Cell Cam (2/2): M/m; NC; BC/Asphyx warning

Chapter Two

‘Have I made you sore?’ Nathan asks.

‘Yeah, kind of,’ Tyler says. ‘But, I’ve never liked getting fucked. Never wanted it,’ he adds.

‘Not much point in you being queer then, is there?’ Nathan says, with a derisive tone. ‘You could easily have found a sweet girl to shack up with… not too demanding in the bedroom… made a couple of little Tylers, and bang… a legacy for you.’

Tyler raps his fingers on his mattress, doing a great job of not getting riled. ‘I would love to live in your straightforward world, Nate,’ he says. ‘But, I’ve found life more complicated – or, maybe I’ve made it complicated for myself.’

‘Too right, Mr Enigma,’ Nathan says.

They’re wiping themselves dry with the hand towels provided in their cell: mid-brown for Nathan; Barbie pink for Tyler.

They’ve returned to their own beds and sit in a similar way, with the wall used as a backrest and feet on the mattress, with knees bent and raised in front of their chests. They face each other, as they talk across the small cell. A cigarette each would complement the reflective, comedown vibe, but smoking is bad for you, so I don’t provide that indulgence.

‘You know what I hate most? Every time we compete, I find that extra 1% of stamina in my locker, that I knew I’d run out of, weeks ago. But he makes us find it… and every time we do, we play his game, to his rules… and he wins. The thing is, though, that some day he’ll want 2%... and then… I’ll be cooked.’

It’s Nathan, taking a vacation from glibness to land a rare moment of reflection.

‘Nate… you’ll find that 2%, believe me. Your form is phenomenal,’ says Tyler, serious.

‘Aww bro… I’m fucked. We’re both fucked, probably,’ says Nathan.

‘Not sure,’ says Tyler. ‘I think one of us will walk away from this. I believe the promise; I keep the hope.’

‘Naïve,’ says Nathan, and he snorts at his cellmate’s fridge magnet bromide. Then, spoken as though it’s a casual afterthought: ‘Do you wanna flip?’

‘Eh!? Fuck, man!’ says Tyler.

‘Seriously. Fuck me… if you want to?’

‘For real?’

‘Yeah, for real, I don’t bullshit you. But not too hard, right? Keep it easy and chill, yeah?’

‘Fuck… you’re serious!’

‘Yeah, Ty. Say yes, if you wanna smash me… before I fucking change my mind.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Nate.’

‘Means nothing, at this stage. Still just the one fag in our cell.’

‘Whatever. And yes.’

***

This one’s going down on Tyler’s bed, but in Nathan’s position of choice. Well, the mixed race boy arranged himself for a doggie fuck, and Tyler raised no objections, so that’s the way he’ll be dicked.

As seen by the ‘rear cam’, you appreciate the military-grade engine behind this boy fuck. Pale and hairless, but stacked with muscle up the thighs and into that great cake of a butt, with its crack of depth. Not a tall fucker, at 174 cm, but a concentrated powerhouse.

Not too hard, Nathan had requested/demanded. But the fact is that, like Tyler before him, Nathan isn’t going to be whining and whingeing as the army boy takes his own, very liberal interpretation of this rule. Two can play that spite fuck game.

Slap-slap-slap. Tyler’s groin collides with Nathan’s rump, and the rhythm is building. The groaning is coming from the bed frame. They’re soon hot and wet, again. The movement of Tyler’s hips, in his delivery of this pile-driving, is aesthetic to the eye.

‘I had a girlfriend… who used to peg me… with a strap-on….’ Nathan puffs around Tyler’s fucks.

It stops Tyler in his tracks.

‘Really? Like… how big were the pegs!?’ Tyler asks. He has plenty of breath left.

‘Fuck off with your intrusive questions, bro,’ Nathan says; second thoughts causing him to pause the disclosures.

So Tyler reverts to ass humping, turning up the power dial, now.

For a straight kid – and I’ve never had reason to doubt that – Nathan has fine poise. The boy makes an elegant arch with his lower back, to rear his globes that bit higher. He’s hurting, for sure, but he helps himself by limiting the tension in his muscles, and by pushing back his ass to meet Tyler’s dick, rather than flee from it. He has benefitted from my training, but they have to be willing to learn anal technique, for their own good, and Nathan was.

Tyler had flung his damp towel to the far end of the bed, as the action started, and it’s within Nathan’s reach. The passive boy pulls the pink rag towards him and holds it, bundled, with both hands. The ferocity of his fuck accelerating, Nathan squeezes onto the coarse cotton and finds it to bring some relief.

