Warnings: M+/M, Mdom, NC, humil, forced feminization, body modification

Joseph Carlton was careful to keep his eyes lowered as the rattling prison bus carried him to the state penitentiary. He had read somewhere--or maybe he'd seen it on the Discovery Channel--that animals interpreted a direct look in the eye as an act of aggression. He might have been naive and stupid enough to wind up in trouble with the law, but he had no illusions about what prison life was going to be. He knew it was a dangerous jungle, and his only hope of survival was to avoid the notice of the predators stalking its halls. And so, he huddled in the corner of the seat, pressed against the window, keeping his eyes to himself.

He had the most profound sense of unreality. His years in private school and then at Harvard, summers spent at the country club, the well-compensated hours he devoted to his profession at one of the world's most prestigious accounting firms--none of it had prepared him for what he was facing now.

It only made the whole thing more painful to know that he had no one to blame but himself. He really should have known better. Of course, he should have. He liked to watch COPS on television. He'd seen America's Most Wanted. He knew there was no such thing as a perfect crime. He knew no one ever got away with anything, not in the long run.

The trouble was that logic was no match for desperation. In the moment of temptation, all you could think about was how easy it would be just to reach out and take whatever you needed. You never dreamed of getting caught.

And, God, he had found it so very easy to steal. He never would have guessed that about himself. It had even been from the estate of a client he liked, Mrs. Heilbruner, a society matron with a spark and a sense of humor, not to mention a sizeable fortune. Joseph knew how fond she was of him, but when he needed money, he had not hesitated to take it from her. He wasn't the least bit proud of himself.

Even after the auditors had started to close in on him and he'd confessed his crime to her in a panic, she was willing to let him off without pressing charges, on the condition that he repay the money and have nothing further to do with her estate. He would never forget how disappointed she'd looked, as if her very faith in humanity had been shaken. But she also seemed to understand what had driven him. He was newly married and had gotten in way over his head trying to impress his wife. He'd been too ashamed to ask his parents or friends for help, and most of all he had not wanted his wife to know. Mrs. Heilbruner might not have approved of his actions, but she was a romantic at heart and felt sympathy for his motivation.

That was really the hardest part to believe, that love, so good and pure, had landed him in such a nightmarish mess. But then again, love made fools of many men. And in the end, he couldn't regret it, because that would be like regretting the love itself. And he could never do that. He would gladly be a fool for his wife Madeleine.

Marrying Madeleine had made him prouder than anything else he'd ever done in his life. After their wedding, he'd taken her everywhere, office parties and civic events and the opening night of the opera, any excuse to show her off. He lived for that little glint of jealousy in the eyes of all his friends and colleagues. Madeleine would stand at his side, so tiny and lovely and demure, and she would speak with such simple pleasure about decorating their home and learning to cook Joseph's favorite foods and how she envisioned raising their children. And he could see all the other men, standing in the shadows beside the neurobiologists and dot-com millionaires they were married to, longing for what Joseph had. A real wife.

Unfortunately, all of that showing off had required an enormous amount of money. As an accountant, he was supposed to be good with a budget. But once he started spending beyond their means, he couldn't seem to stop. The bills piled up, and then the harassing phone calls started and the endless letters from collection agencies that he intercepted before Madeleine saw them. The whole time, she went on blithely watching Martha Stewart and making plans for herb gardens and gazebos, unaware they were on the verge of absolute collapse.

But how could he have told her? She had made it plain before they married that she wanted a man who would be just that--a man--and handle things, so she could concentrate her energy on making their lives as beautiful and comfortable as possible. In the end, stealing was infinitely preferable to disappointing Madeleine. Mrs. Heilbruner had understood that. It was why she had been willing to let him off without pressing charges.

If only his firm had shared her compassion.

The bus jolted to a stop, and Joseph's heart pounded. Here it was: Stillwater State Correctional Institution, where he could be spending the next eight months of his life, in maximum security for his white collar crime, because there was no more room in the minimum security facility.

A guard boarded the bus and instructed them to file out one by one. When his turn came, he got up from his seat and shuffled down the aisle, taking his time, concentrating, so he wouldn't trip himself with the leg irons. The shackles made him feel like some Hannibal-Lector-esque breed of psychopath, rather than an accountant with financial problems and poor judgment.

The guards lined them up, and then the head guy, Murphy, the senior Corrections Officer, gave them a speech, about rules and punishment and second chances if they worked hard and kept their noses clean. After it was over, they were marched inside for processing. His bag was taken away to be searched. He was fingerprinted, photographed and assigned a number. His identity as Joseph Carlton, individual with dignity, was gone. He was now known simply as #863457, convicted embezzler.

When all that was finally over, Officer Murphy herded them along to a large, empty room.

"Listen up, people," Murphy barked. "You will strip. You will be searched. Your personal effects will be bagged and logged in. You'll get everything back at the time of your release. Understood?"

There was generalized grumbling in the room, but no one refused. The other men started shucking off their clothes, so Joseph did, too. He folded everything in a neat pile at his feet. There was a slight draft in the room that gave him goosebumps. He'd never felt more naked.

Oh sure, he'd undressed in front of plenty of other guys in plenty of locker rooms. But this was hardly the Health and Racquet Club, and these were not the lawyers and investment bankers he played squash with. One of the guys had tattoos covering his entire body. Another had a huge scar running down his chest, evidence of an old knife wound. Joseph willed his hands not to shake as he unbuttoned his shirt. He knew that this was perhaps the most important rule of the jungle: never let them see your fear.

The CO started at one end of the line and conducted the searches. It involved raising arms and opening mouths and jumping around like a chicken. In other circumstances, it might have been funny. If it weren't something that was happening to him. But it was, and every snap of the latex gloves as another cavity search was performed made Joseph nearly jump out of his skin.

Finally, it was his turn. It reminded him, oddly enough, of a game of Simon Says. Only it was Officer Murphy issuing the orders. Officer Murphy says raise your arms. Officer Murphy says open your mouth and stick out your tongue. Hop on one foot and then the other. Lift your testicles. Officer Murphy says bend over and spread your cheeks. It really wasn't a very fun game.

The lubricant felt startlingly cold as the finger pressed against his opening and then inside him. It didn't hurt particularly. The officer was careful and obviously experienced in such matters. Really, it was no different that the last prostate exam he'd had. Still, he couldn't help blushing as the officer probed his anus. There had never been an audience at his proctologist's office.

He had to wonder what they were looking for anyway. What did people hide in their butts? What could possibly be so important that you would try to smuggle it into prison that way?

It made him bitter to think he might have avoided all this--the fear and the indignity and the intrusive finger in his rectum searching for contraband--if his boss hadn't gone all paternal on him and decided he needed to learn a lesson the hard way.

The day after he'd confessed his crime to Mrs. Heilbruner, he was called into his supervisor's office. Of course, he was expecting it. There was no question that the firm would fire him. They had to act decisively in order to protect the company's reputation, and Joseph certainly deserved to lose his job. He walked into Mr. Gillespie's office, his chest tight, his palms sweating, and sat down in the chair in front of the desk.

