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"Yea, baby, your little butt-pussy feels so good on my _f_u_c_k_in' _d_i_c_k_."

Josh always talks dirty and he always pulls his _c_o_c_k_ out to the head and slowly pushes it all 9 inches back in. He would have buried his _f_u_c_k_ing balls up my butt if he could have.

Long, slow, feeling every movement, Josh talked. "Yea, baby. It's just like my _f_u_c_k_in' wife's pussy." His smoky breath is everywhere as he talks behind my ear.

"Yea, baby." His arm pit smells and his big, harry hands grab my tit hard.

"It's that same butt I bent over the _f_u_c_k_in' can and gave a good beating 'cause you let it get too loose that I'm _f_u_c_k_in', isn't it, baby? _f_u_c_k_in' get that hole up here or I'll beat it again, baby."

"Yea, baby, that's good _f_u_c_k_in' hole, baby."

My ass is sore. Josh only uses as much spit as I can come up with at the time, which I'm thankful he does that. But after twenty minutes of his constant _f_u_c_k_ing, my hole gets long past due for a break. Josh is a long-time con, though. New prisoners might get excited their first few times at corn-holing and come right off, but Josh knows there is nothing else to do once he does get his nut, so why hurry? It's always like that with Josh. And after he got mad yesterday and threw my ass over the toilet and beat it with his shoe, I ain't doin' nothin' to get my ass from the pain of an ass-hole to the fire of gettin' my butt whipped.

Josh _f_u_c_k_s. I try letting out whatever sounds might get his nut started. I whimper like a rape and moan desire and Josh _f_u_c_k_s. My ass-hole burns up. And Josh _f_u_c_k_s.

That was Tuesday. I didn't know why Josh wasn't at the cell door at three on Wednesday. For the last three weeks, since I had been processed into the yard, Josh had been there every day at three. He dropped his pants and I no longer needed him to say "Drop those jeans," or "Get your _f_u_c_k_in' ass up," or

"I'm gettin' some." I've even gotten to undoing my fly so Josh won't have a reason to be mad for having to wait too long.

But Wednesday he didn't show up. I was all too soon to learn why.

It was real early in the morning, maybe two I'd guess.

I'd heard the guards sometimes take a man out in the middle of the night. I had heard that once they stop at your cell there is nothing you can do, that resisting is reason to get your head shoved into the bars and only makes things worse when you get where they take you. I had heard that the night guards, whose job is boring at best, called these visits their "Sportin' Calls" and I was sure that being on the "Sportin'" list was the one thing that prisoners avoided at all cost.

Usually it's so quiet at two in the morning. I suppose that's why the three sets of foot steps and the rattle of a key on a brass ring woke me. The foot steps shuffled slowly down the long tier. Pausing a second there. Shuffling. Three sets of shoes being picked up so as not to make noise here.

Scuffing a bit. My heart was pounding in my ears and my arm was tucked hard against my crotch and you could hear every man in the block listening for where the shuffling was coming from and where it would fall silent. At first you couldn't tell even which tier the steps were on. But about three cells down the walk I knew they were coming past my door.

My heart was racing so hard, so loud, I didn't hear the footsteps pass my cell. Tight, rigid, I tried to hear the receding foot falls.

Then my insides jumped in all directions at once. Then I heard the sound of the key fitting into the lock on my cell door. I needed to _s_h_i_t_ and piss and cry and, _f_u_c_k_, I needed to be somewhere else.

The door opened. A big hand pulled off the cover I held tight under my chin, my last defense. "Get up." Playing opossum wasn't going to get me out of this one, so I stood, reaching for my jeans to cover my jockey-shorts. "You ain't going to need those where you're goin'. Now, walk."

And I did.

Mark led the way, it seemed mostly to keep me from walking too fast, the bastards milking every ounce of terror they could.

"Have a good time, sweetie," that son-of-a-bitch Larry whispered from his cot and Frank's billy club moved behind me and caught Larry's fingers on the bars and I felt good about it. I could hear the son-of-a-bitch swearin' as we went down the metal steps and out the double gates and into the February night. The gym at this hole ain't nothing fancy, just a cinder-block box with two doors, a floor, and some equipment. But the cement walk from the cell block was freezing my feet and the rest of me was no more warm. I never looked forward to getting over that last 35 feet of sidewalk so much in my life.

