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I gasped and rocketed back into the waking world. The blanket tangled around me, restricting me, confining me, trapping me. I threw it on the floor and sat there, chest heaving with gasping breaths. The sweat coating my skin chilled in the cool air of the apartment.

The apartment. I was no longer in prison. I had to keep reminding myself that.

For most people, I’m sure they had bad memories of prison and they were glad to be free of it. For me, it was the opposite. Prison was where I found myself, where I discovered that, at heart, I am a submissive gay bottom who lives to serve a dominant black master.

Master. Tyrone. I missed him badly. I’d only been out for a couple weeks, but every day felt like a month. It felt like I’d been separated from Master for years already.

“Adam?”

I turned on the lamp behind my head. In the weak light, I could make out the shadows of the living room of John’s apartment. He stood in the doorway, wearing only a pair of boxers. He was a little pudgy and quite hairy — he had an attractive older daddy look to him that often made me horny.

I had been sleeping on John’s couch. John had been the first person I met in prison — a kind, older man, he had originally felt sorry for me sharing a cell with Tyron, because all previous cellmates of Tyrone’s had been rushed to the hospital with anal trauma. I was the first one that could not only take Master’s giant dick, but also the first one who seemed to truly enjoy it.

Master had commanded me to submit to John while I waited for Master to be released from prison. That commandment had also included submitting to John sexually. While sex with John was enjoyable, he was no match for Master. No one was. No one ever could be.

“I’m okay,” I said. Although John could never match the sexual energy of Master, he had a seductive masculinity that I suddenly felt a burning need to have inside me. I let my gaze trail down his dad-belly and settle on the bulge in his boxers. I felt my cock stirring in my briefs, growing thick as I thought about John’s meat. “But ... maybe sucking on a cock will help me get back to sleep.”

John smiled lasciviously, then groped his bulge as he crossed the room toward me. I propped myself up on my hands and knees on the couch, my mouth at the perfect height for his incoming cock. He stood in front of me and ran his fingers through my hair, still groping himself with his other hand.

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I blinked several times to clear the thoughts of John and I from my mind. “Sorry, Sir. I was just thinking of tonight. I hope that what I do with John will please you, Sir.”

A grin grew and spread across Master’s lips. He was so handsome when he was happy. It occurred to me then that it was almost time for John to come to our cell and have his way with me.

“Good,” he said. “John’s a good guy, so I’m sure you’ll do fine with him. It’s also clear he cares deeply for you as a friend.”

“Sir...” I said, as thoughts started to come to me, “what are the limits on what John can do with me? Or are there no limits?”

“No limits, kid. John has complete and total control over you — but only when I tell him he has it.”

I marvelled at the power that Master had. It seemed that through the process of arranging this, he had pulled John under his control. Yes, John could do whatever he wanted with me, but only when Master allowed it. John seemed to be one step away from being a sub alongside myself. I think the only thing that prevented that from happening was that I doubted Master had any sexual interest in John. In fact, that may be why Master arranged this — since he saw no attractiveness in John, he didn’t consider John a serious threat to the Master/sub relationship that we had. I doubted Master would’ve arranged this with a younger, more attractive man to be my stand-in Master.

The soft shuffle of feet drew my attention to the door of our cell. The range was unnaturally quiet this evening — I bet Master had something to do with that — so the almost imperceptible sound of John’s footsteps was surprisingly loud.

John walked in with his hands in his pockets and his gaze downcast. When he came to a stop, he looked up at us rather shyly.

Master stood up and walked over to John, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Given the harsh tone, it sounded like instructions. I could’ve sworn I heard the words “be confident.” John nodded and Master looked back at me.

“I’ll be back in half an hour. I’ll ensure you have complete privacy until then. Do me proud, kid,” Master said. He had a big grin on his face. It seemed he wasn’t concerned in the slightest of how this might go wrong — I would do my best to live up to his expectations.

“I will, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” I watched him walk out of the cell, leaving John and I alone. My heart was pounding against my ribs. I was ... nervous. But I was also turned on, as evidenced by my aching erection.

