Hellmouth cover and chapters 4-5
Here are chapters 4 and 5 of my story Hellmouth, hope you like. I also made a cover for it, let me know what you think. There's a fantastic tutorial at http://hybrid-genesis.net that really helped me out with it. The first three chapters and warnings are here.
The full size version is at http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v88/xadie/pb/Hellmouth-season-1.jpg
Chapter 4: Teacher's Pet
"Theodore, could you pass out the books?" Mrs Linneman smiled at him, the smile she used only for him. T-Bag smiled back ever-so-sweetly and took the pile of books from her desk. TA in the prison literacy class was a cake set-up, and he took great pains not to put that position in any danger. Mrs Linneman enjoyed his gentle flirting and olde-worlde charm, thinking he was quite the gentleman. Never mind that she was ancient and had hair sprouting from places he didn't even dare think about, he always opened doors for her and called her ma'am. Of course, she was a class-A bitch to just about everyone else in the class, a fact that pleased T-Bag immensely.
When she started the lesson, he leant against the wall at the back of the class and let his mind wander to all the filthy uses he had put Ducky's mouth to that morning. He called his new cellie Ducky because of all that yellow fluffy hair, and he just loved to look down on it while the boy sucked him off. Unfortunately things weren't working out as well as he hoped, and although he enjoyed the crying jags, he hadn't enjoyed the choking and subsequent biting that had occurred. Boy needed to learn to conquer that particular reflex, and quick. Now he was going to have to punish him, and while that was fun, the kid had a very low resistance to pain and tended to draw attention with his screaming.
T-Bag's mind drifted back to the present, and he found that he had been staring at one particular head without realising it. One particular head that was turned his way, pretty eyes locked on to his. That new queen, Maytag he was called appropriately enough, was staring at him as though he was a well in the desert, all hungry and needful. That was enough to catch T-Bag's interest; he'd noticed the boy watching him a few times, but this look said everything. It would be difficult not to have some reaction to desire that strong. T-Bag wasn't used to people wanting him that blatantly, and it made him angry and aroused all at once. He wanted to smash that pretty face in for daring to think he was some kind of fag that would be into that kind of thing, and at the same time he wanted to turn him over and fuck him dry and raw, to show him just what he was lusting after.
Maytag's eyes snapped back to the front as Mrs Linneman started yelling at him, her lessons demanding all the attention of the class. All the while he was being screamed at by the old harridan, his fingers were curled around the leg of his chair, stroking it with firm, sure movements that where oh-so suggestive. T-Bag shifted uncomfortably, trying not to show his arousal on his face. Creepy little fag... but wouldn't that feel mighty nice after Ducky's inept ministrations this morning; those hands, so sure and steady, while those pretty eyes looked up at him all desiring and adoring... it would be nice. He looked like the kind of boy that could take a few cuts and bruises without making a fuss. 'Sides, hadn't he stood up to that big queer nigger in the yard? T-Bag liked a bit of fire, especially if it was burning up the fella that started it.
Still, taking on a queen like that was a big step. It was one thing to rough up and fuck a little fish, force 'em to hold your pocket because you liked torturing them, it was quite another to get yourself an old lady, no matter how submissive. His boys would have a good laugh at his expense, and although he had plenty of face to lose, he didn't much relish the prospect of losing any.
Status, status, the whole problem was status. Queens had too much of it, far too much in his opinion. Maytag was going to have to drop down a few rungs on the ladder, if he was going to be T-Bag's bitch.
Chapter 5: Never Kill a Boy on the First Date
The next few days were a waking hell for Maytag. He'd hoped that his little demonstration in the Witch's classroom would get T-Bag interested, but so far the Wolf was ignoring him, not catching his eye, even looking right through him. He'd braved a lifelong fear of school for nothing. Maybe he just looked too old, at all of twenty, but abandoning his make-up and affectations would lose him what little status he had left, and God knew he couldn't afford that. He'd be back to being a punk fish, and there'd be no way to protect his ass from anyone that felt the urge to rip it up.
