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[b][u][center]The Prison Beneath The Waves

Part 4

For Mizzukat

By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

Time passed, and Michael started to refer to himself as Mike when he wasn’t paying attention. He tried to stop it, but when that, too, started to shift to the full ‘Mike Hunt,’ he decided that ‘just Mike’ wasn’t so bad in comparison.

Life in Blue-Cell Prison was repetitive, and it was hard to tell where one day ended and another day began. Every day, it was the same routine. Sometimes, the events played out in a different order, sometimes the same, but always, always the same routine.

Wake up.

Eat ass.

Get throat-fucked.

Display himself for the prisoners.

Masturbate for Jericho’s pleasure until the rhino said he was done.

Submit himself to the three prisoners that Jericho felt deserved some human meat for their pleasure.

Get. Fucked. Repeatedly.

Whatever else happened only happened if he managed to do well enough at all the other tasks. If he was particularly good, he was allowed time in the gym, which did not do much for his figure, but did keep the others from fucking him as much as they did when he was just sitting around the common area. If he did better still, then Jericho kept him in the cell, and he was protected, used only by the rhino for the rest of the day.

Was it a good life? No. But it was what he had, and he had to be grateful for what little he was able to hold onto.

He stared into the distance. He had just finished getting ass-fucked by the rhino again, and his hole felt like it was on the verge of being totally ruined. His insides were loose. Not just gaped, but loose, as if they were to slide right out of his hole if he didn’t do something to close up again. Reaching around, he could feel the inflamed edge of his asshole, the constant fucks doing so much to damage it that he swore he’d see something like a raised donut if he ever had a mirror to look back there.

The fact that such a thought sent a shiver down his spine, a feeling of intense lust rather than fear and disgust, did not help. Mike – Michael, he begged himself, please, still Michael – wanted to hate what they were doing to him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t. It just…

It felt…

Good.

He whimpered, the taste and smell of musk of all sorts clinging to his face. The human had been under the asses of half the prisoners on the block by now. How many days had he been here? How many months? One? Two? At least one, by now, but it could have been so much longer in the dark depths of the underwater prison. His sense of time was fucked, and the smells…the smells…

No matter how many times he earned the right to a shower to get rid of all the muck and slime that had accumulated on his body, he never felt like the sweat and musk ever entirely went away. His face was smeared with the ass-musk of Aaron, the bull that might have run any other block in the prison, and he could feel the slime from the bull’s orgasm up his ass. The chest of his suit was marked with wet, oily footprints from a crocodile prisoner, one who’d made him lick his feet clean before allowing him some dignity and privacy. The smells of the prison were constantly clinging to him, reminding him that Michael Hunter wasn’t imprisoned here. Just Mike Hunt.

“Nnngh…”

He realized belatedly that he was starting to finger his ass, and he pulled his hand away. Something sucked against his finger on the way out, and he clenched down, desperately hoping that was just a wet, slick bit of his inner walls and not a prolapse sliding free. He could feel something holding his asshole open, and he gingerly pushed back in. The mental image of a prolapsed rosebud didn’t help things in the slightest.

“Nnngh…mmph…”

Nor did it help that his pussy [i]reacted[/i] to the stimulation. On the surface world, he would have been disgusted with everyone here, the smells and the touches alone driving him to want to puke. But if he reacted that way down here, it would have been a sign of weakness. Letting it affect him like that would have driven him to his knees and left him beaten to a pulp, since he was no longer useful. They would see him as nothing but meat to tenderize and send back to the guards, and then…well, he didn’t know what would happen, but it wouldn’t be anything good.

No, he had to enjoy it on some level to tolerate it. He’d conditioned himself to it without ever meaning to, and now, his pussy was getting wet at the idea of his hole just…pushing out, becoming almost like a flower blooming from between his cheeks, an open advertisement to the entire cell block to fuck him like the bitch that he’d become.

[i]…No, no, please…at least…at least let me hate that thought.[/i]

But months of conditioning had done more than just make his body react with pleasure at the disgusting things that happened to him. He had started to [i]like[/i] the idea of being Jericho’s bitch. The rhino, at least, was someone that he could obey easily, and there was a sense of safety in the abuse and humiliation. So long as he took to it and thanked Jericho for it, it would only come from the big man. If the others came after him, then the rhino was there, stopping them, making them get permission.

