The New Prisoner Learned to Obey His Master

Mariano was a quiet boy, one of those who lowered his gaze when someone spoke to them harshly. His grandmother had raised him after he lost his parents, and the woman, out of sheer love, had wrapped him in cotton until she suffocated him. At twenty-three, he was still shy with women, had never had a girlfriend, and had never touched anyone. He imagined it, yes, but his desires never went beyond that: images that died out in the darkness of his room, with his hand tucked under his briefs, jerking his cock until he came in silence over his belly.

Life was going well enough within his smallness, until the day he had an idea that ruined everything.

His grandmother would sigh every time they passed the display window of a jewelry store downtown. There was a gold locket she looked at as one looks at something impossible. Neither she nor Mariano had the money to buy it. And he, with that need to give joy to the only person who loved him, began to think about stealing it. He would tell her he had paid for it with a work commission. For weeks he studied the schedules, the cameras, the guard shifts. One afternoon he did it, or thought he did. He hid the locket away, waiting for the old woman’s birthday.

A week later, the police knocked on his door.

He was tried quickly and sentenced to four and a half years for aggravated robbery.

The Santa Rosa del Sauce penitentiary, on the outskirts of the province, had a bad reputation. There were rumors of guards on the take, of cellblocks where the inmates ruled and not the authorities, of things coming in and out in exchange for money. Mariano knew nothing about any of that when he crossed the gate. He would learn soon enough.

He was assigned to cell 118. His cellmate turned out to be a certain Néstor.

Néstor Vargas, whom everyone called “the Bull,” was a huge man with broad shoulders and a steady gaze, the kind that doesn’t need to shout to be frightening.

As soon as he saw his new cellmate come in — skinny, pale, with the face of a frightened animal — the Bull smiled slowly. He knew that face. He knew exactly what they had put in front of him.

—The top bunk is yours. What’s your name?

—Mariano, sir… —he said in a thread of a voice.

—I’m Néstor. And in here, in this cell, I’m the one in charge. Is that clear?

—Yes, sir…

—When I tell you to do something, you do it without a peep. That way we get along fine. If you make me angry, I’ll make your life hell. Understood?

—Yes, sir…

That first night, with the cell dark and the rest of the block silent, the Bull’s deep voice rose from the lower bunk.

—Get down here. Now.

Mariano, already terrified of him, obeyed before he could think. The last thing he wanted was to give him a reason.

The Bull sat up and planted himself in the center of the cell, legs apart. He ordered him to kneel in front of him, on the cold concrete.

—Have you ever sucked anyone off?

—No, sir —Mariano answered, trembling.

—Well. Today you learn how to suck cock like a whore.

He unzipped his pants without hurry, lowered them to his thighs, and pulled his dick out. He was only half undressed, thick, dark, with swollen veins standing out under the skin. To Mariano it seemed enormous, an alien and threatening thing, with heavy balls hanging below and a thick odor of trapped male sweat. The Bull took it in his right hand and jerked it twice in the boy’s face, leaving the sticky tip against his pressed lips.

—What are you waiting for? Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue.

With his throat tight from wanting to cry, Mariano opened it only slightly. The Bull had no patience and no delicacy: he shoved a thumb between his teeth to open his mouth wider and, with one thrust, drove his cock all the way to the back of his palate. The boy choked, arched his back, tried to pull away, and the Bull grabbed him by the ears to keep him pressed to his pelvis.

—Hold still, asshole. Breathe through your nose. Come on. Start.

Revulsion rose from his stomach. He tasted the bitter salt of skin, the hot drip from the tip, the thick hair scraping his nose. He tried, but his body wouldn’t respond. The Bull grabbed him by the hair and slapped his face twice in quick, sharp blows that made him see flashes. Slowly, between stifled sobs, Mariano began to move his mouth as best he could, sucking the glans, running his tongue underneath it, as he had seen in some hidden video.

—Like that. Use your tongue. Slower. Wrap it with your lips, keep your teeth away. That’s it, like that, whore.