Once inside, however, out of the cold, I wanted to go no farther.

There was one light on in the center of the room. It was strange, too, like they had lowered it from the ceiling so it only really lit a small area. And in the middle of that area was the heavy wooden table we keep the little _s_h_i_t_ on, like balls and hand weights and _s_h_i_t_ like that. It's a big butcher-block table from the old kitchen. It was empty and sat right in the middle of that light.

"Get your _f_u_c_k_in' ass over there, butt-_f_u_c_k_."

I was so scared I just stood there.

"I told you to get your ass over there," Frank yelled as he brought his night stick full force across my thighs. _f_u_c_k_. I was runnin' and cryin' and feelin' sorry for Larry's fingers after all, and shakin' from fear and not the cold and didn't know what to do once I got to the table.

"You been lettin' Josh _f_u_c_k_ your ass, ain't ya?" Frank took his time walking over, letting his voice boom in the empty gym.

Mark and Scott took places on either side of the table. _f_u_c_k_, I didn't know what to do. Mark's soft voice had a menace in it I didn't know he could muster: "You better answer him, man."

"Yea. Yea, he has corn-holed me. But I didn't let . . .

"That's enough. Drop those shorts."

"_f_u_c_k_, guys. I didn't want it, Josh raped my ass, man. Come on, man, don't do this." I didn't know I could talk so fast. My heart was pounding and my head was racing and pounding and getting a head-ache.

"DROP THOSE SHORTS, YOU LITTLE BUTT-_f_u_c_k_," and this time I heeded the swelling anger in Frank's voice. I grabbed the elastic and pushed the shorts to my knees. They fell down my calves and lay around my ankles. I stood there, buck naked, with Mark and Scott openly looking at me and my _d_i_c_k_ and my balls. Frank was behind me but I'm sure he had the same sneer those two had. "Now bend that ass over the end of that table."

The edge of the table was sharp against my crotch and the top of the table was hard under my belly and chest. Mark and Scott each took a wrist, holding my arms stretched out above me, and using their other hands to hold down my shoulder-blades. They pressed down with all their might. _f_u_c_k_, man.

"And now we're goin' to do a little sportin' on your butt, boy." I heard Frank draw his belt from his pants. "You don't suppose the rule against beatin' off means you ain't supposed to _f_u_c_k_ nothin', either, do you, butt _f_u_c_k_? And it sure don't mean you're supposed to let someone else use your hole for a _f_u_c_k_, boy.

"But since you don't seem to think the _f_u_c_k_in' rules mean you, we don't see why Josh should have all the fun with that butt of yours." Mark and Scott pushed down so hard I could hardly breath. And my ass felt the first searing contact of leather.

Oh, _f_u_c_k_, that hurt. Ant then another. And when that had had a few seconds to sink in, another.

Oh, _f_u_c_k_. I begged.

Frank's big arms dealt another. My right cheek was burning and I tried to get it out of the way of the end of the belt and Frank no longer hesitated to let every stroke count and began beating my ass as fast as he could and I squirmed my ass to get every place that had just been hit out of the way and Frank kept beating and I couldn't get a good breath or move and my ass and thighs were covered with having been hit and were running out of even second and third stoke spots and I was begging and calling the bastards names and the son-of-a-bitch just kept belting my ass.

I remember being lifted off the table and walked, though carried is probably the better term, to the isolation compound. My underpants were still around my ankles, making it impossible to keep my feet under me even if I could. The next day Josh woke me in the two-by-six foot, bare cell he and I had been thrown naked into. So this is where he'd been since Wednesday.

"Come on, baby, Josh needs his _d_i_c_k_ in your hot pussy, baby. We've paid for it and now we might as well enjoy it." He was whispering his throaty breath close to my ear and rubbing my sore ass. "Now get that sweet butt-pussy over here for Josh." I rolled over on the hard cement floor and spread my legs. My ass-hole is sore. Josh loves these long, slow, full-length _f_u_c_k_s and in this isolation cell he has even less to do once he gets his nut. Josh tells me he used to _f_u_c_k_ Larry before I got here. I'm going to get that jealous bitch.

_f_u_c_k_ my ass is sore.

_f_u_c_k_ I wish Josh would quit calling me "baby."

And Josh _f_u_c_k_s.