Prison Snatch Page 7

  Yeah, she was beautiful and articulate and had a banging body. And? Since when did that become a crime? Obviously, since the moment she’d stepped onto the prison grounds. Well, these hoes had another thing coming if they thought she was easy prey. She wasn’t a punk and she damn sure wasn’t going to be punked.

  Period.

  Still, she knew she needed to do better, move better. Not let emotions dictate her actions. What she really needed was a contingency plan; some allies, and some sort of scheme to help her adapt to her current situation; to survive, in this hellhole.

  But who, what, and how?

  Her greatest fear was ending up broke, like some of these females in here. Having to beg for scraps, or sell her ass for a bar of soap and two soups.

  Please God.

  She had to wonder if coming in and out of lockup was going to become her MO during her whole prison stay. No, no. Hell no!

  Well, shit. She hoped not.

  She slid her hand beneath her pillow and pulled out the condom wrapper she’d held on to from three nights ago. She pursed her lips. She wasn’t sure what she’d do with it. But one thing she knew for sure: it was surely a gift of sorts.

  Unfortunately, she knew she couldn’t leave it in her cell for COs to find, if and when they felt the need to run up in here and ransack it while she was in the shower, although she had nothing but her bra and panties, a pink jumper and her shower shoes in her cell.

  Still, they’d come barging in at will and tearing up her bed and flipping over her mattress just for the hell of it. Miserable fucks.

  She slid her hand between her legs and slowly rubbed her clit until she felt herself becoming wet. She licked the tips of her fingers, then continued swirling them over and around her protruding nub until she brought herself to orgasm.

  When the rippling in her belly subsided, she rolled the condom wrapper, then slid it inside her pussy, her safe place, her personal locker for all things valuable.

  She lay in her bunk, on her hard-ass mattress, for several long minutes afterward—thinking.

  For some reason, Warden Kate came to mind. And she found herself wondering if she’d been too harsh toward her when she’d visited. She definitely hadn’t won any congenial awards for her presentation. All she wanted to do was do her time, and get back to her life.

  Still, a part of her toyed with the idea of requesting to see the warden so that she could apologize to her for the way she’d spoken to her. The warden had done her no harm, so she hadn’t deserved her shitty attitude. The least she could have done was be civil.

  But, if she were being honest with herself, seeing the warden had somehow drudged up old feelings and reopened wounds she thought she’d healed from. Staring in the warden’s eyes and seeing her own mother staring back at her caused her stomach to churn. And she’d become pissed—and saddened—at that fact.

  She hadn’t thought of Vivian in years, not since her death almost eighteen years ago. Then in waltzes the warden in all of her fanciness, and there stood her mother all over again.

  They’d never been close. Heaven grew up feeling abandoned by her. And when she’d finally come of age to realize that it wasn’t debilitating migraines her mother suffered from all those years that had kept her nearly incapacitated but hangovers, she’d been angry with her. Feeling betrayed and lied to. She felt as if her mother had chosen her drinking over her.

  Her mother had hidden her drinking very well during the early part of her childhood. The falling down the stairs and breaking her ankle and even when she’d swerved off the road and hit a tree with young Heaven sitting in the backseat, it was due to her so-called migraines. Always, always, blaming shit on migraines she never had.

  Heaven was fifteen when she’d found her mother’s stash of vodka. Different brands and bottle sizes, stuffed beneath expensive panty-and-bra sets, hidden in shoeboxes, under her king-size bed—she had a bottle hidden in practically every room in their two-story brick home.

  She’d been either too drunk or too hung over to pay attention to any of them, and Heaven resented her for it. Considered her worthless.

  When the booze finally ate through her liver, Heaven was seventeen. Her mother died three days after her eighteenth birthday. She hadn’t given a damn about trying to understand the disease of addiction. All she knew—and understood—was that Vivian Lewis was a fucking closeted drunk.

  And she hated her for it.

  Unlike the grief she’d suffered at the loss of her father, Heaven had felt nothing but relief when her mother had passed. Seeing her mother in her casket, her skin all weathered-looking and her face sunken in, she felt calmer than she’d ever been. The years of being neglected by her were finally over. And Heaven was glad.