The Bull started moving on his own, fucking his mouth slowly, gripping his head with both hands to drive in and out at his own pace. Every time the tip touched the back of Mariano’s throat, he gagged, and a thick strand of saliva hung from his chin to drip onto his chest. The man growled under his breath, satisfied, looking down at him with a crooked smile.

—Look at him, the newbie. Look at me when I put it in your mouth, come on.

Mariano lifted his misty eyes. The Bull spat a gob of phlegm onto his forehead and kept shoving his cock down his throat. He didn’t know how long it lasted. He only knew that at some point the man tensed, clenched his teeth, held him by the nape with both hands, and shot everything into his mouth in thick, hot spurts, one after another, going straight down his throat. He felt the cock throbbing inside, each pulse filling his mouth with a thick liquid that tasted like bleach and salt.

—Don’t even think about spitting it out. You’re swallowing it. All of it.

Mariano hesitated, and that hesitation earned him another threat:

—Either you swallow it now, or I leave you in the infirmary for three months. Your choice.

He gathered strength from nowhere and swallowed. It scraped his throat on the way down. The Bull pulled his cock out and wiped it off by dragging it over the boy’s cheeks and lips, smearing his face with the last threads of semen mixed with saliva.

—Good girl. Tomorrow we keep going.

***

The next night was worse. Mariano was asleep, or trying to be, when he felt the bunk creak and the Bull’s weight climb in behind him. He ordered him to pull down his pants and turn over, and get on all fours on the mattress. The man fondled his ass with both hands, pried it open with his thumbs, spat hard against the shut hole and spat again. He grabbed his cock, already hard, already soaked with spit, and pressed it against the boy’s tight opening.

—Relax your ass. Breathe. If you tense up, it’s worse.

He pushed little by little, sinking only the tip in. Mariano felt as if he were being split in half, as if something inside him were being broken. He wanted to scream and bit down on his forearm to keep from doing it. The Bull waited a second, with the head of his glans inside, and then shoved the rest in with one stroke, all the way to the balls.

—Hold still. Don’t make me lose my temper.

The Bull grabbed his hips with both hands, fingers digging into the flesh, and started fucking him from behind at a slow, heavy rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in to the hilt. Mariano clenched his teeth and cried silently, feeling the thick cock force its way in, feeling each thrust lift his body a little against the mattress. The smell of sweat, saliva, and almost-shit seeped into his nose.

—Damn, what a tight little ass you’ve got, faggot. Just the thing to never let go.

The Bull sped up. He yanked his hair back to arch him, slid a hand under and grabbed his limp little dick between his fingers, squeezing it with contempt.

—Look at this little thing. You’re never going to use it again. What runs this place is mine.

He drove in harder. The mattress creaked, the bunk banged against the wall. When he finished, he let out a rough grunt and unloaded inside him, holding him tight against his pelvis so none of it would escape. He stayed on top for a while, catching his breath, his cock still hard and buried in the boy’s ass, as if Mariano’s body were a comfortable piece of furniture. When he finally pulled out, a thread of semen ran down between the boy’s ass cheeks and stained his thigh.

—Go wash up. And don’t shower too much either. I like you smelling like me.

So, night after night, week after week, the Bull shaped Mariano. By day he had him as a servant: he shined his shoes, made his bed, folded his clothes, prepared his mate. At night he used him however he wanted, whether to make him suck his cock while lying on his back in the bunk, or to fuck him on all fours against the mattress, or to make him ride on top of him until his thighs grew tired.

It didn’t take long for the word to spread. Everyone in the block knew that the skinny guy in 118, whom they were already calling “the girl,” was Néstor the Bull’s thing. His shadow. His property. His whore.

***

One morning, in the dining hall, two inmates approached the table where Mariano was eating in silence beside the Bull.

—Néstor. We’ve got money —said the taller one, a thick-necked guy they called Tobías, nodding toward Mariano—. We want the girl for a while. How much?

—How much do you have?

—Thirty grand —said the other, shorter and stockier, named Ramón.

—That’s not much. I have to grease the guard to take her to your cell. Besides, she knows how to do things. I taught her. She sucks like a goddess and her ass is trained.

—Fine. Forty. That’s all we scraped together.

—Deal. And I’m giving you a discount. Tonight, at eleven, I’ll send the girl over for a couple of hours. Bring her back in one piece.

