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Coyle, though not much else, is commanding. He told you you'd die on your knees and that's looking about right — a couple of gut-punches from his nightstick and at least one cracked rib have you keeled over on the floor.
You're in the corner: sharp, dark and miserable. The Warden is grovelling at Coyle's feet, begging for things he doesn't actually want. He can't possibly want it. God knows you don't.
"Get yer ass over here," yells Coyle despite the four-foot distance. "Don't make him do all the work. The Lord knows there's one thing he's good for and he ain't even good at it."
You stay put. You can see him and his dick out of the corner of your eye, and you'd rather die than give him the time of day.
He marches those two steps towards you and tugs you by the ear until you're struggling beside the Warden. You try to back towards the wall again but that fucking brainwashed slut grabs you by the arm, so intent on doing Coyle's bidding.
"Atta boy," says Coyle. "Keep him close. Now," he aims his cock towards your lips with one hand, "let's see if you know how to handle one o' these. Better not fucking bite."
Glaring at it, you debate that. Is it worth dying? With all you've been through already, is it worth dying like this?
"C'mon, boy. It's this or that, and I know you don't wanna know what that is."
You stay still, mouth pressed thin, inching backwards until Coyle palms the back of your head and forces your face up against him.
"Go on," he says. "Try it."
You just shake your head spitefully. You can feel the skin of his cock stretch with the movement.
The cunt pinches your nose. The Warden still fidgets beside you, uttering pleas to take your place, to be good for him. But without warning first, you open your mouth for air fast, and Coyle's quick to shove it in there.
He tastes awful. That's the first thing you think. Like sweat and weirdly acidic. Your teeth catch on the soft skin and he jerks your head back angrily to aim for your throat.
"I oughta fuck this hole bloody," he hisses. "You gave me a run for my money, I'll give you that."
Your jaw hurts already. Again, you think about chewing the thing off and spitting it out for the Warden to play with. But Murkoff values the Coyle and, well, you're too far gone yourself to not crave their approval. It might just be the only thing that'll get you out of this hellhole.
"How 'bout I sweeten the deal? You put that mouth to work and I'll letcha off easy."
You don't trust him as far as you can throw him — 'let you off easy' is a red herring, you can already tell. Dignity was never high on the list of values burnt into you by Easterman, though; you briefly lift your tongue against him as he rocks into you, testing the waters. He mumbles something praising.
Well, you're already in the predicament. You don't have much choice.
You suck and he lets the hand on your head rest at his side. You can feel his gaze on your scalp, wary, unsure. There's no way in hell you're going to look at him while you do this. But his mind is quickly put at ease when you press your tongue against the bottom of the shaft and begin a rhythm.
"Good boy," croons Coyle. "You, shut your fuckhole and be patient," he adds, peeved by the Warden's babbling.
You accidentally took notes when you were watching the Warden do this. He likes it slow, huh? You didn't expect that, but you don't really know what you were expecting. You keep your movements steady, sucking a little harder every time you pass back on the head.
He knocks the Warden over the head with his nightstick. "You payin' attention? This is how it's done. Yeah, baby, you've done this before, haven'tcha? Fuckin' fag."
He's one to talk.
But he's not wrong about you having done this before. At your lowest, you were a prostitute. Picked up a thing or two.
"Please, Daddy," says the Warden. "Let me have a turn. I'll be good."
Despite everything, your heart pangs for him. You can't really blame him for doing what he can to survive here. You'd probably be exactly the same way, a broken-in shell of the person you knew from the mirror.
Before Coyle can thwap him again, you pop his cock out of your mouth and let the Warden have a shot. Surprisingly, Coyle doesn't seem too bothered by you taking that initiative; maybe he thinks you wanted to shut him up, too.
You swallow and let your jaw relax while you have this reprieve. Try to turn your head away so you don't have to perceive either of them, but Coyle grabs your chin and yanks it up to face him. You keep your eyes low. If you can't see his, why should he get to see yours?
"Could at least try to act like you want it," he snarls.
It's hard not to flinch when he spits on your face. You shake as you seethe with hatred for a moment, but cool yourself off before you call him any funny names.
The Warden seems to have taken your example to heart. You feel a bit better that he'll have an easier time from now on, even if it's all to serve Coyle in the end, and then remember you're supposed to be killing him shortly. Small mercies, you think.
Guilt. Not just about that; about the fact that without something else to focus on, your own dick has begun to stir with life. You shift on your knees, reluctantly glancing the Warden's way.
Coyle thrusts lightly, and a dirty, horrible part of you wishes you were in his place. You hate yourself.
"Alright, that's enough," Coyle says, and the Warden must do something with his tongue as he pulls away that has Coyle grunt.
"C-can I call you Leland?" he asks, sweet as he can.
Coyle ignores him, tapping your cheek with his dick. It leaves a cold wet spot in its wake.
"Open," he says, and you do, faster than you'd like to admit — just wanting to get this over with.
You ease back into it, keeping things slow while he builds back up.
"Mmh, good boy… can't wait to try out that ass."
That shocks you into looking up at him. He flashes you a toothy grin.
"Don't stop now," he continues. "Unless you can't wait either?"
He laughs and throbs as you draw your eyebrows together in disturbance. Prick.
"Better prepare," he whispers.
You spit him out, return to your corner to mope again. It's cold there. The Warden is quick to take your place again, and Coyle's hand falls to tug on his headgear, probably just to hear him whine. Feel it, maybe. He glances at you over his aviators and smirks. His eyes are stupidly blue and handsome.
He doesn't seem too bothered; easy, even. You almost get to think that's your job done when he makes the Warden choke, pushing into his throat long enough that he has to back up and splutter.
"That's enough," says Coyle. "Go keep him company."
"Yes, Daddy," murmurs the Warden.
He crawls on all fours towards you and awaits his master's next command. Coyle saunters over, too, cock swaying, grabs you by the hair at the back of your head and yanks it back hard enough that you have to grit your teeth to keep from yelping.
"Well would you lookie here?" Coyle says with a giddy lilt to his voice. "Someone's getting off on being a fuckin' prude."
You try to spit at him but it just dribbles down your chin and neck. He chortles, collecting it with the head of his cock and then nudging it at your lips.
"C'mon, don't make me pinch it again."
Still you refuse. You've had enough. The Warden tries to pipe up again when you finally speak — through clenched teeth to prevent entry — "Go to hell."
"Watch it," growls Coyle. "This or that. Open up, we're halfway there anyway."
Nothing.
"You want something for it, huh? Well, that's not how it's gonna work 'round here. Open."
He pinches your nose again, but you hold strong, teeth still barricading him out when you do have to open your mouth. And, seeing that that's not going to work again, he moves that hand to squeeze your throat, stroking himself with the other.
"Open your FUCKING mouth!"
The Warden stirs anxiously next to you. "Come, little piggy, let me in, let me in!" he whispers to himself, and you'd laugh at the sheer absurdity if you could breathe.
You think again about whether or not it's worth dying like this. Instinct makes the decision for you, though; you open.
"Good fuckin' boy," Coyle laughs.
It's so mechanical, but you do the job he's appointed to you, this time swirling your tongue around the head every time you reach it. Anything to make it end.
He's vocal now, moaning and praising. Humping your face a little to feel you gag. You speed up gradually, and before long you flinch as he's pulling out and stroking until he's cumming all over you and the Warden.
"Ah, and that's how it's done," Coyle says, tucking himself away. "So. Change of plans." He grins. "You're stickin' around."
Your heart sinks.