For now, at least. He shivered as he remembered the little conversation that they’d had the night before. It was when he was on his knees, sucking on the rhino’s toes, licking his feet clean of sweat and dust and salt water from a room flooding, when the rhino had asked him a question.

“[i]What am I, Mike Hunt?[/i]”

He’d used the word ‘sir’ again, but it hadn’t been enough. No other words would come, and in the end, he’d been punished by getting fisted up the ass. He was half-sure that was what made the impending prolapse so much more inevitable. One more good ass-fuck, and he’d probably have his hole all opened up for the world to see.

His pussy clenched down at the thought, and he whimpered under his breath as he realized how much that affected him. This was wrong. This was so, so, [i]so[/i] very wrong, and yet, he was still eager to touch himself. His clit throbbed and his inner walls were spasming, almost like some sort of bitch in heat, and he hated it. Just as much as he loved it, he hated it.

“Control, control,” he muttered under his breath. “I have to have some kind of control…”

There was no response. There never was. The other prisoners were busy with their own leisure activities – usually fucking or getting fucked, depending on if the prisoner had bitches or was one – and he could hear the occasional thump of flesh on flesh, or scales on fur, or whatever combination it happened to be. The entire cell-block was a place of debauchery…and no surprise. There was nothing else to do, no books to read, no shows to watch. Just…boredom. Boredom and sex, sex and boredom, and –

“Nnngh!”

He ripped his hand out from between his legs again, feeling the little shock of pleasure that came from rubbing his clit. He was falling into the same trap as the rest of them, and…and he was in public. That should have been enough to stop him from giving into the temptation, but the clear and present answer was that it wasn’t. All he could do was clench his legs together and hope for the best, ensuring that someone else didn’t reach over and do the same thing to him.

As he huffed in frustration, he cast his eyes out for some sort of distraction. The common area between the different cells wasn’t exactly stocked with entertainment options for the felons that called the prison home. A couple of soft goo-benches marked the total of furniture that was offered to them, and in the very, very center, not more than a few feet from where he stood, was a rack. Sometimes, the various prisoners would tie a bitch to it and make sure that they got a good train going on the little slut, but most of the time, it lay un-used.

Michael dreaded the point when Jericho would completely lose interest in him and just slap him into that thing. He was under no illusions; eventually, it would happen, and when it did, he would be completely lost to the use that the others put him to. He shivered from head to toe –

Squirt.

And then went red-faced as he could, feeling the slime from Aaron’s ass-fuck get squirted right out of his asshole. He stood up, feeling his insides shifting slightly, and held one hand over his wrinkled rim, biting his lips as he looked back at the puddle that had been left behind. It wasn’t much, and it was sterile as could be, but at the same time, that was humiliating.

“Little whore.”

Michael looked up at the high, yippy sort of voice in his ears. It was Kevin, the coyote bitch that Aaron kept around. He had a split-second to see the skinny, slightly-taller-than-him, one-balled canine looking down at him before a wiry hand settled around his throat.

“Ack!”

Carried off his feet in a split second, he didn’t even have the chance to bat at the arms holding him aloft before he was shoved to the ground. He hit the floor, rolling, only for the bitch coyote to follow him down. Hands stronger than he imagined wrapped around his wrists, pulling them back behind him, pinning them to the base of his spine and holding them there. Strong kicks forced his legs apart, exposing him –

CRACK!

The slap across his ass ripped a cry from his throat, and he whimpered as he finally felt it. His muscles went slack as he felt his anal walls pushing out, prolapsing finally as he lost control. He [i]felt[/i] the sudden rush of slime and red flesh, the spreading of his pucker by what had to come out, and he whimpered in the most abject humiliation as he was exposed in such a horrible way. There was no putting that back, now; even once it was put back in, he knew that there’d always be the risk of it coming back out again if he was handled too roughly.

But that wasn’t the only thing to happen. Kevin was on top of him, the coyote’s cock thrusting between his thighs. The first bump nudged Mike’s clit ever so slightly, and he gasped, all but squirting right then and there.

“N-no, please, let me go! I’m not yours! I’m not yours!”

“Fucking bitch, public property fucking human,” Kevin hissed. His voice was half-crazed, lost in some sort of want. He couldn’t be reasoned with; he was half-feral already. “You think that you can just hold it back. Not fair, not fair. That cunt is mine. Mine. My turn. My turn!”

