BEHIND BARS (ff, reluc, celeb, voy, AU, prison)
CHAPTER FIVE: LEARNING THINGS
AUTHOR: Zahir al-daoud (firstname.lastname@example.org)
FEEDBACK: Please! It is the only pay received for writing these. And feel free to offer suggestions. Can’t promise I’ll use every one, but I’ll at least consider them (barring certain practices that just do nothing for me at all). Besides, its the only way I’ll ever get any better!
NOTES: This story is set in an alternate timeline, one wherein many of the famous ladies in our world have led different lives, ending up as either staff or inmates at a women’s prison.
DISCLAIMER: What follows is a piece of fiction. Legally, one should consider it a parody. No comment is made or implied about the genuine lives or personalities of the celebrities described, nor about their orientations or tastes. It is a fantasy, pure and simple. Do not take it seriously, please. And no, I’ve no notion how to contact any of these people in real life.
Oh, and there’s no such thing as Techerol.
CAST (in this chapter):
Framke Jansen as the Warden
Julianne Moore, Renee Zellwenger and Teri Hatcher as new Prisoners
Mila Kunis, Julia Stiles, Hudson Leick, Lucy Liu and Gena Gershon as veteran inmates.
FOREWARD: I’m still learning about writing anything so hardcore, and with that in mind please forgive all flaws in the following. Hopefully, you see an improvement. On the other hand, if you have any specific criticisms to offer (do I overuse certain words, do you get confused what’s going on, etc.) I welcome them.
Renee Zellweger couldn’t help but feel surprised. The library was much larger than she’d expected. It lay in one of the prison’s four tower structures, taking up two whole floors. She soon realized these two were a copy–in layout anyway–of the Warden’s Office and upstairs bedroom. Memories flooded back to her about those, especially the bedroom. That was where she’d awoken this morning, and gone through a weird series of emotional flashes.
First, remembering she was in prison.
Then, recalling where in the prison she was–the Warden’s bed, where for hours the previous night Renee had been inducted into her new “duties.” Said induction had left her exhausted, but satisfied, even a little bit happy.
Next, had been knowledge of her other new set of duties. Warden Jansen had a new uniform for her, then escorted her to the library. First, though, had been a little lesson in keeping secrets. Renee in truth had liked the spanking her new Mistress delivered–quick, sharp, arousing and over with far too soon. She had not wanted the lesson to stop. The Warden, sensing this, simply purred about rewards being even better, but not to get greedy. Of course, that would be loads easier if she had allowed Renee any underwear. “Later,” was the promise. Or threat.
“Like it?” The Warden cocked one eyebrow at Renee as she inquired.
That got a bark of a laugh.
Renee could see why. In fact, the rooms were dingy, with bad flourescent lights and a sloppy paint job. Walls were one shade of pale lime, while the shelves had been painted about three other shades of the same color, all of which subtly clashed. Most windows were painted over. None of the furniture matched–beaten up chaits, a few tables. Her desk–such as it was–looked older than she was. Designed for six drawers, it sported only two.
But it was a library. More, it was hers. The books, mostly worn paperbacks with a few battered textbooks and old encyclopedias, were plentiful enough to fill up nearly every shelf. Binders on the desk–her desk–evidently listed what was here and where. Hopefully, what the binders contained bore some resemblence to the truth.
For right now, she wanted to see the upper room.
“May I?” She pointed to the stairs.
Renee mounted the steps, aware that the Warden was behind her and watching. Watching what, Renee asked herself? Her legs? The sway of her hips? Or was the answer simpler? The Warden was simply watching and enjoying her property. Yes, that was almost certainly it. Renee got a little thrill from the thought.
I belong to her. I am her property. Her..what did she call it?
The upper room had many more shelves, taller than the lower. It was also darker. Renee walked along the narrow passages of the shelves, never less than totally aware of the woman to who she belonged a few steps behind.
“Inmates are allowed library priveleges between noon and two, then again from five till seven,” she explained. “To use the library is a privelege, so keep a list of inmates who have it. Limited priveleges means a Correctional Officer Escort is required to and from the library. Your duties include maintenance of these two rooms, as well as reporting all infraction of rules. Do you understand.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
Renee spotted a door at the far wall. “Ma’am?”
“Where does that door lead?” She felt nervous asking. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to know. Or perhaps asking was a test of some kind. Either way, she might be rewarded or punished. Even the county jail where she’d awaited her trial had hammered that lesson home. Prisoners were completely at the mercy of those in charge of them. As of last night, this prospect no longer made Renee afraid. But she was nervous.
“I’ll show you,” answered the Warden with a smile. A very catlike smile.
Little urging was needed. Soon Renee had followed the Warden to the door, which was swung open to reveal darkness. One quick movement to the left and inside the door turned a single lightbulb on. It hung from a simple chain. The room itself seemed little more than a storage closet. Roughly fifteen feet by twenty, it stored little more than some cardboard boxes. Several folded matts leaned against one wall.