Meanwhile, life was a bitch, not even trying to be funny. He was sticking like shit to Westmoreland, although the old head had made it pretty clear that he thought Maytag had made his own bed for once, and should lie in it. Westmoreland wasn't always around, though, so Maytag spent a lot of time out in plain sight of the Bulls, trying to look casual and imagining that he was failing miserably. There was a rumor going around that he was the son of a famous white supremacist, and his behaviour with Midas only seemed to confirm it. Never mind that his Dad was nothing but an ordinary shoe salesman with white-collar ambitions for his illiterate drop-out son, never mind that he'd stolen fifty bucks from his Dad's wallet when he was thirteen and hadn't seen him since, suddenly everyone was talking about this man he barely knew as though he were some kind of big noise. Where it had come from he had no idea.
Chicita wasn't talking to him, his ese nose in the air whenever he came near. Maytag tried to stay as close to the Aryans as possible whenever Westmoreland wasn't around. They tolerated him as long as there was a big group of them, but if there were only two or three they felt duty-bound to run him off for being a fag. He'd had a few nasty moments, particulary in the showers, and had some bruised ribs and a badly wrenched wrist to show for them, but he knew he'd been lucky so far. A burn was coming his way, and there was nothing he could do about it.
That Saturday, after speculation had been running particularly high about his Dad and some rumored lynchings in Chicago, Maytag found himself standing alone, as usual, in the middle of the changing room outside the showers. He was trying to get dressed as quickly as possible, eyes straying to T-Bag and his crew who were propping up one end of the room, watching Ducky get undressed. Ducky was looking in pretty bad shape, covered in bruises like tropical fish, his mouth torn at one side, his ribs pushing his sallow skin out. Maytag would have felt sorry for the punk, if he wasn't in so much danger himself. Punks like that, that didn't know which way was up, when to beg and when to cry and when to take it silently, they never lasted for much. Maytag'd been so mad at him when he arrived, but now it was obvious that the kid wasn't going to be around much longer.
He got so caught up thinking about Ducky's inevitable death, that he forgot to think about his own. He was almost surprised when hands grabbed him roughly from behind and threw him down on the filthy, wet floor. Black faces were all around him, shouting and laughing angrily. Maytag tensed as the first boot came towards him, kicking him across the floor and curling him into a ball. He had skidded around so that his face was towards T-Bag, and he saw a couple of the Aryans about to get up and come over, but T-Bag stopped them with one gesture. The sick bastard had a grin on his face; he was enjoying the show.
Kicks and fists were raining down on Maytag, pain bursting over his body like thunder, but his eyes stayed glued to T-Bag's, reading the mockery and unconcern there. He'd managed to inspire nothing but contempt with all his hard work, and now he was taking the punishment for it. A sudden flicker of something more than amusement passed across those brown eyes, and just before his own eye was shut by a heavy blow, he saw T-Bag mouth one word. Sing.
Maytag opened his mouth and screamed until it felt like his throat was ripping open. He didn't stop when the beating slowed, then stopped amongst the sounds of a scuffle. He kept his face pressed into the dirty tiles and screamed until his air ran out, then he drew breath and screamed again. He didn't stop when he heard the room clearing out, heavy feet moving around his body, until there were none left. He didn't stop until he heard one light tread stepping over to him, cool fingers on his neck, and a soft Southern drawl caressing his swollen ear.
"There now, lil' one, t'aint no need to have a conniption. There'll be far worse comin' your direction than that." Maytag let gentle hands help him up until he was sitting on a bench, his body swelling into one huge bruise. He kept his eyes shut as salt tears ran freely into the cuts on his once-pretty face. It was all over, he was nothing but a punk and he'd soon get what was coming to him. Still, T-Bag was there, and a tiny flicker of hope shuddered into life in his belly. A cold cloth touched his raw skin, and even as he flinched, he realised that T-Bag was washing his face.
"Look at you, angelchile, you gonna be all the colors of the rainbow when you're done. Such a pretty one, too, but in my considered opinion your visage looks better," a flicker of a finger over what was left of his cheekbone, "like this." Soft puffs of air blew on him as T-Bag spoke, and Maytag realised that the older man was very close to him, almost rubbing against him. In any other circumstance, with this man, it would have been very sexy, but as it was he could hardly hold himself together. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die, not have the man he'd wanted so badly looking at him, touching him, when he was like this.
