Forceful Justice (142 page)

“I've never done this before,” he said. “Not with something this big.”

“It's okay. Your throat will stretch and it'll feel nice.”

Carter nodded his head in approval and began sucking him off. Stetson, normally thoroughly forceful, found himself turned on by Carter's sweetness, and the gentle licking and blowing he performed all the base of and head of his penis. The feeling behind the actions mattered to Stetson because he didn't believe anyone had ever loved him, truly loved him. He pressed gently on the side of Carter's side, running his index finger along the ridge of Carter's ear. Carter moaned quietly, and Stetson pulled his head for another kiss, this time going along his neck and down his front. Carter tasted sweet to Stetson, his aroma an airy but unforgettable saccharine. He ran his fingers under the band of Carter's underwear and pulled them off. Carter's penis took some time to get hard, given the temperature outside the tent, but it wasn't long before he was raring to go. He laid on top of Carter, careful, so as not to smash him, as Carter used his toes to kick off Stetson's pants, revealing his rock-hard and round ass. For someone so strong and athletic, Carter found himself surprised by the parts of his lover that were undeniably soft. He couldn't forget that men were human too. He rubbed his face against Stetson's facial scrub from not shaving for several days. The facial hair tickle and then he ran his hands along Stetson's massive arms and shoulders. Despite the fact that Stetson had a perfectly manly body, his skin was blemish free and hairless. Not a single stretch mark, pimple, or blackhead. His smell was musky and his sweat intoxicating. When his hair got wet, the blondness darkened to spectacular yellowish sheen. Carter ran his small, spindly fingers through it as Stetson continued rubbed his giant member against the inside of Carter's leg. Carter could feel the thickness of his cock head rubbing right next to Carter's pubic hair as Stetson continued along and down Carter's arms. A moose from behind came running up, about to charge and Carter's heart skipped a beat.

“It's ok,” Stetson said. “I'm here. I'll always be here.” He then unzipped a bag lying next to the pillow on which Carter's head rested and pulled out some lube. They were completely naked and Carter could see goosebumps form, like chicken skin, on Stetson's abs. Carter continued rubbing Stetson's nipples as he lubed up, and then Stetson wrapped Carter's legs around his waist, his dick ready for action.

“Go gently,” Carter told him. “It's been a while.”

Stetson nodded in comprehension and then entered him forcefully but slowly. The fullness was something Carter remembered he couldn't live without as Stetson began pumping away, the tent opening flapping in the wind. There was nothing better than the feeling of being inside the person you loved, Stetson thought. He raised himself up on his front paws and used Carter's bodyweight as a counterforce to his thrusting. Every thrust accompanied a soft grunt from Carter and smile from his eyes. Stetson watched the small mounds of fat on Carter's thighs jiggle ever so slightly as he continued pumping away, smiling as his eyes recorded all the imperfections on his lover, which is to say, all the imperfections as perfections. There was a small scar on Carter's chin, from his father hit him with a steel pipe on accident. There was the area of Carter's hair that began to ever so slightly curl. There was the small of Carter's back that glowed in the early morning sunrise. They were Carter's spindly hands, fingers almost but not quite too long for his body shape, and his dainty wrists, almost feminine enough to be a woman's. Perhaps this was what really attracted Stetson to Carter in the beginning, paradoxically that his most effeminate traits were what he zeroed in on, despite the fact that he was a boy. The truth be told, it was and would remain a mystery to Stetson why he fell so hard and so fast for Carter. But the damage was done. He was in love and wanted to stay that way forever. It felt so easy and dream-like to live a life in the mountains, away from all the pressures and messiness that comes with dealing with people. He wrapped his massive hands around Carter's face as he come without warning, and he feel his hot juices flowing down his inner thigh. By the look on Stetson's face and by the feeling in his butt, Carter knew his lover just finished.