“Not much, I know, but you’d be surprised how much power comes with having this room at your disposal.” From the way she held herself, the Warden clearly wanted Renee to enter.
The Warden closed the door behind them. “Can you guess why this room is so important? Can you?”
“I think…I’m not sure, Ma’am.”
“Oh no?” The Warden moved closer, so she very nearly touched Renee’s body with her own. “Can’t you think of anything this room might be used for? For example, there are Correctional Officers here at Santa Fernanda who offer…counselling…to some of the inmates. They of course are permitted access to this room pretty much at will. Just so long as there’s no conflict. Understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I understand.” And Renee did. Even had she been less bright, the Warden’s proximity–and her actions yesterday–were all the clues she needed.
“Good.” Again, that cruel feline smile. Renee could feel herself growing excited. She’d been moist before, after the Warden’s spanking. Now, it was much worse. Or better. Both.
“What about other prisoners?”
“Ah, I knew you were a bright girl. Good question.” The Warden’s hands rose. She stroked Renee’s face, each cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I think you already know part of the answer.” Leaning forward, she continued, “Inmates also would like some privacy now and then. That way they can engage in…well, lets say extracurricular work. Or play. It rather depends, you see, on who’s doing what, and why.”
Fingers didn’t stop stroking Renee’s cheeks. They felt like heavy feathers, not quite tickling but almost. It was intoxicating. Renee was no longer simply moist, but wet. She could feel the beading between her legs. Soon, she’d begin to drip.
The kiss, when it came, was gentle. Lips stroking lips. Renee shut her eyes to enjoy the sensation, revelling in the slight pressure, the teasing of tongue tip against tongue tip. This wasn’t going to stay gentle. She knew that. Welcomed it.
She wasn’t surprised the Warden grabbed her hair. Didn’t even open her eyes–just followed the pressure–down. A little sigh as her lips left the Warden’s, but that was the only protest. She obeyed, sinking to her knees. Felt one hand leave her hair, the rustle of a fabric–a skirt–move past her face. Renee didn’t need to look. She knew what was happening. Opened her mouth in anticipaton. The pressure from the Warden’s remaining hand pushed her face forward.
Her open mouth missed, giving a wet kiss to the inside of the Warden’s thigh. That was alright. She kissed it anyway, happy to worship. More kisses trailed the way to her destination–not too many, for Renee was eager.
An eternal second or two it took until she reached it, until her open mouth found bare slitted flesh. She kissed, nuzzling with lips and tongue, tasting the musk and tang of the Warden’s cunt. Renee liked that word. Cunt. More, she liked cunt itself. Sweet cunt. Juicy cunt. The cunt that owned her now. She loved it. Loved proving she loved it. Capturing those lips with her mouth, she run her tongue inside, teasing the clitoris. Her reward was the high-pitched gasp from her princess. Music. She felt her mouth water. A cue to suck harder. Which she did.
“Such…a good…good…fuck toy…” Her princess encouraged her. She hardly needed it.
Eagerly, Renee worked. But it didn’t seem like work. Lapping away, she adored every sensation as she ate cunt. She loved how the clit began to swell against her tongue. Loved the aroma of desire in her nostrils. And loved how this cunt began to move, answering her attentions with shudders and swaying. Most of all she loved knowing that she was on her knees, abject and submissive, before a dark female power that tugged at her hair, hurting with sweet hurt, reminding her Who Was Boss. All her fantasies, years of secret longings come true. She whimpered with joy, thinking: Yes, I Am A Fuck Toy. Your Fuck Toy. Your Slave. Your Whore. Use Your Whore. Make Me Obey. Force Me To Obey Like A Good Fuck Toy Should.
Alternately, she thrust her tongue inside, practically fucking the Warden with that muscle, and sometimes whipping it against the tender pink flesh there. Eyes still shut, she couldn’t see that wonderful pinkness. But she knew it was there. Felt it. Tasted it.
Her jaw and tongue got tired after a few minutes. She didn’t care. Like someone dying of hunger she ate this cunt, gobbling away as if this was the total of reality, of the world. For her, in many ways, it was.
The Warden still held her by the hair, a tightening fist that directed her attentions. It hurt. She welcomed the pain. Pressure told her what the Warden wanted. She obeyed.
Move my head up and down, licking as hard as I can with my tongue. Yes, mistress. Forward–to suck your cunt into my mouth and worship it with my sucking. As you command, my princess. Never let me go. Let me be your Fuck Toy forever. Allow me this joy, to feel your cunt respond to me, to know I’m causing you to shudder like this, to buck, to thrust without control or thought. How I love the wetness of this kiss, of what I’d doing to you. For you. Yes, my mistress. Come–let me feel you come against my mouth! Let me know I did this, that my worship has pleased you!
“Mine!” growled the Warden above her. “You..are…MINE!”
Renee wailed her agreement, the sound nearly lost against the trembling flesh in her mouth.