He felt that jabbing shaft nudging his thighs, his taint, everywhere but his pussy, and more than once it almost sheathed itself in his asshole. There was so much chance of it sliding anywhere but his sex, but for all that the coyote was thrusting about randomly, he was too strong to wiggle away from. And that cock was getting closer and closer, and Mike was getting wetter and wetter with each near miss. He whimpered, trying to pull his hips forward, down, out of the way –

“Nnngh!”

One thrust punched against his prolapse, shoving the red rosebud back into his ass, leaving him clear outside again, but it also made it that much easier to see his pussy. And the coyote took advantage of that.

Squelch!

Mike gasped for breath as he felt the first thrust. It didn’t go anywhere near as deep as the rhino or the bull went, but anything inside felt intense to him these days. The month of fucking and rape and rutting and learning how to stay sane while being fucked had altered his mind, messed with it, left him with a harder and harder time not reacting.

He’d learned to make it feel good to be raped. He’d learned how to make it easier for them to use him, to break him. It was more humiliating than he wanted to admit, and yet…yet…

“Ah…ah…ah…”

He was whimpering with pleasure already, his eyes rolling back from the coyote’s cock blindly humping away inside of him. The pain of his arms getting yanked back was bad, yes, but…but…

“Nngh…mmmph…”

Already, his pussy was getting wetter and wetter, soaking that prick and making it feel all the better inside of him. Wet, hard, throbbing every time that it bottomed out in him, what it lacked in length…well, it didn’t get made up for by anything else, but it was still a cock for a body that had learned to want to get fucked. He whimpered, feeling his inner walls clenching down on it, trying to milk it already. His body, his body was betraying him, and his pussy was begging for whatever load that the coyote had for him already.

As he whipped his head around, trying to find something, someone that would help him, he saw them. Aaron and Jericho were standing by the rhino’s cell, the latter leaning back with a smirk on his face and the former looking anywhere but at him. The bull was obviously embarrassed, but the rhino…

“P-please, sir…sir! Sir! Help me!” Mike shouted.

There was no sign of motion from his sir, his owner. The rhino just arched an eyebrow, and he knew that it wasn’t the word that Jericho wanted. He wanted a different title, one that was better than ‘sir.’ And it was so hard to think of what it could be as Kevin kept ramming himself in, out, in, out, each thrust drawing a hint of blood from his hips as those rough claws dragged across and through the goo-suit. There was no protection there, nothing for his furless body.

“Please!” he begged, only for that to have no more effect than the first.

“Bitch-meat,” Kevin muttered, huffing against the human’s ears. “So soft…so…so fucking slick…fuck, fuck, fuck!”

If he didn’t do something, the coyote wasn’t just going to rip him a new one. He was going to rip the human apart. He could feel the red flares of pain along his hips, the claws getting out of control as they raked over him again and again. With every hump, the pleasure climbed, but so did the ache and the pain. The coyote was completely beyond reason, and his other hand pinning the human’s wrists to the small of his back was getting tighter and tighter, on the verge of breaking something. If he didn’t get free, if he didn’t stop this, he would be –

“Please…master!”

That finally got a look from Jericho. Mike’s breath was ripped from him as the coyote sped up, clearly getting close. His arms felt like they were about to get pulled from the sockets as the canine yanked him back again and again, hilting with him every time as he shouted for the rhino.

“Please, master, I’m sorry! Please, master, save me. I’m yours, not his. I’m yours, not his. I’m yours. I’m yours!”

[i]Don’t make me cum, don’t make me cum, don’t make me cum,[/i] was all that Mike could think as the humps were reaching their fever pitch. He could feel his body shaking from head to toe, his inner walls clenching down. If he came from this, he would carry this humiliation until the day he died, and possibly into the afterlife. He whimpered, his cheeks burning –

CRACK!

And then it stopped. He panted, feeling the slurping sensation of the coyote’s cock sliding out of him. As he looked up, he expected to see Jericho.

Instead, he saw Aaron.

To his shock, the bull continued to beat down the coyote, punching him across the face and chest again and again. Not in a frenzied way, but coolly, methodically, as if he was merely following orders. Which, Mike realized, he probably was. If he was doing this –

“Come here, Mike Hunt.”

