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the Collector's
Taking Turns
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"You got the las' one, motha fucka!"

"No, way, man! Are you loosin' your fuckin' mind? It's my turn, ass hole!"

Bryant was in Losee's face. The veins were standing out on the white guard's stout neck. They bulged against the starched collar of his uniform. Bryant poked his right index finger in the middle of Losee's broad chest, crinkling the tie as he did so.

Losee shot back, leaning forward for emphasis:

"Ain't no way you gonna screw me outta my turn, you sneaky bastud."
Losee's muscular right arm pointed over to the bench against the wall where the prisoner sat. He seemed confused and a little apprehensive about the raging argument going on only a few feet from him.

In contrast to the two muscular guards, the prisoner seemed almost lithe, though in fact, he was really a trim, well muscular young man himself. His upper arms, braided with muscle, emerged from the short sleeves of his bright white T-shirt, and his chest deformed the smooth cotton cloth that stretched across his well formed pectorals.

The prisoner gaped as his blonde head swivelled back and forth between the guards engaging in a vein popping argument. The prisoner focused on the words again when Losee said,

"OK, that's the way you wan it. I ain't gonna argue wif you no mo. Go head, take the little bastud. I'm writin' this down. You ain't gonna gyp me nex' time."
The prisoner thought, here I am about to get hanged no matter what and these two ass holes are arguing over me for some reason. If that don't beat all.

He found himself shaking his head, but was surprised when Losee jumped the few paces over to him and snatched his head back.

"Don' you be laughin' at me you little skanky mutha fucka! You lucky I be lettin' this white boy have yo' skinny little ass. His dick won't rip you up none."
The black guard let go the shocked looking prisoner's head, and doubled over in laughter that sounded more like deep bass cackling. The black guard covered his mouth as the laughter subsided and he silently shook his head back and forth. Bryant picked up the taunts.
"It's a good thing your sorry ass can admit when you're wrong. But if you don't stop talking about my dick, you're gonna find your black ass in a hurt."

"Aw, Bryant, man, don' be pissed. Just fuck the little shit, and get 'im ready for the three o'clock drop."

The prisoner looked over at the large clock face, and saw that they still had nearly three quarters of an hour before they dropped him. He supposed there were worse things they could do with him in his last few minutes than fuck him. Still he wished it were all over.

He twisted his bound wrists around behind his back. It was uncomfortable sitting on the bench up against the wall like that. Then he laughed to himself, thinking how silly it was to worry about being uncomfortable when he was about to be fucked, and who knew what all else before his hanging both ended his life and struck the last tone of the chime for three o'clock.

He thought, Scott, you are about to become three o'clock. That's it. That's what it's all led up to. Three o'clock on June 19th. That's all my life means now.

Bryant began tugging his starched uniform shirt out of his pants. Then he undid the buckle, and dropped his sharp creased trousers. The gray regulation boxers could barely conceal the excitement stirring in the officer's cock.

The prisoner looked suspicious.

"What's the matter boy? This cock look bigger than my colleague led you to believe? I promise to be careful."
The white guard smirked as he pushed his shorts down, exposing plenty of cock. The prisoner's face betrayed his fear of being fucked.

The black guard hauled the prisoner up off the bench, and spun him around, butt facing Bryant's growing cock. The long member sprouted from a thick black bush of pubic hair. The hats and blindfolds the guards wore obscured their hair, pretty much, and so Scott was just getting his first real indication of the hair color of the beefy white man behind the smart uniform.

Losee undid the prisoner's jeans, and roughly jerked them down round his ankles. He then hoisted the prisoner's bound arms up, out of the way of his ass crack, and forced him to bend over. Losee held the prisoner's head, so he wouldn't fall down -- but also so that his ass remained exposed to Bryant.

The prisoner flinched as Bryant ran a hand over the bowed, smooth back. After running his hands over the muscular back, exploring it's sensual muscularity, Bryant began to stroke the young man's firm buttocks.

Finally, Bryant spread the ass crack and the young man bucked to try to get away. But Losee had a firm grip on him -- by neck and head -- and there was no way for him to squirm away.

Bryant slid his hard cock up and down along the prisoner's exposed ass crack,

"You ready for this boy?"
Scott begged some, shook his head 'No', but it didn't seem his heart was in it. Or maybe he just knew it was no use to resist, or to beg. All these men had to do was drop a noosed body out of the opening so that it jerked to a stop at the end of the rope that struck the final tone of the hour. It didn't matter much whether the body was live or dead when it dropped through the trap. Since the rope that formed the noose was attached to the clapper on the chime, it was inevitable. The clock struck and a body jerked to a halt in mid air in front of the tower wall and beneath the clock face. It was nice, people said, when the body twitched a little afterwards, but it wasn't necessary. Most people in the crowd were too far away to see such niceties clearly. Just give them their hang-chimes on the state holidays -- that's all that mattered.