In the past, he had been used to making a certain amount of fun of his boss. Everyone in the company found him something of a joke. Gillespie had the misfortune to look rather clownish, with a large, bulbous nose, a high forehead and big ears that stuck straight out. Of course, if he were a partner, no one would have dared laugh at him, even behind his back. But he had failed to make partner many years before. Most people left the firm when that happened and went somewhere else to try again. Gillespie had stayed, permanently stuck in the same mid level position, trying to exert authority over young newcomers who would soon leave him in the dust on their climb up the ladder of professional success.

To add to Gillespie's humiliation, his wife had walked out on him soon after he failed to make partner. This was common knowledge around the office. It made Gillespie seem like even more of a boob and a loser.

Joseph was painfully aware of all this as he waited for Gillespie to fire him. It was particularly galling to have his humiliation come from someone he had always regarded as a third-rate hack.

"Joseph," his boss said, gravely.

"Sir." His mouth was dry, and his throat hurt.

"I'm sure you know why you're here."

He nodded.

"It must come as no surprise that we are very disappointed in you."

He kept his eyes lowered and nodded again.

"I understand why people who have nothing resort to stealing," Mr. Gillespie said. "I certainly don't condone it, but I can see how it happens. But you! You've had all the advantages. A comfortable upbringing. Both parents respected professionals. An Ivy League education. Personal contacts that have been of great use to you in furthering your career. And what do you do with it? You squander it all by stealing from a client who had absolute faith in you. There really is no excuse."

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, softly.

"Things have come too easily for you. Otherwise, you wouldn't take it all for granted. You know, Joseph, not everyone can afford to go to their first choice of university. Not everyone has a family name that can gain them entree into whatever career they choose. Some of us have to work for what we have. We don't have the luxury of playing golf with our father's buddies to get an account we want. We can't charm our way into becoming the youngest senior manager in company history."

Joseph swallowed hard. "I know, sir."

"Do you? I'm not convinced."

"I--Well, I'm not going to sit here and try to make excuses. What I did was wrong. There's no question about that. But I've only been married a short while, and I made some really bad decisions to try to impress my wife. And I got into all kinds of money trouble. I just-- I panicked."

Gillespie looked at him with distaste.

"I hope you're not asking me for sympathy. You've had everything a man could possibly want. A lovely young wife. A skyrocketing career. Not everyone is so lucky, Joseph. I know it's no secret around here that my wife Sharon left me when I failed to make partner. But you-- You were on the fast track. And you threw it all away thanks to some overblown sense of entitlement. It couldn't be more apparent that your parents never taught you anything about responsibility or consequences, and that's really too bad. They've done you a profound disservice. But I won't fail you in the same way. I won't allow you to go through life without understanding that there are penalties for making the wrong choices. It's not in your best interest."

Joseph went cold all over. "What are you going to do?"

"I've spoken with Mrs. Heilbruner. As you know, she was planning to forego legal action if you repaid the money. I've convinced her that holding you accountable for your actions would actually be the better thing for you in the long run. She has agreed to file a complaint with the police department."

"Oh, God."

"Look, Joseph, I'm not interested in ruining your life. But I don't think a slap on the wrist is appropriate in this situation. The firm doesn't want you sent away for a long time. But we do believe a taste of prison life will teach you a thing or two about making better decisions. We're prepared to go to the district attorney, along with Mrs. Heilbruner, and work out a deal for a lenient sentence. Our one stipulation is that you do serve some jail time."

"Oh, God."

"Now, of course, you are perfectly within your legal rights to contest the charges. You can hire a lawyer and take your chances at trial. But you've already confessed, and our forensic auditors are certain to dig up enough evidence for a conviction. You could end up spending years and years behind bars."

"Oh, God."

"Or you can do the honorable thing. Stand up in court, admit your crime, offer a public apology, accept your punishment and serve your time like a man. You'll be free again in a matter of months. The choice is up to you."

He shook his head, in shock and misery. "I don't know. I just don't know."

"Mrs. Heilbruner is proceeding with charges right away. So I'll need to know how you want to handle it as soon as possible."

"Can I talk it over with my wife tonight?"

"Of course. You can give me your answer in the morning."

He nodded and got up to leave. Just walking to the door felt like he was slogging through wet concrete. His knees felt weak, and he had the panicked fear he might faint and humiliate himself even further.

"Joseph?" Gillespie called after him.

He turned around, feeling as if he were lost in a nightmare.

"I just want you to know that this is nothing personal. I have nothing against you. It's simply the principle of the matter."

Joseph nodded, but he wasn't at all sure then that he understood Gillespie's motives. Now, here in the middle of this room, having his rectum searched in front of twenty other guys, he was certain he didn't understand.

Eventually, the officer finished up with him and moved on. Other guards came in, sealed their belongings in large plastic bags, wrote their prison identification numbers on them and carried them away. Joseph kept his bag in sight until it finally disappeared down the hallway and around a corner. He knew it was silly, but it felt like he was watching his life slipping away from him.

After the searches were completed, they were lined up again and marched down the hall to the infirmary, in plain sight of the other inmates. The men all stopped to watch as they paraded past stark naked. The men whistled and catcalled and made loud smooching noises.

"Hey, nice ass!" one yelled out.

"Yeah, baby. You're a sweet piece, aren't you? "

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?"

The men laughed raucously. The comments weren't specifically addressed to him, but Joseph felt his face turning hot anyway. He wished he could run somewhere. He wished he could hide.

In the infirmary, they were lined up again. A doctor with a clip board listened to their hearts and lungs, took their temperatures, checked their blood pressure, felt their balls, asked questions about their medical histories. It was Joseph's turn much sooner than he would have liked. He hoped this wasn't what prison was going to be like all the time, endless lining up so strangers could handle his privates.

As the doctor explored Joseph's scrotum, he asked, "Have you ever had a hernia?"

"No," Joseph said, profoundly disconcerted to have his genitals examined in public.

The doctor rolled each testicle between his thumb and forefinger, and asked, "Have you ever felt a lump down here?"

Joseph shook his head. His face was starting to feel hot.

The doctor took Joseph's penis in hand and studied the head. "There's some redness," he noted. "Is there a possibility you could have gonorrhea or syphilis? Or any STD?"

"No!" Joseph said, emphatically. "Of course not!"

The men on either side of him tittered with amusement. Joseph could feel himself turning bright red.

The doctor scrutinized him, as if trying to decide if he were telling the truth. It compounded Joseph's humiliation.

"Well, good, then," the doctor finally said. "Try to see that it stays that way, hmm?"

The other men laughed at Joseph's expense once again. Joseph went cold all over. What was that supposed to mean? But he knew better than to ask. The doctor continued down the line, until finally the last prisoner had been examined.

"Okay," Officer Murphy said, as he rounded them all up again. "One more stop. The shower room. Then you'll be assigned to a cell."

They paraded back down the hall, to the same chorus of whistling and obscene remarks. In the shower room, they were ordered to line up beneath the shower heads. Another CO came in toting what looked like an exterminator's tank with an attached spray rod. He handed it to Officer Murphy.

"State law requires us to keep you free of lice and other bodily parasites. You will receive periodic disinfection to make sure you stay bug-free, starting now. I want you to listen to these instructions and follow them closely. Stand still with your hands at your side and your eyes tightly closed. When you are instructed to do so, you will turn around and face the wall. Understood?"

