Doug Ellis Ch. 09

Ellis stared at a chosen point on the curved window reveal, high up on the wall. Prison bunks are not the most comfortable places for deep meditation but with practice travel in space and time is easy when you learn how to make it so and the confinement of the prison walls can seem totally irrelevant for a while and can actually help to focus the attention.

His father had left when he was very young with a stern message, "No matter how big or how mean you are, there'll always be someone bigger and meaner." one of the few things Doug remembered of him. Also a favourite starting point for his meditations, a mantra which not only helped at times of provocation and there were plenty of those inside this institution, but helped to ground him when the testosterone rush of the gym created it's feelings of invulnerability and invincibility.

He'd seen big men, mean men and seen all of them take a fall sooner or later. Even in prison, they would try their strength or their nerve against each other for some kind of supremacy. There was always this need for challenge and confrontation. The inmates, the staff, the whole place was a complex web of precariously balanced power relationships. Doug took it all on and focussed it into his training routine. It's what gave him that extra rep.

For days, weeks after the event, the "Interview" with Frank Singleton the Chief Security Officer, had been turning over in Ellis' mind. He had been bound and brutally raped, first by Singleton himself and then by his mutt, Lee Dursley. Only he and they knew any real detail about the incident and thanks to his remarkable detachment from the violence of the situation, Doug had been spared serious injury. Ellis' body mended quickly and he was back in his routine with the gym crowd, he never mentioned the business or why he'd come back via the hospital.

No one could imagine where Ellis had come from. No known associates here and no one could imagine where he travelled while he lay in his bunk, focused intently on a tiny patch of institutional beige paintwork. Many of the guys on the wing would have used the afternoon lockdown for a quiet wank, while his cellmate was snoring.

For most men, with such a violent assault so fresh in his mind, revenge would be a burning ambition, some would go clean out of their minds with frustration in such a powerless position but Ellis could see that Singleton was a recidivist, a career criminal, operating under the cover of the criminal justice system, his domination only worked if those he intimidated felt themselves helpless under his power. Singleton had failed to break Ellis, failed to elicit the pain and shame and misery he had hoped for. Perhaps they had wanted him whimpering and pleading. How they could have trampled him.

In a sense Doug had won. In their arrogance, Ellis knew, lay the seeds of their destruction. However high Singleton climbed, he was surely due a fall. There was no flicker of a smile on his distant expression, to Ellis, it was a matter of fact not pleasure. Right now, they had the power but Singleton was overconfident and his chosen assistant, however strong, was rash and unthinking. They would make mistakes, over-reach themselves, Ellis knew it and that was satisfaction enough.

What actually puzzled Ellis was why Singleton had chosen to act. As a teenager, finding his own masculine power growing in a rush of hormones and confined in youth custody, perhaps Ellis had admired Singleton too earnestly and as Singleton had to assert his authority over the would-be hard men in his charge at that time as part of the systematic re-making of them, Ellis had become, for a while, Singleton's reward. Him, the one boy who'd genuinely respond to the framework offered, the one in twenty, the one in fifty who would not end his days rotting in long term institutions or become just another blood spatter pattern in a police data base. The one success in the system.

Had Singleton really remembered him for what he was or as just another piece of trash off the street that he had to try to break down and re-model as a useful, productive member of society?

Ellis hadn't known that Singleton was here in this prison, in a different place of power and now with significantly more seniority, otherwise his anticipation of an 'interview' with the head of security would have taken a different direction. All those years ago, as now, Ellis had kept himself, his personal feelings, to himself. He learnt early on to walk the walk and talk the talk. It had taken the imposition of inescapable restraint, the threat of violent punishment for no apparent reason and the isolation from formal rules to make Ellis remember who this tyrant, with almost 20 years between then and that recent assault, really was.

Ellis had learned about weights from Singleton had learned exercises, breathing and the rush of that adrenaline, under his own control, which had given him such fulfilment and pleasure in hard, self-imposed physical exercise. Everything about the transformation his body had made from stocky kid into the magnificent beast people admired, often feared, had started there under that man's instruction. Singleton had been a rigorous and positive instructor and had shown him he wanted to be that big man, that he wanted that respect but that it came with responsibility. Ellis had witnessed Singleton's brutality before and could tell that the man got off on the punishments he administered to the ones who would not conform. Oddly, he never persecuted the weak, he wanted to destroy the arrogant and disobedient ones who challenged his authority.

Like all good teacher/student relationships, Ellis had been hungry to learn and Singleton was proud to see, at last, that one of these pieces of trash off the city streets might be capable of benefitting from his regime. All those years ago Ellis would have willingly yielded what Singleton wished to take by force, so few were his positive male role models, he saw the PT instructor, then simply officer Singleton, as a model of strength and masculine propriety. Tough, direct, determined, principled. But Singleton would never have wanted what he was offered, only what he demanded. Singleton took, by force, what no man would willingly give up. Brutally.

