Big Chicago

Big Chicago Part 2…..by Samayel


It’s twisted, the way I feel something almost like jealousy when the latest residents of the ‘Bitch Tank’ get released into population. Maybe not real jealousy, more a sort of ‘professional envy’. I always worry about the pretty ones. My position hangs on my ability to be more interesting than anyone else Flint fucks. If someone younger and prettier and just a little more interesting shows up, I could find myself fucking half the building to stay alive, and that’s a fast track to AIDS and death, aside from the dozen or so other social diseases that could just fuck up my life in general. I’ve lived through having the clap twice, thanks to Flint fucking the new ones and bringing back a little something for me, but I know others have it worse. I just want his attention to stay focused on my ass and my ass alone until I get out of here.

There is no one prettier than me…at least not here. Competition is slim for me, but you never know. All it takes is another pretty little fag to screw up his life enough to land here, and Flint could drop me like a bad habit. The ugly or just plain ones are of no concern. Their asses will be raw meat by tomorrow morning. No, it’s the ones with looks and a certain attitude that will catch Flint’s eye. He’ll try them out tonight or before breakfast, or at least pick one and let his boys have the others, but he always keeps me handy. It helps that I behave. I make no trouble, I require no effort to keep, and I do what he wants the way he wants it…and I do it well.

I thank my lucky stars every day and most nights that Flint has a normal dick. Not huge, not small, just normal. There’s a gang boss in another cell block that’s supposed to have a cock bigger than my forearm, and if he’d taken hold of me, my ass would be so played out by now that no one would want me for anything but the occasional blowjob. Men are every bit as vain as women, they just show it differently. No man wants to fuck a guy whose ass is so loose as to make a man feel poorly hung. It damages their precious ego. The small-dicked thugs are the worst. Their ego hangs exclusively on their capacity to hurt others…with something other than their dick. I’m different from them in that I’m a queen to start with, and a bottom besides. Why even care if my dick is small? It would only get in the way if it were large, and with the exception of a few tricks before I met Blaise, no one has bothered with it much since I was still in high school, and I prefer it that way. I’m leaving this cesspit in two months, and in a few weeks no one will be able to tell I was here by looking at me…unless they see the ‘F’ on my ass, and if they’re seeing that, they’re probably not going to care much about the little things at the moment, they’ll be too busy getting off.

I haven’t spoken a word about my release date. Lifers, the ones who will never leave here, sometimes get touchy about the cons who are happy because they’re going somewhere after here. Bad things can happen when angry men get jealous. It’s safer to look like I don’t care about anything, and safer still to look miserable. You blend into the background, keep your head down, and you don’t matter. Being worthy of notice is for bosses, not for the rest of us. Sometimes a new guy will shake up the order, like Flint did, and the guy before him did, but most of us have no identity, no politics, and a lot less to worry about. Flint is one of those few with power, and that brings responsibility…even here. To keep being ‘the boss’ he has to earn respect and fear every day, and constantly remind people not to test him. Most of the time it’s quiet, but he’s always rougher when he’s tense, so I like the quiet times more than anyone you’ve ever met.

The new bitches hit population. They’re a mixed bunch, entering here with new uniforms and cheap blankets, guided one by one to cells that will be their homes unless someone with power gets them moved. There’s a blond wanna-be gang banger with tattoos, but he’s young and short. Probably a suburban kid who watched too much rap on MTV and tried to be a player like the gangsters in the movies. This is the place the movies don’t show, and white teens from the ’burbs learn to choke down a cock and keep quiet while their ass is getting tagged before the first week is up. He’ll probably fight too, which means he’ll wind up like Nott.

There’s a wheezy, skinny one with hair like dirty ash. Skinny, but not much to look at. Someone will probably keep him around for amusement…at least for awhile.

One’s scruffy as hell. Hairy, both on the arms and with a five o’ clock shadow that’s seven hours early, but small and wiry. He might just get ignored completely. The ugly ones sometimes do, or if they don’t, it’s usually just a one time deal to establish dominance, and they never have to deal with it again.

