Hammer Time
by DocOnHarly
Crack! The sound of the gavel on the desk was the last nail in Brendan's coffin. The paneled courtroom seemed to close in on him and he couldn't imagine how he could have gone from Yale MBA to convicted felon in just a few months. If only he hadn't accepted the offer of joining the bikers he met at the rest stop for a ride. At the time he thought it was so cool- being like an outlaw biker in his new leathers astride his Harley. Now those leathers, the Harley, his job, his wife and young son, his life, even the hair on his head were just memories as stress, financial obligations, mistrust and bad publicity took them from him, one by one. He felt like he had aged fifteen years in just those few months- tired, sagging skin, and an abundance of gray in his remaining hair. How was he supposed to know that they were going to rob the convenience store that they stopped at, and shoot the attendant? Somehow it all got pinned on him and he was looking at ten long years in the slammer. As they led him off to prison, trembling, he turned and took one last look at his old life.
Slam! He entered his cell and was faced with a scary-looking mountain of a man. Long, stringy hair and beard, rotting teeth, covered with tattoos, belly spilling over belt, he said, "Come on in, buddy, I won't hurt you--yet," and laughed. Brendan entered the cell, more scared than he had ever been and just stood there, frozen. The man put his meaty arm around him, Brendan almost reeling from the pungent body odor, and led him farther into the cell. He leaned into his face, putrid breath almost making Brendan gag, "Put your things on that bed there and we'll have a nice chat." Brendan did as he was told and then stood back up, still terrified. "My name's Hobo. The guys said you'd be here soon. I'm in for life and they like to keep me amused. What's your name?"
"Brendan."
"That's a wussy name. From now on, you're hmmm… Hammer."
"A-are you going to make me your bitch?" Brendan squeaked. Hobo chuckled a little at this but also popped Brendan square in the nose-crunch. Brendan's hands went reflexively to his face at the same time Hobo was punching him in the gut. He doubled over and fell to the floor, blood flowing freely from his broken nose.
"Never speak without my permission, asshole. Hammer, you've got a lot to learn. And I should warn you, I love the sound of a nose breaking." He handed him an old rag to stem the bleeding just as a guard was coming to the cell.
"Anything wrong here, boys?" he asked.
Brendan lay there for a few seconds then managed to grunt, "Nothing at all, Sir. I slipped."
"Well, get up, then." Brendan did as he was told, now standing in front of Hobo again.
"Now, Hammer, I guess you are my bitch. But there are good things that will come of that, you'll see. Now come here and let Hobo straighten out that nose for you." Another crunch and Brendan was seeing stars. Hobo began to look through his things and came across his bathroom kit. Pawing through it, he took the toothbrush, razor, and expensive shampoos and said, "You won't be needing these anymore, that's for sure." Brendan just shuddered, wondering what this man had in store for him and if there was anything he was going to be able to do about it.
Hobo let him lay down on his bed until dinnertime. He guided him into the cafeteria and introduced him to a few other biker types who said things like, "Looks like you've got your work cut out with this one, Hobo." Hobo replied that he'd whip him into shape just like all the others. Brendan just stood there. As they went through the dinner line, Hobo made sure that Brendan's plate was piled high. "You eat every bit of that, Hammer, you hear? You've gotta keep up your strength around here."
"Yes Sir, Hobo." Somehow, Brendan managed to eat the whole amount but could barely keep it down. He had to concentrate very hard on not throwing up and could only hear snippets of the conversation at the table: "…sissy boy…" "…bulk up.." "…belly…" "…tats…"
Finally they were led back to their cells and all Brendan could think about was laying down with his distended stomach and going to sleep, one day down, 3649 to go. Hobo had other ideas, though. He lit up a cigarette then pulled out his huge, uncut piece of meat and waved it in Brendan's face. "Suck me dry, Hammer."
Brendan was appalled. He wasn't gay! He had never thought about sucking a dick in his life! Especially this one- it smelled to high heaven and was covered in all sorts of cheese. He looked up into Hobo's face pleadingly but he just backhanded him hard and said, "Eat it now, Hammer, or there'll be hell to pay. And keep all your food down, too."