The usual collective sound of protest echoed off the tiles, but the men all did what the CO said. Joseph listened as the swooshing noise from the spray gun made its way down the line. And then he felt a sudden cold jet of liquid against his chest and then at his groin and then down each leg. The sharp chemical stink burned the inside of his nose. He flashed on a picture of himself in twenty years, being interviewed in some 60 Minutes expose. He would tell Mike Wallace, who would probably look better than he did, about how this toxic waste he'd been sprayed with had shriveled his dick and given his children an extra eye in the middle of their foreheads.

"Turn around," Murphy ordered.

He did and got another foul dose in his hair and down his backside.

After Murphy worked his way through all the inmates, he said, "All right. Shower."

There wasn't any soap, but it still felt good to stand beneath the steamy water. He hoped most of the Agent Orange they'd sprayed on him would be washed down the drain instead of absorbed through his skin.

"All right. That's enough," Murphy said.

A tall, dark-haired guard distributed towels, and they all dried off. Another officer handed them each a pile of clothes, a worn cotton shirt and pair of pants, the same dull gray uniform he'd seen the other inmates wearing. He hurriedly pulled on the clothes, grateful to be dressed again, even in this drab, worn attire.

"Line up and report back to the command center for your cell assignment," Murphy told them.

They were marched back down the hallway to the place where they'd first come in. A guard handed him his bag and a bedroll.

"You're in C-21," the officer told him. "Line up over there to be escorted."

He moved over to stand behind a large black man who looked a lot like Mr. T. Joseph pretended to find his own feet quite fascinating to avoid eye contact.

Come on, come on , he thought.

Eventually, it was his turn, and a short, squat guard he hadn't seen before motioned for him to follow. They climbed the stairs to the next level and walked past the long row of cells. The inmates had already been locked down for the night, and they pressed against the bars as he walked past.

"Whoo, Mama!" someone called out in a Spanish accent.

Another guy pumped his pelvis and said, "Gotta get me some of that."

Underlying the remarks he could clearly make out was an indistinct litany of things that sounded like "Hey, baby" and "Yo, faggot" and "What you lookin' at, pussy?"

Joseph kept his head down. The tips of his ears burned.

Near the end of the row, the officer finally stopped, unlocked a cell door and motioned him to enter. He hesitantly stepped in, and the guard locked him inside.

"Lights out in thirty minutes," the guard advised him.

It was only eight thirty.

Joseph eyed his cellmate anxiously, but the man was absorbed in a copy of Penthouse. He didn't look up. Joseph breathed a nervous sigh of relief. The guy was big, and he had a tough, street-wise demeanor. If he wanted to make trouble for Joseph, it could be very bad news. Happily, he didn't seem to have any interest in him at all.

Joseph made up his bunk and sat down on the blanket. He hunched over and held his head in his hands. The last few weeks had been very difficult. Of course, Madeleine had been distraught when he'd told her what happened. She felt betrayed that he hadn't confided in her sooner that they were having financial problems, and she was desperate about what she would do while he was in prison. Joseph had tried to comfort her as much as possible.

He'd also tried to take care of as many practical matters as he could. He had managed to sell the house and put away a little money for her, everything that was left after he'd repaid Mrs. Heilbruner. He had found an affordable apartment, and they had moved into it. The night before he had to leave for prison, they stayed awake all night, making love and then just holding each other. Madeleine had told him in a shaky voice about her father, who had also gone to jail, something Joseph had not known before, for a crime similar to the one he had committed.

"He was never the same after that," Madeleine said, sadly.

"That won't happen to me," he assured her.

"You can't know that," she said.

"I promise," he said. "If you wait for me, I'll come back to you just the same."

She had kissed him and told him how much she loved him and assured him that, of course, she would wait. All she asked was that he be the same man when he finally came home. Joseph had readily agreed.

Now, Joseph looked around the cell and sighed. It was going to be more difficult than he'd imagined keeping that very important promise to his wife. He felt changed already by this experience-- reduced from a person to a number, stripped searched and sprayed like an infested animal--and it had only just begun.

He sighed again. At the very least, he could reassure Madeleine, even if he wasn't so confident himself. He unzipped his bag and took out the tablet of paper he'd brought and a pen. He balanced the pad on his knees and started to write:

Dear Maddy,

Just wanted you to know I arrived, and everything is fine. The prison staff seems very professional. Everything is done in an orderly fashion. They are very thorough, especially when it comes to safety matters. There is nowhere they won't look and nothing they won't do to ensure everyone's security. There is a similar emphasis put on hygiene and good health.

I am getting settled in. My roommate seems quiet, which is a lucky break. If I have to be away from you, at least this is not such a bad place. I hope all is well with you, and that you are taking good care of yourself.

With all my love,

Joseph

He folded the letter, put it in an envelope, addressed and sealed it, and put it under his pillow. He would find out tomorrow how he could send it. And hopefully tonight, he would dream of Maddy.

"Lights out!" a guard yelled.

A moment later, the lights clicked off. Joseph lay down and pulled the blanket over him. It looked like he was going to survive his first night in prison. That would leave him only 239 more to go.

The next morning, Joseph jolted awake with a start. There was a sharp buzzing sound, and the cell doors automatically unlocked.

"Rise and shine, people," a guard called out in a loud voice. "Report to the cafeteria."

Joseph scrambled out of bed and quickly made his bunk. His cellmate was urinating at the toilet. Joseph averted his eyes and tried not to think how intimately he was going to get to know everything about the man. And how this man would be privy to all his private moments, too. Joseph knew he couldn't let the little indignities get to him. There would most likely be too many big ones to contend with.

Joseph's cellmate washed his hands at the sink. He caught Joseph's eye in the glass.

"I'm Smitty," the man said.

"Joseph," he answered. "Carlton. Joseph Carlton."

Smitty nodded, and that was the end of the conversation. Joseph breathed another sigh of relief. It seemed Smitty really had no intention of bothering with him. Thank God.

Smitty finished washing up, put on his shirt and pants, and headed out. Joseph waited until he was gone, and then quickly splashed some water on his own face. He'd slept in his clothes and tried to smooth out a few of the worst wrinkles. Then he also took off for the cafeteria, under the watchful eye of the armed guards.

Joseph lined up, and when he got to the front, he took a tray and accepted the piles of pale, unappetizing food the lady behind the counter plopped onto his plate. He had no idea scrambled eggs could look so gray. He took an orange and a carton of milk, and headed for an empty table near the back.

He sat down and started to eat his breakfast. It tasted pretty much like it looked. But Joseph had been so scared about coming to prison that it had been hard for him to eat the past couple of days, and now he was really hungry. So he dug in heartily.

He was only a few bites into his meal when someone reached around from behind him and grabbed his fork.

"What the--" He whirled around.

His cellmate Smitty smiled at him. "You weren't eating that, were you?" he asked, innocently.

"Well, yeah, I was--"

Before he knew what was a happening, a fist landed hard against his stomach. He hunched over in pain, the air knocked out of him. It was only then that he noticed Smitty wasn't alone. The man who had hit him was as tall as a tree and his face was twisted and scarred as though he'd been burned in a fire. A Hollywood movie studio couldn't have concocted a scarier looking bad guy.

