“Yeah, it is? You want one?”
“No, not me. That’s breaking probation. I’m too recently released to take any chances. You sure you want to do that? I don’t want to go back in myself.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Ronny said, stubbing the joint out and tossing it over onto the graveled railroad tracks.
“There was something Big Russell said you’d probably want and surely needed, though, and I wouldn’t have bothered to find my way out here if his talking about you riding it didn’t make me want to do you too,” Big Steve said, getting to it at last. “Was he wrong? Do you need a real man? I mean a real man that you only can get in prison–a big-cocked man using it hard.” He was crouching in front of Ronny. He reached out with his big mitts, grasped Ronny knees, and spread the young man’s legs, which were bent, with his feet flat on the ground by the tree. Getting a guy’s legs parted was always a sure move in prison, and the vulnerability of that here didn’t escape Ronny.
“We danced around it at dinner. I think Russell is right–you need a real man’s dick inside you–a really big one. He told me it would be fine with him. Am I wrong? He wants me to take care of you like he would if he were here.” His hands ran up Ronny’s inner legs and gripped the young man’s thighs above the knees. This was a common movement on the inside to signal the man was going to move in between the legs and take control. Ronny was panting a bit, but he didn’t resist the movement.
Ronny’s low moan and his lack of resistance was all the “yes” Big Steve needed to receive.
So, Big Russell, who had been Ronny’s protector and master for nearly two years wanted this man to take care of him like Russell himself had. Ronny couldn’t resist this. The need, there just under the surface ever since he’d left Big Russell in Beckley Camp, had been coming out over dinner. “No, you’re not wrong,” he answered in a low voice. “But Big Russell told me to wait for him–that he’d get out of the pen and come looking for me.”
“Big Russell ain’t getting out of the pen,” Steve said. “He shivved a guy in Beckly and he’s in for the duration now. He ain’t getting out. He sent me. He sent me to tell you that and to do you for him.”
Slowly, methodically, maintaining eye contact with the young man, Big Steve moved his hands up Ronny’s inner thighs, unbuckled and unzipped him, pulled the young man’s shorts off his legs, unbuckled, unzipped, and freed himself; and leaned in for a kiss on the mouth.
The man’s cock, in erection, was massive. Ronny had known it would be.
This was it, just like in the pen. One Mr. Big was being exchanged for another. Ronny’s expected response was to take it, and that’s what he did. In short order, Big Steve had turned Ronny, putting him on all fours, facing the river, mounted him from behind and on top, slowly penetrated, set up a rhythm as Ronny panted and moaned under him, and fucked him in a doggy.
Steve had growled, “Like a dog,” grabbed a handful of Ronny’s hair, and turned him face down on the riverbank, swinging a leg over the small of the young man’s back. It was a familiar prison master-to-slave movement that both of them were accustomed to, and Ronny responded in the expected submissive role. It was almost with relief that Ronny went into the expected stance so easily–lifting his tail, moving his hands back to squeeze his butt cheeks as wide as possible to take the killing thrust. That was the prison custom–the initial thrust fast and deep to assure the connection had been made even if they were discovered and parted quickly. The thrust, as in prison, was accompanied by the Big’s hand on his boy’s mouth and nose to muffle the cry. And as he would have done in prison, Ronny sobbed into the hand at the first hard, thick, deep thrust–and then again at the second one and the third.
The young man writhed, panted, and cried out as the thick cock worked its way up into him, but when the big man was fully saddled, Ronny settled down, conjuring up images of Big Russell covering and possessing him like this on dark, otherwise boring and endless nights in their cell, mounting him and transporting him to other realms beyond the prison bars.
Ronny knelt in a three-point stance, the fourth, his hand, stroking his own cock, as the muscular mountain of a man hovered over him and worked his magic inside him, lifting him from the riverbank into the sublime heavens. Ronny was meant to be fucked by a commanding man. God, how he had missed this from Big Russell.
Big Steve fucked him good–as good as Big Russell or any of the other “Bigs” in prison had done.
They held, neither saying anything, for the longest time, after they both had come. Then Steve rose, picked the much smaller man up off the ground under the tree, slung him over his shoulder, and took him into the cabin and to the bed. He put the now-naked Ronny down on the bed on his back, grasped and raised and parted the young man’s calves. Possessing Ronny’s eyes with his, he slowly spread the legs, watching for and pleased, when Ronny’s eyes showed need and surrender.
“Raise your tail,” he commanded, and, whimpering, Ronny dug his heels into the mattress and lifted his pelvis. Big Steve slid his knees in between the young man’s thighs. Setting his left fist into the mattress beside Ronny’s left chest, Big Steve hovered over his boy, maintaining eye control, and, as Ronny moaned and moved on the one, two, and three fingers of the man’s right hand.
“Yes, open up more,” Big Steve growled. Panting, Ronny worked on doing so, Big Steve’s beefy fingers just holding steady as Ronny fucked himself on them, taking them ever deeper inside.
When the big man was ready, the fingers were pulled back, he put the head of his cock in position, penetrated, slid in deep, and fucked Ronny again in a missionary position. Digging his heels in, Ronny vigorously moved with the thrusts–wanting it, needing it, crying out for it. “Fuck me! Fuck me hard, you big-cocked stud!”
Big Steve laughed. When the boy was contributing to the thrusts, the Big knew he had a genuine slave. Big Russell had been right about this one.
“Yes, yes, YES! Oh, Fuckin’ Shit YES. Screw me hard,” he cried out as the big cock worked him.
It was just like Big Russell and the prison. Small Ronny was Big Steve’s sex slave now. They slept on the bed, entwined, and exhausted by the sex. Sometime in the night, Ronny signaled the completion of the submission by straddling the big man’s pelvis and riding his cock in the cowboy position. Big Steve took command. He ravished the young man, taking him hard and repeatedly, and Ronny had melded to his every demand, giving him everything he wanted, letting him do whatever he wanted. He had wanted to do it all. Ronny had surrendered all.
Uncertainty set in in the morning, though. When Steve woke up, he was alone in the cabin. Ronny had left him a full can of gas, and it was only a short walk back to where they had left Steve’s truck, but Ronny and his pickup were gone.
Had this not been what the young guy had wanted? Steve wondered. He had taken it easily, greedily, just as Big Russell had said he would. But had he driven Ronny out of his own cabin by taking him back to the prison days and doing the unwanted with him? The young man had been submissive in the fucks, but was that out of remembered fear for what he had to do to remain alive in the prison situation? He’d cleared out without saying anything. Was he escaping, being displaced from his own home because he saw no other choice?