"Oh yes," T-Bag whispered, and Maytag heard the cloth hit the floor with a wet slap beside him. "Look at me, boy." Maytag did his best to open his good eye, the one not so swollen, and look up at the man standing over him. "There now, nothin's as terrible as you think." Maytag realised that his eye was level with T-Bag's fly, even as those hands that had been so gentle moments before started to roughly pull it open. Almost unconsciously, Maytag started to lean away, turning his head. He couldn't, not this time, it was too much to ask. "Uh uh uh, angel, time to make Daddy happy."
Daddy. A thumb was pushed into the side of his mouth, causing agony to jolt through his split lips. Daddy. He opened his mouth without any further protest. Might as well do a good job and get it over with. Daddy? What did that mean? Maytag wrapped his lips around T-Bag's already straining cock, using his tongue to the best of his abilities despite his injuries. He cupped T-Bag's balls with the hand that didn't have a broken finger, and played with the soft, creased skin while he sucked T-Bag's cock deep down into his throat. All the while his mind was racing; did T-Bag mean it? He swallowed convulsively as T-Bag groaned loudly, his head thrown back. Any other time, this would have been about the hottest thing he could have imagined, but now he just wanted to close his mouth to ease his aching jaw. Still, Daddy? Could it be?
T-Bag's legs buckled under him as he came hard, throwing all of his weight down onto Maytag's head and neck. Maytag nearly screamed, but held himself together enough to get the dick out of his mouth before he did it an injury. T-Bag was leaning on him, his breath coming in quick pants, his heart racing against Maytag's ear.
"Who-eee, girlie, I heard you was good, but Christ almighty!" T-Bag exclaimed cheerfully, finally pushing back so that he could sprawl back on the bench and tuck in. "I ain't come like that since I been in here, and trust me, I've come plenty during my stretch." T-Bag buttoned up and jumped up, suddenly full of energy. "Well, then, angel, lets get you to the doc. That finger looks plenty bad." Maytag tried to haul himself upright, but it was a struggle. T-Bag took his elbow gently and helped him up. "Oh, one other little matter, before we go. Let's do things by the book." Slowly, and with all the patience in the world, T-Bag turned out the white pocket of his pants, and waited.
With a rush of gratitude and relief so big he thought it was going to knock him back over, Maytag took it.
Next
The full size version is at http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v88/xadie/pb/Hellmouth-season-1.jpg
Chapter 4: Teacher's Pet
"Theodore, could you pass out the books?" Mrs Linneman smiled at him, the smile she used only for him. T-Bag smiled back ever-so-sweetly and took the pile of books from her desk. TA in the prison literacy class was a cake set-up, and he took great pains not to put that position in any danger. Mrs Linneman enjoyed his gentle flirting and olde-worlde charm, thinking he was quite the gentleman. Never mind that she was ancient and had hair sprouting from places he didn't even dare think about, he always opened doors for her and called her ma'am. Of course, she was a class-A bitch to just about everyone else in the class, a fact that pleased T-Bag immensely.
When she started the lesson, he leant against the wall at the back of the class and let his mind wander to all the filthy uses he had put Ducky's mouth to that morning. He called his new cellie Ducky because of all that yellow fluffy hair, and he just loved to look down on it while the boy sucked him off. Unfortunately things weren't working out as well as he hoped, and although he enjoyed the crying jags, he hadn't enjoyed the choking and subsequent biting that had occurred. Boy needed to learn to conquer that particular reflex, and quick. Now he was going to have to punish him, and while that was fun, the kid had a very low resistance to pain and tended to draw attention with his screaming.
T-Bag's mind drifted back to the present, and he found that he had been staring at one particular head without realising it. One particular head that was turned his way, pretty eyes locked on to his. That new queen, Maytag he was called appropriately enough, was staring at him as though he was a well in the desert, all hungry and needful. That was enough to catch T-Bag's interest; he'd noticed the boy watching him a few times, but this look said everything. It would be difficult not to have some reaction to desire that strong. T-Bag wasn't used to people wanting him that blatantly, and it made him angry and aroused all at once. He wanted to smash that pretty face in for daring to think he was some kind of fag that would be into that kind of thing, and at the same time he wanted to turn him over and fuck him dry and raw, to show him just what he was lusting after.