Every muscle tensed. The Warden’s fist squeezed her hair the hardest yet. Her back arched, and the tension of it Renee felt through the woman’s cunt againt her own tongue.
“Aaaaagggghhhh…!” Her mistress groaned. The sound was dragged out of her, almost in slow motion.
It was wonderful to hear. Renee loved the sound, just as she loved how she could barely breathe, so hard was the Warden forcing her face into the wet, shaking crotch before her. Dizzy, she only slowly became aware of the pressure relaxing from the back of her head. Suddenly, she could breathe through her mouth again. Her hair no longer hurt. For the first time in forever, she opened her eyes–and squinted against even this meagre light.
The Warden was still breathing hard. She looked at Renee with shining eyes, smiling with beautiful cruelty.
“Reward time, Fuck Toy,” she said, voice low. With her hands she easily lifted Renee up, who moved drowsily. “You did good,” the Warden said. “Time I did something for you.”
“Thank you,” whispered Renee. Her voice sounded dreamy, even to her. And when the Warden bent her over one of the storage boxes, lifting the back of her uniform and exposing her bottom, she could feel a smile growing on her face.
“But Fuck Toys get special rewards,” continued Warden Jensen. One hand slid across her hip. “Very special rewards.” That hand trailed to the side, then across Renee’s belly. Fingers reached the soaking wet cleft of her own cunt. Probed. Stroked. Renee shuddered, letting out a sound. It was halfway between a groan and the mewl of a cat. She couldn’t help it.
Across one cheek of her bottom the blow came. Renee cried out.
“Did you like that, Fuck Toy?”
SLAP! This time, the other cheek but even harder.
“I thought you liked it.” The Warden’s fingers stroked, earning another mewling sound from Renee. “Your pussy says you do.”
Renee nodded. “I…I do.”
“Then…” SLAP! The first cheek again. SLAP! Twice. “Ask for more.” It was an order.
Obediantly, Renee whispered. “Please.”
“Spank me. Please…spank me.”
This had been what Gina spent hours doing to her. Back in the motel, a then-timid Renee had been bent over her kidnapper’s lap. While one hand had stroked and probed–as the Warden’s were doing now–the other had taught her the connection between pleasure and pain. It was something she had dreamt of, sometimes masturbating into a stupor amid fantasies of domination. She had dreamed in those days of being a slave girl of a powerful woman. By dawn, this was no longer a frightening but exciting dream. It had become a pleasure she had tasted, been awestruck by, and soon realized was an addiction. She had feared never to know it again.
“Please, my lady…” she begged “Spank me.”
“Thank you! Thank you! Please…!”
Skilled fingers teased her cunt, drumming against the swollen lips. By now she was actually dripping, her wetness proof of how much she loved what was happening. The Warden continued to spank her bottom, alternating randomly between cheeks, sometimes slapping the tops of her thighs for variety. Renee had no chance to prepare, to grow used to a pattern. Honestly she didn’t want to anticipate, but couldn’t help it. She wanted to simply accept. It was probably hardwired on some level of her nervous system, this looking for order. The Warden refused to allow her that certainty. Without it, each slap was a surprise as well as a flash of delicious pain. Eventually–after a few minutes–Renee stopped trying. She simply welcomed the sensation whenever, wherever it came. The growing pleasure at her cunt blended with the sharp stings across her bottom. Clutching at the side of the box, she rode these feelings. Let herself become lost in them.
“Yes…!” she wept. “Yes! …please…yes…!” Tiny bursts of lightning across her nerve ends. “…anything…please…yes…oh, yes!” Between her legs, an itch growing as it was scratched, making her lust for more–more…More…MORE…still MORE…!
By now the Warden’s nails were pushing hard enough against her cunt they scratched. Renee liked it. Soon the sounds coming out of her mouth weren’t even words. Like an animal, she grunted and snarled. There was no past. No tomorrow. Not even today. Renee was in a nerve-scraping, blissfull Now. Waves of heat ran through her body. Her nipples, hard and tender, moved back and forth with her entire body. The movement against the box, through her uniform, hurt. Sweet, lovely hurt. Renee wanted that hurt. Needed it.
Amazingly, the feelings began to swell. Warmth bloomed into heat–red, then white hot, centered at her abused groin but spreading. The wonderous pain became agony–blinding, unbearable, glorious!
Opening her jaws, Renee tried to make sounds, to yell in release. But no sound came.
Hands clenching, lungs gasping, knees shaking–all she could do was ride the tremors wracking her body. Then, she let go. She fell forward. All her weight collapsed onto the box. Her knees gave out. Only the box and the Warden’s hands kept her from sliding to the floor. Gasping huge gulps of air, all she could hear was the pounding of bells in her ears. Pleasure so intense it was pain crackled across her body, which shook in response. Renee whimpered. Her eyes went out of focus.
This was her dreams made real. Only better. A thousand, thousand times better!