"I don't think I heard you correctly the first time," Smitty said. "So let me ask you again. You weren't eating that were you?"

This time Joseph was smart enough to shake his head no.

"See, Haynes," Smitty said to his disfigured friend. "I told you he didn't want it."

"Yeah. I guess you were right."

"So, Joseph, you wouldn't mind if we took your breakfast off your hands, would you?" Smitty asked. "I mean, being that you weren't going to eat it anyway."

"No," Joseph said, still winded, clutching his stomach. "Take it."

Smitty smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. Joseph couldn't help shrinking away.

"Thanks, Joe," Smitty said. "Appreciate it."

Haynes grabbed Joseph's tray and carried it over to another table where a third man, who had a very prominent tattoo of a swastika on his bicep, was waiting for them. The three of them divided up Joseph's food and set on it like starving wolves. Joseph watched them pitifully. His bruised belly rumbled unhappily. He sighed to himself. He should have known prison was going to be harder than it first seemed.

Of course, the incident at breakfast was only the beginning. The three men seemed to turn up everywhere Joseph went. They followed him to the library and took away the book he was reading. They clustered around him during the work detail in the laundry, spilled a huge pail of starch and left him to take the blame. They materialized at his table during lunch and dinner, and took whatever they wanted from his tray. Occasionally, one of them would punch him, not because Joseph was putting up any resistance, but just because they could.

Strangely, Smitty left him alone when they were locked into the cell together that night. Then, the man hardly seemed to notice that Joseph was even there. Joseph had no explanation for it, but then again, who really cared? If Smitty didn't feel like torturing him, did it really matter why?

On the second morning, Joseph waited for Smitty to leave for breakfast, and then he headed for the shower. There was no privacy anywhere in prison, and the bathroom was no exception. There was a line of showerheads against one tiled wall, no stalls, no curtains. The toilets were further back in the room, no walls, no doors. Joseph wasn't quite ready to face showering with a room full of naked convicts, half of them on the can taking a dump. He'd been biding his time, waiting for a moment when he was pretty sure he'd have the bathroom to himself. He figured during breakfast was a good plan. It wasn't as if Smitty and his gang were actually going to let him eat anyway.

Joseph hurried through washing himself, dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He was ready to leave when his three tormentors strode into the room, dressed only in towels. Joseph froze for a moment. His heart pounded so hard it felt as if it might explode in his chest. But the men simply lined up in front of the showerheads, turned on the water, pulled off their towels and started to lather up.

Joseph tried not to stare, but it was difficult. He had always considered himself a big, strong man, but these hulking thugs looked like the exaggerated, steroid-ripped characters that filled the pages of comic books, all bulging thigh muscles and popping biceps. Only these men had to be naturally gargantuan, because everyone knew that pumping up with drugs made a man's private parts shrivel. And these guys-- well, they were about as unshriveled as you could get.

Joseph clutched his towel nervously around his waist. To get out of the bathroom, he was going to have to get past them. He hoped that if kept his head down and his eyes lowered he could walk away without any trouble.

Joseph hitched up his courage and made a break for it. He was almost to the door when an iron hand gripped his wrist.

"Hey, pretty boy, where do you think you're going?" Smitty asked.

He yanked Joseph by the arm and forced him back into the middle of the room. In the tussle, Joseph lost his hold on the towel, and it fell to the floor.

Haynes, the one with the scar, laughed. "Look at that little pea dick. You call yourself a man with something that tiny hanging between your legs?"

Joseph knew for a fact that he was perfectly average. Like most guys, he'd spent a lifetime furtively looking around the locker room to make sure of it. He knew he had nothing to be ashamed of, but his face turned red anyway. It was every humiliating junior high school nightmare brought to life. And somehow, it didn't matter that he was a grown man, that these were criminals who just wanted to get a rise out of him. He tried to shield himself with his hand, feeling decidedly like less of a man.

The third man, the tattooed Nazi, sneered at him. "With a nothing little dick like that, you might as well be a girl."

"Do you want to be a girl, Princess?" Smitty asked him. "You want to be our girl?"

"Look, I don't want any trouble here--" Joseph backed away and tried to skirt past them.

But his much larger cellmate pushed him, and he stumbled back a step.

"We don't want any trouble, either, Princess. We just want you to take care of this for us."

Smitty took hold of his own dick and waved it in Joseph's direction. Joseph's eyes went wide, and he shrank back against the wall. Of course, Joseph had heard jokes about this kind of thing. He'd even told a few himself. They all went the same way. There was a scared white man, a big black guy and a punch line about forced fellatio. It was only a joke. He'd never imagined it could be real. He'd never imagined it could happen to him.

"I'll call for the guard," he threatened.

Haynes laughed. "Oh, sweet thing, ain't nobody coming. Ain't nobody cares what happens to you in here."

"But, hey, we're reasonable men," Smitty said.

"Totally," the tattooed Nazi agreed. "You ought to feel lucky."

"Yeah," Smitty said. "If it was the brothers had you in here, you'd already be down on the tile with your pussy torn all to hell and blood everywhere. But we're civilized. So we're going to give you a choice."

"Please," Joseph begged.

"Don't panic, Princess. All we want is head," Smitty said. "You suck us off, and you can walk out of here in one piece."

Haynes leaned in and smiled evilly. "Or we can beat the shit out of you."

"Yeah," the tattooed Nazi said. "We'd mess up that pretty face of yours something good."

"Leave you such a sideshow freak that all the fancy doctors in the world wouldn't you'd be able to make you look human again," Smitty said.

Joseph instantly thought of Madeleine and the promise he'd made to her. He imagined her grimace of disgust if he came back looking like something out of a gothic novel. He swallowed hard, the fear settling in, leaving a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"And then we'd just fuck you anyway," Smitty said.

"Hard and long. For making us lose our refinement," Haynes said.

"Yeah, we hate that," the Nazi said. "Hate when punks make us do things the hard way."

"So what's it going to be, Princess?" Smitty asked. "You gonna make us rearrange those pretty features of yours. Or are you just gonna drop to your knees like a good little bitch and start servicing?"

Joseph couldn't speak. He just stared at the man in disbelief.

Smitty's voice turned soft. "Nobody ever has to know, baby. Just suck us good, and you can walk out of here without a mark on you. Nice and easy."

The man put a hand on his shoulder, and Joseph found himself sinking to the ground, not resisting, his muscles like jelly, as if he didn't have a will of his own. None of this seemed real. He couldn't think. He didn't know how to make it stop.

"That's right, pretty thing. Make it easy on yourself. Just give me what I want, and I won't have to hurt you," Smitty said.

Haynes laughed. "Yeah, boy. Pucker up and kiss that cock."

The Nazi joined in the laughter, too. "Lick it like an ice cream cone," he said. "Suck it like a god damned lollipop."

Both men laughed harder, enjoying their own joke.

