Blacks

Damien moved quickly. Now having a reputation, Damien called for a parlay with the blacks. They met in the yard in the early afternoon.

“What you do you want white boy? You called this meeting, so talk.”

Damien moved towards the bleachers, the head black convict sitting between two ladyboys, one chocolate skinned and the other lily white. “I will be collecting your rent, same as you gave to my predecessor, but at a fraction of the original amount. I was 20% of what you paid him. In return, you run your own business, move your own product, and have no fear that I will ruin your day.”

“Why would we pay you anything? White boy before you represented some powerful people. You’re just a white boy with muscle. I got plenty of muscle.”

“I represent those same people. My predecessor was…retired. I run things here…now.”

The black boss stood, his ladyboys reluctantly taking their hands from his thighs. He stood, staring at Damien for one minute, then two. “The king is dead. Long love the king. You’ll get your cut. Want one of my bitches for a bit? The white one in particular squeezes you real tight when you pound her.”

“No. I’ve got my own.” Damien turned, and slowly walked away from the black gang. Time would tell if they would continue to kiss the ring.

Damien felt an urge to have his balls drained and headed back to his cell. Ass or mouth? Why not both? Bobby barely had time to bend over before Damien was in him.