Slowly, she became aware of tiny kisses the Warden was planting along the base of her spine, now slick with sweat. The Warden was licking that sweat.
“You are perfect,” she purred between kisses. “Just perfect.” Then her tongue went back to tasting the salty moisture on Renee’s back.
Renee smiled. It was weak. That’s all it could be, right now. But still, she managed a smile. She was proud. Happy. Content. Barely able to speak, because of the intensity of her orgasm, she managed to gasp out a few words.
The Warden chuckled.
Julianne Moore spent the hours before lunch in the laundrey room. A huge basement area, it was only technically one room. The shape was irregular. Crannies and alcoves hid along the walls. Wide columns divided the room further. Finally, the machines–washers and driers both–were large enough they acted as virtual walls. So the basement was something of a maze. A hot, damp maze.
Everyone had a work assignment. Julianne’s was for folding. She and ten other inmates ended up in a side area. Piles of prison uniforms were dumped onto one table, to be folded in a certain way and placed on the next table. Each uniform had a number stitched on. The folded uniforms had also to be sorted in alphabetical order.
Never having liked doing laundry, Julianne felt zero enthusiasm. But she did it. What choice was there, after all? Another reason to damn her husband, to dream about him running into a serial killer with a taste for torturing his victims slowly, maybe burying them alive. She had no idea where this last image came from, but it entranced her for a few moments. His struggles inside a coffin, realizing what had happened, the panic as his air supply gave out–this notion soothed her. Better yet, what if there was plenty of air? Some fluke or other–no, design on the part of the killer! He would not suffocate, but starve. A much slower, more hideous death. No, he’d probably die of thirst before then. But that was good enough. Agonizing enough. She liked that idea.
“What’re you giggling about?”
Julianne blinked. The question came from a tough-looking girl with stringy long hair. Maybe twenty years old.
“Sorry.” She went back to the folding. It had to be done a certain way. The guards had insisted. Even though none were in sight, no reason to take chances.
“You really liked whatever you were thinking about.” Her voice sounded amused. “I’m Julia Stiles.”
“Hi.” Automatically, she smiled the way should would to a customer.
“That’s what I’m in here for. Fencing stolen goods. CD players, mostly. You?”
One thing Julianne did not want to do was discuss the details of her predicament, especially with a stranger. Politeness demanded some kind of response, though. And a part of her mind realized she was going to be here a long time. Best not to alienate people without good reason. Yes, lets begins showing good judgement again. About time. Lost past, actually. “Embezzlement.”
Julia Stiles nodded, seemingly impressed. “Smarter than me. Hope you got a lot before they caught you.”
She hadn’t of course. All of it had gone to her husband. “No, I didn’t.”
“Too bad.” The Stiles girl shook her head in sympathy.
“You know,” offered a tiny black-haired girl next to Julianne, “maybe she isn’t even guilty.”
Stiles grinned. “Hell, anything’s possible.” But she clearly didn’t believe it.
“Well, if you say you’re innocent I believe you,” proclaimed the dark-haired girl. “I’m Mila Kunis. And before she says anything,” she said, shooting a glance at Stiles, “I’m innocent too. They said I did something but I didn’t.”
Julianne took a longer look at the Mila. She must be the same age as Stiles, or thereabouts, but maybe could pass for much younger. Pale blue eyes and utterly black hair were centerpieces to a face that looked suprisingly cheerful. Right now she met Stiles amused look with firmness.
“I didnt.” She said it to Stiles.
“Didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it, though.”
With a smirk, Stiles went back to folding. Mila did so as well.
This work shift was supposed to last three and half hours, until noon. It felt twelve times that long. The folding and sorting was mind-numbing. Pretty soon, though, Julianne began noticing some things. Like how the guards came and checked only every half hour or so. When they did, if anyone wasn’t folding they got orders not to shirk. Everyone obeyed. Sometims a threat of going on report was needed–loss of priveleges, usually. Once a guard mentioned Solitary. In the end they all went back to work. Sometimes the guards would linger for as much as two or three minutes. But she also noticed the guards never stepped inside the folding area. They remained outside it, looking in. So those who had hidden behind one of the big square columns on either side of the area couldn’t be seen. Not once did the guards count heads. There were supposed to be eleven inmates folding. At times there were as few as six. But the guards didn’t seem to care.
Access to the hiding spots behind the columns seemed to go in shifts. The young woman next to her–not Mila–indicated it was her turn. Julianne shot a look to where the guards appeared. No sight. She made her way to the column, eyes darting between her destination and where the guards were due.
She made it. Leaning against the concrete of the column, she let her arms hang down and simply throb. Part of her knew this was relatively easy work. The glimpses she’d gotten of the rest of the laundry proved that. In fact, she was probably in the coolest part of the entire basement. Still, it was hot. And she felt tired. Tired enough to simply close her eyes.
That’s when she heard them.
Voices. Low. Murmuring. To the side, away from the folding area. Inside what she’d seen as a kind of alcove to her left, but blocked by several large pipes. Getting past them would require crawling underneath–not a difficult task but one that would require effort. Some one clearly had taken that effort.