But Stetson almost always woke up from the dreams in the night, sweating at the thought of his fate on death row. There just was no way he could avoid it, and he ignored this unfortunate fact. But the subconscious was a powerful force, and in his dreams at night, he could no longer avoid the pain awaiting him. He never felt lonelier in his entire life. He expressed very little emotion through his life, not because he was incapable, but because he alienated himself from the shock his flesh was heir to. But coming to the end of the line, with only one person whom he worried about, his subdued mind finally decided it was time to face the music, so to speak.

It was nighttime, and the moonlight spilled through the tiny square window of his cell. A prisoner howled through the metallic corridor, and Stetson's heart jumped a few beats. Guards were notoriously cruel on death row. He figured other prisoners got beatings far worse than Stetson because they were far smaller and thus less able to defend themselves. In fact, most people were far smaller than he was. The guards were probably afraid of Stetson's anger, but they knew he could do nothing to escape their torments. The electronic sliding door unlocked itself down the hallway and footsteps reverberated through the prison. They sounded heavy. As the steps came closer to Stetson's cell, they stopped for a silent second.

“Lard ass. It's time for breakfast.”

He was sure the guards could not see the glimmer of fear leaking from Stetson's heart, just as he could not see (from behind the cell door) their trembling hands. He wondered why these guards continually went to such great lengths to torture him when they knew well the cost it was incur them. He guessed it just goes to show the importance sadists placed on the enjoyment of torture and cruelty.

Keys dangled from behind the door and Stetson tightened his fists, ready to fight for ninth time this month. The door opened to small man, with a crooked smile on his face, holding a tray of mashed potatoes and bread.

“We thought you'd like something better this time.” He placed the tray down on the end of the bed. Then he stood there, over Stetson's hulking body, waiting.

“Go on. I want to watch you enjoy it. Sorry about the other day.” That phrase, “the other day,” recalled images in his mind of the guards handcuffing Stetson to his bed, while they ripped his shirt off, revealing a nasty, unhealed stab wound on his ribs. He was sure it would get infected again when they knifed open the stitches and threw iodized salt into the wound. They wanted to him to scream, but he never gave in.

“Now, Mr. Carthswaite it's our job to make sure you eat. We can't keep you big and healthy for your Big Day in a week if you don't eat. The food we chose was special, as an apology for the problems we caused earlier.”

He had no choice but to eat. Looking down at the food in the moonlight he could see the white bread, which did look untouched. The mashed potatoes were clean, too. The brownie on the side was still warm, but he couldn't smell properly after getting his nose broken by the guards even two months back. He held the tray closer to his face to make sure it wasn't a cruel joke. Taking one big whiff, he inhaled the rankest, nastiest aroma imaginable. The brownie was no brownie. It was shit.

Stetson's anger exploded and he lost control of himself. He hurled the tray at the small guard was laughing now. The tray cracked over his head and he fell to the floor of the cell unconscious. The lights flicked on, and three hulking guards came from the door with nightsticks. They cracked the batons over his back and fingers. Stetson grabbed one by the throat and threw him against the wall, just as he lost feeling in his body. He knew this time they had paralyzed him. He just knew it.

II

Carter Simmons had sex with Michael Ingrams several more times after that day in the office. Ingrams was planning to leave his wife for Carter.

“I love you man,” he said. “I haven't felt this way about anyone--ever.” Carter was appreciative for the guy's affections, but his own heart was somewhere else. The thin layer of betrayal underlying his sexual liaisons with Michael Ingram started wearing on his psyche after several weeks. Carter held onto any semblance of hope that he could get Stetson off death row before it was too late. If that meant he had to fuck one thousand other people to accomplish that, he would do it.