Scott tried to think of anything else as the guard forced his cock into a nice tight ass. Only the guard's spit was available to lubricate the brutal entry. Think of anything else, even dropping through the trap at three. That would end it -- his pain would be over.

But in spite of trying to absent himself from the demeaning rape, he could not ignore the pain. And more surprisingly, he could not ignore the pleasure. Why is my cock getting hard? God, no. Please no. Don't let these bastards see me get hard! His body bucked as Bryant plowed deeply into his guts.

The guard grunted and panted. His black friend egged him on, encouraging Bryant,

"Give it to 'im, bro! Plow 'im hard! Make him hurt, make th' bo' buck!"
Bryant's pace increased, and finally stopped as he buried his cock deep, and bellowed. A few spasms from the white guard, and that was it.

Scott felt the thick dick pop out of his ass with a sucking plorp. He was sweating -- and surprised to realize he too had cum too.

The black guard laughed.

"Look like this little bo' liked his present. But, you gots to clean that cum off my shiny shoes. Captain wouldn't like that much. An' I ain't loosin' no points for you."
Scott felt Bryant's big hand on the back of his neck, digging his muscles deeply, forcing him to kneel and then to lean over and put his face near the black man's shoes. They were spattered with cum. And even knowing it was his, he couldn't bear to touch his tongue to it.

Scott felt a sharp kick to his butt, as he fell against the shoes, cum streaking his cheek. He turned and began to lick up the salty, bitter drops. God this is awful. Why can't they just let me die in peace, alone with my thoughts.

He could think about something else as they made him lap up his own cum from the officer's boot. He hoped he would make a good display, at least. He hoped his family would be proud of him in the end. He had worked out a lot and he was pretty good looking. His abs were tight and smooth. The close ups of him ... hanging ... beneath the big clock in the courthouse square would look good in the paper.

All the bell boys' pictures were printed in the papers at the end of the holiday. Even though they were criminals, contributing this way made up, at least a little, for the crimes they committed. It wasn't like Scott had killed anybody. But still, he had been dishonored by his crime -- burglarizing an electronics store -- and this would clear his name. That was good, at least.

Bryant's rough voice broke Scott's concentration.

"Now, boy, you got one more job."
What more could there be. I've been fucked by a plenty big white cock, shamed by being the object of two ass holes' fight, like I'm a piece of meat -- or a bone between two fierce dogs!

Scott almost looked forward to three o'clock. He couldn't see the clock in the chime room from where they had him, so he didn't know what time it was. Let it be soon! he prayed.

Bryant was leering it him, cock standing out from his furry crotch.

"You gotta suck my dick."
Bryant pointed at his long, dirty cock. Scott's eyes got big.
"No! You're not going to make me lick the shit from my own rape off your fuckin' cock!"

"Could be worse, boy!"

He felt Losee push him back down on his knees. He tried to resist but couldn't and his knees thudded down, nearly cracking them. He was at eye level with the thing he'd been forced to take.
"I can't do it. I can't."
The idea of that filthy cock in his mouth was something that made Scott nearly vomit. But Losee held his head and Bryant pried his lips open then forced his thumb between Scott's teeth. Scott tried to bite down, but Bryant had experience -- he had a short chunk of copper pipe round his thumb and Scott just couldn't bite down.

It was just seconds later Bryant stuffed his shit-covered cock past Scott's lips. Scott tried to push back with his tongue, but the cock forced its way passed and his efforts just ended up slathering the cock.

Scott tried to scream,

"Ahee on't a oo oo is!"
Bryant just laughed,
"Makes you a better bell boy, punk! Makes you wanna drop, makes your performance more heartfelt a-tone-ment, boy. A-tone-ment for your criminal activities."
Losee snorted,
"Yeh, bo'! A-tone-ment!"

"Besides, nobody never knows. Nobody cares. They'd probably give us a medal if they did!"

"Yeh, bo! A medul."

They know! Scott thought. In the holding cells, prisoners wondered and told stories repeated from generation to generation. Somebody swore they had an uncle who was a guard, or somebody's dad had been a doctor who was called in to treat a bell boy who had been injured by the sexual games of the guards.

Scott choked on the long, circumcised cock. He couldn't help inhaling the guard's musky crotch aroma. His eyes idly scanned the zipper of hair that tapered away from Bryant's crotch upward, bisecting his tight abdominals.

The two men knew what they were doing. They manipulated Scott's head and neck and shoulders just so, doing what he didn't have time to learn, opening his throat, making his choking throat perform a real 'professional' job on Bryant's hungry dick.

How can he come again so soon?