The voices sounded familiar, but Julianne was too tired to place them. Instead she listened.
“I don’t think we should be doing this.”
“Yeah we should.” A kiss. The wet sound of a mouth on flesh. “Trust me. We should.”
Slowly, Julianne opened her eyes, then turned to look. The pipes didn’t form anything like a real wall. Lots of space with which to see, and with light spilling past into the alcove.
Mila was with Julia Stiles. The taller blonde girl had Mila in her arms, and had opened the small girl’s uniform. A breast was exposed–evidently Mila didn’t wear a bra–and Julia’s mouth was suckling it with a passion. Both her hands were pressed against Mila’s back, whose own arms were simply at her side, and her head leaned back, mouth open.
“…oh…yesssss…” Mila whispered.
Julia’s response was to practically fellate Mila’s breast. Julianne could see, even in the gloom, her cheeks sucked in and the breast itself stretch slightly. Then her hands slid to the front, along the little girls’ body, and began undoing the other buttons of her uniform. Soon both breasts were free. And Julia shifted her mouth to the other.
Mila’s now-adandoned breast was flushed, it nipple needle sharp and long. It moved as Mila herself breathed heavier and faster.
“Not now,” Mila said. Even Julianne thought she didn’t mean it.
And neither did Julia. Her short laugh was muffled by Mila’s other nipple, now receiving the same treatment as its sister. From Mila’s shuddering gasps, it was welcome, no matter what she said. Even the dark-haired girl’s hands kept reaching up to her tormentor’s head, but stopping. It seemed as if she couldn’t decide whether to pull that mouth away or hold it closer. She did neither, but eventually rested her hands on either side of Julia’s head.
“Oh…baby…” Julia’s words, said with Mila’s nipple against her tongue, were muffled but clear. She began to give licks and wet kisses along the length of Mila’s front. Down the ribcage. Across the belly. The navel was where her tongue lingered, probing and making Mila shake a little. But her hands–Julia’s hands were already at Mila’s hips. Fingers reached under the elastic bands of her panties, grabbed, began to pull down.
“Too late for that, baby,” whispered Julia, by now kneeling on the floor.
Mila’s panties slid down with little resistance, because Mila offered next to none. And Julia gave a throaty chuckle as the panties neared her knees, then went past them. They fell, remaining around Mila’s ankles.
“You always tease me,” whispered Julia. She smiled. It was a hungry smile. “Its always ‘Please don’t’ and ‘I don’t want this’…” she did a fair imitation of Mila’s voice, even batting her eyelashes in mockery “At first, anyway. Little miss virgin, pretending she’s being forced. Then later, its all ‘baby never stop’ and ‘more, please more’ and ‘fuck my pussy with that mouth, bitch.’ Every. Single. Time.”
Mila sniffled. The blonde girl gave a short chuckle. “Go ahead, baby. Cry all you want. You’ll be begging for more soon enough.” Julia grabbed Mila’s hips and pushed her mouth into the girl’s groin.
The reaction she got was a gasp loud enough to make an echo. Eyes wide, Mila’s mouth stayed open but silent. From Julia came grunting sounds, reminding Julianne of someone sucking marrow from a bone, and loving the taste. That blonde head moved up and down–in, then out–side to side. Mila grabbed the walls beside and behind her.
She finally said something. “I don’t want this,” she whimpered.
Julia reacted by increasing her efforts. Hungry groans came from her throat as she pulled at Mila’s hips. Wet slurping noises came as well. Her head never stopped moving.
“…please…don’t…” breathed the tiny girl. Even to Julianne the words sounded rote.
The two of them soon moved in rhythm together. Mila’s hips thrust forward to meet Julia’s mouth. She even parted her legs as far as they’d go, though the effort made her tremble. It was probably more than the effort, as Julianne thought about it. Mila’s head leaned back against the wall. Huge eyes finally blinked. Once. Then again.
Below Julia was chuckling–in triumph? She started pulling away just long enough to say things.
“Damn!” Then more sucking sounds. “Nice…and…juicy!” Thick with lust, her voice was muffled again by Mila’s flesh. Flesh she didn’t leave alone for more than a split second. “Say you want it, baby.”
All Mila did was gasp, a long shuddering sound.
“Say it,” Julia ordered, pausing suddenly. She stared up at Mila, eyes fierce and mouth covered with juice.
Mila moved her lips but said nothing.
“If you don’t say it,” Julia threatened, “I’ll stop.”
Silence. For how long? Julianne couldn’t tell. Tension flooded the air. Finally, Mila took a deep breath, and paused. Then…
“I want it.” Her eyes looked wet.
“That’s my good girl,” Julia murmured. “My good little bitch.”
“I want it,” Mila repeated, a little louder this time.
“Again, baby.” Julia was grinning ear to ear.
