Protecting Ronny's Need

"Yes, open up more," Big Steve growled. Panting, Ronny worked on doing so, Big Steve's beefy fingers just holding steady as Ronny fucked himself on them, taking them ever deeper inside.

When the big man was ready, the fingers were pulled back, he put the head of his cock in position, penetrated, slid in deep, and fucked Ronny again in a missionary position. Digging his heels in, Ronny vigorously moved with the thrusts--wanting it, needing it, crying out for it. "Fuck me! Fuck me hard, you big-cocked stud!"

Big Steve laughed. When the boy was contributing to the thrusts, the Big knew he had a genuine slave. Big Russell had been right about this one.

"Yes, yes, YES! Oh, Fuckin' Shit YES. Screw me hard," he cried out as the big cock worked him.

It was just like Big Russell and the prison. Small Ronny was Big Steve's sex slave now. They slept on the bed, entwined, and exhausted by the sex. Sometime in the night, Ronny signaled the completion of the submission by straddling the big man's pelvis and riding his cock in the cowboy position. Big Steve took command. He ravished the young man, taking him hard and repeatedly, and Ronny had melded to his every demand, giving him everything he wanted, letting him do whatever he wanted. He had wanted to do it all. Ronny had surrendered all.

Uncertainty set in in the morning, though. When Steve woke up, he was alone in the cabin. Ronny had left him a full can of gas, and it was only a short walk back to where they had left Steve's truck, but Ronny and his pickup were gone.

Had this not been what the young guy had wanted? Steve wondered. He had taken it easily, greedily, just as Big Russell had said he would. But had he driven Ronny out of his own cabin by taking him back to the prison days and doing the unwanted with him? The young man had been submissive in the fucks, but was that out of remembered fear for what he had to do to remain alive in the prison situation? He'd cleared out without saying anything. Was he escaping, being displaced from his own home because he saw no other choice?

Steve couldn't know the answers to those questions. Ronny wasn't here to explain what he wanted. He'd been a great lay--Big Russell had said he would be. But how willing was he?

There was one way Steve thought he could find out. The cabin was hopelessly undersupplied even in easily prepared foods. Two days later Steve came back to the cabin with enough groceries to stock the cabin for a week. He was a cook. In his view, everything could be solved by having a good meal. As a peace offering he'd bring Ronny what he needed anyway. He'd fix him a meal and either they'd part with an understanding that this was the ending, or they'd fuck.

This wasn't to be, though. When he came back to the cabin, it was empty. Nothing seemed to have been moved at all since he'd been there before. The bedding was in the same disarray they'd put it in in their fucking and that Steve had left it in when taking the gas to his car.

Steve put the food supplies away, but then he just left and drove back to Lewisburg. Perhaps he knew by Ronny abandoning his own cabin that the limits had been overstepped--that Ronny had chosen to abandon the prison way of living. Maybe Steve had miscalculated in thinking Ronny would be comfortable returning to the master-slave mode of prison and might have been more amenable to a more equal sharing of decisions and moves.

Well, it was done now.

On his way back out of the forest to return to Lewisburg, Steve saw a track cleared enough for the truck going down to the riverbank. He'd heard the fishing was good on this stretch of the Greenbrier River, and, not wanting to waste his trip, he drove down to the river. He'd brought his fishing gear, thinking that maybe he and Ronny could fish and drink and fuck and then fish and drink and fuck again. Without Ronny, all he managed was the fishing and drinking, but that was good and he returned to Lewisburg in better spirits for side trip and with some fresh catch.

Shit, that little fucker was premium catch, though, he thought. Ronny had been all as a lay that Big Russell said he'd be--yielding but giving, and such a beautiful little body. Too bad it didn't work out.

* * * *

Two weeks went by before the two encountered each other again, and even then it appeared that one of them didn't realize it. Ronny and Big Steve worked just across the street from each other in Lewisburg, though, so it was inevitable that they would come together again.

It happened one evening near dusk when Steve was on kitchen duty at Sloan's Steakhouse and Ronny had finished his shift across the street at the fast-food joint. Steve had come out of the kitchen in the alleyway at the side of the steakhouse to empty the grease from a large cast-iron skillet into a receptacle near the garbage cans designated for that when Ronny was coming out of the fast-food restaurant and going to his truck. Steve heard raised voice from across the street and looked up to see that two drunks who had some sort of beef, they thought, with Ronny, were accosting him at his truck. They were both bigger than he was.

