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Gay Force 20: The Cellmate From Hell

Forrest Manacre

Copyright 2017

Author's note: All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

Use of an image of a model in this ebook or in advertisements for it does not suggest that the model is depicted in the work presented here, nor that the model participates in, endorses, condones or approves of the thoughts or behavior described in this ebook.

Cover photo is Copyright Metrowind: Creative Commons https://www.flickr.com/photos/corsair/8923431517/sizes/l

Andre had been in Brutewood Correctional for six months, and he was in good shape, he thought. He had a secure spot in the Nine Tats gang. He was just a lookout for now, but he was well-respected. He was as safe and as comfortable as anybody could expect to be in a maximum-security penitentiary.

So when he was suddenly reassigned to a new cell, he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing -- his current cellmate was an elderly Puerto Rican man, which was a double-edged sword because Andre was safe around him, but also bored and powerless within his gang. It was tough to rise through the ranks with no one but Gilberto Matos on his side (and Gilberto was a bit senile and often forgot who Andre was, so he wasn't even always on Andre's side).

Much to his surprise, his new cellmate was Rodney "Tanktop" Jones, former NFL legend. Tanktop had been the most successful linebacker in the league when he was convicted of murder for an incident from his college days. He towered there in the cell when Andre was shoved in by the guards.

Andre's initial reaction was both relief and surprise. He had thought the rumors that Tanktop was coming to this prison were just rumors, so he was surprised to see him there. He was also relieved because he knew for a fact that Tanktop was also a Nine Tat. He had probably arranged to have a fellow Nine Tat for a cellmate. Being assigned to share a cell with a well-known and reputable member of the gang suggested that Andre's position was as secure as he had hoped.

That seemed more and more important the more Andre thought about it. He no longer had to live with Gilberto, he could live with someone who had connections within the organization. No one could ever attack Andre without clearing it with his new cellmate, and no one had ever suggested Tanktop was really mean -- when he was famous, he had been lampooned as goofy and stupid, but never mean.

"Ah, shit, man, Tanktop Jones!" Andre tried not to gush like a fanboy, but he was excited. "Oh hell, man, my brothers ain't nevuh gonna believe you my cellmate!" His excitement was tempered by the realization that Tanktop's six and a half feet tall frame and his beefy body took up more than three times the space of Andre's previous cellmate. He was physically difficult to get around. He beamed like a clown, doing sit-ups there in the cell even though he took up the entire floorspace, forcing Andre to tiptoe around him as he settled his things onto his bunk.

Tanktop worked out until dinnertime, while Andre asked him some questions but mostly managed to avoid embarrassing himself. He didn't even really watch football, he thought, he shouldn't be this excited about Tanktop. But so little happened here -- prison life was an explosion of dreadful monotony -- that this significant, important and interesting development was all Andre could think about.

Then Andre got to lead him to the mess hall, feeling like someone important for the first time since he had gotten here. He showed Tanktop where the mess hall was, told him about where the line started and the unspoken rules about who sat where.

"Yeah, thanks, nigga," Tanktop said over and over. He smiled a lot -- he had a charming, deep grin accentuated by a missing front tooth -- and spoke like he didn't really find any of this useful (he had been in prisons for fifteen years, just not this prison) but wanted to humor Andre. A part of Andre realized that but didn't care, he just wanted to seem useful.

After dinner, they had a few more hours of free time. Andre read quietly in his cell while Tanktop met with Smackdown, the leader of the Nine Tats. Andre knew better than to ask what they discussed.

Eventually lights out came, and Andre was tired enough to go right to sleep. Prison life was so boring that when something exciting did happen, Andre got overly tired like a child. His cell was uncomfortably warm -- he wasn't sure if that was because of this new cell's location or if it was the giant man's body heat in the bunk above.

But whatever the cause, it made Andre very sleepy. He passed right out, despite his anxiety over the new situation. Even Tanktop's massive body and heavy breathing didn't bother him. He thought Tanktop must be uncomfortable because he was much too tall for his bunk. Tanktop tossed and turned several times, his heft making both bunk-beds shake.

He awoke sometime in the night, groggy due to the overwhelming heat and humidity. He didn't know why he was awake, except that there was something on his teeth. Something touched his lip. Was it a bug? There were cockroaches in the walls, so that wasn't impossible.

