The first night they shoved me into Cell 9, I knew I was fucked. Not the kind of fucked you walk away from. The kind that sticks to your skin and owns your ass for the rest of your stretch.
My cellmate was already there, sitting on the bottom bunk like he owned the whole block. Big guy, shoulders like a linebacker, shaved head, tattoos crawling up his neck. Name was Rico. Everyone called him King.
He didn’t say shit when the guards slammed the door. Just stared. I dropped my mattress on the top bunk and tried to look tough. Didn’t last long. By lights out he was standing, blocking the narrow space between bunks, dick already half-hard in his orange pants.
“New meat gets broken in,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel under boots. “You gonna fight or you gonna take it like a man?”
I should’ve swung. Instead I stayed still while he yanked my pants down. His hand wrapped around my cock, squeezing hard enough to make me grunt. “Already leaking. Knew you’d be a bitch.” He spit in his palm and started stroking me slow, thumb dragging over the head, spreading the mess. Every pull made my hips twitch. I hated how fast I got rock hard.
Rico shoved me face-first against the cold wall. The concrete scraped my cheek. He kicked my feet apart, spit between my cheeks, and pressed two thick fingers against my hole. No warm-up, no mercy. He pushed in, knuckle-deep, twisting until I hissed. “Tight. Gonna feel good when I wreck it.” He worked those fingers rough, scissoring, stretching, getting me sloppy. My cock dragged against the wall, leaving a wet smear.
When he pulled his fingers out I heard his zipper. His cock slapped heavy against my ass, thick and hot. He lined up and shoved in one brutal thrust. I bit my lip bloody trying not to yell. He bottomed out, balls pressed tight, then started pounding. Each slam drove me harder into the wall. The wet slap of skin filled the cell. He grunted filthy shit in my ear—“Take that dick, boy. This hole’s mine now. Gonna breed you every night.”
I came without touching myself, shooting against the concrete while he kept fucking through it. Rico laughed low, grabbed my hips, and slammed deeper until he unloaded, hot pulses flooding my guts. He stayed buried until he softened, then pulled out slow, watching his cum drip down my thigh. “Clean it,” he ordered. I dropped to my knees and sucked him clean, tasting salt and sweat and my own ass. He held my head and fucked my throat until I gagged, then let me collapse on the floor.
That was night one. By week two it was routine. Rico used me whenever he wanted—morning, lights out, sometimes right after chow when the guards weren’t looking. He’d bend me over the toilet and rail me quick and dirty, one hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. Other times he’d make it last, fucking me slow on the bottom bunk, one leg hooked over his shoulder, cock dragging against my prostate until I shook and begged. He loved when I begged. “Say it louder, bitch. Tell the whole block whose hole this is.”
The showers became our playground. Steam everywhere, water masking the sounds. He’d pin me under the spray, soap up his cock, and fuck me standing, my back to his chest, one arm around my throat while he stroked me in time with his thrusts. Other inmates watched sometimes. A couple joined in, taking turns using my mouth while Rico wrecked my ass. Cum on my face, down my throat, leaking out of me when they finished. Rico always made sure I swallowed every drop.
One night he brought a shank—not to cut me, but to threaten. Pressed the dull side against my balls while he fucked me from behind. “Move and I’ll ruin these pretty nuts.” I stayed frozen, cock throbbing harder than ever, hole clenching around him. He came so deep I felt it in my stomach. After that the power games got darker. He’d edge me for hours, fingers in my ass, mouth on my dick, never letting me finish until I was shaking and sobbing. Then he’d flip me and pound me raw, growling about how I was his property, his cumdump, his prison bitch.
Months passed like that. My body changed—ass rounder, hole looser, always ready. Rico claimed me in front of the whole block one afternoon in the yard, bending me over a picnic table while everyone cheered. He fucked me slow and deep so they could all see his cock stretching me open, cum dripping down my legs when he pulled out. After that no one else touched me without his say-so.
Last night, the night before my release, he didn’t fuck me. He made love to me instead—slow, almost gentle, kissing the back of my neck while he slid in and out, whispering that I’d come back to him. I came harder than I ever had, clenching around him, milking every drop. When he finished he stayed inside me, arms locked around my chest.
“Remember who owns this,” he said as I walked out the gates this morning. My ass still ached. My cock still twitched at the memory. I knew I’d be back. Not for the crime. For the cell. For Rico. For the raw, filthy way he made me his.