That deep voice called him away from the violent scene with ease, and he quickly found his way to the other side of the room. He knelt at the side of the rhino who he called master, lowering his face to the heavy testicles that were right in front of his face. He pressed them against his nose, his lips, his cheeks, all but bathing himself in the musky scent of his master’s sexual organs. It was impossible to ignore the burning reek from them, so strong despite an earlier shower, but he couldn’t help himself. It was just…it was need. It was so badly needed.

“Thank you, Master. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for keeping me yours,” he whispered.

He couldn’t stop himself. The title and the words dropped from his lips again and again, showering the rhino with praise that wasn’t even deserved. He might have even encouraged Kevin to do what he did, but the time for suspicion was past. That part of his mind was buried beneath fear and lust and relief, and it wasn’t coming back out.

Michael, he finally realized, was gone. Mike Hunt was there to stay.

Without thinking, he dragged his master’s cock to his lips. He didn’t pause as he dragged the head between them, sucking on the top half of the shaft as greedily as a starving man would down his meal. He couldn’t stop himself; all that mattered was showing his gratitude and convincing the rhino that he understood where his place was. It was right here, at the other man’s feet, giving him obeisance and worship.

It didn’t take long to put the sound of the beating in the background out of his head. In mere moments, it was as if his master was the only one besides him in existence, and that cock, that musky, massive cock, was all that he had to pay attention to. The music of its throbbing state, feeling it rising against his fingers, knowing that he was going to be its slave and servant for the rest of his life, sparked a brief feeling of terror before that, too, faded away, leaving him with nothing more than the bliss that came with embracing this.

The further down the shaft he sucked, the more that his cunt pulsed with need. He had been so close, and he still was, but his needs were secondary. What he needed now…what he desperately needed now…was to show that he was under the rhino.

“Mmph…mmph…gluk…”

He grunted around the shaft, taking it further than he ever had when he wasn’t on his back. He lowered his head past the mid-point, and then nearer and nearer to those balls. He wasn’t getting face-fucked. There was no excuse for what he was doing, other than the fact that he wanted to. On some level, he desperately wanted to do this to show that he was going to be a good boy, that he was going to be a good bitch for the massive rhino.

Up. Down. Up. Down. It was so good to feel that cock throbbing in his throat, the constant pressure of that erect shaft telling him that he was doing a good job. The feeling of warm pre-cum running down his throat told him that his technique was on point, and that meant that he had the master’s interest.

[i]Suck,[/i] he told himself. [i]Suck that cock like it was the best thing that you ever had in your mouth. Because it is. As long as he stays hard for you, then you’re okay. As long as you know where you belong, then it’s okay. He’s your master. You have to make him happy.[/i]

Mike Hunt’s once-defiant thoughts were gone, replaced by the desperate urge to serve and give the male over him the pleasure that he wanted. There was no thought of subtlety or surreptitious nudges to try and earn the rhino’s trust. That was gone. Those thoughts were not worthy of someone that would be under Jericho’s heel. He had to be a total servant, a slave, a whore, if that was what the rhino wanted. There was nothing less that he could offer for the protection that the rhino could give him.

And so, he sucked. He sucked, and swallowed, and sucked again, finally finding his way all the way to the base of that shaft. It was so long, so huge, that he should have been choking, and he probably was. The ache in the back of his throat and the sparkles at the sides of his vision said that he was not getting the air that he wanted. Yet, he didn’t move. Not without permission. Not without his master saying that he was allowed to tilt his head away from that thing.

The last punch fell, and the coyote hit the floor. He heard it. He felt the thump through the ground. Aaron returned, standing beside the rhino as he wrung out his hand and Mike just struggled to hold his breath.

“He’s learned?” Jericho asked.

“He’s fucked.”

“Well, that happens when you break the rules,” the rhino said, shaking his head. “And look. You’re completely untouched. And I could have broken you instead of him, for fucking with my property without permission.”

“Ass.”

“You know the rules. You’re responsible for your bitch. [i]Mine[/i] is behaved. Yours was the one that grabbed for something that didn’t belong to him. Either you took care of it, or I took care of you. You made the choice.”