Now that he had taken what he thought he wanted, by what he thought was force, Ellis was once again a thing of the past and to Singleton, uncomprehending, a disappointment. It would be wrong to think that Ellis had lusted after Singleton in those early days, such a concept did not exist for him, merely that he knew there were attributes that Singleton possessed which Doug could see would fit the man he was becoming. He chose to discard most of the rest of the model and the first to go was cruelty which Ellis despised in any human being.

The paint would surely have blistered if Ellis had stared any harder or longer on the one spot. He arched his big fingers and touched the tips together, bringing his thumbs in, making a cage with his two hands into which he blew a long slow exhalation.

***

Dursley would no doubt have been delighted to know it was the sight of his pumped and sweating body which precipitated the scene he had almost witnessed through the door of the gym office. That Alun Dent had been admiring the animal beauty of Dursley's massively muscled body glistening and ripped from his exertions and that Dent's great swollen cock had inspired Bantock's invitation into the privacy of the Gym supremo's cramped room in the vestibule. Conceited thug that he was, Dursley had assumed Bantock got his sexual pleasure by intimidating the gym orderly in much the same way Dursley exploited prisoners. This form of "respect" made Dursley far less likely to expose Bantock to ridicule. Any kind of consensual shared sexual pleasure was a foreign concept, way beyond Lee Dursley's comprehension. He took sexual his pleasure. So, he regarded what he had heard as a validation, a kind of kinship with the Chief PT officer, one sadistic bully to another, or so he assumed. As Dursley sees it, they were both using their position of power to dominate other men. There was nothing gay about it. Not that Dursley despised homosexuality, what he hated was weakness.

How much more gloating he would have been if he knew a little more of what the door between them had concealed. The reality of "who had done what to whom" in that room was clear in Dursley's limited imagination. Bantock had been using Dent's body for his pleasure. He was far from comprehending, could not imagine that giving someone else pleasure might add to one's own stimulation. If only Dursley could have understood the level of ecstasy he'd missed, the dimensions added by mutual enjoyment, however hesitant, quivering and unfamiliar it had been in Bantock's case. If Dursley had only known the expertise and enthusiasm of Dent's fellatio and the complete abandonment which overcame Bantock, his armoury of destructive information would have given him so much more scope and ammunition for mischief as and when he chose to make use of it.

He headed back to his car with a grocery bag filled with protein rich foods, when his cellphone signalled a message. It was a rendezvous to collect from a dealer for delivery to a particular prisoner. A simple, unsubtle meeting in broad daylight in a busy street, plenty of places to blend in, even for a body as distinctive as the heavily muscled, buzz-cut Dursley.

This was how Dursley earned his other pay-cheque. The funds that kept his Mercedes purring and his pumped lifestyle, so different from that of his contemporaries in the uniform. This was the work that put his income on a totally different level. Money was never seen to changed hands with the consignment, he collected cash and other perks in discrete meetings with Frank Singleton who in turn was paid by a colleague along the chain of command. No further questions needed to be asked.

So, when Dursley approached the scene of the collection, surrounded by chainstores and busy people, it was obvious his contact was not waiting around and conspicuous but just as he reached the very spot, a middle aged white man in a sharp but inexpensive suit, walked, inconspicuously towards him in the flow of late-lunchtime office workers, shoppers and business people, the man knew what he was looking for and Dursley's powerful torso and confident swagger was easy to pick out in the crowd. In his turn Dursley recognised the man's direct approach.

A black sedan with tinted windows pulled up to the curb-side, just feet away, the rear nearside window open slightly and the scene was ripped apart by 3 shots. The courier Dursley was expecting spun and crumpled under the force of the attack, falling, face downwards away from his assailant in the car, which slipped almost silently away from the exploding chaos of screaming on the sidewalk and into the stream of traffic along the avenue.

Panic hit the street the instant the muzzle flash ripped out the first bullet. People rushed toward the scene as well as away in equal confusion. There had been no contact between them, nothing to link Dursley with this murder victim, what marked him out more than anything was how he just kept walking. Once past the scene he doubled back to his car, getting well away from the pandemonium created by the shooting.

Behind the black glass of his Mercedes, fingers not altogether steady, he tried to call the fixer who had arranged the rendezvous, only to find that the caller's number had been withheld. whoever intercepted the courier had known everything, had perhaps even intercepted the arrangements for the meeting. That would mean that these people would have Dursley's number and possibly the ability to track him. A smarter operator might have disabled or destroyed the phone. In his cocoon of testosterone and adrenaline, Dursley, almost as cold and hard as ever, didn't even give it a thought. However, he did connect the loss of the contraband he was supposed to collect with a loss of income. If this kind of thing continued it was going to impact seriously on his lifestyle.

His metabolism reminded him of the time, the lack of sustenance for his tired muscles and the grocery bag on his passenger seat. Even with all the supplements, legal and not so legal, you still had to eat big to get big and to stay big. The buzzing of unanswered questions subsided immediately he reloaded his meagre carbohydrate ration. His body began to feel connected again and the familiar humming of extended muscle fibres switched back on his feeling of love for his own body mass. It settled the nerves and that felt so good.

