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Possum Prison Pussy

Part 1: Testing the Merchandise

~Sneak Peek~

Sylva had never felt more violated in his life. It made walking by the yard seem tame even with how many men whistled and called him fresh meat. His scrubs were a powdery blue and that made him look boxy. They wrinkled in odd places as they tried to find purchase somewhere on him. The boxers he had were extremely spacious and he felt like he had a wad of fabric pushed up against his cunt all the time. He just slouched and hugged himself as he was escorted to his cell.

It was a separate building opposite the main hub. He was brought in, the floors concrete and cold, the metal bars and everything painted white.

"Here," Crux stopped by an empty cell. It was a bunk bed with a shallow mattress, white sheets, and a couple ratty green blankets.

"You'll be sharing a room with Lawrence," Crux ordered. "Looks like he has the bottom bunk. Probably best for the bag of bones. He won't give you any trouble, but keep your head down and speak only when spoken too."

"Yeah, I get it," Sylva sighed and padded into his cell. Crux just huffed and shook his head.

"Yeah, they'll eat you alive," Crux commented. Sylva felt a shiver go down his spine at that comment.

"I can handle myself," Sylva muttered.

"Yeah, and look where that got ya," Crux shot back and closed the cell door behind him. The latching of that door cell made everything come into focus. His mind finally caught up with reality; this was really happening to him, he was really in jail...he really...really fucked up.

Crux whistled a tune as he walked away, his boots scraping against the concrete. Sylva just bit his lip and let his warm tears roll down his face as he curled up in a corner. It was cold, it was dark, and it was full of dust and hair, but he didn't care. It felt like the safest place to cry. He took deep breaths and let them out slowly. Despite his best efforts, his light sobs echoed down the halls. He just hoped no one would hear him.

A loud buzz caught Sylva off guard as his cell doors swung open. The sound of shuffling feet and shouting started to fill the cell block. Sylva didn't know how long he was crying, but he felt like he got enough out. He cleared up his tears and stood up. He crossed his legs and arms as he leaned against the corner of his cell and looked out the window. He couldn't show fear or weakness.

"Oh, you must be my new bunkie," a withering voice came into his cell.

"Yeah...I...this is my cell," Sylva managed to say clearly. He didn't look down at his new mate.

"Come now, kid," the old man chuckled. "No need to act tough around me. You may be a pretty boy, but you'll look like a true institution man standing next to me."

"I don't need your help," Sylva breathed, still refusing to look down.

"I never intended to offer it, ya dirty street trash," the old man's voice was more joking than pointed. "Though, fresh meat like you might be able to learn a thing or two from someone who's been around the yard a few times."

"I can handle myself," Sylva huffed.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," the old man's chuckle was accompanied by the squeaking of his bunk as he sat down in it. "Just like you handled yourself right into this box where I'm at. Huh?"

"Shut up," Sylva bit his lip, fighting back tears.

"You can't spend your sentence staring out the window the whole time," the elder spoke. "You'll have to eventually look at me."

"No, I don't have to," Sylva was pouting, anything to make himself feel a sense of control.

"Listen kid," the old man started. "You can spend your time here either pouting, or you can learn something. All we have is time in here. You can spend it trying to figure out something to be once you get out of here, or you can be stubborn and brood. That's your business. Just do it quietly if you decide to pout."

"Fine," Sylva spat out.

"Oh, they'll have a lot of fun with you."

That's all the old man said. The only sound was the echoing of other inmates throughout the block. Sylva found some peace just looking out of the window. The only thing breaking the monotony of the blue sky were the brushes of white clouds.

"Yo! Lawrence! My man!" An inmate shouted as he came to their cell. Sylva practically jumped as he was pulled back into his mind. A toucan was there, is black feathers shimmering and his long beak pulled into a cocky grin.

"Ah, Fruit-Loop!" The old man smiled and hopped off his bed. He was a pangolin! The old man, who must be Lawrence, had old weathered scales and plating. He couldn't have been more than four feet tall and his hands were always in a timid position where the long claw tips would click together as he walked.

"Yeah, my man, My MAN!" The toucan shouted. "I'm telling you, that you're gunna hate me. The house ain't winnin' dat bet I made."

"Oh, did you manage to beat String-Been on the court? I stopped watching after he scored three on you."

"You should have stayed," the toucan gave a sly smirk. He was a young man, easily in his mid-twenties. His body was tight and fit. "I smoked him in the last half of the game and won with a three point shot! Ho yeah brother! Smoked him good."

"You spittin' lies, jail bird?" A meerkat of similar build as the toucan came up and pointed one of his claws at the underside of that bill. "You know I had more points when the buzzer went off."

"You callin' me a liar, fool!" Fruit-Loop spat back.

"Yeah, I is callin' you a liar! I won that game, bitch!"

"We all know the game keeps going if the ball is in the air before the buzzer goes off."

"Shut yo damn mouth! You know you didn't throw no ball until after the buzzer started. The game was over before you threw that half-court bullshit!"

"Boys," Lawrence nodded at them and waved his hands to calm them down. "I can make some inquiries around the yard. A couple of my associates will confirm who won and I'll get back to you."