‘I think there is a point to me being queer, actually,’  Tyler observes.

‘Fuck, bro…’ Nathan manages.

‘Just hang on, and enjoy the ride,’ Tyler says.

Tyler’s right hand goes for Nathan’s scalp, and he grabs a central clump of curls, using that fuzz to jerk back his bottom’s neck in a single, violent movement. Now, Nathan won’t suppress his protest:

‘AWWWW…. fuck, man!’

Yes, it hurts. It’s a fucking grind, just like every other session here.

Tyler looks up, and nods to the cell cam. It’s slow and deliberate, so it can’t be missed.

Nathan scrabbles with the girlie towel, moving it to his mouth and using it between top and bottom teeth, as a bit.

Tyler finds, and uses, reserves of thrust. He’s used to giving everything, only now he’s giving it to his cellmate, and rival. Soldier boy’s butt shakes with the in-fucks he’s deploying on ragged ass.

There’s no call to stop, or to go easier. Whatever he asked for, it’s unlikely Nathan was expecting a gentle tapping. He’s bleeding now, too.

The force of the fuck is propelling Nathan up the bed, two centimetres per thrust, slick knees along plasticky mattress.

Once or twice, Nathan’s hand reaches down for his dick, but pointlessly because it’s as soft as can be, and remains that way after a quick tug. It’s an old habit, from the days of the hot girlfriend with the strap-on, but it’s just not the same, anymore.  

Nathan’s face is a complexity of contortions and squinting eyes. It hurts so much, but he can’t say.

There was an invite, yes, but the sad shadow of rape has darkened this boy fuck, too.

My debrief with them – we’d leave it for tomorrow, maybe – wouldn’t be too punitive. They can’t be trusted, without chastity devices, but I accept that boys have frustrations, best addressed with hard – harder – work, to follow.

Tyler makes his move. With a measure of strength held back, strategically, Tyler lifts Nathan from his hands-and-knees crouch; turns him 180 degrees; and pulls him down, onto his back. Nathan finds himself laying not quite flat on the mattress, but instead squirming on top of Tyler, who’s the meat in the sandwich.

The overlap of human forms isn’t total: Nathan is lower; the back of his head perched on Tyler’s chest, with his hair tickling the underside of Tyler’s chin. The taller of the boys, anyway, Nathan’s calves hang from the end of the bed, whereas Tyler’s stout legs are fully lodged on the mattress. Both of them face the ceiling.

The ass penetration has been broken, but Tyler’s stiff prick grazes Nathan’s back, in this breathless holding position.

‘Da fuck!?’ Nathan asks.

Tyler had been quick, using surprise to his advantage. Not that it felt like a threatening rotation, anyway. Still doesn’t: Nathan’s on top, literally.  

Although… were he astute, Nathan might wonder what was in it for Tyler, to forego a sizzling penetrative orgasm that could be his last opportunity.

You know when Stan Laurel is perplexed by one of Oliver Hardy’s schemes? He does that thing with his hand, where the fingers sort of helicopter down, spread spider-like, and scratch his head in confusion. Well, that’s what Tyler’s right hand is doing to the top of Nathan’s Afro cut, nestled beneath his chin – giving it an innocuous rustle with his digits. It’s received as an affectionate touch.   

‘Let’s be… easy… and chilled,’ Tyler says.

‘Bro… you’ve turned so fuckin gay,’ Nathan says. Point made, but he’s not scolding in tone.

Both of them run with sweat – that’s the fruit of a solid ass fucking for you. They’ve each been plowed as girls, but it’s been a bravely masculine last hour in the cell, you can’t deny.

The arm that fussed with hair, shifts, and now it’s locking across Nathan’s neck. The tightening is instant. The soldier is familiar with such techniques, and you don’t allow time or space for a counter-move. It’s a clinical execution.

For, perhaps, five seconds, this could be a game. Going for necks is a reality of modern sex, within and without the Liberty facility. Hell – less than an hour ago, Nathan was compressing Tyler’s windpipe, in pursuit of punishing sex. But you know when to stop, with BC, and it takes just the five seconds for Nathan to know that this strangulation is happening with intent.

Below his waist, Nathan is agile. The biracial boy kicks down with those long, leg day limbs. He has traction at his hips, and is successful in swivelling his bottom half away from Tyler’s groin. Nathan’s legs thrash like demented scissors, but Tyler’s are perfectly still, on the mattress.