"C'mon, shush, nigga, shush..." Tanktop's deep voice filled the cell. He whispered but he was so big that he didn't really have much of a whisper. His voice still felt loud in Andre's ears.

He gagged and pulled his head away, but Tanktop's hand kept him in place. Tanktop had a massive dick, nearly a foot long and more veiny than Andre thought possible. It rubbed over Andre's face. Tanktop was partially erect, and his cockshaft smeared sweat onto Andre's cheeks and lips.


"Shush, nigga, shush," Tanktop said with a nervous, rumbling chuckle. "Ain't Smackdown explain?"

Smackdown was the leader of the Nine Tats in this prison. Andre had only talked to him a few times, but it was Smackdown who must have arranged the cell transfer. Smackdown was in charge of all drug sales here (at least drug sales among black inmates).

"What? Quit it, nigga..." Andre wanted to sound tough, but he knew he just came across as whiny. This was all happening very fast. Was Tanktop going to rape him? That thought made Andre's heart race. "Get off me!"

Tanktop sighed. "Damn it... Why'd you have to wake up?" He sucked on his teeth. "Look, nigga, uh... I ain't a rapist, okay? Don't be like that."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"I want a blowjob, nigga. Smackdown said you'd suck me off. You won't be like-"


"Shush, nigga, shush. You ain't my bitch, okay? Just chill out. Relax, okay? No big deal. We just fuckin' around on the downlow," Tanktop said. He rubbed the tip of his dick over Andre's face. Andre gagged -- it was very salty with sweat (and, he presumed, dried-on cum), and the rubbery texture of its half-hard shaft felt disgusting to him as well. . "C'mon, nigga."

"I ain't... I don't do that, man," Andre said. His heart pounded in his chest. The smell of Tanktop's sweat, barely covered by cheap deodorant, filled the air.

He pried Andre's jaw open. "I ain't gonna rape you, nigga, don't worry. You ain't my bitch. You ain't even a prison wife, man. Just open up. Just the tip, okay? You can tell me to stop anytime if you hate it. You might not mind it, you might like it. Lotta faggots out there like it. I won't cum in yo' mouth neither. I just can't blow a nut from jackin' off, so lick on the tip a bit, that's all I need."

"Tanktop, stop-!"

But he just shoved his dick in Andre's mouth. He kept murmuring just the tip but he didn't slow down even for a moment. He rammed his dickshaft in until Andre gagged.

But then, even that didn't stop him either. His cock firmed up in Andre's mouth, and his hairy, low-hanging balls swayed. Andre's eyes opened wide as he struggled to push Tanktop away -- he couldn't see anything, of course, because the cell was dark at night, but his eyes still bugged out.

"Shush, nigga, relax, we just fuckin' around on the downlow. Don't make too much noise, okay, them guards prolly doin' they rounds," he said with a throaty chuckle. "C'mon, nigga, don't fight it. Open up that throat, just the tip, okay, ain't gonna treat you like a bitch."

Despite his words, he never hesitated for a moment. Andre wanted to point that out to him, but of course his mouth was full and Tanktop didn't let up. His cock tasted sweaty and salty -- Andre hated it but had to admit it tasted like a rather funky vagina -- and it made Andre gag.

"You still my main nigga, alright, don't get upset or nothin'. We gonna be real close, man, you gonna be friends wit' a football star. People don't even care 'bout cock-suckin' no more, nigga, you can tell folk when you ready. They gonna think you great suckin' on Tanktop Jones' dick. You gonna have girls be jealous of you, nigga..." Tanktop murmured. "So you ain't my bitch, you ain't gotta give up the booty or nothin', ya ain't gotta lick my doodyhole, ya ain't gotta swallow my nuts." He chuckled again and pulled his dick out -- for just an instant, long enough to let Andre take a hoarse breath while Tanktop dragged his sweaty balls over Andre's face. He laughed loudly at Andre's frenzied gagging. The smell of his stale scrotum was intense, and the coarse black hairs there scratched at Andre's tongue. "Sorry, there, you tastin' my nuts, but you ain't gotta taste my cum." He resumed fucking Andre's mouth, while Andre was mid-gasp.

Both his hands gripped Andre's head tightly, one on his chin, the other on his forehead mostly but moving around as he fucked. His heavy balls smacked against Andre's cheek because Andre's head was on his side -- Tanktop hadn't let him move much since he awoke.

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