“I want it.” Each word was distinct now. Mila closed her eyes. She looked like she was about to jump off a building, and find peace.
Julia dove in. Frantic slurping sounds came from her as she licked and gobbled her captive–or lover–or both. Exactly what these two were to each other was hard for Julianne to tell. Mistress and slave? Role-playing lovers? Who was really on top between them? People were rarely what they seemed, at least that was how Julianne say things. The question occured to her, which of these two young women had seduced the other? Did even they know?
Meanwhile, as Julia suckled at her groin, Mila’s hands reached to her exposed breasts. With surprisingly deep groands, she grabbed each nipple with her fingers. And pinched–hard. She hissed as her fingers twisted her own nipples–but she didn’t stop twisting.
Her hips moved faster.
And Julia, from the sounds she was making, welcomed this. As Mila’s voice deepened, Julia’s got higher.
“Yeah…” Mila muttered “…fuck my pussy…fuck it with your mouth…more…more…More!” She bared her teeth, by now twisting her own nipples so hard they looked bright red, even in the gloom. “Do it! Do it!” she begged, hissing.
Below, Julia let out an animal growl. One hand left Mila’s hip, and drove two fingers deep into the pussy she was devouring.
Instantly, Mila bucked. Her head jerked back. Lips pulled into a grimace. Fingers shook as they twisted her tormented nipples.
Julianne could see Julia’s arm, and from that she knew those two fingers were thrusting in and out of Mila, in perfect unison with the way her hips moved. The pace quickened. Julia herself almost whimpered as she suckled and licked in a growing frenzy. She was having a hard time keeping up with the frantic bucking of Mila’s hips!
“…Yeah…Yeah…Yeah…” Julia was muttering in between sucks and licks. “…you love it…you LOVE it…!”
Above Mila’s head was turning from side to side, as if to say No. But the way she grimaced and shuddered made that a lie.
“More!” She groaned.
“You want more?” Julia’s words were slurred by speaking against the wet, thrusting pussy, but what she meant was clear enough.
Julia’s other hand left Mila’s hip. It circled around her and held her steady. The fingers which had been violating Mila’s pussy left, to her whimpered protest. But Julia ducked down and used her whole mouth on her now. The same sounds–the same, deep sucking sounds as when she fellated Mila’s nipples–now came from the girl’s loins. Shuddering gasps showed her approval. But the hand–and its fingers–only shifted. They didn’t go away.
After a few moments, Julia paused from her oral assault long enough to say five words.
“Give me your ass, baby.”
Then her arm shot upward.
Mila let out a sharp cry of…what? Pain. Joy. Surprise. Horror. Glory. All of them? Some? None? It didn’t matter. Because at nearly the same instant, she pushed herself–not away from the invading digits, but down towards them. Whatever else was happening, she welcomed this. Her movements clearly helped drive Julia’s fingers deeper and harder inside her own asshole. Head dropped forward, Mila grunted in rhythm with each thrust.
And Julia revelled in it. She was laughing as she licked and sucked, gurgling almost as her mouth fastened on Mila’s groin. Even more Julianne was reminded of someone feasting, gnawing on bones maybe or of a drunk eating cake by just diving in mouth first.
But no, that was really the wrong sin. Lust, not gluttony, was what she was seeing here.
Not that the participants cared. By now, Mila’s whole frame was rocking as Julia continued to violate her ass and gobble her pussy. Mila made gasping cries, fingers still twisting her poor nipple. She didn’t say words, just sounds. Sounds of sweet agony, tortured joy–little more than articulated gasps, but from somewhere deep inside.
Julia answered with slurping sounds of joy.
And as Mila’s head flew back, her weeping eyes suddenly wide open again, body shaking in the throws of an obviously powerful orgasm, Julianne felt something.
“…god, yes…God, Yes…GOD, YESSSSSSS!!!!!…” Mila wailed. She was weeping. Tears were flowing from her eyes. And she had a smile of ecstasy across her face. Gasping, she slowly relaxed. She leaned back against the wall. Released her swollen, abused nipples. Looked with worship on Julia as she rose to her feet.
The two of them kissed. Interestingly, they didn’t close their eyes. Both kept stared at each other through the kiss. Just as they did as Julia stepped back.
Eyes still locked with Mila, she reached down and slid her own panties down, stepping out of them. Then turned to the side. She kept her eyes on Mila, though. And grinned. Bending over, she hitched the end of her uniform up. Her own firm round ass and pussy were revealed. The latter glistened, wet and ready.
“You know what comes next.” Just an edge of threat in her voice. Play acting or for real? Julianne couldn’t tell.
Mila simply nodded.
Julia smirked. “Now…” she said “Fuck me in the ass with your tongue.”
Obediantly, Mila went over and knelt behind her. Hands reached up and parted those cheeks. From where Julianne stood, she couldn’t see Mila actually begin licking at Julia’s asshole, but that was clearly what she was doing. Julia’s closed eyes and triumphant grin told her that–as did the sounds of lapping from Mila herself. Like a dog at a waterbowl.