Something is very wrong. The last of the new ones had no business being in that cell with the others. He’s taller, the same height as Flint, and he moves like a snake. The uniform is the same crap everyone wears, but he’s all muscle underneath. Not large, just powerful, contained, like a coiled spring. The prison haircut only produces a coal black buzz cut that makes him look like a military man, and he has the clean, tanned look of an athlete. I can’t help watching without looking like it, since that’s what I do every time new arrivals move in, but he scans the crowd and I have to look away. I can’t be seen making eye contact with someone or Flint could have an excuse to make my night hell. The eyes. Jade green volcanoes. Intense, the way a maniac’s are. Powerful. Maybe the others know something is wrong with this picture, but I have nothing to say. I always get told to stand back and watch, and that’s what I always do.

Flint means to try the new one in our section after breakfast. He knows I hate watching it, and he knows I hate competition. It figures that Green-Eyes would be in our cell block. I can smell a risk taker from a mile away. All I do is watch people in here, and if I have a sixth sense about these things, it’s because I need it to stay alive. I don’t like interesting times, I like quiet times, and this bastard is going to be trouble. He could ruin everything, and the last thing I need is change. I only have two months. Two! If he shakes up the order here, I could lose my place. I could wind up getting nailed by another boss, or get turned over to someone’s goons just to make a point.

I can’t help looking at him at breakfast. The look on my face must be like murder. I wish someone would just kill him now and make the potential problems go away. No one does. The fucker stares down the first person to even hint at giving him grief. Those fucking eyes! People know he’s serious, but quiet, with danger just beneath the surface, waiting to explode. The other guy backs down. A point for Green-Eyes, but that kind of shit just piques Flint’s interest. Eyes and attitude don’t scare Flint. Nothing does. He lives up to his name. He’s a rock, and nothing can scare a rock. It’ll really be between the two of them, and Flint always wins. Always. At least…he’d better. I don’t want this. I want to be somewhere else, but there’s nowhere else to go. That’s why they call it prison. I have to watch this insanity unfold. I hate him. If a look could kill, his ass would be dead and buried.

Breakfast is over and it’s milling bodies, walking to the yard or to cells. Green-Eyes has no idea what he’s doing. Anyone with half a brain would head for the yard. He could talk a little, make deals, make a show of strength and improve his position. No…he takes the halls, back to the cell that’s his for now. Back to where it’s quiet, and Flint and his boys can have a little privacy. I follow in their wake, same as always. I can’t say no. Flint loves to make me watch it all, knowing that it makes me sick. I hate violence, and I hate blood, and I hate seeing both of them at the same time. What a lovely irony that I should live and survive in the kind of fuck-hole where I see these things so often. I’ll see them again in just a few minutes.

A single nod from Flint and a guard takes a few steps and moves out of sight. Either he knows to let Flint have what he wants, or he’s bought and paid for. Either way, Green-Eyes is just inside the open door of his cell, kicking off the cheap sneakers they issue here. The kind with Velcro instead of shoestrings so you can’t hang yourself or strangle anyone with them. Not that they care if you use your hands to strangle someone, but as long as they didn’t supply you with the means to do it, then it isn’t their fault.

Green-Eyes is fucked, and everyone knows it but him. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Flint and his three best goons keep going. I hang back like always. That’s what I’m supposed to do. Once they have him down, I just have to watch. Another stupid asshole with teeth gritted, face burning because this is not a place where tears are well received or have meaning to anyone but yourself. I hate this, all of it, every second…and then they move in.

It never made it to the point of threats. If I had a rewind button for my brain and a slow motion setting for my eyes I still couldn’t catch all of it. Green-Eyes explodes into the middle of them, out of his cell and into action. I know the ball of his heel crushed the fragile bones in the bridge of Flint’s foot. I saw knuckles rake across the tender flesh at the pit of the throat. I saw limbs caught, bent and twisted until cartilage popped and bones ground. They’re the ones screaming, not him. Four men attacking one, and the four men are losing…badly. He’s making no noise at all…but he’s smiling. He loves this. He thinks this is fun. He isn’t even trying.

No one moves that way. No one I’ve ever seen. Not in real life. He glides. There is no wasted movement, just action and results. The others keep trying to get up and fight, and he has the advantage now. They’re hurt, confused and angry, and he is upright and in command. Every time one of them makes it to his feet, he sends them to the floor again. I don’t know what to do. I hope he won’t notice me. He’s ruined everything. I want to run. I want to piss myself. I want to scream, but I don’t dare bring attention to myself now. Everything is changing right in front of me. My life isn’t worth shit. My safety is spitting blood out of his mouth and trying to get onto his feet. I’m a piece of meat and there isn’t an alpha-wolf to own me. I’m going to die. I’ll never make it out of here intact. It’s over. Green-Eyes signed my death warrant. I only had two more months to go!