Bryant shuddered and stiffened, quivering as each spurt of cum pounded into the back of Scott's throat.

"Oh, man! That was pretty good for a rookie. Thanks, pal."
Bryant tousled Scott's rich brown hair. He reached down and pulled up his pants and tucked his cock against his belly and zipped up, careful not to get pinched. Then as Losee lifted the prisoner to his feet, Bryant knelt down and pulled Scott's prison jeans up, letting his cock wag outside as he popped the button-snap closed.
"Wanna give you something else to remember us by, boy."
Bryant started pulling the zipper up, deliberately catching the underside of Scott's semi-hard cock, pinching the skin.

Scott screeched. The pain was like fire ants biting his cock -- and his nipples and belly button ... and his heart and his lungs and his throat. Scott's heart was pounding in his ears, in his throat, in his eyes. It was all he could do to breathe. He was folding over his belly.

Bryant had to tug hard to pull the zipper up, zipping Scott's cock all the way up the whole shaft.

The grabbed his hair and jerked him up straight.

"Gotta have a pretty picture for your mama, boy. So she can see how you look before you ring the chime."
Scott's knees could barely hold him up. His whole body shook as he tried to stand. He had to do his best to stand straight for the photo. It was how they would remember him -- his family, his friends, the town.

Bryant put the blindfold on him as Losee steadied him. The room disappeared into darkness behind the thick blindfold.

Scott stood straight the best he could; the 'ants' biting at his cock and nipples and navel and heart and lungs were not biting so hard -- or was it he was getting used to it. He could breathe a little easier. His knees weren't so unsteady. He tensed his firm muscles as Losee counted down,

"Three ... two ... one."
Scott heard the camera click. He could feel the flash -- or what must have been a flash -- there had to be one in the dim clock room.

Above him -- Scott distinctly heard the slow thunking of the clock mechanism. Why hadn't he noticed it before? With the throbbing in his ears, he could still hear the mechanism. Now that he couldn't see anything, he was hearing a lot more clearly despite his heart pounding -- maybe that's why he heard his heart too?

Scott heard the two men moving around the room getting things ready. Suddenly he felt hands grab him under his arms.

Scott flinched a little. Another hand grabbed his head and tipped it back and over toward the left. Scott tried to shake his head but the noose was struggled over his head.

Scott felt it on his neck. It almost tickled. It felt very thick, especially as it was snugged up tight all around his neck. It sat above his Adam's apple and hugged up under his jaw.

Then there was Losee's voice behind him and close to his ear. So it was the massive black man who held him from behind.

"Now you gets yah picture took again. You look real good in that noose, bo'! Ten hut!"
Scott tensed for the photo. After the click he relaxed a little. Then he felt his pants grabbed. Then the zipper pulled down.

The ants were biting his cock shaft all over again -- and his nipples and navel and heart and lungs. Scott had to lock his knees to keep from collapsing. Breathing was nearly impossible.

Then his pants were loose and dropped to his feet. He stepped out of them as one of the guards helped him. The other one supported him. Now he was naked -- except for the noose of thick rope he knew was connected to the bell lever.

He had been weighed. He had been measured. Especially his long neck. He knew from all the stories this was so that they could calculate the drop precisely.

The public enjoyed a variety of drops. They would start at one o'clock with a short drop, so the one o'clock boy would dangle and strangle. The early birds often danced for hours. But by three o'clock, the drop was pretty long. He hoped he would die of a broken neck.

Sometimes, on the longest drops, at ten or eleven o'clock, the rope would tighten, the bell would ring, and the rope would squeeze so tight it cut through the neck enough for the body to pull away and fall, smashing on pavement at the base of the tower.

When this happened, the crowd would cheer -- Scott knew, because he had always cheered when bell boys were decapitated by the long drop. The head would usually pop free of the rope, and smash like a pumpkin, sometimes obliterating the face, other times the back of the head. Sometimes the rope pinched the neck and the head either sat on top of the noose or, more often, dangled below it, bouncing around on the rope for a while, and then gently swing.

Scott felt his cock getting oddly hard, thinking about all this.

"Time, boy."
A large hand guided Scott forward. The sound of wood sliding was the opening of the trap through which his helpless body would shortly be pushed.
"Ready?"

"Do it bro'."

"Ten ... Nine ... Eight ... Seven ... Six ... Five ... Four ... Three ... Two ... Push."

The two executioners looked down as Scott's body twisted as it fell. They sniggered as the rope snapped straight and heard the twang a split second before the huge bell rang.

Scott's body jerked up and down a couple times, flopping like a fish on a line then just swung slowly, an inanimate pendulum.

The two men heard the applause of the crowd down below.

Bryant sniggered,

"Hope you enjoy four o'clock as much as I did three o'clock."