Sausages Backstory Ch. 15

The big guy was talking again. 'It's a case of which type of fuckee you gonna be when you get to State prison, Hoss. Not that you'll have much choice in the matter. I'll lay it out for you anyway. You'll appreciate it in due time.'

'I'm sure I will. Thanks, Boss.' Said Dan dully. He couldn't raise much enthusiasm for this offer of an insight in how, and how often, he was going to be fucked when he got to State prison.

'The big bosses, now they all got wives. Some of them got a few wives; like a hareem. The wives of the big bosses are the prettiest and youngest pieces of ass. These wives are off limits to everybody else. It's like you are married to the mob, nobody is going to touch you, an' all you got to do is keep that boss of yours happy. Sometimes that's a big ask. But you won't have to worry none about that, Hoss. You're too old to be a wife for the big boss. What are you, forty -- forty-two?'

'Thirty-nine actually,' said Dan, his pride a little piqued that he was considered out of the running for the top fuckee spot.

'You could get lucky. Older guys, like me. I'm nearly sixty, Hoss, thought you wouldn't think it. Older guy often just want a steady lay, can't be bothered with all the hassle that goes with some of them young drama queens. Those pretty boys want new clothes, expensive lingerie. They want make-up. They're always bitching about each other. In fact, they should send those guys to the women's prison, 'cause that's what they might as well be. Make them miss out on the sex. As it is they probably get more sex in jail. than on the outside. Either way, us older guys just want someone who won't make a fuss, someone who'll just suck a guy's dick when he wants it sucked, Someone who will bend over and offer his ass when he's told to bend over. That could be you, Hoss.'

'Lovely. I can't wait.'

'Don't get smart, Hoss. That slot won't come to you that easy. You might be beggin' for it yet. That's the good life for a fuckee like you, and you got to earn it. You see, you gonna to be owned the day after you arrive in State. Some gang is gonna own your ass. Yes, they will. They will actually own you. They will have paid actual money for you, Hoss. Real cash. It's no accident the Governor drives a flash car and most of the guards live in houses their salaries can't buy.'

'What you need to realise, Hoss, is that when you arrive in reception and they process you and strip you naked and put you in the shower, they putting you up for auction. So when you come to the end of the processing and a warder give you your folded up bundle of prison clothes and shouts "Prisoner 3547322; C Wing, 3rd Floor, Cell 368," that means you've been sold. Your ass belongs to whoever controls Cell 368 on the 3rd floor, or maybe they might control the whole 3rd floor.'

The thought worried Dan a little. While he was owned now, that was by his wife. Owned by some power crazed, drug addled psychopath would be an altogether different thing.

'So how do I find out who owns me?'

'Least of your worries, Hoss. You might never find out. Just in the door, like that, you'd be so far down the peckin' order, the guy whose bossin' you around mightn't even know who really owns you. Hell, he mightn't even know who owns him. He got his orders and he gonna give you your orders, an' that's all you needs to know.'

The big guy had more to say on the subject. 'Let's say the boss decides I deserve a break,' he continued. 'I've been doing good work for him. Like I was let out last week on compassionate leave, 'cause my Daddy died. Well, my boss wanted me to do some tidying up work on the outside, so I stayed a few days over. Fixed up some business for him. That's why I'm here now, Hoss. I turned myself in to the station here an' they are waiting to transport me back to State. Maybe on the bus tomorrow. Same bus you'll be getting' if you don't make bail. First they have to bring you up before a judge and charge you. That could be later today or more likely first thing in the morning. Got to get statements typed, evidence sorted, all that shit.'

'So anyways, say I get back inside tomorrow and the boss says "That was some good work you did for me on the outside, Johnson." That's me, I'm Johnson. Anyways, the boss says, as a reward, seein' as how I'll be doing more time now, he's going to let me have a wife. That could be you, Hoss. Or if he's not feelin' generous, he could give me just one for a week, or let me have someone for a regular fuck, say a few times a week.'

'That's where you guys come in, the new guys, those lower down the fuckee pile. So accept it, Hoss. Accept that you're going to be down the line a bit on account of your age and getting a bit pudgy around the middle.

'By the way, they gonna take that chain off your dick at processing too. That counts as jewellery. Jewellery and piercings are not allowed. You'll be glad to lose the chain, I bet.'

'I'll enjoy the chain coming off, sure Boss,' said Dan, feeling like it would nearly be worth going to prison to get his dick free again, free of the constant downward tug that stopped him enjoying a normal erection. Free of the regular threat that Mary would tie his dick down hard under his ass for a week just because he didn't iron her panties properly, or some such trivial misdemeanour.

'So this is how it is for the down-the-line guys. Basically, they rent you out. Could be by the hour could be for a day. The only way you get off that duty is by doing jobs for them, running errands, that sort of stuff. Earn some credits. That's the way they suck you in.'