He’s standing over them, silent as before, and he’s staring at me. I realize that I’m shaking from head to toe. My teeth are chattering even though it’s hot as an oven in here. I can’t help staring back. His fists are still balled up, and there’s blood on his hands. His face is like a thundercloud. He looks like God. He’s above us all, more powerful, more certain, more inflexible than any of us. Nothing can break him. Not this place or these people. He is here, but he will never be one of us. Nothing could pull him down from the clouds. Nothing. God has green eyes, and his gaze makes me feel like something low that crawled from the muck, on its belly like a slinking dog. I know how far I have fallen when I look in those eyes.

He isn’t watching the men he’s beaten. Flint is behind him, silent and full of menace, pulling the steel shiv out of his pantleg. A moment passes, and I’m back where I belong, here in hell, and I have a choice. Who says all changes have to be bad? Flint will cut him open with a chunk of sharpened metal and pull him down from his high place…if I let him. All it took was a single breath.

“Behind you.”

How sweet a betrayal. Flint suffers for his crimes. For all of them. He still isn’t afraid, but before long, he isn’t even conscious. Even Flint never hurt anyone this badly. If he lives, he will never be the same, never be strong enough to hurt others. There are wet, sick, snapping sounds, and I’m kneeling by the wall, throwing up breakfast and crying. I haven’t cried in a long time, but I can’t help it. It’s too much. Everything is changing.

“You! Who’s in charge of this dump?”

“Flint.”

I can hear kicks rouse the others. Grunts from blows to places that matter the most. I keep my head down and let them work it out. Everything is blurry, distorted and weird. I know I have to use a toilet. I can hear Green Eyes again.

“Wrong answer.”

Someone is screaming. He’s taking over. Making sure there are no questions. Bile is dripping off of my chin while I shake uncontrollably.

“Who…is…in…charge…here?”

“You…you are.”

“That’s right. I own all your asses. If you even look at me wrong, you’ll wish you were him. You and you, pick him up and dump him off at the infirmary. You, tell your pals who to come talk to. This cell is now my office, and if you answered to that punkass, you answer to me now. Tell them what happened to him, and tell them to show some fucking respect when they talk to me, or I’ll use them to warm up, then work on the next person I see just for fun. That one stays…he belongs to me now.”

He’s talking about me. I have to pay attention. My life is hanging on this, and I have puke on my chin and tears on my face. I’m back to square one. I don’t what he likes or what he wants. There’s no routine. One fuck up and I’m branded or cut. He’s a killer, and he isn’t afraid of anything. Men like that are dangerous because they have no compunction. They will do anything, anytime, for any reason that crosses their mind. Consequences mean nothing to them. I used to love that type, before I knew what those things meant. Danger, power and strength made me horny; made my knees weak and my stomach fluttery. The sight of a man with that ferocious intensity made me ache inside, so empty because they weren’t inside me, fucking me until I came onto the sheets, screaming their name and begging them not to stop. Now they just terrify me, because I know what else they can do, and I’m afraid they’ll do it to me.

I have to get up. They’re carrying Flint away. His arm is hanging all wrong. His face is unrecognizable. Green-Eyes is standing at the door of his cell, waiting for me, and he doesn’t look patient.

“Get in here. This is your new home.”

Try acting demure after watching a man beaten almost to death. I’d call it challenging, but I‘m given to both sarcasm and understatement. My hands can’t stop shaking, so I’m holding them to myself while I step into his cell and stay quiet. I hear the barred door slide and clang, but it won’t lock until the guards trip the switch for the whole block.

“Wash your face.”

The cheap, shitty makeup must have run when I was crying. I must look like shit. I don’t want to do this. I never want to, but now more than ever. I’m sick and shaky and I want to pee so bad I can almost taste it, but I don’t fucking dare offend him. There are people in cells across the hall. Bars give no privacy. I’m used to it. Word is already spreading. This man runs this block now, and if he could break Flint and three other men besides, no one wants to piss him off. They’ll stay quiet while he fucks me and pay respect to him when he’s done. I have to go through with this. Flint is gone, and this is the new boss. I have to get it together enough to give him what he wants, or I’ll be something he throws to the dogs like leftover scraps.

