Black Angel Wings
Copyright© 2025 by Anton
Chapter 7
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 7 - Partly true story about the life journey of an ordinary straight guy from a small provincial town — a path as crooked as the walk of a drunk transvestite. Genre: homoerotic thriller. Setting: Moscow, present day. Reading time: about two hours.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Drunk/Drugged Romantic Slavery Gay Heterosexual CrossDressing Fiction Crime Workplace FemaleDom Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory White Male Oriental Female Anal Sex Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Pegging Sex Toys Big Breasts Transformation
The wheels of justice jammed: I was acquitted. An event no one believed would ever happen. They say it’s extremely rare, guilty or not. After all that time, I was declared innocent! Of course, nobody even thought about apologizing for this “misunderstanding.” Hearing the verdict, I was blown away – I hadn’t dared hope for this! I thought they’d release me right there in the courtroom, but for some reason, they carted me back to the cell. “Just an hour or an hour and a half to finish the paperwork.” On the way back to the SIZO (pre-trial detention center), I was fuming. What the fuck kind of hour and a half? I’m free, goddammit! You have no right! Irrational fear gripped my mind that this was all some sick joke and nobody intended to actually let me go.
“Congrats, Kate! Or are you Anton again? Anyway, dude, good luck! We’ll miss you!” the gangsters greeted me cheerfully.I looked at them, drunk on happiness, and thought: what should I even say in farewell? Almost a year of my life – down the drain! But that’s half the trouble. What about what – or who – I’ve become? This is with me forever now. Or not? Whatever! I’m alive and well – that’s what matters! So what should I tell them? That they’re alright guys, and I even grew fond of some of them? Thank them for treating me decently, and mention that ... it was hard to find the right words ... we became close...
“So, guys, wanna fuck me in the ass one last time? Today I’m up for anything!” my “female” alter-ego suddenly hijacked my speech.
I got fucked on the floor, in the mouth and ass. And I jerked off a couple of guys at the same time. Maybe it was the first time in penitentiary history that a prisoner spent his last hour behind bars having group sex right under a surveillance camera. Probably epic footage for the archives! Suddenly, I remembered there had been one girl in my life, nicknamed “Beer Fairy.” A quiet, shy classmate. Once she got wasted on beer and threw an orgy in the dorm. Back then, she got fucked four ways in the same position. And I never understood why she got involved in that debauchery? Probably just snapped, like me now ... Anyway, sometimes it’s really great to unleash your dark side and go all out! So, if your party doesn’t look anything like this, don’t even think about inviting me!
– “Well, we said our goodbyes!” one of them said. – “Please, don’t forget to mop the floor before you leave!” – he pointed to the floor rag.
Fuck! Before, if someone came outside my mouth, I had to lick the guy’s groin clean and wipe off every drop of cum. But now, I owed no one anything!
– “No way!”
– “Kate, babe, understand, we can’t ... The whole floor’s covered in cum! Yours too, by the way! If anyone finds out we touched this, we’re fucked!”
– “Who’s gonna find out? Everyone cleans a little, and it’ll be our little secret to take to the grave,” I tried to joke. Joke didn’t land...
Just moments ago, we were practically one being, merging in ecstasy, and I was moaning like a bitch. Now it felt like I was about to get a beating. An awkward silence hung over the room. Tension rose. I’m a free person, and all your blatnye (criminal code/status) rules? Fuck ‘em! That’s why I wasn’t cleaning! What are you gonna do? Wax me? Fuck me again? Ha-ha. And as for the beating – I’m not opposed to a fight! There’s so much pent-up aggression in me, who knows who’ll come out worse!
– “Anton, sorry, but either you clean this up now, or...” the smotriashchiy (cell boss/watchman) began.
– “Boys, why fight? You’re all so cute! I’m ready to hug and kiss you all! Who’s first?” – I cut him off, playing my last card: the most terrifying threat possible. And this time, I wasn’t joking.
It was astonishing to see a roomful of burly men back off in unison. I’ll remember this moment forever, if they ever discharge me from the ICU in good health and memory. Because now, I was about to get my ass handed to me. Kicked, punched. Strange farewell ... strange and scary. But the strangest thing happened a second later:
– “Can I do it instead of him?” said a guy barely older than me, practically a kid. By the way, he’d never fucked me before.