Tobías slid a folded wad of bills under the table. The Bull counted it with his thumb without taking it out of his pocket and nodded.

That afternoon, the Bull ordered Mariano to shave his face, his legs, his armpits, his balls, everything. He wanted both men satisfied, wanted them to recommend him, wanted the business of renting out his girl to grow.

—You were born for this —he told him, looking him up and down when he was done—. You’re going to keep them happy. You’ll suck them well, open your ass when they ask, and swallow whatever they dump in you. If not, you know what happens.

At eleven, Guard Sandoval opened the gate to 118, exchanged two words with the Bull, received his cut in hand, and took Mariano down the dim corridor. He left him in cell 123, in front of the two men, and locked up again.

—Come here, girl —ordered Tobías.

—Yes, sir —Mariano answered, remembering the Bull’s warning.

I won’t cry, he told himself. If I cry, it’s worse.

Tobías pulled down his pants, took out his already hard cock, and made him kneel between his legs. He placed the tip on Mariano’s lips and pushed from the nape of his neck until he buried it deep in his throat. Mariano closed his eyes and worked with his mouth, sucking from top to bottom, circling the glans with his tongue, just as the Bull had taught him. Tobías’s cock was thinner but longer, and hit his uvula every time he shoved it in all the way.

—Damn, look at this little slut suck cock. The Bull wasn’t lying.

Ramón came up on the side, impatient, jacking himself in his hand.

—Hold on, Tobías. My turn now.

—You heard him —said the taller one, grabbing his jaw and turning his head as if it were nothing—. Suck Ramón’s.

Mariano went from one cock to the other like a shared object, sucking first one, then the other, then both at the same time, trying to fit both tips into his mouth together while they laughed under their breath and groped his head. Ramón’s was thick and short, with a strong smell of sweat and old cum. The two men pressed their dicks against his cheeks, slapped his face with their cocks, and called him “fag,” “little slut,” “cum-gulper,” laughing all the while.

When they got tired of that, they ordered him to undress and lie face down on the cold floor. They shoved his legs apart. Ramón went first. He spat on the hole, jacked himself twice, set his cock against it, and in one blow drove it in all the way to the balls. Mariano let out a choked cry that made the two of them laugh. The man fucked him hard, without pause, patting his ass with an open hand on every thrust, while the boy pressed his forehead into the concrete until he scraped it raw.

—Move that ass, come on, fuck me back. That’s it, that’s it, whore.

Then it was Tobías’s turn, and he flipped him onto his back, lifted his legs over his shoulders, and buried himself to the hilt. He went in and out like a piston, making sure not to finish yet, stretching out the time they had paid for. He grabbed Mariano’s limp little dick and jacked it mockingly, laughing because it wouldn’t get hard.

—Look at this dead little thing. This one’s useless now.

Then they laid him on his side, one in front and one behind. Tobías filled his mouth again, grabbing his hair to drive himself down his throat, while Ramón lifted his top leg and shoved it back into his ass. Both at once, fucking him on both sides, slapping hands over the boy’s body. Mariano felt both cocks pushing inside him, one above and one below, and it seemed to him they were going to touch inside. Time became endless, his mouth filled with saliva mixed with pre-cum, his ass burned as if there were a hot iron in it.

In the end, almost at the same time, they convulsed and finished in him. Ramón emptied his load into his ass with three deep thrusts, pressing his hips against his pelvis. Tobías pulled his cock out of Mariano’s mouth at the last second, yanked his head back, and unloaded thick spurts over his face, on his forehead, in his eyes, on his lips, on his tongue sticking out.

—Swallow it all. What’s left inside too, clench your ass and hold it in.

Mariano obeyed, licking what remained on his lips, swallowing the thick mixture with effort. He felt Ramón’s load running down the insides of his thighs when they stood him up.

A while later, Sandoval took him back to 118. The Bull was sleeping on his back, peaceful. Mariano went straight to the sink and rinsed three times, trying to get rid of the taste. He couldn’t. He stuck two fingers up his ass to get out what they had left inside him and a whitish string came out. He climbed to his bunk as best he could, his body aching and his hole burning, and burst into tears, covering his mouth with the pillow.