John looked at me. He seemed a bit more confident, a little less intimidated. Still, he didn’t move and didn’t say anything. Perhaps he needed me to get us started.

“How can I please you, Sir?” I asked, giving him my best submissive look.

He jerked, almost as if he had been startled, but then he relaxed and began to smile. “You can start by getting naked,” he said. There was a slight tremor in his voice — while he now looked like he was ready to be in command, he sounded like he was still struggling with the idea.

“Yes, Sir,” I said. I stood up and quickly took off my shirt, shoes, socks, pants, and underwear. I was fully naked, gaze directed at his feet, my cock rock hard and dripping, pointing straight out in front of me. I stood there, quiet and motionless, waiting for my next command.

Slowly, John came closer to me. He circled me, looking at me from all sides, but still didn’t touch me.

“I have to tell you something, sub,” he said. I liked his use of the word “sub,” as it helped cement our newfound relationship. “I’m a little ... inexperienced and out of practice. I think I can dominate you, but I’ve never actually done it to a person. And as for gay sex ... well, it’s been quite a few years.”

“That’s okay, Sir,” I said. “Master says I follow orders well, so I’m sure we’ll have a good time.”

“Good, good...” John said, trailing off. Though he was my stand-in Master, I still couldn’t mentally think of him as my Master, but only as John. To me, my real Master would be my one and only Master.

John circled around me again. He brought his hands close to me, but still didn’t touch me. He wanted to, I knew, but something was holding him back. Perhaps it was nervousness, fear that this would all come to a screeching halt. But I was desperate for him to touch me — the tension in the room was driving me wild, making my cock ache even more.

“Touch me, Sir,” I begged, “please.” It was something I could never request of Master — he had to be the one in total control — but I had a feeling John was a little different.

And just like that, he put his hands on me. One hand trailed down my slim chest and my tight abdomen and the other hand cupped my balls. I let out a heavy sigh of pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you, kid?” John said, in a tone of voice very much like Master’s.

“Yes, Sir.” I trembled under his touch. As he fondled my balls, electric sparks of pleasure shot through me.

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We had just come back from the showers and my skin was still wet, making me feel chilly in the cool air of the prison cell. My skinny twink body didn’t hold much heat — especially since I was hairless and completely naked. I spread my legs about shoulder-width apart and placed my hands on the frame of the upper bunk, then took a deep breath.

I felt Master’s hands on me a second later. It was our regular morning inspection. He wanted to be sure that I — his submissive, his property — was clean, intact, and ready for sex at any given moment. His skin was rough, his fingertips calloused, but there were no other hands I wanted on my body.

The way he ran his hands up and down my back and sides, the way he pinched my nipples, cupped my balls, pressed his finger against my hole, gripped my dick ... it made me feel like I was completely and totally his possession. I lived to serve my Master and it made me pleased when he was happy with me. More than that, it made me horny when I knew Master liked what he saw. Already, my dick was swelling and growing hard, pointing straight out in front of me.

Master came closer to me, pressed his body against mine, and I felt his fat cock nestle in the crack of my ass. He felt massive, making me wonder, yet again, how I managed to take that sausage deep inside me every day. His skin was hotter than mine, warming me as he pressed his muscular chest against my slender back. His dark-skinned hands travelled up my chest and to my neck, and then he curved a couple fingers around my chin so they poked in my mouth.

I closed my lips around his fingers, suckling on them like they were a couple of cocks. It was nowhere near as good as the real thing, but just having any part of Master inside me, even simply his fingers, made me feel good.

He slipped his fingers out of my mouth and he gripped my shoulders, then suddenly spun me around. I almost lost my balance as I turned to face him, but his strong grip kept me standing upright. I looked up at him, into his dark and deep eyes, but while I saw a hint of emotion there — perhaps, love? No, not love — I also saw dominance. I was not to be making eye contact with Master. I quickly cast my gaze downward, looking instead at the scar that slid across his pec.

“You’re looking good, boy,” he said, his words barely more than a whisper.

“Thank you, Sir,” I said. It was an automatic reply, one that slipped out of my mouth without even having to think about it, but it was still one I felt deeply. I served my Master and I was grateful for it.