Joseph burned with shame, kneeling on the hard tile, eye level with the dick he was going to have to take into his mouth. He flashed back to high school, to the locker room, one day after football practice. As usual, all the players were torturing the skinny little homo who served as the volunteer equipment manager. Everyone knew the faggot had a crush on the quarterback Brad Ellis. Brad always enjoyed rubbing that knowledge in the kid's face, but this particular day, he was especially sadistic, hyped up from the workout, mean from all the steroids he was taking. Brad cornered the poor kid in the communal shower and forced him to blow him in front of the whole team.

They'd all leered and whistled and made obscene comments as Brad raped the kid's mouth. They taunted him that they were all going to take a turn when the quarterback was done with him. The kid sobbed the whole time he was sucking his idol's dick, and Brad heaped on the final humiliation by pulling out and coming in his face. The boy crumpled to the floor. Tears streamed down his cheeks and come dribbled from his chin.

That's when it had finally hit them, that this was the violation of a real person with real feelings. They'd all filed quietly out of the shower, even Brad Ellis, and left the kid sobbing on the cold tile floor. The next day, the kid quit the team, and he changed schools not long after that.

Smitty put a hand on Joseph's jaw and tilted his chin up.

"You ever suck cock before, pretty thing?"

He shook his head. He could feel hot tears stinging his eyes. This was really going to happen, just like it had to that kid back in high school. Joseph couldn't think straight. He was too damned terrified.

"I didn't think so," Smitty said. "So I'm going to give you lessons. But the one big thing to remember is that if you bite me I'm going to kill you. Understand?"

Joseph nodded. He knew it was no idle threat. It would be so easy for Smitty to put those huge hands around his neck and squeeze.

Smitty stroked his cheek. "Good girl. Now, play with my sack and get me hard."

Joseph hesitated, and Smitty fingers tightened on his jaw, digging into his flesh.

"Do you need some encouragement, sweetheart? 'Cause Haynes loves to get motivational."

Haynes pounded his fist into his open hand. The sounded rattled off the walls in the empty room.

"Yeah," Haynes said. "You want me to inspire you?"

Joseph shook his head frantically. "No! I'll do it. Don't hurt me."

"That's what I like to hear," Smitty said. "Now you're being a really good girl. So, go on then. Play with my nuts."

Joseph's hand shook as he reached for the man's sack. Funny, he'd never thought about how unattractive a scrotum really was. He closed his eyes, not wanting to watch, as he gingerly brushed his fingers back and forth over the man's balls.

"You call that stimulation? Quit fucking around. Get me hard."

Smitty's tone of voice left no doubt that there would be considerable consequences if Joseph failed to do as he said. Joseph thought about how Madeleine would touch him, how she'd roll his balls in his sack, how amazing that always felt. So he cupped his rapist's sack and copied what his wife did to him, hoping it would save him from a beating. Or worse. And fortunately, it seemed to work. Smitty let his head fall back and moaned loudly. His cock started to fill.

"Oh, yeah. That's it."

Joseph wanted to throw up, and he hadn't even taken it into his mouth yet. This wasn't something he was prepared for. He'd never been up close and personal with another guy's erection in his life, and he'd never wanted to be. Oh, sure, occasionally you'd see another guy with a hard-on in the locker room. A good work could do that to a male body. It was perfectly normal. You ignored it when it happened to someone else. You knew everyone else would avert their eyes when it happened to you.

But this-- Well, this was something else entirely--kneeling in front of another guy's boner like some supplicating phallus worshipper, watching the vein throb along the underside and that little droplet of pre-come glistening on the head, knowing it was him, his hand, his touch that was making the guy so excited. If anyone had suggested to him even a month ago that he would ever do something like this, he would have laughed in their face. Or maybe punched them in the nose.

But here he was. No joke.

Smitty moaned. "Oh, God, that's good." He took Joseph's head between his hands. "Okay, sweet thing, enough foreplay. Time for the main event."

Smitty urged Joseph's head forward. It was only instinct to resist. Smitty slapped him across the face. His cheekbone stung.

"Get my goddamned cock in your mouth, or I'll fuck your ass so hard you'll never be able to take a shit again," Smitty threatened.

"Please!" Joseph begged.

"Suck me, you little bitch. Now!" Smitty shouted.

Joseph whimpered in defeat. He leaned forward and licked hesitantly at the head. He grimaced at the bitter taste.

Smitty moaned in pleasure. "Oh, yeah, pretty boy. Nice little tongue. Now, wrap those pretty lips around my meat and get me off."

Joseph tried to take the penis gingerly into his mouth, but Smitty was not a patient man. He forced Joseph forward on his cock, half choking him.

"Breathe through your nose," Smitty instructed. "And start sucking."

Joseph closed his eyes tightly and instinctively began imitating the things Madeleine always did to him. He tried hard not to think about what this meant about him and just concentrated on getting it over with. He tried not to register the sounds of his own humiliation, the obscene slurping and smacking noises he couldn't help making. He forced himself not to consider that this was a sort of virginity he was losing. He couldn't bear to even consider the word "rape."

Smitty pulled at his ears. "More," he demanded.

Joseph felt the man's cock press against the back of his throat, and he gagged.

"Take it, bitch," Smitty said.

Smitty's cock slid into his throat. Joseph's head swam. He could feel his eyes bugging out. He fleetingly wondered if there had ever been a fatality from forced fellatio. He'd hate for that to be on his death certificate: choked on cock. But then, Smitty reared back and lunged forward and spurted thick waves of come down his throat. Joseph tried to swallow, but there was so much of it. He started to cough, and ribbons of semen came out his nose and mouth and ran down his cheeks. Smitty rode his climax and pulled out. Joseph feebly tried to wipe the come off his face, but Haynes was already grabbing his arm, pulling him over, guiding his face to his crotch.

Joseph went numb after that. He sucked off Haynes and then the tattooed Nazi, but it was as if he were outside his body, floating near the ceiling, watching what was happening to him from a safe distance. When the Nazi came in his mouth and he was finally finished, he wilted to the floor, more relieved than he'd ever been in his life.

"God, that was hot," Smitty said to his buddies. "Watching this pretty little girl suck you guys off has made me horny all over again."

"Oh, yeah. She's a sexy little bitch," the Nazi agreed.

"I bet she's a got a nice tight little pussy," Smitty speculated.

"No!" Joseph wailed.

Smitty stroked his renewed erection. He stared down at Joseph, his eyes glittering with lust.

"You ever get fucked before, pretty thing?" he asked.

"God, no!" Joseph said. "You promised you wouldn't if I did what you wanted."

"That's just the thing, sweetcheeks. The way you went to town on my dick-- Well, I think you been holding out on us. I think maybe you're a little more experienced than you been letting on. Don't you think, Haynes?" Smitty asked his buddy.

"Either that, or he's just a natural born cocksucker," Haynes said.

"That could be," Smitty said. "Like he's just a-- what do you call it? A prodigy. Like one of those little kids that can play the piano real good. Only pretty thing here-- well, his gift is for wrapping his lips around guys' dicks."

Joseph shook his head frantically. "No! That's not true!"

"So maybe he's also a natural at taking it up the ass," Haynes said.

Smitty nodded. "Could be. I guess we'll just have to give it a go and see."

"Please!" Joseph begged.