Nathan can’t speak. Tyler’s bicep is squashing his voice. But he gurgles and issues impassioned, urgent little noises:

‘Mmm!’

‘Orrrr!’

‘Aggggh!’

His pectorals ripple as he wriggles, but he’s making little progress in freeing his top half. And his time isn’t infinite.

‘Easy, and chill. Slip away,’ Tyler says. The calmness of his control is textbook.

Tyler hoicks-up Nathan by his neck, squeezing his skull tighter into the space between crushing forearm, and bottom of the chin. It’s a robust neck to subdue, and it wrestles to break free, but Tyler commands the situation with his combination of strength and guile.

Nathan’s forehead beads with perspiration. Tyler’s strangling arm, smooth, is visibly moist. Nathan flails his own arms, trying either to deter Tyler generally, with windmilling, or to prise away the vice. But Nathan is weakening and his defence lacks coherence, whereas Tyler is ruthless.

Nathan’s face has moved through fury, to panic. His temples are throbbing. His dick has plumped-up and risen from his groin, though we shouldn’t read too much into that: his circulation will be disrupted now; erratic. But yes… it may be erotic, writhing for his life with the sweating soldier boy – the new warrior – who role-models dominance for him. It’s hard to be definitive on cause and effect, when the air becomes so desperately thin.

‘Slip away… bro,’ Tyler whispers. But still, Nathan doesn’t want to; his limbs remain active, on their journey from thrashing, through twitching, to static.

Toying with his prey, Tyler rocks – almost rolls – with Nathan, side to side and back again, fighting him down, and done. Sure, Nathan had thrown the first punch, when he found his fresh soap in a fold of the pink towel, but this final imbalance of capability has become cruel. 

There are some who would say this is an awesome arm to expire in: Way to fucking go! Nathan does not share their excitement by proxy.

Nathan’s lips spew froth. He’s still chatting to Tyler, quietly now:

‘Mmm!’

‘Aww!’

The heart is struggling. Everything is too much of a strain. Processing has become impossible.

My guards, Ivan and Nikolai, are on their emergency run from the control room to the cell. 130 metres of corridor; two flights of metal stairs to descend; the outer cell door with the 5-digit entry code; and the inner gate door, unlocked with two jangly keys on a ring.  

Tyler ratchets-up the compression; squeezing, constricting, crushing with that resolute arm.

There’s a crunch. Not a crack, but the particular sound of a crunch, well-heard. The exact source isn’t certain, but does it matter? It’s ugly. 

Nathan looks so very frightened, in the grip with battery drained to 3%. His sweat streams from his pectorals, down his flanks, and drips onto Tyler. The bumps of his six pack abs have stopped rippling, and the thumping chest – which showcased the swoops of his pec muscle with each respiratory cycle – is poignantly becalmed.  

23, 183 cm and 87 kg is a lot of meat to remove from the roster, but thunder-faced Tyler is ready to neck-lock our dark boy to his end.

 

I zoom to the eyes, and it’s a Halloween horror show. The sensual brown irises – taking their pupils with them – have fled, to far edges of the canvas. They’ve packed their bags and ran, from this suffocating hell. What’s left, under Nathan’s lids, are saucers of alabaster white, creeping with bloodshot in shattering cracks and staring, lifeless, though the lids have yet to close.

***

Everything you read here is fiction. That said...

...Tyler exists, and is a long-term correspondent of mine, dating back to The Drop. He invited me to incorporate his character and aspects of his back story in one of my pieces, and here we are. Thank you, Staff Serjeant.  

 

Cell Cam (1/2): M/m; NC?; Violence

Chapter One

 I hid the soap. That’s hardly an original prison porn set-up – sorry! – but it did the job.

Accusations were thrown, followed by fists, and now there’s a revenge fuck going down.

Cut to cell cam.

***

Soap was the trivial trigger, here, but the root causes are twofold:

First – pressure. They’re feeling it, now the field has been thinned to two boys. There’s nowhere to hide. I’ve been working them hard; physically, sexually, and psychologically.

Second – liberty. Four days ago, I stopped putting their dicks into chastity cages, overnight. It was only a matter of time before they found freedom unbearable. Four nights, in fact!

Nathan’s hand is spread across Tyler’s neck, with thumb and forefinger stretched apart to span his throat. Nathan presses onto the windpipe as he hate-fucks the white boy.

