The Flesh Cartel #2: Auction

Dougie clambered onto his knees and spread his legs, exposing his cock and balls and the plug in its leather harness. He tilted his chin up in defiance. I dare you to leave me now.
    The toe of the man’s boot tapped on the base of the plug, the n pushed . Dougie winced, toes curling, shoulders hunching, trying to make himself very small.
    “That feel good, you hungry slut? No? Well, it will. One day that hole of yours is gonna be so loose and used, you’ll need a plug like that. But for now . . .” He gave the plug a little kick and Dougie cried out. “Lucky for you, boy, I don’t really feel like a BJ tonight. But the guys on the next shift might, so watch out. They start at . . .” The guard looked at his watch. “Twelve-oh-one. Oh, but I guess you don’t have a clock, do you? Oh well. I got some unfinished business to attend to with your cocksucker brother next door. Thought I’d punish him through you, but maybe next time. Guess tonight I’ll have to hit him directly at the source.” He patted his nightstick in thought. Turned for the door.
    “Leave him alone!” Dougie yelled. He was ignored, of course, and the relief he felt when the guard left his cell made him want to puke. That was his brother who was about to get his missed punishment.
    By the time he realized he should’ve been braver, more like Mat, should’ve tried to run, his cell door was already closed and locked again. Mat shouted, “That’s right, fucker,”
    as the guard unlocked the cell next door. “You stick your cock in my mouth, you’ll pull back a stump. I still have all my teeth left.”
10 Don’t antagonize him don’t antagonize him don’t antagonize him , Dougie thought at the same time he swelled with pride at Mat’s fearlessness.
Mat’s door opened, closed again. “Not my cock I’m sticking in you, hole.”
The nightstick. The way he’d caressed it. Oh God. “Don’t hurt him!” Dougie yelled. “Please, please don’t hurt him! Mat!” Don’t give him an excuse. Don’t make him hurt you with that thing.
    “Don’t worry, little hole,” the guard called, laughter in the sick fuck’s voice. “Your big bad brother’s behaving like a beaten little bitch. Aren’t you, big hole.” The unmistakable sound of something hard hitting flesh—the nightstick, or maybe his boot. Mat grunted, but he didn’t curse or yell.
    Please don’t fight back. Please just take it. It’ll be over sooner if you just take it.
    “You owe me two teeth, hole.”
No. No no no no no.
    A brief scuffle, another grunt, the sound of a body hitting a mat. At least the floor’s padded. “Stay down, hole.
    Madame doesn’t even want you; you think she’ll care if I fuck you up?”
Silence for a moment, or at least no sounds that carried. Dougie strained his ears, half hoping he’d hear nothing, half desperate to know what was happening. “Open,” the guard said, and Mat must not have, because a slap rang out, and then “Open!” again, much more demanding this time.
    “That’s it, now suck .” Oh God, now Dougie really wished he couldn’t hear.
    Mat was gagging , his shouts muffled by—what? A cock? The nightstick? “You fight me, you’ll break your teeth. You want that, hole?” The nightstick, then. Dougie couldn’t decide if 11
    that was better or worse than the guard’s cock down Mat’s throat. “Suck it real good, hole. This is all the lubrication you’re going to get.”
    Oh, God. No. You can’t do that, you can’t . . .
    “Please don’t hurt him!” Dougie cried. He got up despite the pain it caused. Threw himself against the door, pressed an eye to the little window, though he saw nothing through it but blank hallway. “Stop this! Why are you doing this?”
    The guard grunted in disgust. Or was it Mat? Were they—? “Shut the fuck up, hole. Shut the fuck up, or after I fuck your brother with this, I’m gonna bring it to you to polish. Got it?” “Just be quiet, Dougie. It’s okay, okay? I’m—” He cut off on a scream. If Dougie was still making a scene over there, breaking
    Mat’s fucking heart, Mat didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear the taunts of the guard, either, as he crushed Mat’s face to the floor with a punishing grip on the back of his neck. Bad dog.
    Because that very big nightstick was forcing its way into a very small space, with nothing but a glaze of his own spit to keep it moving. He howled through gritted teeth, body bucking, trying to reject it, keep it out keep it out keep it