"Get on your hands and knees, pretty thing. I'm going to find out how good a bitch you make," Smitty told him.

Joseph shook his head frantically. "I've never done this before. Please don't."

Smitty smiled evilly. "There's nothing I like more than popping a cherry. Get ready for your first time, little girl."

"Back off!" A loud voice bounced off the tiled walls.

Joseph's three attackers whirled around. An enormous man stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

"This ain't none of your business, Mattison," Haynes said.

"Sure it is. I got my eye on this one. And as everybody knows, I'm only interested in virgins. I don't put up with no man's sloppy seconds. That includes you. Now, get away from him, before I bust your face."

"It ain't right," Haynes sputtered.

"Yeah. We got here first," the tattooed Nazi insisted.

The big man shrugged. "Life's not fair sometimes, boys. You know that. So, you want to push this thing? Or are you going to get the hell out of here like I told you?"

Joseph huddled on the cold tile, his knees pulled up to his chest, shivering violently. He was in too much of a state of shock for anyone's words to make sense. He really had no idea why this man was bothering to help him. He just hoped to God he was successful in scaring off these raping thugs.

Smitty pointed a finger at the big man. "Don't think this is over."

The man laughed. "Bring it on, any time you have the balls."

"Prick!" Smitty cursed, as he headed for the door.

"We're gonna be keeping our eye on you," Haynes said, as he followed him out.

"Yeah," the tattooed Nazi said.

"You do that," the big man said, smiling, apparently not bothered in the least by the implied threat.

All three men left, and Joseph let out his breath in relief.

"Thank you," he said, shakily.

The man nodded and got down on one knee beside him. "What's your name?"

"Joseph."

"I'm Gus. They hurt you?"

He shook his head.

"That's good. But they made you suck them off, huh?"

Gus cupped his jaw and wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Joseph realized he must have had come smeared on his face, and he blushed furiously.

Gus stroked his cheek with his fingers. "Hey, don't think you're the only one. They pull this shit all the time. Let me guess. They promised that if you blew them then they wouldn't fuck you."

Joseph lowered his eyes and nodded.

"And after you were done, they changed their minds. And when you put up a fuss, they got rough. Right?"

"Yeah." He shuddered. "God, I just never expected-- I don't know why they'd want to, uh-- do that with me."

"Don't you?" Gus smiled at him. "Don't you have any idea how pretty you are? How popular you're going to be around here?"

Joseph's eyes went wide, and he felt fear flaring inside him all over again. Maybe this guy planned to finish what the others had started?

The man seemed to guess his thoughts.

"I don't mean to scare you, Joseph," he assured him. "But I got to tell you like it is. There's not a guy in here that's not going to be after you. Everybody's gonna want to fuck you. Sooner or later, you are gonna take it up the ass. You can count on that."

Joseph shook his head, moaning miserably. "Nooo!"

"Yeah. I'm afraid you are. 'Course, you do have some choices. You can take your chances on your own, try to fight off guys like the three who just had you pinned down in here. Although, honestly, that's probably only going to get you beaten and gangraped. Just like what would have happened today if I hadn't come along. You don't want that, do you, Joseph?"

"No," he said, desperately.

"Then the best thing for you to do would be to hook up with somebody who can offer you some protection."

"You mean--"

"We call it being a punk. Trading sex for safety."

"But I'm not-- I don't want--"

"You're forgetting what I told you, Joseph. There's really no way you're getting out of this place and keeping your cherry. At least if you're somebody's punk, you'll have only one man to service. 'Course--"

"What?"

"Well, you know, a lot of these guys make all kinds of promises to their punks. And then they end up treating them like some crack whore they'd pick up out on the streets and pass around to their friends like the slut wasn't even human. Your man might decide to keep you to himself. Or he could send you out to turn tricks on the cell block, peddling your mouth and ass for cigarettes. You just never know. Either way, you got to do what he tells you, or you're back at square one. No protection and a line of vultures just waiting to get their hands on you."

Joseph struggled to breathe despite his rising panic. This couldn't be happening to him. It just couldn't.

"Yeah, I know it's upsetting," Gus said. "God knows, nobody wants to get gangraped. And hell, ain't too many people want to wind up a whore, either. Certainly not a classy guy like you. 'Course, you know, there is one other option."

"What is it?" Joseph asked, desperate for any small shred of hope.

"Let me ask you this first. Are you married, Joseph?"

He nodded.

"And is she a good wife?"

"The best."

"What's she like?"

"Well-- she's pretty and sweet. Kind of shy. A little old-fashioned."

"The old-fashioned ones are the best, aren't they? I bet that wife of yours stays home and takes care of the house like she's supposed to. And actually listens to you when you tell her something. Not like these modern career women who think they know everything."

"My wife does stay at home. And she does leave the decisions to me."

"And that's the way it should be. A wife should be obedient. Loyal. Faithful. Your wife would never even think about messing around on you, would you?"

Joseph shook his head. "Of course not."

"'Cause she's chaste, the way a good woman should be. She's not going to let anybody but her husband touch her."

"I'm a lucky man."

Gus nodded. "You sure are. All of that is exactly what I look for in my woman. And that brings us to your little predicament, Joseph. You see, I'm not like a lot of these closet homo cases around here, banging their punks, trying to pretend they're not into dick when anyone can see they are. I really only like women. 'Course there aren't any women around here, and a man does have his needs."

Joseph tried to understand where this was going, but he really just didn't get it.

"Yeah, I know," Gus said. "That's a kind of conundrum, ain't it? What to do, huh? Well, that's actually where you come in. That's your third choice, Joseph. You could be my woman."

Joseph stared at him.

"Oh, yeah, I know. You're a guy. But we can work around that. You can learn to act feminine. You be as good a wife to me as your little lady is to you, and we'll get along just fine. And in return, I'll be a good husband. I'll take care of you, provide for you, defend you. I'll treat you fair. No beatings just for the hell of it. No pimping you out. Of course, I'll expect you to be faithful. But I'll also be true in return. I'm clean, so you won't have to worry about getting some disease and taking it home to your wife when you get out of here. That'd be pretty hard to explain, wouldn't it? How you picked up HIV in prison? You'd have to come right out and admit you got fucked."

"She can't ever know anything about this," Joseph said, vehemently.

"And she won't ever have to if you decide to be my wife."

"But I'd still have to-- You'd want to have sex with me?"

Gus laughed. "What man doesn't expect to have intercourse with his wife? And in the interests of honesty and a good marriage, I should tell you that I have one powerful sex drive. I need it a couple a times a day."

Joseph's eyes went wide. "A day?"

"Powerful. Like I said. Still, it's gotta be better than getting fucked ten times a day by ten different guys, any one of whom might beat you or stab you or infect you." He stroked Joseph's cheek. "So what do you say, baby? You want to end up the cellblock sex toy? Or do you want to have a safe, exclusive relationship with me? It's up to you. But a man does have his pride, and he wants his bride to be a virgin. So this is the only time I'm going to propose. Don't come crawling back to me after a dozen other guys have already had a go at you. I won't be interested then."

Joseph's lip trembled. "I don't know how to be a woman."

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty head about that, Sunshine. I'll tell you exactly what I expect. All you have to do is obey like a good little wife. Doesn't that sound easier than having to fight off rapists every minute of every day?"