Maytag's eyes snapped back to the front as Mrs Linneman started yelling at him, her lessons demanding all the attention of the class. All the while he was being screamed at by the old harridan, his fingers were curled around the leg of his chair, stroking it with firm, sure movements that where oh-so suggestive. T-Bag shifted uncomfortably, trying not to show his arousal on his face. Creepy little fag... but wouldn't that feel mighty nice after Ducky's inept ministrations this morning; those hands, so sure and steady, while those pretty eyes looked up at him all desiring and adoring... it would be nice. He looked like the kind of boy that could take a few cuts and bruises without making a fuss. 'Sides, hadn't he stood up to that big queer nigger in the yard? T-Bag liked a bit of fire, especially if it was burning up the fella that started it.
Still, taking on a queen like that was a big step. It was one thing to rough up and fuck a little fish, force 'em to hold your pocket because you liked torturing them, it was quite another to get yourself an old lady, no matter how submissive. His boys would have a good laugh at his expense, and although he had plenty of face to lose, he didn't much relish the prospect of losing any.
Status, status, the whole problem was status. Queens had too much of it, far too much in his opinion. Maytag was going to have to drop down a few rungs on the ladder, if he was going to be T-Bag's bitch.
Chapter 5: Never Kill a Boy on the First Date
The next few days were a waking hell for Maytag. He'd hoped that his little demonstration in the Witch's classroom would get T-Bag interested, but so far the Wolf was ignoring him, not catching his eye, even looking right through him. He'd braved a lifelong fear of school for nothing. Maybe he just looked too old, at all of twenty, but abandoning his make-up and affectations would lose him what little status he had left, and God knew he couldn't afford that. He'd be back to being a punk fish, and there'd be no way to protect his ass from anyone that felt the urge to rip it up.
Meanwhile, life was a bitch, not even trying to be funny. He was sticking like shit to Westmoreland, although the old head had made it pretty clear that he thought Maytag had made his own bed for once, and should lie in it. Westmoreland wasn't always around, though, so Maytag spent a lot of time out in plain sight of the Bulls, trying to look casual and imagining that he was failing miserably. There was a rumor going around that he was the son of a famous white supremacist, and his behaviour with Midas only seemed to confirm it. Never mind that his Dad was nothing but an ordinary shoe salesman with white-collar ambitions for his illiterate drop-out son, never mind that he'd stolen fifty bucks from his Dad's wallet when he was thirteen and hadn't seen him since, suddenly everyone was talking about this man he barely knew as though he were some kind of big noise. Where it had come from he had no idea.
Chicita wasn't talking to him, his ese nose in the air whenever he came near. Maytag tried to stay as close to the Aryans as possible whenever Westmoreland wasn't around. They tolerated him as long as there was a big group of them, but if there were only two or three they felt duty-bound to run him off for being a fag. He'd had a few nasty moments, particulary in the showers, and had some bruised ribs and a badly wrenched wrist to show for them, but he knew he'd been lucky so far. A burn was coming his way, and there was nothing he could do about it.
That Saturday, after speculation had been running particularly high about his Dad and some rumored lynchings in Chicago, Maytag found himself standing alone, as usual, in the middle of the changing room outside the showers. He was trying to get dressed as quickly as possible, eyes straying to T-Bag and his crew who were propping up one end of the room, watching Ducky get undressed. Ducky was looking in pretty bad shape, covered in bruises like tropical fish, his mouth torn at one side, his ribs pushing his sallow skin out. Maytag would have felt sorry for the punk, if he wasn't in so much danger himself. Punks like that, that didn't know which way was up, when to beg and when to cry and when to take it silently, they never lasted for much. Maytag'd been so mad at him when he arrived, but now it was obvious that the kid wasn't going to be around much longer.
He got so caught up thinking about Ducky's inevitable death, that he forgot to think about his own. He was almost surprised when hands grabbed him roughly from behind and threw him down on the filthy, wet floor. Black faces were all around him, shouting and laughing angrily. Maytag tensed as the first boot came towards him, kicking him across the floor and curling him into a ball. He had skidded around so that his face was towards T-Bag, and he saw a couple of the Aryans about to get up and come over, but T-Bag stopped them with one gesture. The sick bastard had a grin on his face; he was enjoying the show.
