Disclaimer: See initial chapter.
Warnings: See initial chapter.
The second time it happens, Juice isn't prepared for it, Clay's horny, Gemma's not there, but he is. Clay tears into him like he hasn't been laid in years, and it's all Juice can do to keep his hands underneath him, to keep his elbows from buckling and the both of them from crashing to the unforgivably cold concrete of the prison floor.
The guard's there touching himself again, and this time Juice can hear him encouraging Clay to, "Take him, take that dirty whore and show him who's boss."
It makes Juice sick to his stomach, and it's all he can do to stay conscious as Clay pounds into him. He can feel the blood trickling down the inside of his thighs and wonders if the sight of it is what pushes the perverse guard over the edge.
Juice can see the man's purpled erection, the spunk spewing forth from it as the man comes, some of it splashes on Juice's face, the back of his neck. Clay's orgasm fills him to bursting and then as soon as it started, it's over and Clay's kissing the back of his neck again, tongue flicking over the drying cum from their audience.
"I love you son," are Clay's parting words, and then, just like last time there's the shower and then the escort back to the cell.
Juice feels empty and like his life's stuck on some sort of auto repeat. He doesn't cry.
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