Steve recognized Ronny mostly, in the twilight, because he first recognized Ronny's old pickup. When one of the men trapping Ronny against the fender of his truck raised his fist to deliver a blow, Steve bellowed at him, raised the iron skillet, and began advancing across the road. Steve was bigger than either of the assailants and much meaner looking than either. They evaporated into the night. Obviously shaken, rather than looking across the street to realize that it was Big Steve who had protected him, Ronny scrambled into his truck and roared off into the approaching night.

Steve didn't know whether or not Ronny had seen him. If he had, he was avoiding him--still, in Steve's mind. He decided that was the end in any hope with hooking up with the smaller, sexy, and delectable man. Ronny obviously didn't want a relationship as it had been in prison.

Neither of their probation officers would be thrilled at the two socializing with each other--and certainly not fucking around--anyway, he thought. It was a pity, though. Ronny was someone Steve would really get attached to. He might even try to develop into a more equal relationship than the familiar master-slave one.

* * * *

"So, it's really you who are here."

Surprised at someone else finding him at what had become his favorite fishing spot on the river, but recognizing the voice, Steve turned to see that Ronny had approached down the track from the road to his cabin to the riverbank.

"Yeah, I've found the fishing good here," Steve answered. He modulated his voice. He didn't want to scare the young man away. He still had the hots for him.

"I saw your truck parked up on the road. At least I thought it was yours. I wondered if you were out of gas again."

Steve gave a little laugh. "I don't plan on making that mistake again. But the track here has really gotten choked up. I wasn't sure whether I should try to drive down to here, so I left the truck up on the road. Sorry. I hope you can get by. I can move it if you need more clearance."

"No problem getting by," Ronny said. "If it was you, I wanted to thank you for stocking my kitchen. I assume that was you."

"Yeah. It was the least I could do," Steve said. "I had hoped I maybe would be seeing you there again." He reached over and secured his fishing pole between two rocks. He wasn't sure why he wanted his hands free and to have freedom of movement just now, but being stuck holding the pole was making him feel contained, pinned down. What he really wanted to do was to embrace Ronny and smother him with attention. He was going hard just having the young guy here and remembering what they'd done when they first met. And thinking about that made him apologize for that. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong before--that I didn't even give you a chance to definitely agree. Well, you know."

He couldn't look at Ronny. He was looking out into the river, watching fish leap up out of the water. They hadn't been doing that when he was able to fully concentrate on the fishing.

"You did just right. It's what I'd come to need--in the pen, with Big Russell. I needed to have the decision, the responsibility, taken from me, like the big guys in the pen did, to be able to do it--to enjoy it and get off from it. And then I needed it, big, inside me. I needed to be taken. And then I came to rely on giving it that way to get full pleasure out of it myself. I hadn't been able to get fully into it since then. The guys outside of prison don't understand the power control that I came to need. You did me just great."

"I wanted to consume you--and I wanted to protect you," Steve said, still not looking at Ronny, who was still somewhere behind him. But he was still there; that was what was important. He hadn't retreated.

Ronny laughed. "What you needed was to conquer--to fuck the shit out of me."

"Yeah, that, I admit. It that's what you want, though, it's guys like me--who have had that in prison--who are going to do that for you. That's the role in sex with a guy that I had become used to. I needed to use you fully. I need to conquer and I need the other guy to surrender. Master and slave--and both need to want the role assigned to them."

"I know," Ronny said from somewhere behind Steve. "It's what did me. It's what I'd come to need too."

"Do you think we'll ever be able to get what we want--as much pleasure from it--as we got in that system in prison?"

"Maybe not. Neither of us has been out long. Maybe we're only good for others like us now. Maybe it's some big coincidence to have a pair like us--prison-trained master and slave--living in the same county. Working across the street from each other."

Steve let that hang in the air for a few minutes before speaking again. "But you didn't stay around. When I woke up, you were gone. And when I came back, looking for you, you weren't there. I thought I'd gone too far, done too much. I thought you rejected me and were avoiding me. And I don't have the right to push myself on you. In prison, it's one guy getting his needs met by meeting the needs of other guys--both needing sex, and the big guy getting his sex and the little guy getting the protection--and the release from responsibility--he needs."