"Oh fuck_this noise," Fruit-Loop squawked. "I ain't gunna have no one vouch for me when I _KNOW your associates are working with Magnus."

"I could call it a draw and have the house win," Lawrence smiled and shrugged.

"Man, forget it," Fruit-Loop sputtered. "Not like I need the money anyway. My baby's been sending me sweet gifts and shit. I don't need your dumbass crumbs."

"Backpedallin' much? You runnin' scared 'cuz you know I won?" The meerkat named String-Bean spat.

"Fuck you Stringy!" The toucan flipped the meerkat the bird. "I ain't gunna make an enemy out of Magnus over a stupid bet - who is that fine slab of meat?" Fruit-Loop paused mid-sentence and his eyes glanced over at Sylva.

"Just my new Bunkie," Lawrence waved his concerns off with one hand and adjusted his glasses with the other. "A true gem and conservationist."

"Ain't talk much, huh?" The toucan confirmed. "Yo, pretty boy, what's your name?"

Sylva froze and blushed. Fear gripped his heart as he realized he was being spoken too. It happened all so fast. He just turned and looked out the window without answering.

"Aww, he blushed," the toucan elbowed the meerkat and pointed at Sylva. "Look at his cheeks."

"Oh, I've been lookin'," String-Bean bit his lips and bounced his brows. "Yo, Cheeks, what ya in for."

Fuck...even without saying anything he was given such a shitty nickname.

"My name is Emmanuel," Sylva blurted out a bit quickly.

"Ah, nah, we're past that, Cheeks," Fruit-Loop stepped past Lawrence and came into the cell. Sylva's face flushed red. "What ya in for?"

"S-Seven years," Sylva answered.

"Na, what ya in for," String-Bean also passed by Lawrence despite his timid protests and the two effectively formed a wall around Sylva, trapping him in his corner. "What did ya do to get the seven years, Cheeks? That ain't no light sentence neither."

"Nah, not a light sentence," Fruit-Loop agreed. "Had to have done something pretty bad to convict someone this young."

"How old are ya Cheeks?" String-Bean asked.

"Yeah, how old are ya?" Fruit-Loop pried.

"I-I'm e-e-eighteen," Sylva managed to stammer out.

"Eighteen? Fuck, what ya do, kill the mayor or some shit?" The toucan chuckled.

"Nah, ya Loop!" String-Bean smacked the toucan upside the head, but not hard, more jokingly. "Stutter over here said e-e-eighteen."

The two started to laugh, but suddenly they paused and looked down. There were a couple of long claws on their hips.

"Gentlemen, do you remember the last time someone came in my cell without permission?"

"Oh, sorry Law," the toucan apologized and scratched the back of his head. "I wasn't really entering your cell, I was entering Cheeks' cell, ya know what I'm sayin'?"

"Yeah," the meerkat did the same thing as he started to make his way around Lawrence to get out of the cell. "We weren't trying to mess nothin' up or anythin'."

"Yeah, nothin'," Fruit-Loop followed String-Bean out of the cell.

"I'll overlook it," Lawrence affirmed. "Just leave now and I'll mark down String here as the winner."

"Fuck man," the toucan slapped his forehead and groaned. "I forgot."

"Yo' half court was a killer move, but too little too late, suckuh!" String-Bean basically mocked the toucan all the way to their respective cells.

Sylva collapsed, hiding his face in his hands as he hid behind their bunks. Tears streamed down his face as he felt relief and fear all at the same time. Was this his life now for the next seven years? Just hiding and cowering, hoping he doesn't get killed or say the wrong thing.

"You okay, kid?" Lawrence asked.

"I'm fine," Sylva snapped. He wasn't convincing at all. He just fought back a sob and pulled knees closer to himself.

"No, you're not," Lawrence was standing just in front of him. Sylva sniffed and looked up. The old man was there, his worn old scales faded in color and covered in scars and scrapes. Between his claws though, was tissue paper. Sylva snatched it and covered his nose while trying not to cry.

"It's okay, kid. They all cry their first night," Lawrence reassured him.

"They...they do?"

"All of them your age anyway," Lawrence smiled. "There were a few that didn't, but those were the ones who got the chair. They ain't here no more. So don't worry, Cheeks. You'll do just fine."

"I-" Sylva took in a shaky breath and blew his nose. "I don't want to be named, Cheeks."

"Well, too late for that," Lawrence shook his head. "It's either that or Stutter."

"I...I don't know which is worse." Sylva sighed, having gotten the fear out of him.

"Well Emmanuel, it's up to you as to which one sticks now."

"Why do...why do they call you Lawrence? Can't they call me by my first name too?"

"They call me Lawrence because of a very specific reason," Lawrence pulled out a book from under his mattress. "It's because they can't say my nickname out loud, lest the guards hear."

"What's your nickname?" Sylva felt a tinge of fear.

"Nothing special, got the name long ago and I kind of fell into the roll," Lawrence started to scribble something in the book. It was a ledger with fancy handwriting and hundreds of dollars in bets from across the facility.

"They call me Bookie," Lawrence scratched out Fruit-Loop's name and circled String-Bean's.