He heard the bellows of “Lights out!” echoing throughout the walls of the cellblock and even beyond, through the thick cement walls. The lights had already turned off in a buzz of florescent static, only noticeable by their sudden silence. His ears picked up the myriad small sounds that he was beginning to associate with the prison: men pacing the small cells in worn out, treadless canvas shoes, murmured conversations filtering out from between barred walls, the guards watching a television somewhere, the local anchorwoman's voice just audible. He lay back on his bunk, stiffly, and tried to focus on those sounds, so he wouldn’t have to listen to the ones coming from across his cell, from his cellmate.
Fisk was shifting on his bunk from where he was sitting, watching. His heart was steady in his massive chest, not one beat out of place, but Matt knew what was coming. He was still sore. Last night was a jumble in his mind, half blocked out in his brain’s misguided attempt to shield him from the trauma, but he remembered- being forced down to the bunk, chest-first on a mattress that stank of sweat and fear, the pain of being breached- the humiliation of actually enjoying it enough to come.
Fisk moved. He flinched at the suddenness of it and immediately regretted it. He couldn’t afford to show fear. He had fucked up last night, allowed his exhaustion and confusion to get the better of him, making him weak, making him vulnerable. Tonight he would fight, to hell with Fisk and his ‘protection’.
He willed himself to sit up, even as Fisk’s heavy, even steps approached him, quickly closing the distance between their bunks. He was frozen, though, muscles refusing to obey. Fisk was close enough to touch, the heat radiating from his body, then he was sitting, gently pushing Matt’s legs to the side as he lowered himself down. Matt felt himself swallow, hard, but he still couldn’t move.
The air moved as Fisk reached out, slowly, and he twitched as fingers make contact with his cheek, the rasp of the pads on his stubble. The huge hand smelled of rust, like the water that came out of the small sink on top of the toilet, the industrial detergent used to wash their clothes and bedding, and underneath it the scent that was entirely Fisk, of sweat and musk, expensive cologne that must have been smuggled in to him somehow. The hand cupped his face, gentle, and Matt couldn’t help the sob that escaped him, his face hot with shame.
“No need for that,” Fisk said, not even trying to be quiet, his voice ringing out sharp in the sudden silence that fell over their block. Matt realized the rest of the inmates were listening. He hadn’t really paid attention last night, too focused on Fisk, but now- he heard zippers, for Christ’s sake, rustling fabric and sliding skin-on-skin of men taking hold of their cocks as they eavesdropped. Suddenly, Fisk’s behavior made more sense; he was putting on a show, playing up Matt’s helplessness, and Matt found himself baring his teeth in a sudden rush of rage. "Or that," Fisk mused, running a thumb over Matt's lower lip.
Matt's breath caught in his chest, and his mind flashed to the memory of a hand circling his throat, squeezing, as he was fucked- and his cock twitched, shamefully, in interest. He had liked it. Jesus, he had come from it, what the fuck was wrong with him? In the daytime, with people surrounding him, it had felt like a bad dream, distant, to be dealt with later, but now- Fisk's hand was on his face, stroking, and Matt was hard.
Maybe this was where he belonged, after all. The devil inside him had steered him here, to this place, in this moment, and Matt knew he had a lot to answer for. His sins were many, unforgivable. He'd made the mistake of thinking he could somehow rise above them, above who he was, but no. As someone once told him- you don't get into the cage with animals, without becoming one yourself. Now he was learning the truth. This was his life. He was no longer in control of it.
"Don't," he said, voice rough and not at all commanding, as he had intended. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears, to his own ears. "I can't-" He cut himself off before his traitorous mouth could start begging.
"Hush, Matthew," was the reply. He wasn't sure if Fisk was amused or not. His heart was still steady, his breathing even. Fisk was so sure he had nothing to fear. "We can take it easy, tonight." He shifted, and Matt's pulse spiked as he felt Fisk throwing a leg up over him, straddling him- how he managed to fit, Matt had no idea. A knee forced his legs apart and Fisk settled between them, slowly lowering himself down over Matt, pinning his hips to the mattress. A huge hand palmed his crotch and Matt shuddered. "I'm going to kiss you."
