#excon

Trailer Shack Snack To-Go.

Inspired by the works of @thugguzzler. The trailer park was a forgotten scar on the edge of the desert—rusted single-wides baking under a merciless sun, propane tanks, broken lawn chairs, and the constant hum of cheap AC units fighting a losing battle. Nobody came out here unless they were running from something. Hank had been here three months since his release, ankle monitor blinking red like a warning light on his thick, hairy leg. Fifteen years upstate for armed robbery. He couldn’t leave the county, couldn’t hit the bars, couldn’t even drive to the next town to find a woman. The man was crawling out of his skin with need.

I lived three trailers down. Twenty-six, broke, no car, no prospects. We’d nod at each other when we crossed paths—him shirtless in the heat, sweat cutting channels through the prison ink that covered damn near every inch of him: teardrops under his eye, swastika on his neck that he claimed was “old news,” Virgin Mary crying blood across his chest, 88 inked bold on his shoulder blade. He stank like a jail cell—sweat, cigarettes, cheap soap he barely used. He bragged he hadn’t properly showered in a week. Said it kept him feeling like he was still inside.

One night the power was out again. Heat so thick you could chew it. I was sitting on my sagging porch steps drinking warm beer when Hank came stomping over, barefoot, monitor glowing, cutoff sweats hanging low enough to show the dark bush of pubes and the root of his fat cock. Sweat rolled off him in sheets.

“Get over here, boy,” he growled, voice like gravel soaked in whiskey.

I knew what was coming. Had felt it building for weeks—the way he’d stare, lick his lips when I walked by, the heavy bulge he’d adjust without shame.

He didn’t wait for me to answer. Grabbed me by the back of the neck and marched me into his trailer. Inside smelled like man—ripe pit stink, stale smoke, and something darker. He kicked the door shut, shoved me to my knees on the filthy carpet.

“Been too fucking long,” he muttered. “You’re gonna take care of Daddy tonight.”

He lifted one thick arm, exposing a jungle of black hair matted with sweat. “Start here. Show me you know your place.”

I pressed my face into his pit, inhaling the sharp, sour reek of him. He groaned deep, fingers tightening in my hair, forcing me harder against the wet hair. I licked—salty, bitter, pure prison musk. He switched arms, made me clean the other one too, grinding his sweaty skin against my tongue until my face was slick with him.

“Good bitch,” he rumbled. “Now the feet. Been walking around this shithole all day thinking about shoving ‘em in some pretty boy’s mouth.”

He dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide, cock already half-hard and leaking, thick and uncut, veins like ropes under the ink. His feet were huge, grimy, toes crusted with dirt and sweat. He pressed one against my face, smearing it over my cheek, my lips.

“Open.”

I took his big toe in my mouth, sucking the taste earthy and rank. He watched me with those cold blue eyes, stroking himself slow.

“That’s it. Suck ‘em clean. Every fucking toe. You’re my hole now, understand? Mine.”

He made me lick the soles, between the toes, heel to ball, until my tongue ached and my jaw burned. All the while he jerked his cock, precome dripping in long strings onto his hairy belly.

Finally he hauled me up by the hair, shoved my face toward his crotch.

“Time to earn your keep, inmate.”

His cock was rock hard now—thick, angry, smelling like days of sweat and piss and want. He didn’t ask. He just forced my head down, fed me every inch until I gagged, tears running. Held me there, nose buried in his sweaty pubes, until I couldn’t breathe.

“That’s right, choke on it. Take Daddy’s dick like a good little prison bitch.”

He fucked my throat raw, hips snapping, balls slapping my chin. Spit and precome dripped down my chest. He talked the whole time—filthy, degrading, perfect.

“Gonna breed this mouth every goddamn night. You’re my property now. That monitor says I can’t leave—so you’re staying right here on your knees where you belong.”

When he came it was with a roar, flooding my throat, forcing me to swallow every drop. He held me down until I was shaking, then finally let me up, wiping his dick across my face like marking territory.

He leaned back, chest heaving, pit stink and come heavy in the air.

“Clean me up again tomorrow, boy. Same time. Don’t make me come looking.”

I stumbled out into the night with his taste still coating my tongue, his sweat drying on my skin, the red blink of his ankle monitor burned into my mind.

Write a drabble between Ian and Mickey that would earn a nsfw warning. Have fun!

Okay, Galladrabbles Crew, time to get out your lemons, your bloody gory gloves - your NC-17 and E ratings!

If you go certain routes, please remember to add a content warning to your drabble. :)

This week's prompt is:

EXPLICIT CONTENT

Thank you, Kate!