He pushed me down to the floor and I fell hard onto my knees. I managed to hold back a yelp at the sudden burst of pain — Master would not appreciate me making noise. I stabilized myself and waited for him to make the next move. His cock hung in front of my face. It was huge — thick and long — and my mouth was almost watering as I waited for the opportunity to taste it. But I couldn’t take that initiative. Yes, I knew I’d be sucking that meat soon, but I had to wait until Master gave me the privilege to do so.

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“Good morning, white boy,” Tyrone whispered into my ear. He pressed a finger against my hole, testing its resistance. “You’re tight this morning, sub.”

With how tense my body was, I knew he wouldn’t be able to fit his massive dick into my ass — and I wasn’t about to loosen up. This would be the first time since coming here that I wouldn’t be able to give him sex when he demanded it.

“Tyrone,” I said, but before I could continue or roll over to look at him, he grabbed my ass hard and pressed his finger harder against my tight hole, slowly pushing past my resistance.

“I told you to call me ‘Sir.’ Don’t make me remind you.” His words were harsh and sharp, underscoring the threat implied by his tight grip on my ass.

“Sir...” I began again, accommodating his order, even if just for the moment. “We need to talk.”

Tyrone’s other arm, which had been folded under the pillow beneath our heads, quickly moved and his calloused hand grabbed the front of my throat — not dangerously, but with enough pressure to reassert his dominance.

“We don’t talk, boy. What happens is you shut the fuck up and enjoy my cock pounding your tight man-cunt. Got it?” I felt a spray of spittle across my cheek as he bit off his words.

“No,” I said. I grabbed the hand clasped around my throat and tugged at it — he resisted, but eventually let me pull it off. Despite all of Tyrone’s violent dominance, I knew there was a kind and decent man hidden under all the layers of bluster. But I would never tell anyone about that, because he’d surely kill me or at least leave me wishing that he’d kill me. He might have a soft center, but it didn’t mean he was a pushover.

I rolled over so I could look him in the eye, something I rarely did as his submissive. I saw defiance in his gaze, like he was about to rebuff anything I said and put me back in my place. But I also saw a small amount of fear there, like he knew what was coming and couldn’t find it in him to stop me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was starting to develop deeper feelings for me — but Tyrone didn’t do relationships, he just did sex.

“I’m no longer your submissive,” I said, deciding to just blurt it out.

“Yes, you are. Only I decide when this arrangement ends,” he said. He grabbed my cock, holding tight. I could see through his bluster; he was already hurting. It wasn’t obvious; most people wouldn’t be able to see it, but then, most people weren’t as close to Tyrone as I was.

“No, Tyrone,” I said, choosing to use his name again, instead of calling him “Sir.” I hoped it drove my point home. “I’m moving on. I will always show respect and deference to you, especially in public, but I’m moving on.”

“Why?” he asked. His grip on my cock loosened and his voice wavered on his one-word question.

I decided to be honest. “I want to have sex with other people. You’re an amazing fuck, but you’re also my first gay fuck. I’ve been eyeing the guys in the showers and I get so horny imagining what it would be like to suck them off or bottom for them. It’s not that I’ll never have sex with you again, but I just can’t be exclusive to you anymore.”

There was sadness in his eyes, but, if I was reading him right, I also saw acceptance. He let go of my cock and took his hand back. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t expect any protection from me. If someone beats you to a bloody pulp — if someone kills you — don’t expect me to stop him.”

The lights in the cell and in the rest of the facility flickered on to full brightness. In a few moments the cell door would unlock and slide open, allowing us to access the showers. And with that would be the next stage in my sexual awakening, when I could be the true bottom slut I knew I wanted to be.

“I know,” I said. “It’s a risk, but one I’m willing to take.”

“Fine,” he said. “You want to get fucked over by half the guys here and die, then so be it. Fuck you, Adam.” That was the first time he’d called me by name. Tyrone got off the bed and stood at the cell door, waiting for it to open.

I stared at his back and ass and legs — all of it was heavily muscled and a lot of it was decorated with tattoos and scars. Tyrone was an impressive mountain of a man, one that I desired immensely, but one that I couldn’t submit to any longer.

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