Mike filed that away in the back of his head, but the biggest thing that he learned from that was that he was valuable, and more to the point, that he had finally broken through. The master was happy with him. So long as he kept being a good bitch, he could get more of that…that…

He could feel it. Too much. Too close. He whimpered, wanting to be quiet, knowing that it was better for a meat-sack like him to be silent while the others were talking. Bitches didn’t talk. They just went with what was being done with them, but he was running out of air. His eyes were rolling back in their sockets, his throat clamping down, and he could feel the pre-cum running down his throat. He was good, being of service, doing the right thing, but…but…but –

Two things happened at the same time. First, the cock slid out of his throat, giving him the chance to breathe. As it did, it squirted cum all over his face, the heavy, harsh, hot musk of a rhino painting his cheeks and lips. It was so plentiful, too, so much more than he was used to getting on his body rather than inside of it.

Second, he came.

Mike Hunt moaned out loud, falling back and barely catching himself with his hands flung back. His legs twitched as he remained half-squatting on the balls of his feet, his thighs spasming and his mouth hanging open as he came from the sheer pleasure of being [i]used.[/i] The lack of air, the musk, the pheromones in the air, the raw need to submit to the big dom in front of him all combined into a powerful orgasm that rocked the sense right out of him.

It all burst out in a flood that hit the floor between his legs, running across the tiles and into a puddle that touched both feet and hands by the end of it. It was musky, slimy, and altogether messy, but that was his life now. As a prison slave, what else was he going to be? Cleanly?

No. Never.

Jericho chuckled at him, shaking his head. There was still disdain, but that was supposed to be there. Mike Hunt expected that, and he smiled, perhaps a little stupidly, at the big man over him. The rhino chuckled, patting the human’s forehead afterward.

“You really are a slut, now. A good little fucking bitch. Aren’t you, Mike Hunt?”

“I’m your bitch, master,” Mike said, trembling from head to toe.

“Good, good.”

“You fucking done yet?” Aaron asked.

“Yeah, I’m done. You go and find yourself a new bitch. Someone’ll come down to get your old one in a little while. Hopefully before the whole place starts to stink.”

In other words, Kevin was either damaged or dead, and likely the second. The prison life went on, and those above didn’t care about what those below them got up to, as long as it didn’t threaten those higher up.

Michael would have cared. Mike Hunt did not.

He remained there, resting against the rhino’s sac and just taking in the musk that was inherent to that particular piece of anatomy, when Whitman surprised him by pulling him back. Jericho allowed it to an extent, though he grabbed hold of the dolphin’s wrist as the other man started to undo his own uniform.

“Remember. He’s [i]my[/i] property.”

“I know, I know. That doesn’t mean I can’t admire it, though, right?”

“It means that you don’t touch him without my permission. And I didn’t give that yet, did I?”

“…No, Jericho. You didn’t.”

“Good. Now. You got a body to take away. And when that’s done, I want this bitch taken up to the infirmary. I want him marked.”

“…Marked?”

“The only human in all of Blue-Cell is mine. I’m going to make sure that every son of a bitch that sees him knows just who’s interested in keeping him in one piece. After all, Mike Hunt has been a very good little slut, learning his place after all this time. Haven’t you, Mike Hunt?”

“Mmmph…I’ve been…good.”

“Very good.”

He shivered, knowing that it was mocking him, but not caring any longer. There was no point in caring. There was only pleasure in obeying, because if he didn’t turn it into pleasure, he would feel it as pain. And if he didn’t hold himself together the way that Jericho wanted him – a good bitch that knew its master, a good slut that did what it was told – then he would be discarded, just as Aaron had been forced to discard Kevin.

The prison politics were what they were. There was no getting around them, no changing them. One could only work within them, and for that, he had to break himself…break until he could no longer be put back together again.

Time skipped, and he felt Whitman pulling him back again. He got to his feet, his head rolling around, his face smeared with ball-sweat and probably worse from how long he had been on his knees.

“Whoof. You’re going to need a clean-up before you’re anywhere near sterile enough for those needles. Come on, human. Let’s get this done.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Heh, I like the sound of that.”

He didn’t. But then again, he knew what ‘sir’ meant now, and how it paled compared to the one that master had. Jericho had earned that; nobody else had. He was surprised that it had taken him this long to learn the proper term.

[i]I waited too long. I wanted to stay unbroken.[/i]

But that was his problem. Those that tried to stay whole in prison were doomed to be broken worse than anyone else. He had forgotten that; now, he was broken…and honestly, he was happy about being broken. This was better. No more sadness. No more hate. No more anything.

All he had to be was Mike Hunt. Jericho’s cunt.