Oh, Jesus. Fisk's musk overwhelmed him as he did just that, surprisingly soft, testing, at first. Matt didn't react and Fisk didn't seem to care. The hand on his cheek tilted his face, giving Fisk more access, and a tongue delved into his mouth, licking at his, trying to coax him to respond. When he pulled away, finally, Matt wrenched his head back, breathing hard through his mouth; he couldn't imagine it'd been any good, with him laying there like a dead fish, but Fisk still didn't seem to care. This was all about power- controlling him. And he couldn't fight back. He'd found that out quickly enough last night. Nobody was going to come to his rescue.
"Doesn't that count as cheating?" he spit, his skin crawling. Fisk rumbled deep in his chest, a laugh, and canted his hips against Matt's in reply. He was hard already, the massive bulge of his cock rubbing up against Matt's with every stroke, and Matt couldn't help it, his dick had a mind of its own. He stifled a moan as much as possible, but the friction, through two layers of pants, was muted enough to keep him frustrated.
"Vanessa knows of our- arrangement." Fisk's hand left his cheek and started pulling on Matt's pants, tugging them down. Fisk paused to do the same to his own; Matt heard the slick-wet sound of his cock being freed from the fabric, Fisk palming himself for a few quick strokes, the scent of it hitting Matt's nose, hard.
"Really?" Matt grunted, then hissed as Fisk reached into his fly and gripped his cock. "You- actually told her how you were- fuck!- molesting me?"
Fisk snorted. "She wasn't entirely disappointed. You took me away from her, Matthew." His hand was pumping now, and Matt couldn't stop himself from arching into it, trying not to listen to the sounds bubbling up from his throat. His ears picked up a faint whisper from the cell next door, a muttered obscenity, and he grit his teeth. "It's only- fitting- that you receive your punishment from me."
Matt gasped as a thumb stroked over the head of his cock; Fisk's fist was large enough that it engulfed it completely, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. "Thought you said- this wasn't my- punishment," he choked out; he was already so close, his body was useless against this, oversensitive nerves firing unchecked.
Fisk hummed. "No. Not this." And suddenly, the hand was gone. Matt whined in protest, deep in his throat, his hands flying up to his crotch to take over, only to be caught. "No," Fisk said, forcefully enough that he froze. "You don't get to come until I say you can." He released Matt, his hand coming back up to brace himself on the mattress beside Matt's head.
Matt squirmed, trying to find friction, and his cock met Fisk's, a brief slide of skin on skin, electric- he gasped again, and Fisk ground down against him. Fisk's cock was fucking huge; he took ahold of it with both hands, testing its girth, amazed that it hadn't torn him in half. Jesus. Above him, Fisk exhaled, then reached down and pulled one of Matt's hands away, back up to his face. "Spit."
Matt did so, and Fisk released his wrist, letting him resume. For the first time, Matt began to relax- if all Fisk was expecting tonight was a handjob, he could bear it. There were far worse ways to pass the night (overstimulated and shaking as Fisk kept fucking into him, his hole raw, the spit he'd use to stretch him open long since dried up- sobbing face-first into the mattress until he felt Fisk pulsing deep inside him, filling him with hot spurts that dripped down his thigh when he pulled out, finally-).
He worked his hands over Fisk's cock, one over the other, fisting him tightly and grinding himself up as he did so, desperate for any friction at all. Fisk wasn't even breathing heavily; he was barely reacting at all, at this rate his hands were going to go numb before he saw any change in the other man. He squirmed some more, trying to find a better position, for something to rut up against, and Fisk finally obliged him raising himself up further, pushing a knee into Matt's groin.
Matt exhaled in relief, but it didn't last. He felt himself getting close again, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, hands trembling, and Fisk pulled away, the fucking bastard- too late, Matt realized he'd said that out loud, because Fisk was laughing at him.
"Keep going," Fisk murmured, and Matt grudgingly did as he was told, eager to get it over with. He felt a turning point, finally, when Fisk's hips began to move with him, his breaths coming a little faster. "Yes. You're doing so well, Matthew."
"Don't need the commentary," Matt muttered. His hands were aching now, and if it were anyone else he'd be marveling at their stamina because Christ, Fisk was what, in his fifties? Matt was lucky if he lasted five minutes of direct stimulation, as sensitive as he was. Maybe that's what it was like for normal people; he wasn't sure. He'd never fucked another man before.