Kicks and fists were raining down on Maytag, pain bursting over his body like thunder, but his eyes stayed glued to T-Bag's, reading the mockery and unconcern there. He'd managed to inspire nothing but contempt with all his hard work, and now he was taking the punishment for it. A sudden flicker of something more than amusement passed across those brown eyes, and just before his own eye was shut by a heavy blow, he saw T-Bag mouth one word. Sing.
Maytag opened his mouth and screamed until it felt like his throat was ripping open. He didn't stop when the beating slowed, then stopped amongst the sounds of a scuffle. He kept his face pressed into the dirty tiles and screamed until his air ran out, then he drew breath and screamed again. He didn't stop when he heard the room clearing out, heavy feet moving around his body, until there were none left. He didn't stop until he heard one light tread stepping over to him, cool fingers on his neck, and a soft Southern drawl caressing his swollen ear.
"There now, lil' one, t'aint no need to have a conniption. There'll be far worse comin' your direction than that." Maytag let gentle hands help him up until he was sitting on a bench, his body swelling into one huge bruise. He kept his eyes shut as salt tears ran freely into the cuts on his once-pretty face. It was all over, he was nothing but a punk and he'd soon get what was coming to him. Still, T-Bag was there, and a tiny flicker of hope shuddered into life in his belly. A cold cloth touched his raw skin, and even as he flinched, he realised that T-Bag was washing his face.
"Look at you, angelchile, you gonna be all the colors of the rainbow when you're done. Such a pretty one, too, but in my considered opinion your visage looks better," a flicker of a finger over what was left of his cheekbone, "like this." Soft puffs of air blew on him as T-Bag spoke, and Maytag realised that the older man was very close to him, almost rubbing against him. In any other circumstance, with this man, it would have been very sexy, but as it was he could hardly hold himself together. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die, not have the man he'd wanted so badly looking at him, touching him, when he was like this.
"Oh yes," T-Bag whispered, and Maytag heard the cloth hit the floor with a wet slap beside him. "Look at me, boy." Maytag did his best to open his good eye, the one not so swollen, and look up at the man standing over him. "There now, nothin's as terrible as you think." Maytag realised that his eye was level with T-Bag's fly, even as those hands that had been so gentle moments before started to roughly pull it open. Almost unconsciously, Maytag started to lean away, turning his head. He couldn't, not this time, it was too much to ask. "Uh uh uh, angel, time to make Daddy happy."
Daddy. A thumb was pushed into the side of his mouth, causing agony to jolt through his split lips. Daddy. He opened his mouth without any further protest. Might as well do a good job and get it over with. Daddy? What did that mean? Maytag wrapped his lips around T-Bag's already straining cock, using his tongue to the best of his abilities despite his injuries. He cupped T-Bag's balls with the hand that didn't have a broken finger, and played with the soft, creased skin while he sucked T-Bag's cock deep down into his throat. All the while his mind was racing; did T-Bag mean it? He swallowed convulsively as T-Bag groaned loudly, his head thrown back. Any other time, this would have been about the hottest thing he could have imagined, but now he just wanted to close his mouth to ease his aching jaw. Still, Daddy? Could it be?
T-Bag's legs buckled under him as he came hard, throwing all of his weight down onto Maytag's head and neck. Maytag nearly screamed, but held himself together enough to get the dick out of his mouth before he did it an injury. T-Bag was leaning on him, his breath coming in quick pants, his heart racing against Maytag's ear.
"Who-eee, girlie, I heard you was good, but Christ almighty!" T-Bag exclaimed cheerfully, finally pushing back so that he could sprawl back on the bench and tuck in. "I ain't come like that since I been in here, and trust me, I've come plenty during my stretch." T-Bag buttoned up and jumped up, suddenly full of energy. "Well, then, angel, lets get you to the doc. That finger looks plenty bad." Maytag tried to haul himself upright, but it was a struggle. T-Bag took his elbow gently and helped him up. "Oh, one other little matter, before we go. Let's do things by the book." Slowly, and with all the patience in the world, T-Bag turned out the white pocket of his pants, and waited.
With a rush of gratitude and relief so big he thought it was going to knock him back over, Maytag took it.
Next