Soon Julia was laid her arms against the wall and rested her head. “Yeah, baby…like that…” she muttered.
But Julianne turned away. She found her knees a bit weaker than she’d have thought. And the image of what she’d seen burned in her mind. Not just the illicit power of voyeurism, although that had been a rare enough thing in her life. She had glimpsed private moments, even intimate ones a few times before. Nothing this explicit, nor between two women, but enough to know what it felt like to witness something she should not have. No doubt other lives had had more of this, had come across or created far more opportunities than hers. Yet it was not a mystery per se.
What bothered her more was her envy. Although harsh and even cruel, the love play between Julia and Mila clearly contained passion. That was what she envied. Pleasant enough couplings, awkward but sweet unions, or in effect using another person as a masturbatory device–these had been her experiences at sex. Not once could she recall a time when any experience had so raked her senses as what those two young women had together. Brutal it may have been. Painful, perhaps. Glorious, almost certainly. It had been real, yet the kind of overflowing passion she thought only existed in books. It was cruel, to find out after years and years of lowering expectations, learning to make do with feeble connections and meagre pleasures, that such extremity really did exist in the world. She tasted ashes in her mouth, at lost chances and failed time.
Julianne looked at the source of the words. Taking her place behind the column was a short woman about her own age. Dark hair, worn collar length. A remarkably sensual mouth. One arm was marked with a tattoo, like a crown of thorns circling her bicep.
“Uh…yeah.” She couldn’t think what else to say.
The woman smiled. It was a wicked smile, but not vicious. Like she was sharing a joke, but only if you ‘got’ it first. She held out her hand. “Gena Gershon.”
Automatically, Julianne took it, giving her name.
“You owe me for taking up so much time,” Gena Gershon said. She winked. There was no threat in that wink, just a quiet insistence.
Julianne nodded. “Right.”
Gena nodded as well. “Later.” With that, she took Julianne’s former place as audience to the lewd scene going on behind the pipes. Julianne resumed folding. She concentrated on the task at hand, trying to force all images of the passion she’d seen out of her mind. At best she was only partially successful. For one thing, occaisional sounds came to her ears, which were now listening for them. Groans and gasps in the distance. Words whispered that might have been “Yes” or “That’s right baby” or even “Do it! Do it!” Almost against her will she glanced back at where Gena Gershon stood, watching the scene she had left behind. Casually, the brunette woman was stroking her own breast through her prison uniform.
It was suddenly a vast temptation to do exactly the same. With an effort of will, Julianne turned to her folding. Something had happened to her, something she did not welcome. Or did she?
She must not think of it. Not now. For now, there were prison uniforms to fold and sort, followed by more uniforms and then still more. She had another two hours before lunch break. Until then, her mind had to be consumed with the task at hand. Nothing else.
By the time lunch was served, Teri Hatcher could have eaten a horse. Maybe even killed it herself.
Her work detail was to mop the hallway of the second floor. It was backbreaking work, done with the simplest of tools. Just a bucket and a plain mop. Worse–or better, depending on your point of view–it gave her a look at what she was now more determined than ever to get for herself. The semi-private cells. They made up three stories, with simple catwalks in front of the barred doors, and naked space in the center of the building for all three of those floors. With the concrete walls on each side of the cells, they were a huge step up from the dorms. And safer. Of that Teri was sure. Especially after last night. Watching those three women practically rape a fourth in the bathroom was bad enough. More disturbing was the fact it was obviously not the first time. Discretely, Teri had asked around. Their victim was Liz Vassey. Most simply called her “The Pinks’ Bitch.” Easy to see why. Although humiliated and abused, she had clearly reached orgasm at her tormentors’ hands and mouths. Very disturbing, that–the idea of becoming so used to sexual abuse you learned to enjoy it. Teri shuddered. She had to get away from the Pinks. Had to find her way into the semi-privates.
Of course, the prison cafeteria didn’t serve horse. Just as well. Teri wouldn’t want to eat one, not for real. What she got after five minutes in line was simple fare, but not bad. Mashed potatoes, a slice of ham, two biscuits, some pats of margarine, and a spoonful of mixed fruit in cheap syrup. A far cry from what she was used to in her former (and future) life as a successful attorney. Yet better than the guck served at the county jail where she had been.
Eager to eat, she carefully walked past the table where the Pinks were seated. Poor Liz Vassey sat between the redhead and the blonde. One of the girls who’d arrived with Teri yesterday–Mena something or other–sat across from them next to the tall brunette.
Teri wanted to make no eye contact with them. She wanted not to even catch their attention. Instead, she made for the far end of a counter, sat and began to eat with the plastic utensils provided.