Fisk grunted in response, reaching back down to grasp Matt's cock. He leaned back and pushed Matt's hands out of the way and he let them fall, limply, to the mattress, as Fisk took over, grasping both of their cocks together and squeezing. Matt yelped in surprise, hips stuttering in the air, and Fisk set a brutal pace, stroking them together in one huge palm. Precum made them slick, Fisk's cock hard and heavy against his own, hot, grinding- Matt buried his face in the crook of his elbow, biting down hard, his other hand finding Fisk's shirt and gripping tight. "Come, Matthew," Fisk shuddered, at last, voice distressingly breathy, and Matt did as he was told- finally-
He lay panting for a moment after, hard, wetness seeping into his pants. Fisk was still heavy above him, pushing himself to his knees. He'd let go of Matt, palming himself and stroking furiously, still hard, then-
"Fuck!" Matt recoiled, as a string of cum landed on his cheek, landing in his open eye. "You- fucking-" It burned, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what the fuck was wrong with Fisk? He flailed, managed to get out from under Fisk as the other man leaned back onto his heels, letting him up. He hit the hard floor on his hands and knees, his eye clenched shut. "You motherfucker! Good fucking thing I'm already blind!"
Fisk was laughing, the absolute bastard. Beyond the cell, he could hear even more laughter- had the whole prison heard? He groaned, reaching out to find the toilet, but Fisk had followed him from the bunk. He was met halfway with a wet towel held to his face, wiping away the mess for him.
"I apologize," Fisk said, awkwardly, as if trying not to laugh any more. "That was not my- intention."
Matt huffed, humiliation keeping the shame at bay, for now. "Yeah, try to be a little more considerate next time you rape someone," he growled, pulling away from Fisk and taking the towel with him. He groped his way back to his bunk and sat down, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees, and heard Fisk retreat to his own bunk.
Well. He'd survived, he supposed. Cum in his eye wasn't the worst thing that could have happened. He willed himself not to think about what would happen tomorrow night- or the night after that. How long before Fisk was bored of this? How long before his 'protection' would be withdrawn? He grit his teeth, threw the towel back onto Fisk's side, and lay back on the bunk. He was sore, filthy, hungry, and utterly exhausted. But he was still alive. That had to count for something.
[SECOND FILL] Day two (2/2)
Fisk was shifting on his bunk from where he was sitting, watching. His heart was steady in his massive chest, not one beat out of place, but Matt knew what was coming. He was still sore. Last night was a jumble in his mind, half blocked out in his brain’s misguided attempt to shield him from the trauma, but he remembered- being forced down to the bunk, chest-first on a mattress that stank of sweat and fear, the pain of being breached- the humiliation of actually enjoying it enough to come.
Fisk moved. He flinched at the suddenness of it and immediately regretted it. He couldn’t afford to show fear. He had fucked up last night, allowed his exhaustion and confusion to get the better of him, making him weak, making him vulnerable. Tonight he would fight, to hell with Fisk and his ‘protection’.
He willed himself to sit up, even as Fisk’s heavy, even steps approached him, quickly closing the distance between their bunks. He was frozen, though, muscles refusing to obey. Fisk was close enough to touch, the heat radiating from his body, then he was sitting, gently pushing Matt’s legs to the side as he lowered himself down. Matt felt himself swallow, hard, but he still couldn’t move.
The air moved as Fisk reached out, slowly, and he twitched as fingers make contact with his cheek, the rasp of the pads on his stubble. The huge hand smelled of rust, like the water that came out of the small sink on top of the toilet, the industrial detergent used to wash their clothes and bedding, and underneath it the scent that was entirely Fisk, of sweat and musk, expensive cologne that must have been smuggled in to him somehow. The hand cupped his face, gentle, and Matt couldn’t help the sob that escaped him, his face hot with shame.