Joseph had to admit to himself that he had not proven very successful so far at defending his own honor. But could he be some other man's woman? Could he be submissive, feminine, sexually dominated? What kind of world was it that he even had to consider such things?

Gus pulled back. "Well, looks like you're not interested. I guess you'd rather take your chances on the block then."

As Joseph watched him start to get to his feet, he suddenly realized he was watching his one chance to get through this ordeal remotely intact slipping away from him.

"No!" He grabbed Gus' arm. "Don't go. I'm not going to make it in here. I need help."

Gus smiled. "Now, that's more like it. So you've heard my conditions. Do you agree to them?"

He hesitated for a moment. But there really was no choice. He nodded. "Yes," he said, softly. "I agree."

"To be my woman?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Let me hear you say it, Sunshine. I got to know you're serious."

"I, um-- I'll be your--" His voice caught in his throat. "Woman."

Gus beamed at him, pulled him to his feet and hugged him hard. Joseph felt deeply embarrassed. He'd never been very demonstrative with other men--no back slaps around the office or pats on the butt after the big game for him. And here he was with his naked body pressed intimately against another man's. A man who wanted to make him into a woman. A wife. A man who intended to have conjugal relations with him the way any married couple would.

"You've made me a happy man, Sunshine. Let's have a kiss to celebrate, huh?"

Gus tilted his chin. Joseph had always considered himself fairly tall, but he definitely had to look up at his husband-to-be. Gus leaned in, and then there was warmth and pressure on his lips. It felt nothing like Madeleine's little bird kisses. Gus' tongue parted his lips and took command of his mouth, playing muscularly with his tongue, exploring his teeth and gums, staking a claim.

Gus broke the kiss for a moment, his mouth hovering above Joseph's. "Just relax, baby. Let me drive."

Joseph thought that's what he had been doing, but apparently, he had a thing or two to learn about submission. He went limp in the other man's arms, hoping this would satisfy him.

Apparently, it did.

Gus groaned. "Oh, yeah, baby. That's it. Give yourself to me."

And then Gus went back to kissing him. Joseph stayed pliant, and Gun overran him completely, commanding his body, taking ownership of his mouth.

It was the single most unnerving experience of Joseph's life, although strangely not as disgusting as he would have imagined it to be. He kept his eyes closed, and in the end, a mouth was a mouth. To be honest, Gus had some skill in the kissing department. It was all profoundly disorienting, as if everything he'd ever believed to be true about himself was suddenly exposed as a lie. He had always been the one who did, not the one who was done to. He didn't know who this Joseph was, this person who would let himself be dominated by another man, who could get so lost in the simple play of lips and tongue.

Gus pulled away. He was breathing heavily. He couldn't seemed to stop touching Joseph, rubbing his shoulders, running his hands up and down his arms.

"I knew you were the one," he said. "I just knew it."

"Are you going to--"

Joseph couldn't bring himself to say it. Couldn't think it. Couldn't imagine such a thing was even possible, that another man would use him sexually. The sheer terror of it practically paralyzed him.

"Not now," he said. "There are things to do first."

"What?" Joseph asked, with alarm.

"Shaving."

"Oh," he said, relieved.

"Go stand under the shower head. Get wet."

Joseph wasn't really sure why he couldn't just shave in front of the mirror at the sink, but he did as he was told. He could still remember Smitty's fingers digging into his jaw, his cock half suffocating him as he forced it down his throat. His scalp still burned from Haynes pulling his hair. At least, Gus didn't seem to be the rough type. Surely, it had to be better to be one man's wife than everyone's bitch?

Gus handed him a razor and a can of shaving cream.

"Get rid of your body hair," he said.

Joseph stared at him. "What?"

"You don't like a hairy woman, do you? Well, neither do I. I want you smooth and soft all the time. You'll need to do this every day."

When Joseph didn't move, Gus nudged him.

"Go on, then. We don't have all day."

Joseph's hand trembled as he shook the can and sprayed white foam onto his hand. He had known some guys on the swim team in college who'd shaved their bodies. But Joseph had only ever shaved his face. He had no idea where to start. Finally, he decided on his arm pits. It seemed like it would be the least traumatic.

Gus supervised, pointed out where he'd missed a spot, cautioned him to be careful and not cut himself. It was surreal. Joseph took his time, stalling as much as possible, but there was no escaping the inevitable. Slowly, his body was denuded--arm pits and chest, belly and legs. Finally, there was nothing left but the soft curls surrounding his cock. He balked at that.

"Please," he begged.

Gus shook his head. "Smooth," he insisted. "Everywhere."

Joseph's fingers felt numb as he lathered up his pubic hair and began clearing a swath with the razor. The matted lather hit the tile with soft plops, but the noise rattled Joseph down to his bones. Funny that having another man making a meal of his tongue had simply felt off-putting, while shaving off his pubic hair made him feel as if somebody had just cut off his balls and handed them to him.

It was just that pubic hair meant something to a man. He could still remember as a little boy taking a bath with his father, staring at his manly endowment and the proud thatch surrounding it, shyly asking why his didn't look like that. He remembered how his father had reassured him that someday it would, when he became a man. After that Joseph had kept watch for it, checking himself in the mirror, every day, all those long years until he finally hit puberty and began to grow his own thatch. He could still feel that sense of excitement, as if it were yesterday, the electrifying knowledge that he had finally reached this all-important rite of passage, that he had finally come into his own.

"Your balls, too," Gus said.

Joseph tried not to cry as he shaved it all off and watched it wash down the drain.

"Okay, Sunshine," Gus said, when he was completely bare. "There's just one more part that I've got to do for you. Hand me the razor."

Joseph honestly didn't know what he was talking about, but he did as he was told.

Gus put a hand on his shoulder. "Turn around."

It took every stray molecule of restraint he had not to flinch or fight when he felt the hands parting his cheeks and the cool sensation of shaving foam along his crack. But he couldn't keep from crying, the silent tears sliding down his face as Gus' fingers kept his butt spread and the razor made quick work of the little bit of hair he had back there.

It was the single greatest sense of violation he'd ever known. And it was only the beginning.

When he was finished, Gus ran a finger appraisingly down his cleft. "Nice and smooth. Just the way I like it."

Joseph's shoulders heaved with suppressed sobs.

Gus turned him back around. "You'll want to put this on. All over. Otherwise, your skin gets dry, and it itches."

Gus handed him a bottle of lotion. There were white flowers on the label, and when he opened it, the strong scent hit him in the face. He blinked, not sure what to make of it. He didn't picture Gus as the kind of man who liked to go around smelling of gardenia. Had he somehow known what was going to happen and come prepared?

Joseph rubbed in the pale cream everywhere--his arms, legs, chest, belly, butt. He smelled like somebody's Avon-buying grandmother. When he finished, he handed the bottle back to Gus.

Gus ran a hand down his chest. "Nice, baby. Nice."

Joseph felt cold all over, and he couldn't help shaking, even though it must have been close to ninety degrees in the room. Gus threw him his towel. It wasn't what he was expecting to happen next.

