Templar - The Prison Guard
Boys Reformatory Series #10
Whoever or whatever Klyn had fucked since his arrival in MBR, it was obvious, by just how quickly he finished this fuck-"Oh, holy shit, take my load, you sonofabitch ass-tight motherfucker!"-that none of it had been of the exceptional caliber, by way of cock-stimulation, that Taylor's asshole had proven to be.
Baley illustrated his grasp of the situation by not letting Klyn linger, once the kid was obviously finished. Baley pulled the kid back and off his mount. The young inmate was so unbalanced, because of his sweat pants and chains still wrapping his ankles and feet that Baley needed to provide a steadying hand.
"Get that rubber off your sorry excuse for a dick, tie the rubber off, and, then, extend both of your arms in front of you!" Baley commanded, indicating no argument. It was a tone of voice I practiced, sometimes, for long times, in front of a mirror, in unsuccessful attempts to emulate.
The kid, like a well-behaved monkey, and looking surprisingly like an albino one, did exactly as instructed. Baley re-attached the handcuffs and skillfully hoisted the kid's pants. Baton tip returned between the kid's shoulder blades, Baley began marching the inmate out of the cell. At which time, I provided the door to the hallway with two raps, that, like Ali Babba's incantation-"Open Sesame!"-had the door swing open to admit the handcuffed and leg-chained Paul Morlin, seventeen-year-old arsonist, whose fire-lighting proclivity had almost killed his mother, father, sister, brother, and family dog-and would have if the latter's barking hadn't awakened all those in question in time to flee the burning building. Paul was baton-herded by Jonathan Zinn, another veteran guard at MBR, who knew the ropes, and who had been recruited by Baley to provide an assist.
Paul Morlin has carrot-colored hair. That he is as skinny as Klyn, and has skin just as pale, would have convinced me that Taylor definitely had a "thing" for skinny, ghost-complexioned kids, except the next two inmates who walked through the very same door, hand-picked by the very same man, were anything but skinny, pale, or in anyway kid-like. Quite the contrary.
Glebe Reynolds is eighteen and looks twenty-five. He has a head of coal-black hair and thick bushy eyebrows that meet in a straight line across his two beady pin-prick eyes, via the bridge of his nose; the latter has to have been broken at least three times-once that I know of in a knock-down drag-out within the very walls of MBR. He has a dimple in his large chin that is so deep and so perpetually full of shadow that it always looks as if he's forgotten to wash as well as he should. His ass is muscular, as are his legs and arms; all are covered with a matting of black hair. His dick is six-and-a-half-average inches long, but its extraordinary circumferences matches that of any beer can. At one point, his fuck of Taylor's ass became so rambunctious that, even without Taylor calling a halt to the proceedings, Baley took it upon himself to whack the troll's hirsute buttocks resoundingly with the length of the baton and insist-"Take it the fuck easy, or I'll be the one raping your asshole with my billy-club!"
Janner Murphy has a completely shaved head, eyes even beadier than those of his predecessor, and acne-scarred cheeks, forehead, and chin. His whole body is so muscled from extensive time spent in the MBR gym, and likely chowing down on contraband steroids, that there's no really telling where his massive neck ends and his equally massive shoulders begin.