary exceptions, fitness for duty was not a high priority.

Officer Gregory carefully folded his uniform and unselfconsciously slipped into XXL white polo shirt, crammed his flaccid manhood into a cream coloured jock and pulled on dark blue cotton shorts, uncannily like those issued to the prisoners. Size 13 Vans made his big feet appear larger still but his power and elegance were obvious now the great black man approached the weights to complete his warm up. Another strong and silent character, somewhat isolated and having little in common with his colleagues, he focused his attention on his personal fitness and developing his finely chiseled body. As often before, at one with the gym space, silent except for his activity and all to himself ,the way he liked it.

Towards the end of his bench pressing he called out to Bantock, in his adjacent office, for a favour. Ever the instructor, a passionate advocate of the physical and mental benefits of good hard exercise, he was more than happy to support the efforts of any staff interested enough to use the gym. Mr. Gregory was one of Bantock's regulars and they liked one another, particularly as Gregory was interested in learning more about nutrition and exercise and Bantock enjoyed seeing the regular improvement as, month by month, Gregory piled on the weights.

Right now he was glad of the intrusion into his thoughts as he just couldn't get the stone-like stare of Doug Ellis out of his mind. The gleaming black African was such a total contrast, and the cry of "Harry! Come and spot me!" coming from the bench got Bantock up and away from this obsessing and got his yet unacknowledged, uncustomary, intrusive feelings bothering his crotch up close to the heat coming off the head of the sweating man, pressing more than a tall guy with long arms ought to be able to press. Why Gregory should notice, with all that weight on the bar, and maxxed out on his final rep of the set, I don't know, but Gregory saw the outline of straightened cock in Bantock's gym pants and the bar crashed back into the stand without much help from Harry.

"What's on your mind, Harry?" panted Gregory, a little confused by the focus of his attention. Thinking that the wood above his nose might be for him and feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the tightness of his own coiled penis crammed into jock and shorts.

"Huh? Hey! Yeah. Good work, buddy." Completely ignoring the man's comment on his stubbornly stiff cock. "What about these powerlifters this morning? What do you think of Ellis?" blurted the instructor, seeking to divert the African away from potential embarrassment.

"You don't usually spot my bench press with an uncomfortable erection, Harry. There was I imagining you might have at last noticed that my attention to your instruction and advice on my training was accompanied by more than mere interest in the subject." Gregory was smiling hugely up at the bewildered coach. Not hurt, not exactly flattered by the realisation and not a little surprised that his 'off the cuff' comment was obviously more astute than he'd ever imagined. Both men were out of their comfort zone and struggling to understand the arrival of instinct beyond their experience.

Surprised, like a criminal caught in a sudden floodlight, Bantock stared down at his bulging pants with a growing realisation that he was not entirely in control of his carefully trained responses . The phenomenon had apparently given him a painfully inflated wood, on duty in the presence of another officer, who had not only seen it but had thought, however briefly, himself and his pulsating chest muscles were the cause of it. His brain was failing to rationalise this and was being denied and countermanded by his body. Agog, and as if paralysed, Harry Bantock fixated on his own groin as a swift hand reached up and snapped the waist of his pants down. without a word Officer Gregory's other hand deftly grabbed the knob of Bantock's cock which peaked around the seam of the instructor's jock and onto his powerful thigh. One more skilful manoeuvre and cock and balls were in the free air of the echoing gym space and could and indeed did bounce and twitch.

"Now isn't that what you needed?" Whispered the prone African.

"N nn nno..." responded the instructor, slowly regaining his senses and recognising the appalling transgression that had just occurred. He flushed with embarrassment and shock, but there is was, just above his sweating colleague's facial features, his cock and balls ready to go to work on or with another man. There was another man, a colleague, staring up at him beyond his genitals, his smiling face just inches from Harry's tumescent penis, not only that but the said other man had released it from his clothing had handled his excited cock, there was no way back from that fact.

Moments seemed to pass but it was a split second, Gregory took the initiative. With his right hand, he took out his own proud dick, a now jaw splitting log of a thing, rigid and deeply veined. With his left he carefully surrounded Bantock's throbbing shaft. The heat and strength of the grip brought the instructor out of his stupor totally but as it did he gasped and a spray of cum erupted from the head of his penis onto the chest of the man below and his legs buckled slightly before he caught himself on the resting, heavily loaded barbell.

"No. That was what I needed!" panted the disorientated instructor, with a laugh choked by a cough or gasp. Astonished at the beaming smile and fierce lust on Gregory's face, at his conflicted feelings, at the pounding right hand of his panting colleague whacking off towards orgasm right in front of him, lying on the press bench in what Bantock considered his gym and at the feeling that it was probably going to have to be ok because anything else was totally, unthinkably horrible.

By the time this nanosecond self-examination was complete Gregory grunted and shot four bolts of jizz over shirt, bench, face and floor.

Seconds later, fearing this could get ugly, while simultaneously and sincerely hoping that this was not a one off for either of them, with a sudden, lucid concern, through watering eyes straining to refocus, Gregory searched the wreckage of expressions flicking across the face of Harry Bantock. Thankfully he was seeing whoa looked like a recognition of where he was, who he was and what had just happened. The nostrils of the principal instructor flared briefly, there was a sharp sniff, a straightening of legs and back and then the faintest hint of a thin lipped, hesitant smile of resignation. What had happened had happened. The cum could not be put back in his dick and to his great surprise, he really had needed it.