“No need for that,” Fisk said, not even trying to be quiet, his voice ringing out sharp in the sudden silence that fell over their block. Matt realized the rest of the inmates were listening. He hadn’t really paid attention last night, too focused on Fisk, but now- he heard zippers, for Christ’s sake, rustling fabric and sliding skin-on-skin of men taking hold of their cocks as they eavesdropped. Suddenly, Fisk’s behavior made more sense; he was putting on a show, playing up Matt’s helplessness, and Matt found himself baring his teeth in a sudden rush of rage. "Or that," Fisk mused, running a thumb over Matt's lower lip.
Matt's breath caught in his chest, and his mind flashed to the memory of a hand circling his throat, squeezing, as he was fucked- and his cock twitched, shamefully, in interest. He had liked it. Jesus, he had come from it, what the fuck was wrong with him? In the daytime, with people surrounding him, it had felt like a bad dream, distant, to be dealt with later, but now- Fisk's hand was on his face, stroking, and Matt was hard.
Maybe this was where he belonged, after all. The devil inside him had steered him here, to this place, in this moment, and Matt knew he had a lot to answer for. His sins were many, unforgivable. He'd made the mistake of thinking he could somehow rise above them, above who he was, but no. As someone once told him- you don't get into the cage with animals, without becoming one yourself. Now he was learning the truth. This was his life. He was no longer in control of it.
"Don't," he said, voice rough and not at all commanding, as he had intended. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears, to his own ears. "I can't-" He cut himself off before his traitorous mouth could start begging.
"Hush, Matthew," was the reply. He wasn't sure if Fisk was amused or not. His heart was still steady, his breathing even. Fisk was so sure he had nothing to fear. "We can take it easy, tonight." He shifted, and Matt's pulse spiked as he felt Fisk throwing a leg up over him, straddling him- how he managed to fit, Matt had no idea. A knee forced his legs apart and Fisk settled between them, slowly lowering himself down over Matt, pinning his hips to the mattress. A huge hand palmed his crotch and Matt shuddered. "I'm going to kiss you."
Oh, Jesus. Fisk's musk overwhelmed him as he did just that, surprisingly soft, testing, at first. Matt didn't react and Fisk didn't seem to care. The hand on his cheek tilted his face, giving Fisk more access, and a tongue delved into his mouth, licking at his, trying to coax him to respond. When he pulled away, finally, Matt wrenched his head back, breathing hard through his mouth; he couldn't imagine it'd been any good, with him laying there like a dead fish, but Fisk still didn't seem to care. This was all about power- controlling him. And he couldn't fight back. He'd found that out quickly enough last night. Nobody was going to come to his rescue.
"Doesn't that count as cheating?" he spit, his skin crawling. Fisk rumbled deep in his chest, a laugh, and canted his hips against Matt's in reply. He was hard already, the massive bulge of his cock rubbing up against Matt's with every stroke, and Matt couldn't help it, his dick had a mind of its own. He stifled a moan as much as possible, but the friction, through two layers of pants, was muted enough to keep him frustrated.
"Vanessa knows of our- arrangement." Fisk's hand left his cheek and started pulling on Matt's pants, tugging them down. Fisk paused to do the same to his own; Matt heard the slick-wet sound of his cock being freed from the fabric, Fisk palming himself for a few quick strokes, the scent of it hitting Matt's nose, hard.
"Really?" Matt grunted, then hissed as Fisk reached into his fly and gripped his cock. "You- actually told her how you were- fuck!- molesting me?"
Fisk snorted. "She wasn't entirely disappointed. You took me away from her, Matthew." His hand was pumping now, and Matt couldn't stop himself from arching into it, trying not to listen to the sounds bubbling up from his throat. His ears picked up a faint whisper from the cell next door, a muttered obscenity, and he grit his teeth. "It's only- fitting- that you receive your punishment from me."
Matt gasped as a thumb stroked over the head of his cock; Fisk's fist was large enough that it engulfed it completely, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. "Thought you said- this wasn't my- punishment," he choked out; he was already so close, his body was useless against this, oversensitive nerves firing unchecked.
Fisk hummed. "No. Not this." And suddenly, the hand was gone. Matt whined in protest, deep in his throat, his hands flying up to his crotch to take over, only to be caught. "No," Fisk said, forcefully enough that he froze. "You don't get to come until I say you can." He released Matt, his hand coming back up to brace himself on the mattress beside Matt's head.
