🔞 This story features graphic descriptions of m/m sexual content. All characters act with full consent. All characters are 18+ in age. 🔞
“Fresh meat, eh guys?”
I looked up from the thin mattress, eyes scanning my regulation clothes. Orange was not my color. But it’s what I was told to wear. So I did. Sometimes the life of a thief takes a turn.
The tall guy was looking at me like I owed him something, and a big part of me kinda wanted it. And eye level with me, a big part of him definitely wanted it.
I glanced up at the camera. Closed my eyes. Deep breath. It was there because it had to be there.
Three of them, and my brain did the thing it does even when it shouldn’t: cataloging. The tall one built lean and cut, because of course he was: stereotypes. A shorter one off to the side, thick and stocky, already rubbing himself and looking at the camera, like the people watching the feed were going to get off on it. Fuck. And a third on the far bottom bunk, arms crossed, back half in shadow, that I hadn’t gotten a read on yet.
“C’mere, fresh meat.” I zipped my jumpsuit up a teensy bit. Like that would stave off what was coming. The tall one crossed the cell in two steps, got a fist in my collar, and hauled me off the bunk like I weighed nothing. I let him. His mouth crashed into mine, no preamble, stubble scraping my chin, teeth catching my lower lip hard enough to sting, and I kissed him back just as hard because if I let it happen then maybe he’d go easy on me. His hand shoved down the front of my jumpsuit and closed around my cock, already thickening despite myself, and he huffed a laugh against my mouth when he felt it.
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