Brendan accepted the inevitable and tentatively put his lips on the end of it. The taste was the worst thing he'd ever had in his mouth but at the same time, there was something appealing about it, too. Before he'd even had time to wonder about that, Hobo had pushed his head all the way onto the dick and was pumping him back and forth, cock filling his mouth and big belly pushing into his face. "Haven't had any of this in quite a while." Brendan struggled not to gag as Hobo pushed his meat deeper and deeper, finally exploding in a river of cum. "Swallow every bit of it, Hammer," he said. He did as he was told; intrigued at the salty, slimy taste and wondering how anything else was going to fit in his stomach.
Once Hobo was finished cumming, Brendan thought he was done, as the dick was beginning to go soft. He started to get up and Hobo said, "Get back down here, you're not finished yet." Brendan obediently knelt in front of him and Hobo reinserted his cock back into his mouth and began to urinate. "Don't lose a drop of this, either, Hammer. Oh yeah, feels great."
Brendan didn't dare lose a drop. Somehow, this all fit into his stomach and he sat back, sloshing. Hobo offered him a cigarette and he said, "Thank you, Sir, I don't smoke."
Hobo's fists again made their presence known on Brendan's face, blackening an eye, and he said, "There you are, talking again. You do smoke now. Take the fucking cigarette."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." He finished the cigarette and Hobo gave him another one, then another. He was beginning to get very lightheaded but surprisingly he was enjoying the taste and also realized that it was helping calm his full stomach.
Noticing the smile on Brendan's face, Hobo said, "Stick with me, Hammer, I'll take care of you."
Clang! They were awakened the next morning and led off to breakfast, Hobo again piling Brendan's plate full of food. He wasn't even close to being hungry but he knew he'd better finish it all, or else. The table conversation approximated the previous day's, with lots of snickers and gestures directed at Brendan. Hobo said, "You just wait and see." Soon, breakfast was finished and they were led to the laundry to begin their chores. Hobo made sure that Brendan stuck close beside him, showing him the most efficient ways to do things.
After eight back-breaking hours, they were led into the cafeteria for dinner. "See what I mean about getting enough to eat?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now pile your plate high."
"Yes, Sir." Brendan again ate in silence, for the first time noticing a few others at the table also doing likewise.
"What are you looking at, eat your dinner."
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir." Brendan was hoping for another cigarette after dinner, the closest thing to enjoyment he'd had since getting here only one day ago. How in the hell was he ever going to last in here?
After dinner they were allowed into the exercise yard. Hobo led Brendan to one of the weight benches and told him to start pumping. Brendan had never worked with weights before, preferring golf at the club with the other fellows, and it showed. He could barely press the bar all by itself. He was dog-tired after his day in the laundry but he resigned himself to doing Hobo's will. He realized that he could either resist, get smacked, and then do it, or just do it. Hobo gave him a couple of exercises to do and walked over to chat with his buddies.
Midway through one of his sets, a bruiser of a man, shaved head, stache and at least 6'4" and looking even taller from Brendan's low perspective, appeared and demanded to use the apparatus. He growled, "Get off my bench, dirtbag."
"Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir." Apparently that wasn't fast enough for the man who grabbed Brendan by the neck and lifted him right off the bench and up into the air.
"You were on my bench, dirtbag. Nobody uses my bench."
"I'm sorry, Sir," croaked Brendan.
"Not good enough, dirtbag. Say bye-bye," the big man said as he began tightening around Brendan's throat. Brendan almost wished he would kill him, as it would at least release him from this hell. Suddenly, he plopped to the ground gasping for air as his assailant crumbled next to him in a heap, Hobo standing tall behind him.
Hobo helped him up and said, "Told you I'd take care of you, Hammer. Now get back to work."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," he croaked, suddenly thankful for Hobo's existence. He continued his exercises and felt pretty good when he was done; all pumped up. Hobo rewarded him with a few badly needed cigarettes. He now knew that although Hobo was not such a nice person, he could've done a lot worse.
When they got back to the cell, Brendan prepared for the worst. After last night's treatment, Hobo would definitely want more of the same, or maybe he'd try for a different hole? Brendan was too tired to do anything about it so he prepared himself for another in what he assumed would be a long string of rapes. They don't give Yale MBAs to regular people for nothing and sure enough, Hobo was again pulling out his meaty wang. Without being told, Brendan knelt down to take his medicine but Hobo told him to turn around, bend over and put his hands on the wall. He jerked down Brendan's pants and rammed it hard into him, Brendan grunting from the pain. Jesus, it hurt! The broken nose was nothing compared to this. The pain seemed to flow throughout his whole body. To his astonishment, though, as Hobo continued his thrusting, the pain subsided and it actually felt kind of good; his meat firming up in agreement.
