The Jailhouse Diaries: Part Seven

I empathized with Chad now. After being Armando's prison bitch for a mere two days, I wanted to bite my wrists until I bled to death myself.

I didn't sleep at all after Armando anally raped me all night. It took the fucker ages to finally blow his load, then he made me suck him off afterwards. Ass-To-Mouth might look hot when you're watching a porno movie, but it really is disgusting to slurp your own shit off another guy's dick. I hope the girls in those movies get paid a whole lot more for doing it.

I was still bleeding from my anus when I limped off to the morning count. Everybody already knew I'd been turned out. That's the way fortunes run in jail. One minute you're the pimp of the cell block, the next you're some ese's fuck pig. Not even that child molestor Nathan would talk to me in the cafeteria.

To my credit, I was much more humane to Chad than Armando was to me. After breakfast, he told me to get back to the cell, and gave me a tube of lipstick and eyeliner. "I don't want to ever see you not wearing this bitch." Then he made me get on my knees and perform more oral sex on him. I think I used too much teeth.

"Turn around and face the sink," he said. I obeyed, though I didn't know why.

Suddenly I felt him kick the back of my head. My mouth slammed down against the edge of the sink, and I felt an audible CRUNCH as my jaw became a white hot cinder of pain. I fell to the floor, and spat out about five of my teeth into a pool of blood and spit before I passed out.

I woke up a few hours later laying face down on my bunk with my pants down. Armando was scratching something on my buttcheek. "Gotta make sure you got your brand, puta." He scratched the hell out of it with a needle. Turns out, it was tattoo. After he left to go watch TV with his homies, I stood up and twisted around in the mirror to see what it said. As of that moment, I had the word COCKSOCKET tattooed on my ass for the rest of my life. I cried until my eye-liner ran down my cheeks like clown tears.

Armando must of been a horny spic. He was buttfucking me almost every spare chance he got. For some reason, his Mexican Mafia buddies didn't mind. It did not effect their feelings of machismo towards him. Still, I shat blood constantly and still do to this day. I'd always thought a "Donkey Punch" was just an urban myth made up by some sickos. I found out first hand that I was wrong.

Tuesday came, and I was walking to the day room to watch some TV. "What'sup, cuz?" Shit, it was Trey Dog.

"What do you think's up, nigger?" I spat at him. It wasn't like he could do anything to me now that I was Armando's. There are some advantages to being a prison bitch.

Trey Dog just laughed. "Well white-bitch," he said. "I'm just here to remind you that if you ain't too busy getting fucked, you best go handle that bidness we was talking about. Otherwise, I'm a have to talk to the warden, and you gonna be a bitch for a looong time."

Any moral problems I had with turning Armando into a bleeding meat sieve had pretty much evaporated. It was problem of logistics since every time we were alone in the cell together, his dick was up my ass. But I had to do something. I couldn't take this for another month, let alone years.

Armando wasn't as frisky that night and was satisfied with a just a gum job from my toothless mouth. If he fell asleep on his bunk instead of laying on top of me, I might have a chance to ram my shank into his throat. Or maybe gouge his eyes out first. Yeah, then he wouldn't be able to see me. That might be...

"Everybody out of your cells!" the guards started yelling. "Contraband check! Everybody out of your cells!"

Fuck. Just what I needed.

Everybody lined up in the hallway and waited for the guards to toss their cells, looking for stuff like drugs and weapons and such. They frisked you too, so there was no hope in hiding anything on you body. Anybody caught with contraband was immediately sent to solitary. It took about half an hour for them to get to my cell. The guards didn't give fuck, they threw our shit all around as they searched.

"Whose is this?" the guard came out holding up my shank between me and Armando. "Which one of you motherfuckers does this belong to?"

Armando shrugged. The guard looked at me, and it just came out automatically: "It's his."

"What the fuck!" Armando screamed. "He's full of shit!"

"Stupid gangbanging fuck," the guard sneered. "Trying to use your sissy to hide your weapons. Welcome to hole scumbag..."

It took four guards to haul that Mexican away towards solitary. He screamed at me as he was being dragged. "Chingalo! You're dead! You hear me, puta? When I get out YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD WHITE BITCH! I KILL YOU AND YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY!"

When I got to my cell, a wave a relief came over me. Finally, I would be able to spend a night without being assraped by that wetback. I would sleep like a baby.

Then, suddenly, it dawned on me. If Armando was in solitary, I had absolutely no chance of killing him by my deadline tomorrow. And I didn't think that Trey Dog was the type of person who gave extensions.

I didn't end up sleeping at all, just laying there in a cold sweat with the certainty that I was completely and utterly doomed.