From that night on, many inmates got used to renting the Bull’s girl, after payment. Mariano stopped fighting it. He resigned himself, like someone getting used to the sound of a dripping pipe. He learned to suck without gagging, to open his ass without complaining, to swallow cum without spitting. He learned what had to be learned.

***

Three years passed. The Bull served his sentence and got out. Nine months later, for good behavior, Mariano got out too. His grandmother had died during his confinement, so he returned to the empty house, now his alone, with the idea of starting over far from all that.

Just one week later, his worst nightmare knocked on the door. It was the Bull.

He didn’t ask permission. He came in as if the house belonged to him, left a bag in the living room, and within a few days, he was settled in. Mariano understood, with dull bitterness, that the bars had changed nothing: he was still Néstor the Bull’s property.

The man ordered him to bring him a beer, wash his clothes, shine his shoes, make his food. And almost every night he used him the same way as in the cell. He made him kneel between his legs while he watched TV, his cock out, and Mariano sucked it until the Bull came with a grunt and pressed his head against his groin so he would swallow everything. Then he sent him to the bedroom, put him on all fours on the grandmother’s big bed, and fucked him with the same weight as always, with the same heavy macho rhythm of a man who knows nobody is going to say no to him.

Mariano became again what he had been inside: servant by day, thing by night.

A month later, the Bull brought him boxes of pills and ordered him to take them. They were hormones. Mariano tried to refuse, and one look was enough to make him open his mouth. With the weeks, the Bull watched the result with quiet satisfaction, and Mariano, horrified, saw his own body stop being his: his shape rounded out, his hips widened, little breasts grew under his shirt until they filled his chest, his nipples enlarged and became sensitive to the slightest touch, and his cock shrank and went limp, as if it were good for nothing now.

Excited, the Bull began buying clothes online, women’s sizes tailored to Mariano. Tight, provocative pieces. Lace underwear, fishnet stockings, padded bras to lift his new little breasts, tiny thongs that disappeared between his ass cheeks, high heels. He ordered him to put it all on. He also bought him wigs, makeup, red lipstick, dark eyeshadow.

When he had him made up, with his little breasts squeezed inside the bra, with the thong marking his shrunken sex, with stockings to the thigh and heels that made his ankles tremble, the Bull took him to the bathroom mirror and stood him in front of it.

—You were born to be a whore —he said, looking him up and down, as he had said on the first night in the cell. He grabbed one breast with his hand and squeezed it hard until he made him moan in pain—. Look at yourself. You’re a female. And you’re mine.

That night he fucked him with his clothes on, without taking off the thong, pulling it aside just enough to shove his cock up his ass, while he bit his neck and squeezed his tits beneath the bra. Mariano came for the first time with his prostate, without touching his limp little dick, and felt a warm trickle escape inside his panties while he moaned like a woman against the pillow.

What was he after with all of that?, Mariano wondered. The answer came one evening, at dusk.

—From now on your name is Mariana —said the Bull—. You’re going out into the street. Walk ten blocks that way, to where the red-light district starts, near the old station. Where the girls stand.

—No, sir, please… —Mariano begged.

—Shut up. When you get there, shake that body and get clients. Suck their cocks in the car, open your ass if they pay more, and come back with money. If not, I’ll beat the living shit out of you.

So, hormonally altered and dressed as what the Bull wanted him to be, Mariano went out into the street for the first time transformed into Mariana, to look for clients in the red-light district in the south of the city.

***

It is eleven at night on an ordinary day. Mariana walks along the poorly lit sidewalk of the red-light district, just another silhouette among so many waiting by the curb. Cars pass slowly, their headlights outlining them, some brake, others keep going. Suddenly one stops a little farther ahead. A hand calls her from the window. Mariana takes a deep breath, adjusts her tits inside the bra, runs her tongue over her red-painted lips, and walks over swinging her hips, already knowing what awaits her: another cock in her mouth, another load in her ass, another night.

She has already resigned herself to this life. She knows that many years will pass — maybe all of them — before she can, one night, stop being Néstor the Bull’s property.