And she planned. The single greatest asset she had right now was her training. She was a lawyer, and inmates in correctional facilities needed lawyers. Appeals forever held out the hope of release. You needed a lawyer to file an appeal. More, there were a thousand ways the law could apply pressure on the penal system. Slews of properly filed motions were enough of a nuisance Wardens would often grant little priveleges in return for their end. But such motions required technical expertise, the kind that literally took years to acquire. It had certainly taken Teri that amount of time. So therein lay a bargaining chip, and no only with the other prisoners here. Properly handled, this was what she needed to get out of the dorms.
Nodding to herself, she chewed her food. Not bad. On the other hand, nobody would call it good either. Later. One thing at a time. Like boning up on penal law. Orientation had mentioned a library. A free period of an hour was later this afternoon.
“Long time no see.”
Teri, startled out of her reverie, realized three women were sitting down across from her. One was quite young, and pretty in a vacuous kind of way. She had mousy brown hair. Beside her was a tall blonde with short hair and muscular arms. This one was good looking enough to be a model. Unlike the mousy girl, she smiled. Not much of a smile, not at the moment, but one that registered amusement. And the third–Teri knew the third.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Five years ago Teri had been defense counsel on charges of breaking and entering, grand theft, assault and attempted murder. A burglary gone wrong, in which a security guard had been stabbed but by some miracle survived. In court he’d identified his assailant. Teri had tried to impeach his testimony by holding it up to ridicule. He was almost six feet tall. An ex-marine, for chrissakes. He’d won the purple heart in Operation Desert Storm. Her client, on the other hand, was a tiny Asian girl. She had even insisted he stand up, so all could see the size difference. Unfortunately, rather than stoically insist on this improbable truth, the rent-a-cop had cried. Looking directly into the defendant’s eyes, he had begun to sniffle, weep, finally bawl like a baby. Hints at his unreliability, even emotional instability, ran flat into a wall of pity for the witness. Jurors liked him. Felt sorry for him. Feared and hated whatever so unmanned him. It took them all of fifteen minutes to convict.
Lucy Liu, that client, now sat beside the blonde, across from Teri.
“What’ya do? Try and cheat on your taxes?”
“As a matter of fact,” Teri replied, slipping into the mode of attorney with client, “I didn’t ‘do’ anything. But the jury disagreed. My husband was murdered. They suspected the wife.” She shrugged.
“Know how that is,” said Lucy. “These are my cellmates.” She indicated the two women next to her. “Hudson Leick, grand theft auto. Tori Spelling, conspiracy to sell cocaine.”
“Pleased to meet ya,” Hudson Leick winked. She had a slightly deep voice and there was something feline about her.
“Hi,” said Tori Spelling. She barely met Teri’s eyes.
“Teri Hatcher, attorney at law,” said Lucy, “and–oh, yeah, murder.”
“For now,” Teri said. “I’ll already planning an appeal.”
“Good luck,” said the blonde with the strange name–Hudson. “My lawyer keeps saying he’s working on one, but details are things he doesn’t like share.”
“You think he’s stalling?”
She made a sound. Not a laugh, nor a snort or a sigh. Just a quick exhale that managed to be all three. “I think he’s a lazy son of a bitch who barely knows a subpoena from his ass.” Hudson’s bright blue eyes focussed harder on Teri. “What I need is a new one.”
“Sounds like it,” Teri agreed. “Have you been here long?”
“Almost two years.”
Teri nodded, thinking. Lucy had been convicted five years ago. Hudson two. That made them the equivalent of experts in a subject she needed. “An appeal can take that long, even longer. But, if he’s not telling you what he’s doing, you’ve got reason to worry.”
“Really?” Lucy said the word, but both she and Hudson were listening to her. Hard.
Good! “Are you paying him?”
“Well, if he’s unscrupulous–and lots of attorneys are–he might simply pocket your money and do nothing. Your options are limited. He knows that. Odds are you’ll catch on eventually, but meanwhile he gets something for nothing. You need to know, one way or another.”
“Okay,” Hudson said. “You’ve convinced me. How?”
Perfect! Convicts needed attorneys almost as much as defendants did! With an ex-client to vouch for her credentials, Teri just saved a lot of time. And two experienced cons, who no doubt could help Teri achieve her most immediate goal. Experts in what was no doubt some kind of barter economy, a network of deals and trade Teri needed plugging into. She could begin by bartering her legal skills in return for help getting out of the dorms. Away from the Pinks.
“Well, we need to go over the basics of your case, and what you know about your attorney, especially anything he’s said he’s done. It isn’t that hard to find out if he’s telling the truth. One phone call is all you need. Well, all I need,” she corrected herself. “I know exactly who to call. Oh–sorry. I’m so used to having meetings like this with clients the habits just kick in. Do you even want my help?” Careful. Don’t lay it on too thick.
“She does,” Lucy replied. The smile she and Hudson shared just then was a good sign. If Teri read it correctly, she even knew what was going on here. Lucy had spotted her, thought she’d be a good replacement for Hudson, and then planned this little introduction. Teri did not mind. Not at all.
“As a matter fact,” Hudson said, “I do.”
TO BE CONTINUED