'But don't think that is so bad, because there is a worse job than being rented out as a fucktoy. The bottom of the pile job. You need to know this, Hoss. It's even got a title. Get this job and you'll be called the Phone Boy. That's because you'll have a phone wrapped in plastic stuffed up your ass twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and fifty-two weeks a year. Your job is to keep that phone up your ass. And to keep your ass ready to have the phone taken out of it.'

Dan felt his sphincter tighten at the thought and resolved to avoid phone duty if at all possible.

'Your job is not to get the phone down when the boss wants to make a call. There's another guy whose job it is to rip that phone out of your ass fast, especially it's an incoming call. He follows you around with his hand in his pocket all the time, because he's got a plastic glove on and he don't want the guards to see it. You'll be wearing trousers with a hole ripped between the legs. When you feel the first vibration from the phone -- it's always on vibrate- you say "Phone" to the glove guy. Before you can say "Jesus Christ that hurts" the glove guy has rammed his hand up your ass and ripped the phone out of it. He unwraps the phone and gives it to the boss. Usually by the third ring. Any slower and he's in trouble.'

'The phone guy's ass always belongs to somebody else. That includes night time. He even has to ask permission to take a dump. And the glove guy goes with him. It's about as low as you can go.'

All through this Johnson was playing with Dan's nipples through his bra and rubbing his other hand the length of Dan's thigh. He was keeping Dan horny and it showed. Warming me up for the night's entertainment; Johnson's entertainment, Dan wondered. Dan was slightly traumatised at the thought that he could become a phone carrier guy. Some of those phones were pretty big. He found Johnson's rubbing and teasing very comforting and leaned in towards him. Dan was thinking that nobody had been intimate with him like that in a long time. Not since Mary had got him to sign the slave contract. That was months ago. She gets him to rub her back, rub her feet and lick her pussy - all the time. Never goes the other way. All Dan was getting from Mary was the occasional tease and spoiled ejaculations, whenever she deemed he needed draining off. Dan was missing his share of tender lovin' care, and if it was to be got in jail, he didn't care much where it came from, or the consequences of getting it.

'Trouble 'bout being phone boy is that there is now way back up out of it. Nobody wants to fuck a phone boy's ass. It's too big and stretched. Might as well be trying to fuck fresh air,' concluded Johnson's gloomily on the life of a fuckee at the lower level.

'But what about the other prison jobs you hear about, like librarian, or in the kitchen?' asked Dan, anxious to get an insight into more normal prison life. 'After all, everybody can't go around fucking everybody else all the time, can they?'

'That's true, Hoss. Life goes on inside. But the nearest you'd get to being a librarian is when the guards do a contraband check on the cells and someone makes you stuff a rolled up copy of Playboy up your ass for the day. Gawd, you see half the guys walking around very funny all day. Some can't even sit down. Others are walking on their tip-toes, as if that's help. All sorts of junk gets stuffed up fuckees asses on cell search days. No Hoss, you don't want that sort of librarian job, neither.'

'The bosses decide who gets those real jobs. The warder announces who has got the job, but it has all been fixed beforehand. No way would you get to be librarian early on, unless you got a lot of money and can buy the job, and a lot more money to pay out regular to keep the job. No, you'll be scrubbing floors and toilets. That's where you start out; with a mop and a bucket.'

Johnson pulled Dan in closer.' You'll be okay, Hoss', he said, squeezing Dan's knee. 'Show me what you can do tonight. Give me a real good time and I'll put in a good word for you when I get back inside.'

'Yes, Boss,' whispered Dan, his chained cock pointing straight out and steadily dripping precum through the stretched nylon of his panties. He decided to make his pitch. He would need someone on his side once he gets sent up to State. Johnson qualified as someone, and he was in with some boss. Nothing to loose.

'You can do anything you want with me, tonight, Boss. I'll do whatever you ask me to, and more.' said Dan in a sudden and shameful surrender to this total stranger.

Just then the key rattled in the lock down the corridor and they heard the door to the cell block swing open. The duty officer marched in rattling her keys on the bars as she approached.

'Johnson! Up and approach the front and turn around. You're out of here. State have sent a car for you. They must want you back there bad.'

Dan watched, his jaw slack, as Johnson hopped up with a quick 'Yes Officer' moved over to the bars. He turned to place his back against the cell door and put his hands behind his back. The policewoman quickly cuffed him through the slot in the bars.

'Murnaghan! Don't' move off that bunk.'

She opened the cell door, pulled Johnson out and slammed the door shut and locked again. As she turned to push Johnson down the corridor and away, she looked Dan up and down contemptuously.

'You look ridiculous, Murnaghan. Why aren't you wearing the coverall I left on the bunk for you?'

Johnson looked back over his shoulder at Dan and gave him a wink. 'Officer, I put it under the bunk for safe keeping. I musta forgot to tell the pretty boy about it.'

'Well, put it on now, Murnaghan, or you'll be up on another charge of gross public indecency.'

'Yes, Ma'am,' said Dan to the two disappearing backs. His erection had already shrivelled to nothing, leaving just a large damp spot to mark its passing. The door to the cell block clanged shut and the key rattled in the lock once more. Silence.

Dan was alone.