Work Text:
There are two things you like about working the night shift. One, you get off work right when all the bagel places open. Two, there’s nobody there to micromanage you. Unless there’s an overdose or someone starts a fire, you have the place to yourself.
There’s not a lot to like about working the night shift at a New Jersey Department of Corrections juvenile detention center. First because you’re a fucking cop, something you told yourself you’d never become no matter what happened. But after what happened with law school you needed money fast and didn’t have many good options. Second because it’s a neverending grind of fights and drugs and fights over drugs and constant sexual harassment, not just from the inmates but every dipshit guard on staff. You have to regularly remind yourself that you’re not these kids’ lawyer and you’re not their therapist. You’ve learned, the hard way, when to intervene and when doing something will make things worse for everyone.
You look through the window in the door of cell number 29B and you decide not to do anything. Because it will make things worse, probably, if you intervene. And because one of the few perks of this shitty job is watching boys fuck.
The view isn’t great but you can see inmate 000154690A on the bottom bunk, propped up on his hands. Beneath him is inmate 000169736H, face down, pinned and writhing as his cellmate’s thick penis disappears inside him. The slender teen buries his face in his pillow, biting down to stop any embarrassing sounds while his older counterpart fucks his ass. As though there’s any way he could hide it from the rest of the cellblock. The heavy door swallows most of the sound but now that you’re paying attention you can hear the bed creaking and the muffled noises of flesh on flesh. If you checked the neighboring cells you’d find at least one kid jacking off to the sound.
You strongly suspected you’d see this when you checked cell 29B. You noticed before lockdown that 6H was clean shaven. He had a wispy beard last time you checked and teenagers are precious about what facial hair they’re able to grow. You suspect his whole body is shaved bare. His back and his genitals and his round little ass. He looked weird before with his handsome face and oddly feminine body, just slightly wider than normal around the hips and thighs. With his face hidden in his pillow the illusion is complete. 0A can run his hands down his body and imagine he’s fucking a woman, if he ignores the occasional feeling of his bitch’s balls knocking against his own swinging orbs. Unless they’re taped to keep them out of the way. You’re not sure if the older teens actually make their bitches do that, or if it’s bullshit made up by your colleagues as part of your ongoing hazing. With the bitch in question face down on the sheets, shielding his genitals from view, it’s impossible to say.
Despite 6H‘s newfound feminity, you suspect this isn’t the first time this scene has played out in cell 29B. There’s no way the skinny teen getting in touch with his womanhood could take dick this well without practice. It’s possible he had prior experience in the free world, but it’s more likely he got a crash course in pleasing a man from the young man balls deep inside him. Which sends a little pang of guilt fluttering through your chest and down into your belly. It’s a familiar feeling, you get it every time you see teenage inmates fucking and do nothing about it. Hope that it’s consensual. Guilt for not helping, even though you know you’d only make it worse. Unwanted sympathy for this little shit who always thinks he’s so God damned smart, because as annoying as he is he didn’t deserve to lose his virginity face down on a prison mattress. Doesn’t deserve the pain and humiliation and whatever struggles with sex and gender follow him the rest of his life.
(And aren’t those fun.)
You should have checked the cell earlier, made it first thing on your route. You could have caught them during foreplay and that would have told you a lot. Whether 0A persuaded his new girlfriend with kisses or open palmed slaps. Pain or tenderness or both. You can’t see any bruises but the light isn’t good. You missed the warmup oral that undoubtedly preceded the main event, though that wouldn’t have told you much. Young men at this age all have oral fixations and even if this is a consensual sexual encounter there’s no way 6H got away without a dick down his throat. Or as far as he could take it. You bet he gagged like crazy and tried to pull back, held in place by his assailant until the threat of vomit on his balls persuaded 0A to let his catamite up for air. His bitch coughed and sputtered and tried hard to ignore the funny feeling in his balls and his taped dick. Then his new daddy pushed him back down for another round. And another.
(You feel another surge of titillating revulsion for adopting, in your own internal monologue, the brutally misogynistic sociolect of the prisoners and the shithead guards who enable them. Bitch. Punk. Slut. Whore. The implication that taking dick is the only thing which distinguishes man from woman.)
They must have had used something as lube. Copious amounts of spit, maybe augmented with one of those hair gel packets. Raw anal would produce a level of struggling and screaming that a pillow in the mouth couldn’t cover up, forcing you to intervene.