Ingrams pulled off his shirt and sat down on the bed, awaiting Carter, who was already naked. The guy was definitely forceful in bed and showed it when he took Carter by the waist and hoisted him upside down so they could perform mutual oral stimulation. Carter was on top of Ingrams, who had his pants down by his waist and sock still on. They continued to pleasure each other, as Ingram analyzed every physical blemish, no matter how small or seemingly trivial about Carter. He took a big woof of the boy's anus to memorize how smelled, which was definitely vaguely sweet, like roses just blossoming on a summer's day. The sunset outside of Ingram's bedroom reminded him of the first time he had sex with his now wife. She was originally a prude, but there was definitely a difference between the experience of having sex with a boy and a girl. Carter, though somewhat dainty and effeminate, had definite boyish qualities, like when what Ingrams was doing to him down there felt good enough, he responded by increasing his stroking frequency on Ingrams member. The mutual pleasure formed a cycle of response between the two lovers and he was certain Carter must have feelings for him. After spending the next few minutes continuing the cycle of pleasure, Carter slipped off onto his side and Ingram licked his toes and feet, the skin of which was untouched, perfect almost. He never liked feet before, but then he never liked boys before either. So all of this was new. Ingrams then took Carter and placed him on top of his waist to ride him, while Carter braced himself against the headboard. Carter could see a small toy Ingrams must have kept from his chldhood, twirling around, near falling on the edge of the shelf of the headboard, while Ingrams himself watched Carter's rocking back and forth on his penis through the mirror on the opposite wall. Ingrams placed his hands on Carter's waist, feeling the soft skin, which ran along the side of his torso. He was still so young, Ingrams though. How could someone so young have already suffered so much. His empathy levels skyrocketed at this moment, coupled with the sexual ecstasy of physical communion with him. Ingrams ran his hands down Carter's legs and thighs squeezing the ever so small piece of fat on the inside of his legs, observing the small fuzz on his lover ankles and feet. In the mirror, Carter's ass seemed far more voluptuous to Ingram than he originally noticed. He grabbed both cheeks with his hand and squeezed firmly, in the same way he did when he first made love to his wife. Soft, fleshy parts of people were almost the best bits to hold onto during lovemaking. Carter slipped off his pens and lay back on the side of Ingram, who took a break but continued his erection by stroking aimlessly. Carter looked Ingram, who for near 40 seemed like he was in the best shape of his life. His skin was tan, red with the heat of testosterone, and his shoulders were broad, somewhat out of proportion for the rest of his body. By far the most beautiful part of Ingram were his blue eyes. The man had the eyes of the most compassionate human being to walk the face of the earth, somehow able to communicate all the stirrings of his soul through a single part of his body. He was proof the eyes truly are the window to the soul. Another beautiful part of Ingram were his distinct masculine lips. They were unchapped, a soft pink from regular Chopstick use. Carter ran his thumb along his lips as Ingram continued stroking his own penis to continue the passion between the two men. After a few seconds it was clear he was ready and he took Carter's face into his hands, laying kiss after kiss on the guy, everywhere he could find, on his lips, his cheeks, the edges of his mouth, along the ridge of his nose, his eyelids, his eyebrows, his forehead. He ran Carter's blond through his face, taking in the rich, soft, clean smell of his hair. It was heaven. He then pinned Carter's arms above his head, and wrapped the boy's legs around his waist, finding his entrance with the tip of his penis. He then pushed a little for a few seconds and Carter's entrance opened for him. He pumped slowly at first, then faster and faster. The boy took the pounding like a champ, moaning in the right places. He was happy for the moment, Ingram thought. He could feel the softness of the inside of Carter's canal, happy that he could make Carter happy. He ran his hands along the top of Carter's slight chest and over the soft belly. There was a soft smack of skin against skin as Ingram pounded his waist against Carter. Then he pulled out and turned Carter around so he could get a look at rear-entry intercourse, smiling as he ran his hands up and down the outer edge of Carter's behind. He sat up, put his penis near Carter’s hole, and used his partner's waist as a brace to push against. When he entered from outside he moaned on the other side of the bed, and, for a second, he worried that he had hurt the guy.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Carter's head nodded forward in comprehension. Ingrams continued pumping away, and with every pump coming closer and closer to completion. Miraculously Carter himself came at the same time, and they both mutually grunted in satisfaction.

“You said you could help me,” Carter said, taking a breath. “What did you mean by that?”

Ingram seemed disappointed Carter remembered what he said. “I'm Presley Watkins partner in crime. He doesn't know about us.”