This would have been the time Steve could mention Ronny getting attacked in the parking lot of the fast-food joint and Steve protecting him, but he hesitated. Would Ronny take that as just trying to make him again? Before he could decide whether to mention it, Ronny was speaking again.

"I know," Ronny said. "I know how it works there. It worked for me. If Big Russell hadn't protected me, I couldn't have survived--or it would be just another Mr. Big who would have me. And if the bigger guys hadn't taken me as they had, I don't think I would have ever found full satisfaction of doing it with another guy. If you'd been there and Big Russell wasn't, you could have been my Mr. Big."

"That would have been OK with you?"

"That would have been great with me," Ronny said. "A prison-style master and slave arrangement can mean more than protection for the little guy. It can include the little guy getting his sex too. And I wasn't avoiding you. You were so zonked, I couldn't wake you that morning and I had a shift to work. I can't afford to lose this job. And while I was at work, I got news that my brother had been injured on the job in Charleston and I had to go help him out for a couple of weeks. The burger joint here let me work in one up there for a couple of weeks. I just got back the other day."

"So, you weren't avoiding me?"

"I wasn't avoiding you, no. And I'm not avoiding you now. Big Steve," he said. "Turn around Big Steve. And I want you to do me again... now. I want you to be my Mr. Big. But maybe I shouldn't say that. Maybe we'd both enjoy it more, if I pretended I didn't want your cock inside me again and you had to fight me to cover me. But I do want you inside me again."

Steve turned around and looked. Ronny was on his back, reclining against a tree trunk. He'd stripped and was completely naked, his legs bent and spread, his pelvis rolled up to receive what he knew Big Steve was packing.

"Ronny," Steve muttered in a chocked voice.

"Don't talk. Come here. Do me. Use me hard. Be my Mr. Big. Fuck me like I'd been tossed into your prison cell and you hadn't had it for a month. Make me feel it."

Steve didn't have to be asked again. He had his jeans and briefs stripped off as he stumbled to Ronny and sank down between the young man's thighs. He already was in massive erection.

"We got to do this right," Steve growled. "Fight me. Make me take it. Make it the first time. Me being let into your cell and the door behind us banging shut and lock thrown. Just me and you, me making you my boy--for your first time."

Going with the scenario, Ronny complied, resisting. He tried to rise, to escape, and Steve backhanded him across the face, stunning him more than hurting him and making Ronny sink back to the ground. Ronny threw up his arms and pulled his knees into his chest, defensively, but not crying out, knowing there was no one there to save him. They struggled, and Big Steve backhanded Ronny across the face again, causing the young man's body to snap back, his elbows going to the ground under him to keep his head from hitting the tree truck, and his legs to stretch out and spread. Big Steve, in a half crouch, grasped the young man's butt cheeks and pulled Ronny's ass up to his erection, putting Ronny's weight on his shoulders and bringing the young man into full control. Big Steve pushed his knees between the young man's thighs, grasped Ronny ankles, and wishboned the young man's legs. Thrusting his hips forward, he penetrated in a brutal thrust.

Ronny cried out and collapsed, going docile, Big Steve in full possession, as the big man took him raw, swiftly, brutally, grasping the younger man's waist between his hands to hold him in place. Trusting up inside him, deep, as Ronny cried out, "Yes. Yes! Fuck me, Big Steve! Screw me, Master!"

Prison rules. Prison results.

Just as he'd learned to do in the end with any Mr. Big in a prison cell, Ronny hooked his legs on the big man's hips, pulled himself up to where he was handing off Big Steve's massive torso, and buried his fingernails in the man's bulging biceps. He set his hips in motion to go with the rhythm of the fuck. Both of them were transported back to a prison cell in Beckly Camp, on a lower bunk, the searchlights in the yard beaming through the high, barred window, etching the shadows of the bars on their bare, sweating bodies, as Mr. Big covered his boy on the bed, his buttocks in motion in long, hard thrusts, and men came to the bars of their cells up and down the corridor, making music on the bars with tin cups and whistling and chattering, knowing Mr. Big was fucking his boy, egging him on.

"Shit," Ronny cried out as Big Steve thrust hard and deep.

"Fuck!" he moaned as Big Steve gave him another hard thrust and reached up to clutch the young man's throat, making him his prisoner, using him hard.

Both men in high, mutually servicing heat. Both of them in their element.

Mr. Big and his protected boy, getting it done. But not just protecting his boy. Giving his boy what he wanted and needed. Using his boy.