It was Nathan’s precious bar – brand new, yesterday – that Tyler stole: Well, that’s how I placed the evidence, such that the lost soap would be discovered on Tyler’s side of the cell, secreted amongst the few personal effects they’re permitted to retain, including his own worn-out remnant of soap. They detest having to approach me with a sliver in an outstretched palm, to ask, ‘Please, Sir, can I have some more?’, like overgrown Oliver Twists.

Tyler is pinned to his basic bed, on his back as Nathan tops him, screwing his ass in a busy interpretation of the missionary position.

This didn’t happen without a fight, and Nathan drips blood from his nose. Somewhere, on the cell floor, will be half of his shattered tooth – Tyler packs a punch, when roused to anger.

Far from unscathed, Tyler has one eye ballooning black and barely opening. Both of them carry the scratches and bruising of a prolonged, competitive tussle. They’ve grabbed and yanked and slammed into walls, in the process of sorting-out this dispute.

Could Tyler have offered more resistance? This boy has a service record in the special forces, after all.

Relevant is the changing nature of Nathan’s violence, such that physical assault switched on a dime to the sexual attack, now underway. I mean, if you’re reading this I’ll assume you’re gay or bi, and can understand the inner conflictions a queer kid may experience, in this context of shared cell imprisonment.   

Let us park the question of whether Tyler might have given more commitment to his final fightback. Anyway, it’s not fair to blame the victim, and this does look like a case of rape.

 

Their bunks are inadequate on every measure of size and comfort. One each on opposing sides of the cell, the metal frames are bolted to the floor. Harsh springs are topped with thin mattresses encased in wipe-down black PVC, whilst their blankets are grey and scratchy.

These beds barely fit one well-built boy, so they’re impractical for two, making love. As usual with impulsive sex, though, makeshift proves good enough. Springs that were considered to be unyielding, now groan under the shifting weight of a boy-on-boy ass fuck.

This is a sexual position that encourages eye contact, and I’ve conditioned them to hold a look, in their protocol training, to perfect a courtesy I couldn’t manage as a young man. It’s fair to say, I’ve used the flow of boys to polish my own technique.

Nathan looks down, into the eyes of the cellmate he’s semi-asphyxiating; and Tyler looks up from the bed, into the eyes of the deranged attacker ranged over him. This intimacy of sight is making things harder for Tyler, I think – it would be kinder to have him taken from behind, against a wall.

With his left hand, Nathan works Tyler’s right leg by the ankle, like a joystick. Soldier boy’s muscular limb is jerked left and right and forced down, folded onto his abdomen by the knee, as Nathan enjoys the nuances of angle of attack in his penetration, testing how that inelastic ass feels around his dick.

Tyler’s left leg is free, and tries some kicking, but a harder compression of the throat by his rapist tends to discourage too much fight… though a little resistance is fun.

Tyler’s hands are available. I’d expect to see them used to free his neck, or to shove Nathan away. And yes, those hands are active, but they paw at Nathan’s pectorals, slip-sliding over the biracial boy’s sweating slabs, unable – it appears? – to gain a grip on that pumped chest.

The tit nubs are located and here, at least, Tyler gets purchase, pinching the rubbery caps of his attacker with a degree of squeeze that fluctuates, in correlation with the ferocity of anal pain he’s being dealt.

Nathan has the army grunt under his control, on that bed. When Tyler asserts himself, grabbing Nathan’s biceps or pushing him back – either way, attempting to exert late influence over his fuck – the dark-skinned dominant ratchets-up his suffocating pressure on Tyler’s throat; his eyes full of relish at the move.

Tyler wheezes and chokes; his face progressing through a red flush to sudden, ghostly loss of colour. The bottom boy ceases his show of token resistance, moves his hands back to passive worship of Nathan’s washboard abdomen, and only then – when conquered – is the constriction of his neck eased. It’s an overwhelming exhibition, from Nathan: part instinctive, but part learned.

***

There are four cameras in the boys’ cell, mounted high in each corner of the room but with turn, tilt and zoom functions, operated from the control room. Recording is 24/7, in case anything of interest occurs, or off-duty behaviours are observed that require correction.

The video edits from cell cam are below the technical quality of a typical Liberty movie, shot by skilled cameramen not limited to fixed points of view. Cell cam releases are rare, but I can predict with confidence that there will be solid demand for a spontaneous boy-boy sex film, using slightly disjointed footage with a non-HD feel that will take viewers (of a certain age) back to the golden era of VHS tape.