"Go get dressed and gather up your stuff. I'll talk to the hacks about moving you into my cell. If Smitty gives you any trouble, you remind him what I'll do to him if he touches you."

Joseph nodded and hurriedly swathed his lower body in his towel. Gus didn't have to repeat himself. He practically ran from the room, before Gus changed his mind and decided to start the honeymoon right there on the bathroom floor.

Back in the cell, Smitty was thankfully absent. Joseph packed up his few belongings in his duffel bag, sat down on his cot and waited. A short while later, a guard appeared at the door.

"Unit manager's approved your request to move. Get your stuff, and let's go."

He picked up his bag and bedroll and followed the man up to the next floor. The guard pointed to a cell. Gus was standing inside. Joseph went in and put his things down on the empty bottom bunk.

"I hope you two will be very happy," the officer said, snidely.

Joseph blushed hotly. Gus simply smirked. The officer didn't seem to care too much one way or the other. He was already halfway back downstairs.

"So, make yourself at home, Sunshine," Gus told him.

Joseph nodded nervously and moved over to the bunk. He spread out his bedroll and neatly tucked in his blanket. He could feel Gus' eyes on him, but he tried to focus on what he was doing. He tried not to think about what was coming next. It would happen soon enough without anticipating it.

He opened his bag and took out his toiletries.

"I cleared some space on the shelf for you," Gus said, indicating the metal rack above the sink.

He said it gently, helpfully, but the sound of his voice made Joseph jump anyway. And that humiliated him. He bustled over to the sink to try to cover up his unease and arranged his few things on the shelf. Gus' image appeared in the mirror, and then he felt the warm weight of a hand on his shoulder. He managed not to flinch, but he couldn't stop the little involuntary gasp that escaped him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, fearing reprisal.

Gus shook his head. "It's okay. I know this is all new to you. But I just want you to know that you don't have to be scared of me. I mean, sure, I do what I have to do to get by, but I'm not one of these pricks who gets off on hurting people. Least of all my significant other. So try to relax a little. Okay?"

Joseph nodded.

Gus patted his shoulder. "Good. Now, there is something I want you to do for me."

Joseph's heart started pounding. He had thought Gus would wait until lights out. But it was happening now. God, it was really happening.

Gus handed him something that looked like a spandex bandage. "Here," he said. "Put this on."

Joseph turned it over in his hands. "Um-- What is it?"

"Faggot crossdressers call it a tuck. It keeps your cock and balls out of the way. Now, go on. Put it on for me."

Joseph couldn't imagine that such a thing would be comfortable, but if he didn't do what Gus said, he knew much worse things would happen to him. He numbly undid his pants and stepped out of them. He sat down on the edge of his bunk and shimmied out of his underwear. He kept his eyes lowered, so he didn't have to see Gus looking at his body. He pulled on the tuck and worked it up to his hips. It was really tight, and he couldn't imagine how he was supposed to get his cock and balls into it.

"I'll show you how to do it," Gus told him.

Joseph stood up. Gus took him by the arm and pulled him closer.

"Spread your legs," Gus instructed.

Joseph's heart beat wildly, but he didn't refuse. Gus took his cock and balls in hand and pushed them back between his legs. Joseph gasped, and his eyes watered. Gus kept pushing. Joseph could feel his balls forced up into his body, his penis flush against his perineum. Gus maneuvered the tuck into place. The fabric was so tight it made it hard to breathe, and Joseph's dick felt like it was about to break off. He looked down at himself, and he wanted to cry. The tuck made him look perfectly flat in front as if he were sound kind of eunuch. The back of it left his ass exposed and completely accessible.

"Like I said before, I'm no fag," Gus told him. "From now on, I don't even want to know you have a dick. The only times you take this off is when you're showering or pissing. Got it?"

Joseph nodded. He was trying hard not to cry, but he felt as if he'd just been castrated. And the worst was still to come.

"Lights out," the guard yelled as he walked along the corridor past the cells.

He did a double take when he saw Joseph standing there in only his shirt and the tuck.

The guard laughed. "What'd you do, boy? Go and lose your dick and your balls before you even been here a whole two days?"

"Fuck off, Officer," Gus said.

"Oh, don't go getting all riled up, Gus. You don't want to ruin your wedding night, now do you?"

Joseph turned red with shame. The guard laughed again and moved on.

A moment later, there was the familiar loud click, and the cellblock went dark.

Gus took a step toward him. "Take off the rest of your clothes, baby."

Joseph slowly unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. He wished he could think of something to stall, but his brain had gone numb. There was some illumination from the emergency lights, enough for Gus to see him, probably enough for the inmates across the way to see what they were doing, as well. He tried not to think about that.

Gus ran a hand down his chest, between his nipples, to his belly. He'd never had a man's hand on him before. It felt incredibly strange, the largeness, the calluses on the fingers, the sheer power in the touch, so unlike Madeleine's little butterfly caresses.

"It's time to take our vows, baby," Gus whispered to him. "Make it official that you're my woman."

Joseph really didn't know what to say. A part of him was panicking. But another part felt detached, as if he were floating outside himself somehow, and this part was still capable of critical thinking. And the inescapable truth was that this whole becoming a prison wife thing was one god-awfully gaudy cliche. It was the joke guys told each other at the bar after work. It was the threat the cops used to coerce confessions out of suspects on the less imaginative crime dramas. It was every B movie that had ever been made about prison life.

And it was real. God. It was happening to him.

"You promise to be my woman, to make me happy, to do what I tell you and stay true?" Gus asked.

"Yes," Joseph said, softly.

His face burned with shame. Even in the dim light, he could see Gus' huge grin.

"Good. That's real good, Sunshine. I promise to be a good husband and take real good care of you. You won't ever have to worry about going into that shower room again. You're my bride, and ain't nobody fool enough to mess with you. Now, get on over here and give your groom a kiss.

Gus pulled Joseph against him and kissed him hard, the same overpowering assault of lips and tongue from earlier that day, grinding his pelvis into Joseph's. In a panic, Joseph tried to pull away, but Gus' arms were like steel bands wrapped around his body. He couldn't move. He practically gagged on Gus' aggressive tongue as it mined his tonsils.

Gus pressed even closer. Joseph could feel Gus' dick throbbing against his hip. Joseph had only ever experienced this kind of fear in nightmares, the recurring ones he had of being anally raped by a gorilla. He'd told a therapist about it once, and the man had told him it was perfectly normal. His fear wasn't really about being raped. It was about feeling out of control. Looking back on it now, Joseph realized he'd what a big gyp that therapist had been. The guy didn't have a clue what real terror was all about.

Eventually, Gus broke the kiss. Joseph's vision was a little fuzzy around the edges, and he wondered if his skin had started to turn blue. He was obviously going to have to learn to hold his breath longer.

Gus unbuckled his own pants and took out his cock. Joseph stared. In disbelief. In sheer fucking terror. It wasn't possible. It wasn't human. No man had a cock that freakishly enormous, except in his own fantasies.

"Down on your knees, Sunshine."

Joseph's lip trembled. After the oral gang rape he'd endured in the shower room, the last thing he wanted was to have another man's cock in his mouth. Ever. Unhappily, it looked as if giving head was going to become a way of life for him.

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