The water is lukewarm but it still feels like needles when it hits my face. I have to make it fast and scrub hard with my hands, and there’s nothing to dry myself with. The sound of the water makes my bladder clench. Please, God, don’t let me piss myself. He’s waiting and this is my only chance for a good first impression.

“Get in the corner. Sit on the edge of the bed.”

I move my ass and sit on the cheap metal frame bed that’s bolted into the concrete. The same uniform mattress that every bunk has is on it, with a blanket that would itch if it wasn’t so hot that no one used them right now. His back is to the world, blocking me from sight. It’s going to be a blowjob. I can already tell. Thank God, because I couldn’t handle a fucking without pissing myself in the process.

“Keep your mouth closed if you know what’s good for you. Do only what I tell you and you won’t regret it. Fuck with me and you’ll wish you hadn’t. Now put your head right here and stay quiet.”

His voice is a whisper only I can here, and he’s holding my hair by the braid that runs into the ponytail. My face is pressed into his groin, into cheap uniform slacks, and he’s moving his hips. His fly is down, but he doesn’t make a move to pull his dick out. Am I supposed to do it for him? He said to do only what he tells me to, and I know I should do that, but I don’t understand. No one can see me, and he’s moving and making noises like I’m giving him the best head he’s ever had, but my face is in his crotch and he’s not even hard. Is this what I’m supposed to be doing? Just pretend that I’ve got his cock in my mouth and wait until he’s finished? Not knowing what to do makes me sick, and I still have to pee so bad it hurts.

A minute, maybe two, and he makes a noise like a groan, tensing like a man who is unloading his come into a skillful mouth. He steps back and fumbles with his fly in a way that, from the view of anyone outside of this cell, looks like he’s relaxed and just a bit sensitive after orgasm. I’m just hunched on the edge of the bed, wondering what the fuck is going on. Then he whispers one last time.

“You gambled on me. You won. I’m gambling on you now, and I’m a sore loser. Act your part and you’ve got it easy. Fuck this up and I’ll make you a new definition for sorry. Consider it my thanks.”

I get off the bed and wipe my mouth on my sleeve, heading for the sink and toilet. I try to do everything the way I would when I’ve just taken a real shot in the mouth, but I’m so fucking shaky it’s hard to remember. If people assumed I was off my game because I was scared shitless, they’d be right. I rinse and spit into the sink, then drop my shorts and sit on the toilet for a desperately needed piss. Funny thing, but that’s the way I’ve always done it. Drove my father crazy when I was little, until I was old enough to make sure he thought I’d started standing up to do it. I keep my head down so that no one can read my face. You lose the ability to blush quickly here, but I feel naked and vulnerable all over again. I understood everything until today, now it’s all new to me again.

I finish soon enough, and move to the corner quietly. He’s against the bars, arms spread out like wings, looking out at a tiny, filthy world he suddenly owns. I’m just a part of it, and I know it, and my part is to keep him content for two months. Two months and I’m free of this, but until then, I belong to him, and I don’t anything about him. I know he’s dangerous, and I know he’s more than just a little crazy, but I also know he understands the idea of gratitude, and he just showed me something like mercy. I take a very small chance and speak up just enough to ask a question. I keep my head down the entire time, trying to radiate complete submission, hoping I’m not wrong about the weird streak of kindness I only suspect is inside of him.

“What do I call you?”

He doesn’t turn around, or even twitch, and silence hangs over this shitty little cell for a string of heartbeats.

“Harry. Harry Black. I suppose I should call you something too. Name?”

My real name means nothing anymore. I haven’t used it in years. Drake Malfoy was a spoiled party boy from the jet set crowd. Drake Malfoy died in downtown Chicago when his father wouldn’t answer his calls. Drake Malfoy died when he sucked off men for money and drugs to stay alive and forget what he was doing. Drake Malfoy is history. He gets the name everybody gets now.

“Dee. What do you want from me? I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Dee…relax and enjoy the ride. Very soon, things are going to get real interesting around here.”

TBC!!!