0A pushes up onto his knees. He grabs a fistful of his newly-minted slut’s wavy hair and pulls back. 6H scrambles after him, propping himself on his hands and knees. They face away from you and you still can’t see if the bottom has an erection. You want a better view for a bunch of reasons. Going in there and leaning against the wall with your truncheon in hand and demanding they continue, which is what you always think about doing when this happens, would be a step too far. You wonder how they’d react with an audience, once they got past the shock and the desperate scramble to cover themselves. 0A would show off. He’d grin and mug and fuck harder to force embarrassing sounds out of his partner. He’d look you in the eye and imagine it was you pinned and whimpering and full of his dick. You’d be the woman he thought of every time he fucked his cellmate, assuming you aren’t already.
What do you get out of this, really? Is this just voyeurism or does the fantasy go further? You briefly imagine yourself as prisoner 6H, pinned whimpering to the mattress and pumped full of dick. The thought of being force feminized, of being conscripted into the social and sexual role you’ve spent your whole life escaping, is an immediate no-go.
Someone coughs. You turn quickly, hand on your baton, and find the tier deserted. Muffled sound of a second cough from the level below. Someone with a cold, maybe. The fat kid in 15A with sleep apnea. You’re jumpy, exposed, dragged momentarily back into reality from the tiny world of the prison cell and the fantasy world in your head. If the other dick on shift catches you perving on gay prison sex you’re never living it down.
Satisfied nobody is watching you, you return your attention to the window in the cell door. 0A is still sodomizing 6H, allowing you to pick up where you left off. Vanilla sex is out. What about the reverse? What if you slip into the other role, the athletic teen slipping his cock into the surrogate-vagina of the boy in front of him?
The surge of heat through your face suggests you’re on the right track.
In the back of the bedroom closet in your shitty apartment, past the old shoes and articles of clothing you only occasionally wear out of social obligation (job interviews, weddings and funerals), is a strapon. Tucked away in the Amazon box it came in, where you stuffed it after you gave up on using it. A reagent from a failed experiment.
Maybe not that one. Something made to use on a man, with just a little curve so you can jab his prostate with every thrust. Not like this idiot with his shitty technique, selfishly hammering away.
Yeah, you could fuck him. Dominate and punish and master him with your big rubber cock up his ass. Make him suck off the strap and put the condom on with his mouth before lubing himself, because that’s his responsibility if he doesn’t want to rip open. Push his back into an arch and line the tip of your dick up with his asshole. Feel him shudder and tense up even though he’s done it before. Because he’s done it before and he knows what’s about to happen.
You know you could convince him. Assert yourself as his protector. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before, but he gets to do it with a woman. He doesn’t have to sit on the toilet and fart cum into the bowl for an hour after the act. Pay attention to his hobbies, which every teen his age craves from authority figures no matter how hard they pretend not to care. Ask him about the drawings taped to the cell wall. The stacked books from the prison library. Playfully prod his erection with your baton. Demand to know what he’s going to do with it. Why he’s so hard when it’s not going inside you. Would he have a smart fucking remark for you then? When he’s on his back with an ass full of your rubber cock, spraying jizz all over himself?
God, what's wrong with you? Watching and doing nothing is bad enough. You can at least tell yourself you’d help if he asked. But you’re not going full-on chickenhawk. The other COs joke about it constantly, part of the neverending spew of sexual entendres they’ll keep spitting at you until they either decide you’re one of the team or set you up to get killed. You very strongly suspect one of them is fucking a prisoner or two. Right now there’s a chance that, if you caught them in the act, you’d do the right thing. Put a stop to it and get him thrown in prison where he belongs at the cost of whatever retaliation the others think up. If you do what you’re thinking about doing to prisoner 6H, you’re one of them.
Whatever. Next time you see him in good light, you’ll see if the dark haired adolescent currently taking it up the ass is covered in bruises. You’ll minimize the damage as best you can but you’re not going to save this one. You’re not his teacher or doctor or psychiatrist or guidance counselor. You’ve given up on playing mommy for these little shits and having your heart broken again and again. But you fantasize about playing daddy for this one.
0A pounds away like an affectless fuck machine. Any sound he makes, be it dirty talk or tender affirmations or threats of violence directed at his punk, is eaten by the thick cell door. He’s nothing but a warmup cock for the real object of your new obsession. The repulsive fantasy which will pop into your head every time you see inmate 6H’s smooth chin and soft blue eyes and hands that flutter like butterflies when he fidgets. Thighs that would look amazing bulging just a little around a pair of stockings, smuggled in as a “gift” along with some real food. Maybe a bagel, a poppy with a schmear. Almost a day old but toasted in the shitty little break room toaster and spread with cream cheese after the fact so it tastes almost fresh. Make him finish it in front of you so nobody can take it away. And then-
You turn away from the window in the door of cell 29B before you see how it ends.