The audio track, too, is imperfect. With no soft furnishings to aid the acoustics, and a high ceiling, the voices of Nathan and Tyler will be heard booming, with mild echo. This won’t detract from the pleasures of a real prison fuck film: in fact, the ambience will be suitably raw.

Grey cell walls are lit by shrill fluorescent tubes, behind secure shades. There are no windows, but two cell doors – an inner gate, and an outer door as thick as a bank vault. Sundry ‘thoughts of the day’ have been scrawled on the walls as graffiti, using pieces of grit from the concrete floor in lieu of chalk:

FUCK. YOU.

There gonna KILL you bro….

HELP

Love ya, Mom!

Work hard, boys. Keep pushing. Stay alive!

None of these may be the musings of Nathan or Tyler, for the messages have accumulated over time. Twenty-seven boys have been through this accommodation, now.

They are allowed two books, each. One is a free choice – if Amazon sells it, I will provide it – and the second is a loan from me, for the duration of their stay. Survival Skills For boys was written by a previous resident of their cell, by the name of Jake, who is now a valued member of my production team. Giving Everything – the Liberty Mindset, by Ryan, is a pretentious tome that details a philosophy of service. This doorstopper of a book tends to remain on the shelf for a couple of weeks, until one of them decides it might be a good idea to read it, cover to cover.

The boys are aware of the surveillance cameras in their cell. If it bothered them, early on, I soon gave them more important things to worry about. They’ve stopped giving cell cam much thought, but as Nathan enforces active and passive roles, on his bed, it’s likely they’ll both remember there’s an audience.  

***

Tyler doesn’t complain about his unlubricated skewering on big black cock. He shows military discipline, and Liberty discipline, in not calling-out as Nathan shafts him to the hilt. Tyler’s face tells his story of agony well enough, in this submissive predicament he finds himself in.

Last week, I recorded one of my monologues to camera that preface certain movie releases. I still find it cringeworthy, talking into that stupid Bluetooth microphone clipped to my shirt whilst staring into the lens. It’s hard to believe that anyone wants to hear me droning-on in the grating  monotone my school bullies mimicked. However… the dreaded metrics, to which all of us are prisoner, suggest that my ramblings are well-watched, so my marketing team has told me to continue them. I knew I’d come to rue the day I put those guys onto a sales-based bonus structure.

(That movie, incidentally, went by the title Weighted Pull-ups. I’m sure you’ve guessed where the dumbbell discs hung, and fuck did we see two sagging sacs by the end of that scene, as Nathan and Tyler battled to meet my loaded targets for them, and then to go 500g more than their rival.)

I digress. My piece to camera reflected on Tyler, and a change I’d noted in the 25-year-old during his high intensity training:

‘With Tyler, more than any boy, I’ve seen a developing relationship with pain, as my expectations of him have ramped-up. With his backstory, I’d argue that Tyler is accepting a healthier relationship with his pain, as his Liberty experience continues. But certainly, he’s showing me a more sophisticated relationship with pain.’

No doubt some viewers dismissed my words as over-analysis or conjecture. Yet, here we are, with Tyler’s cut dick firming to half-mast as Nathan finalises the ravaging of his ass, getting way deep in Staff Sergeant pussy. He’s grown a semi-hard before, as you’ve read, and so limited is the novelty value that panting Nathan doesn’t even bother to taunt him over the arousal.

Three specific triggers, now, for this fatherless wonder:

Ivan singles-out Tyler, slashing the whip with maximum meanness to drive exceptional results = DADDY’S BACK! = boner.  

Ryan gives Tyler a word of praise for his achievement, in a kindly tone of voice = DADDY’S BACK! = boner.

And now… Nathan gets rough, turning-out Tyler’s ass whilst throttling him = DADDY’S BACK! = boner.  

 

Seeing the erection on his fuckee, Nathan judges it no longer necessary to work Tyler’s neck for his compliance, and moves his right hand to Tyler’s left leg which has quit kicking-out, anyway.

The crescendo has Nathan forcing Tyler’s bent legs back, as far as they’ll go, onto his chest or alongside it until the bottom boy is made compact as can be – a humbled ball of gay passivity.

And Nathan uses Tyler’s reduction in length for leverage, literally, slanting across him and making Tyler shift with the angle of impalement such that his ass, too, rises from the mattress, held in suspension by drilling cock. As Nathan pounds down, onto him and into him, Tyler’s hands hunt for an anchor on biracial muscle; to steady himself, or for comfort in his agony.