Wait a minute, he thought, I'm not gay! I'm not! Well, maybe this is one of those circumstances they are always talking about in those educational shows. It's not like I'm the one doing the aggression here. I guess I'll just enjoy it for now.
Hobo continued to pump, sweat dripping off his hair and beard, and Brendan was really getting into it. Unable to take it anymore, he let loose.
Hobo could feel his orgasm and said, "Did I say you could cum? Huh? You're gonna get it when I'm finished." With the thought of disciplining this puppy in his mind, Hobo came profusely. He pulled out, pushed Brendan down to the floor and made him drink his piss. Finished, he stood him up and punched him squarely in the mouth, Brendan losing a couple of teeth in the process.
"Hammer, you are so thick sometimes. Don't do anything without my permission. Got it?"
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."
"No cigarettes for you now." Hobo then sat him on the bed and threw a book at him. "Read the first fifty pages and then I'll quiz you. If you do a good job, maybe I'll let you smoke one of my butts."
"Thank you, Sir." Brendan opened the book and started reading- Introductory Motorcycle Mechanics.
Flip! The years passed in this way, Hammer following his tormentor / protector's lead, beefing up massively as well as acquiring the strength to match his body. As his bulk increased, Hobo began tattooing him to emphasize his growth and his coverage was now complete. A notable one included the words "Harley Davidson" in big letters across his shoulder blades, with other Harley designs covering the rest of his broad back. His meaty arms had images of hoboes on one and hammers on the other, all the way down to the backs of his hands. Other designs covered his torso and legs.
He now proudly wore his denim prison shirt sleeveless and open to the waist. Despite having a prodigious belly, he was quick on his feet and was able to take care of himself in the prison yard. In fact, he found that he, too, enjoyed the sound of a nose breaking. He could probably also defend himself against Hobo's advances but didn't want to, as he really enjoyed their "rape" sessions. He remained dutifully faithful to Hobo but sometimes would act up just because he knew Hobo enjoyed popping him in the face. His nose had been broken so many times that it had become a twisted, bulbous mass, his eyes had become puffy from all the blackenings, and what was left of his teeth were showing advanced signs of decay. He didn't care, though, as he liked the "tough" look that it gave him and one of the first things he was going to do when he got out was to get a few rings in his ears and bones in his septum. His beard, now almost white and very bushy, was long enough to rest upon his protuberant belly and complimented his smooth head, which he had persuaded Hobo to let him shave, as there wasn't much hair left up there anyway. He was chain-smoking three packs of cigarettes a day, Marlboro perpetually stuck to his lower lip. That had accelerated his stress-induced skin changes- baggy eyes, crow's feet, deep furrowed brow- and with his white beard he looked about sixty years old; a far cry from the slim, tired-looking junior executive that had entered the prison.
Hobo had seized upon these changes and began calling him "old man" and telling him that he was sixty years old. That fallacy was supported by the fact that, due to Hobo's pummelings about the head, he was now hard of hearing and wore bifocal glasses. He had also developed Diabetes and high blood pressure due to his hundred fifty pound weight gain as well as being perpetually sore and creaky from the hard labor. With the way he looked and felt, it wasn't hard for Hammer to soon embrace his new elderly status. It was like he had served a thirty-five year sentence in the span of only ten. The thing that most amazed Hammer, though, was that he had proven to be very adept at motorcycle mechanics. He would blaze through any book that Hobo gave him to read, fully able to understand and visualize any complicated schematic or engine diagram. He had not yet worked on a real cycle but he was confident that he would be able to do any kind of work necessary. In fact, upon his release he was going to start work as a mechanic in a garage owned by one of Hobo's buddies, another mountain of a man who Hammer heard liked rape scenes. He looked forward to the carefree biker life, unencumbered by all the stuffiness of his barely remembered former existence.
His release date finally arrived, Hammer astounded at how quickly the time had passed. He was grateful to Hobo for protecting him and showing him the way. "You have learned much, my friend. Go out and enjoy your freedom."
END