#

He returned from medical with marks all over him, and far less clothes. While he retained goo-bands along his neck, waist, ankles, and wrists – all for the purposes of giving the guards control when needed – the rest of his body was bare. All the better to show the differences between his old self and his new one.

He walked into the cell block with his hair completely shaved off. Everything but the hair on his head was gone, the body fuzz that he had sored before lasered away. Nothing but skin showed, and it made his pussy all the more visible, as well as the words “Jericho’s Property” in block black letters just above it that had been added. An arrow pointed down from them to the slit beneath, just in case there was anyone in the prison that might have bene unsure just what the rhino had laid claim to.

That wasn’t the only tattoo that he had been given, either. Across his chest was name “Mike Hunt,” and across his stomach were the words “Useful Fleshlight.” He knew that his back sported a “Ass is Free Use” tattoo, as well as an arrow going right down his spine towards his other hole, and many other tattoos marked him as a public slut, a thing to be used the moment that Jericho allowed the others free-reign with his body.

But as he walked back in, as he spotted the rhino standing at the far end of the cell block with an erection suitable to cut stone, Mike knew what was expected of him. He walked right through the mass of other half-naked men, his eyes locked on that sixteen-incher that was bobbing up and waiting for him.

“On your knees,” Jericho said as soon as he reached his master.

Mike Hunt did just what he was told, falling to his knees, spreading his legs wide, his heels digging into his ass as he displayed himself – tattoos and all – to the bigger, more powerful male. All he had to do was show off, let everyone see his ass, his pussy, his shaven state. He was perfectly marked as an owned sex toy…and he was fine with that. Mike Hunt had learned what humans were meant to be under anthros, and that meant that he knew what he needed to do to keep them happy.

He leaned in, kissing those heavy, gray-skinned balls, running his tongue over flesh that would have been slightly wrinkled on anyone else, but for Jericho, they were full, taut, tight. He moaned as he tasted their musk, leaning his head back to make sure that he dragged his tongue over them properly, then over the cock just above.

By the time that he’d reached the head, he was panting, his mouth hanging open and drool collecting around his lips and chin. He wanted to [i]suck,[/i] but a bitch didn’t just leap in. A bitch waited for an invitation; a bitch made themselves eager, but waited for the master to use them.

And in this case, it was the right decision. Jericho reached down and pulled him up by his underarms, making him stand up before turning him around. He was huffing, his eyes rolling back as that massive cock was thrust between his thighs. The pressure, the heat, the hardness of that shaft rubbing between his legs and against his pussy was everything that he needed right at that moment.

“What are you?” Jericho asked.

“I’m your bitch. Your toy. Your human fleshlight,” he panted.

“Damn right you are. And what does a fleshlight do?”

“A fleshlight – mmmph – a fleshlight brings pleasure to their owner, making sure that they are satisfied, taking cum, being thrown away when they’re no longer needed,” Mike Hunt managed to get out.

“And what am I?”

“You…you are my owner, and master…”

“Good. Fucking. Slut.”

His legs went up in the air, supported from behind and beneath. He moaned as he felt that cock sliding back, the tip touching his clit for a moment before it slid just between his legs. He was completely on display, every prisoner watching the bitch-human getting ready to take the cock of the terror of the cell-block. Looking up, he could see the security cameras turning his way, and he could only imagine that they were going to be sending this show right to Whitman and the other guards like him.

Let them watch, the bitch in him decided. Let them see what he had become, and what Jericho had all to himself.

[i]I’m owned,[/i] he thought as that fat cock rubbed along his near-gaping pussy. [i]I’m owned, and there’s nothing more that I need…I just…need –[/i]

POP!

Squelch.

“Ooooooh!”

And just like that, Mike Hunt was moaning like never before, utterly and completely impaled on his master’s cock. His toes curled, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, and he could not speak a word that wasn’t some form of worship for the man that held him up. His pussy swallowed that cock, and in that moment, whatever was left of his fear died. There was nothing left that could be afraid.

Mike Hunt had submitted.

Mike Hunt had been claimed.

Mike Hunt…was a cunt.

Jericho’s cunt.

And he loved it.

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: Michael reaches the end of his rope and completely breaks.

Tags: M/I, Intersex Male, Man with Vagina, Anal Prolapse, Vaginal, Cum, Orgasm, Creampie, Broken, Series, Mind Break, Tattoos, Prison, Human, Rhino, Coyote, Bull, Bitch, Oral, Blowjob, Worship, Musk,