All Chapters of Rough Hands(20 gay steamy Encounters): Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

They found me guilty in less than two hours.The jury looked at me like I was already dead. The judge called me a monster. My lawyer said nothing. I tried to scream that I didn’t kill her — that I loved her — but the gavel came down and it was over. Life sentence. No parole. They sent me to Blackthorn Maximum Security — the prison they reserve for the worst of the worst. Rapists, murderers, gang leaders, psychopaths. The kind of place where hope goes to die.The transport van was silent except for the rattling chains around my wrists and ankles. When we arrived, the guards didn’t even look at me. They just shoved me through processing like meat.“New fish,” one guard sneered as they stripped me. “Pretty face. Soft body. You won’t last a week.”They gave me an orange jumpsuit two sizes too small and threw me into general population without protection. The moment the cell block door slammed behind me, I felt hundreds of eyes on me. Predatory. Hungry.I kept my head down and walked fast

Morning in Blackthorn hit like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.The block lights slammed on at 6 AM. My body was still aching, bruised, and leaking from the night before. The massive plug Reaper had forced inside me kept everything locked deep — warm, heavy, and shifting with every tiny movement. My hole felt permanently stretched, sore, and sloppy.Reaper’s crew dragged me out of the bunk before I could even stand properly.“Time to show the block what the new bitch looks like,” Reaper growled, ripping the remains of my jumpsuit completely off me. I stood naked in the middle of the cell block, wrists cuffed behind my back, the thick plug clearly visible between my cheeks.Dozens of eyes turned toward me. Inmates whistled, laughed, and catcalled as Reaper paraded me down the walkway like a trophy.“Fresh meat, boys!” he announced loudly. “Killed his girlfriend. Now he’s our prison whore. Come get a good look at that pretty hole.”They forced me to bend over a metal table in the co

The morning after my first full night with Reaper’s crew, I woke up to the sound of the block waking up.My body was a wreck. Every muscle ached. My hole throbbed around the massive plug still locked deep inside me, keeping the loads from the entire previous day trapped. Cum had leaked out around it during the night, leaving sticky trails down my thighs and soaking the thin mattress.Reaper yanked the thin blanket off me and slapped my ass hard.“Up, bitch. Today the whole block gets to meet their new prison whore.”They didn’t let me shower. They didn’t let me clean myself. Reaper and two of his crew dragged me out of the cell completely naked, wrists cuffed behind my back, the thick plug clearly visible between my cheeks as cum still slowly leaked down my legs.The catcalls started immediately as we walked down the main corridor.“Fresh meat!”“Look at that gaping hole!”“Pretty boy killer got turned into a cumdump already!”Reaper paraded me through the common area like a trophy. D

The yard was hell on earth.They dragged me out there after breakfast, completely naked except for the thick metal collar Reaper had locked around my neck. My wrists were cuffed behind my back, ankles chained together with just enough slack to shuffle. The massive plug was still buried deep inside me, keeping the previous day’s loads locked in place. Cum already leaked down my thighs with every forced step.Hundreds of inmates filled the yard. The moment they saw me, the shouting started.“Fresh bitch!”“Pretty killer got turned into a prison whore!”“Line up, boys — free hole today!”Reaper and his crew marched me to the center of the yard where a old metal picnic table had been cleared. They bent me over it, chaining my ankles wide apart to the legs and my wrists to the far edge so I was completely immobilized, ass up and exposed for the entire prison population.“Today the whole yard gets a turn,” Reaper announced loudly. “This murdering slut belongs to Blackthorn now. Use him hard

slumped lower in my seat at the back of the lecture hall, the crumpled exam paper burning a hole in my backpack. The bright red “F” felt like a brand. Twenty-one years old, starting forward on the university soccer team, and somehow I was on the verge of flunking Professor Marcus Hale’s advanced literature seminar. I’d skimmed the readings, bullshitted a couple papers, and coasted on charm in class discussions. It had worked until now.Professor Hale was… intense. Tall and broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair that gave him this distinguished, commanding presence. His jaw was sharp, his voice deep and measured, the kind that filled the entire hall without effort. Every time he paced in front of the class, rolling up his sleeves to reveal those thick forearms, or leaned against his desk with his legs slightly spread, I caught myself staring. I told myself it was nothing—just a stupid crush on an attractive older man. Plenty of guys on campus whispered about him. Strict. Uncompro