– “Bro! Don’t!” I tried to dissuade him. “Let’s pretend you’re joking! Never mind, I’ll clean it up! Please, don’t ruin your life! You haven’t seen the zone yet! You think it’ll be like a fairy tale there? Look at me! I was a normal guy coming in, now I’m a total schizoid. ‘Katya,’ fuck! You know how many times I wanted to off myself?”
– “I’ve already decided! It’ll be easier for me this way!” – the newly minted petukh (bottom/”chicken” in prison slang) interrupted, grabbing the rag.
Probably, the kid got overexcited from seeing the orgy and wanted to turn into a little fool. Idiot! Or maybe he was a faggot all along, just hiding it? Anyway, other people’s souls are dark, not my business ... Several long minutes passed. Everyone watched the cleaning process thoughtfully. Finally, a vertukhai (guard) came for me, and I left the cell. Omne animal post coitum triste. Praeter gallum, qui cantat...
What does prison teach you? In short: don’t trust, don’t fear, don’t beg! (c).
I’d add one more thing: and don’t slouch! In those cramped cells where walls squeeze your thoughts and the ceiling presses down on your shoulders, you learn to keep your back straight just to hang on to a shred of dignity. But once you walk free, the world crashes down on you in all its wild beauty and noise: screaming colors, deafening sounds, endless horizons. And you–used to tight, closed spaces–start shrinking again, hunching your back as if trying to hide from this assault of freedom. Keep your head up, and your spine straight!
With that thought, I walked up to Ivanych’s apartment door–the place I used to live. I had nowhere else to go. I didn’t have shit left: no place to stay, no job, no friends, no cash. Just a Troika metro card, an office pass (surely blocked), a few tens of thousands of rubles on my bank card, a key fob, a key to this very door, and a phone. But the phone was useless–none of my ex-colleagues or “friends” were answering my calls or texts. Well then, if they won’t pick up my phone calls, I’ll just ring the damn doorbell! I’ll tell them I came to grab my stuff. If they don’t open, I’ll try the key myself. And after that – fuck knows. I didn’t know what came next, didn’t want to, couldn’t even think about it. Prison leaves you with a nasty side effect–atrophy of decision-making. The system really puts in the work to beat that instinct out of you. So fine, I’ll start small: press the damn doorbell.
Nobody answered. So I unlocked the door and looked around. The lock hadn’t been changed, which meant ... hell if I knew what it meant. Inside–traces of a search, but otherwise the place looked the same. Why wasn’t the door sealed with evidence tape? Again–fuck knows. Questions, no answers.
I stepped in, flicked the light switch – no power. Tried the tap–no water. Probably cut off for nonpayment. I walked into the bedroom, sat on the bed, and looked around again. Despite the mess of scattered crap, compared to the kicha (cell), this room felt like a five-star suite.
Alright, I’ll crash here for now, and screw it if someone shows up. Nobody’s been around for six months–so why the fuck would they show up today of all days? Decision made: I’m staying, and I don’t give a damn. And if someone does show up – well, that’s tomorrow’s problem. Right now, I’m too damn tired. It’s been a long, hard day.
“Man, I could use a wash ... wonder if my swimming pool pass still works?”
That was my last thought before I passed out.
That night I had a nightmare. In the dream, I saw Anna. I was back in prison again, and she suddenly showed up to visit me. The idea of something like that actually happening was way too fucking absurd, so I immediately realized it was a dream – just my overheated subconscious spitting out one of its twisted movies. The second clue was the setup itself: we were talking through a glass partition, like in those American prison flicks. Real life doesn’t work that way, of course. The glass was cloudy too, bending the perspective just enough to make everything look off.
Well, that’s interesting, I thought. Why not chat with Anya a bit, since it’s a dream anyway? We can talk about anything! Maybe she’ll even flash her tits if I ask nicely. Or maybe I’ll forgive her and propose. Lucid dreams are the one place where you can do whatever the hell you want!
“Anton, what’s wrong with you? What happened to your face?” she asked, killing the thought mid-flight. My face? I looked around, searching for a mirror or anything shiny enough to reflect. Then I looked down and – Fuck me. I had tits. Or rather, fake ones.
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