slashsmut single jen adebisi wangler

Memories of a Prag

by Jen

The lower bunk smelled of emptiness.

O'Reily's hack may move in new meat in the morning, but for tonight Adebisi slept alone. He was pleased. Kenny Wangler died for Adebisi's cause, his own as well. A night of solitude, in tribute. Walking through ghettos and steel bars with false balls, he finally had true fear in the last moments of his life. A little bit of jealousy tore through Adebisi at sight of that wide-eyed terror. Only he had been able to make Wangler feel such in Oz, until frogman. Jealousy passed, along with a few lives, in the end it was worth the loss. Wangler lived among the few possessions Adebisi had, in body, dirty soul, puny mind. Yeah, he broke away once, taking advantage of weak moments, but that failed. Kenny, Keeeeeenny, belonged not to white masters, but a true master, the true epitome of black man. Not simply black, African, Motherland in purest, deadliest form. On his knees that first night, he knew he discovered his place. Fought and fought, but the boy never had a chance. Bricks, hah. Last streak of rebellion, quickly stopped. They were linked to the bone, Adebisi had control over every aspect of him, living and dead.

Jarra would be displeased. Jarra never lived in this world. Adebisi did.

Eternity in the crazy ward led him to visions, despair, and finally reconciliation. Of two worlds, the spirit, and the pits of hell surrounding. Not enough to simply survive, do not settle, struggle to make your vision happen. Climbing bony steps of payback, drifting along rivers of blood, carving and scraping bricks of flesh, approaching the summit of triumph, standing on corpses and shouting of ecstasy. He did all these and more, his very soul told him victory waited around the corner. What to do next was a mystery. Perhaps he had lived his part of the tale. If so, he would not go easily. Years and years of the lord of the micks smirking with his secret knowledge, Adebisi finally understood. More than just killing, killing for a purpose brought great pleasure. Like the dominoes ApeCid slaved over, each man fell, a death trickling into greater death. McManus deserved punishment more than an end of breath, he got it. Humiliated, reputation gone, thrown out the way the hairs on his pasty head cast themselves to another place. Good riddance to ineffectual cocksuckers.

His cock ached, through weeks of lockdown, again tonight. Kenny's final nights in Em City involved the usual. Mouth open, big lips and tongue tasting him, knees kissing hard floor. That was his goodbye present to Adebisi, even if he didn't know himself. A king had to have his concubine, a replacement was imminent. Variety this time, hopefully, a juicy butterball as Beecher was supposed to be, or a spic, crossing himself as he chewed manmeat. A fag, probably, they did anything and everrrrrrything. Tonight, he had his fist, enclosed, rocking back and forth. Flying through sensations, fantasies of home and the most beautiful women on the planet, Kenny Wangler drifted far away. As it should be. In Oz, the dead are quickly forgotten. They deserve no fairer treatment. Adebisi gave Kenny purpose, an honorable death for a mongrel. For that, he felt no guilt, only self-pride. Rest in peace Kennyprick, destiny snuffed the life you never truly had.

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