Nathan shoots weeks-worth of suppressed cum into the boy ass he’s gaping, via lips already tender from stretching Liberty work. He breeds Tyler to his core, and the white boy grimaces at the torrent of hot seed filling him. Indulgently, the raping dick is left inside Tyler post-orgasm, through the comedown. Both of them are soaking. There’s no kissing; no thank-you, or apology. It’s a long silence, apart from the recovery-mode huffing and puffing.   

Nathan is first to speak.

‘Lick my dick clean,’ he says as instruction, not invite.

The tool is out of Tyler’s clench, now. It’s cummy, filthy, and bloody from his ass.

Nathan imposes himself physically, shuffling up the bed – and up Tyler – until he’s squatting over the top of Tyler’s chest, folded thighs astride the soldier boy’s shoulders, waggling his dirty shaft in his sub’s face. This advance wasn’t resisted.

‘Suck prick, pussy boy,’ Nathan insists.

That semi-hard Tyler had grown, in the moments of total impact, is flopping back flaccid. He’s non-responsive to his cellmate: neither Yes, Sir!, or No way, bro!  

‘You’re a thieving fucking faggot, right?’ Nathan says.

He fires four discrete bullets of spit into Tyler’s face, with intent, striking eye, lips and cheek with those gob pellets. Tyler’s recoil of the neck is too late.   

‘Double-crossing, queer, dick-obsessed cunt boy, huh? Loser! Fucking pathetic little faggot.’

Tyler blinks away the stinging spit. He’s slow to react: Controlled, in fact, not quick to temper. He makes sure he holds Nathan’s stare, as his rapist looms over him.

‘Lying, ignorant, nigger-boy,’ Tyler says. Weighed words, delivered slowly and at normal volume.

Riot was likely, I thought. But I couldn’t be wrong-er.

‘Faggot,’ Nathan says, struggling to keep a straight face.

‘Nigger,’ Tyler says, likewise, as though it’s the punchline to a joke he’s overly proud of.

And they laugh, together, at the ridiculousness of this. I mean, they’re not rolling around the cell in tears, because this is still Liberty, but they untense on the bed, and they can breath.   

That fat chocolate lollipop is still getting suck, though.

***  

The nature of this place, and of them, precludes either of the boys from appearing to like it too much, OR from appearing to hate it too much. They weren’t vocal, at all, in the sense of providing a conventional porn soundtrack of ‘Ahhh fuck…. feels so tight!’, type of running commentary.

So there’s a risk of creating a bland, emotionless, fuck’n’suck movie from this action in their cell. But, as I watch events unfold live, on a bank of monitors in the CCTV control room, I’m confident there’s enough here my customers will love.

Undirected boy/boy scenes are rare, for starters. It’s the rawness that will hit hard: the blood; the sweat; the film of smeared shit on Nathan’s dick, because they haven’t douched. The total lack of lubrication, and the consequent struggles at the point of penetration. The scowls and the fought-against tears, during brutal anal. The muscles, flexing, and the presence of this couple, joined on the under-sized bed. The hair pulling and body shoving. The accurately imagined smells of filth, heat and primal sex.

And now, the stretch of Tyler’s throat as he accommodates all of Nathan in his mouth, topped with that detritus of his own blood, waste, and Nathan’s abundant cum. The soldier’s lips mash into trimmed Afro pubic curls, right at the root of that sword.

Tyler is too professional to act how he’d like to; complaining, and puking-up at the taste of that dick he’s deep throating. Left and right, Tyler pushes hands into Nathan’s imposing thighs that bookend his shoulders. I reckon he’d love to let those hands wander; skating across the black bulk that’s dominating him with perfect authority, taking-in the quality of the muscle at every touch point. But the Liberty cell isn’t the place to let your hair down and party.

Instead, Tyler works efficiently, cleansing prick with long tongue strokes whilst Nathan directs the oral devotion with a firm hand guiding the back of the neck. He enjoys making Tyler splutter and dribble over his girth, but there won’t be any accidental biting because Tyler is too good for that, now.

Nathan lets it drift into an extended sucking session, continuing long after he’s clean, and Tyler goes with the flow until the BBC is rock hard again, and jabbing the rear of his mouth as his cheeks bloat with the volume he’s hosting. Tyler is flaccid and shrunken, even. He’s focused.

Beyond Nathan’s low moaning and Tyler’s occasional gagging fits on broad meat, there’s no sound and no chat.

Enforcing endurance on his cellmate, Nathan looks up to the cell cam, gives a cocky salute, and winks.