Only then did he raise his phone once more to call the boss, spitting a curse when he was told that Singleton was again in conference with the Governor. He could stroll back into the prison anytime, day or night, thanks to his connections but right now, what would be the point, there was no way to break open a meeting between the governor and his departmental chiefs.

That other element, required of obsessive bodybuilders, the need for creative rest, came along in quick succession. Dursley needed sleep and headed off to his apartment for a couple of hours shut-eye before his de-brief with Singleton. If nothing else could be done, at least his frayed muscle fibres could be mending.

But the calm that Dursley needed didn't come. He quickly slipped into sleep but it was not the tranquility of bodily repairs so familiar to him in his cycle of exercise. Replays of the shooting taunted him, cinematically projected from viewing angles he could not possibly have experienced, sudden close-ups of screaming faces, the thump and hiss of gun fire in ultra-slow motion and the spiralling motion of the bullets tearing the air and drilling into the flesh of the victim. He felt the cold steel of another gun muzzle at the back of his neck as if he was forced to witnessed the scene again and again then felt it urge him unmistakably towards the black sedan. The door opened silently and he felt himself swallowed by the luxurious, darkened interior as it closed once more behind him.

There, in the improbable dream space, sat the huge, square figure of a massively built man. Buzz cut blonde, powerful, rippling biceps and thighs bulging out of prison grey T and a pair of sloppy prison issue joggers pulled down past his colossal, fuzzy blonde, acutely defined quadriceps, a monstrous cock head dominating the scene, as big as Dursley's fist, bouncing good-humouredly against the chest and abdominal wall of the chortling seated figure. The cramped air was rich with the overwhelming charisma of male sex hormone. It could only be Ellis!

Doug's broad, stubbly jaw, slightly lowered in a smile of friendly welcome that enthusiastically revealed both tongue and teeth and which Dursley, uncomfortable with any kind of friendship based on sincere affection, found deeply unsettling.

Unbidden and totally uncontrollably, Dursley unbuckled his own pants, pushed his own clothing to the floor and, hobbled by them, turned inelegantly in the impossible space, then allowed himself, slavishly, to be guided downwards and back towards his adversary by those big, friendly hands. His smooth, sinuous muscle-arse cheeks were gently parted by huge mitts gripping his tan line firmly but oddly tender. Two great thumbs smoothing his soft pink flesh until the vulnerable, virgin pucker of his arsehole kissed the honey sweet tear of pre-cum burbling up from the gigantic, gloriously glistening red glans of Doug Ellis' unbelievable weapon. Desperate to regain control. Unwilling to release his weight, Dursley's corded and 'roided thighs strained harder and harder to resist the force of gravity. Feeling the pressure grow and grow as more of Ellis' flesh pressed into contact with Dursley's naked arse. Lee Dursley's vision filled with the horror of the blunt warm battering ram straining open the tiny virgin hole through which he shit.

The thick stainless steel Prince Albert ring in the end of Dursley's own treacherous cock rose up cold between his straining thighs with the ever growing pressure to support his body weight and as the seconds passed, his massive quads, quaking with the unfamiliar stasis, the awful, inevitable tension and fear increased. He could hear the clam breathing of the man behind him contrasting with his own effortful and desperate gasps, Ellis' warm and welcoming exhalations and the very faintest basso growl of animal pleasure and snort of enjoyment escaping under the peaceful and tender reassurance of Doug's body.

The hopelessly befuddled, babbling, dribbling, sobbing Dursley felt the familiar searing heat in his muscle fibres. Little by little his body weight betrayed him and he felt less and less able to support himself above the tumultuous cock pressing into his velvet flesh and he could feel the terrible tension grow in the circumference of his hole as the rock hard weapon slipped closer and closer towards breaking him in and Dursley's own cock stretched out rock hard into an unbidden poker straight erection, bolt upright against his lower chest, his head and neck straining to get away, eyes rolled right back into his head to resist the warring tensions tearing at his chest, he could feel the ripping open if his insides and the pressure of mounting orgasm rise in his psyche and throughout his body in his glands, each one alight with rebellion and a curious sexuality he'd never known before. The eye of his cock opened and out shot jet after jet of sticky cum into the darkness, gluey gobbets squirting around and down the steel ball and ring in elastic globules, his knees finally gave way and as he felt his body tear in half, sliding down the vast pillar of Doug Ellis' joyful manhood, he awoke, screaming "Noooooo!!" His whole body shook with fear, wracked by post orgasmic electricity. Curled in a foetal position, his clothes, usually so smartly presented, as had been in the dream, crumpled around his ankles, put there by his own hand, his genitals throbbing and his cock pointing, guiltily at three great viscous ropes of his own seed glistening on his immaculate black leather sofa ahead of him. Dursley had never felt defiled before.

There came a loud knock at the door.