Matt squirmed, trying to find friction, and his cock met Fisk's, a brief slide of skin on skin, electric- he gasped again, and Fisk ground down against him. Fisk's cock was fucking huge; he took ahold of it with both hands, testing its girth, amazed that it hadn't torn him in half. Jesus. Above him, Fisk exhaled, then reached down and pulled one of Matt's hands away, back up to his face. "Spit."
Matt did so, and Fisk released his wrist, letting him resume. For the first time, Matt began to relax- if all Fisk was expecting tonight was a handjob, he could bear it. There were far worse ways to pass the night (overstimulated and shaking as Fisk kept fucking into him, his hole raw, the spit he'd use to stretch him open long since dried up- sobbing face-first into the mattress until he felt Fisk pulsing deep inside him, filling him with hot spurts that dripped down his thigh when he pulled out, finally-).
He worked his hands over Fisk's cock, one over the other, fisting him tightly and grinding himself up as he did so, desperate for any friction at all. Fisk wasn't even breathing heavily; he was barely reacting at all, at this rate his hands were going to go numb before he saw any change in the other man. He squirmed some more, trying to find a better position, for something to rut up against, and Fisk finally obliged him raising himself up further, pushing a knee into Matt's groin.
Matt exhaled in relief, but it didn't last. He felt himself getting close again, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, hands trembling, and Fisk pulled away, the fucking bastard- too late, Matt realized he'd said that out loud, because Fisk was laughing at him.
"Keep going," Fisk murmured, and Matt grudgingly did as he was told, eager to get it over with. He felt a turning point, finally, when Fisk's hips began to move with him, his breaths coming a little faster. "Yes. You're doing so well, Matthew."
"Don't need the commentary," Matt muttered. His hands were aching now, and if it were anyone else he'd be marveling at their stamina because Christ, Fisk was what, in his fifties? Matt was lucky if he lasted five minutes of direct stimulation, as sensitive as he was. Maybe that's what it was like for normal people; he wasn't sure. He'd never fucked another man before.
Fisk grunted in response, reaching back down to grasp Matt's cock. He leaned back and pushed Matt's hands out of the way and he let them fall, limply, to the mattress, as Fisk took over, grasping both of their cocks together and squeezing. Matt yelped in surprise, hips stuttering in the air, and Fisk set a brutal pace, stroking them together in one huge palm. Precum made them slick, Fisk's cock hard and heavy against his own, hot, grinding- Matt buried his face in the crook of his elbow, biting down hard, his other hand finding Fisk's shirt and gripping tight. "Come, Matthew," Fisk shuddered, at last, voice distressingly breathy, and Matt did as he was told- finally-
He lay panting for a moment after, hard, wetness seeping into his pants. Fisk was still heavy above him, pushing himself to his knees. He'd let go of Matt, palming himself and stroking furiously, still hard, then-
"Fuck!" Matt recoiled, as a string of cum landed on his cheek, landing in his open eye. "You- fucking-" It burned, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what the fuck was wrong with Fisk? He flailed, managed to get out from under Fisk as the other man leaned back onto his heels, letting him up. He hit the hard floor on his hands and knees, his eye clenched shut. "You motherfucker! Good fucking thing I'm already blind!"
Fisk was laughing, the absolute bastard. Beyond the cell, he could hear even more laughter- had the whole prison heard? He groaned, reaching out to find the toilet, but Fisk had followed him from the bunk. He was met halfway with a wet towel held to his face, wiping away the mess for him.
"I apologize," Fisk said, awkwardly, as if trying not to laugh any more. "That was not my- intention."
Matt huffed, humiliation keeping the shame at bay, for now. "Yeah, try to be a little more considerate next time you rape someone," he growled, pulling away from Fisk and taking the towel with him. He groped his way back to his bunk and sat down, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees, and heard Fisk retreat to his own bunk.
Well. He'd survived, he supposed. Cum in his eye wasn't the worst thing that could have happened. He willed himself not to think about what would happen tomorrow night- or the night after that. How long before Fisk was bored of this? How long before his 'protection' would be withdrawn? He grit his teeth, threw the towel back onto Fisk's side, and lay back on the bunk. He was sore, filthy, hungry, and utterly exhausted. But he was still alive. That had to count for something.