  While her father and brothers cried their eyes out, Heaven remained dry-eyed. She hadn’t felt the loss or the pain everyone else felt. If anything, she felt a sudden sense of calm and relief.

  As far as she was concerned, her years of suffering through her mother’s silent drinking were finally over. And, long after her mother’s departing, she rarely talked about her, or reminisced because what she remembered of her mother weren’t good memories. So she avoided ever talking about Vivian Lewis.

  And, now, here she was, linking the warden to her own mother.

  She shuddered, then after several more seconds, she finally swung her legs over the side of the metal bunk and sat there. She glanced around her bare cell. This is some fucking bullshit, she thought as she stood buck-ass naked, and stretched. Just then she heard keys.

  “Lewis,” the CO called out. “Do you want to come out for your hour now, or wait until second shift?”

  It was Officer Ferguson. She was a beautiful forty-two-year-old, olive-skinned woman with the prettiest doe-shaped brown eyes Heaven had ever seen. She was a very shapely woman with a big ass (rumor had it her ass was fake), which she always kept stuffed in extra-tight uniform pants. But she was one of the few female COs she liked. She was fair, and she didn’t believe in doing inmates dirty. However, she didn’t take any shit, either.

  Out of respect for her, Heaven reached for her sheet and covered herself, then walked over to her cell door. “No. I’ll take it now. I really need to shower.”

  “Okay. Let me finish my rounds, then I’ll come back for you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said lightly.

  Heaven quickly slipped into her jumper, then stood by her door and waited. Ten minutes later, the CO returned and opened her door.

  “Lewis, don’t let these bitches in here get you caught up in any more of their shit,” the CO warned as she walked her toward the showers. “They don’t care if you don’t ever get out, because a lot of these females are going to end up right back here the moment they get released.”

  Heaven nodded knowingly. “Trust me. I’m not thinking about any of these crazy broads. I’m trying to get home; that’s it.”

  The CO gave her a side-eye glance. “Then you need to get focused.”

  “I plan—”

  “Yeah, bitch. I see you!” the inmate Goldie Malone yelled from behind her door the minute she saw Heaven walk past her cell. She began banging on the thick glass window. “This shit ain’t over, boo-boo. Trust.”

  Another one of Goldie’s cronies began banging on her door too. “Hahahahaha! There go that uppity bitch. Yeah, we see you, ho. You dog food, boo! I put that on everything, TRICK!”

  “Ohmygod!” someone else yelled out. “Why that bitch look like she trying out for The Bachelorette?”

  “I bet that bitch suck a mean dick,” Goldie yelled out.

  Everyone on the unit laughed, except Heaven and Officer Ferguson.

  “Ignore them, Lewis.”

  Heaven undid her ponytail, then shook her hair, letting it tumble down past her shoulders. “I’m not thinking about them,” she assured the CO.

  “Fuck that stuck-up bitch,” another female stated. “But I’d smear this good-good all up over her face. Use her mouth as a tampon.
”

  Lots of laughter.

  Heaven frowned.

  “All right, ladies. Enough,” the CO warned.

  “Hey, Goldie, y’all shoulda shanked that bitch,” someone shouted out, disregarding the CO’s warning.

  “Don’t worry. We got something for that ass,” Goldie admitted.

  Several more females began banging on their doors, calling Heaven out of her name and spewing threats of violence toward her.

  She bit the inside of her lip. She wasn’t About to do the back and forth, yelling and cursing at these hoodrat bitches. They were all irrelevant. Nonfactors. So she kept her eyes forward, and her mouth shut.

  But her mind was made up. She’d have to take down that Goldie bitch next. And if she needed to hack her head off with a rusty blade, then throw it over the tier, she would.

  “Yo, fam, that bitch really thinks she got that off,” another one of the females who’d jumped her from behind yelled from her door. Her birth name was Laveenia Carver, but in the streets, she was known as Red Bull for her red hair and aggressive nature.

  Goldie snorted. “Nah, God. Fuck that. I give credit where the shit is due. She did get her shit off on the homie. But that shit ain’t ’bout nothin’. Chalk it up to the game, feel me? We go hard for ours. And that bitch on the menu.”

  “Uh-huh. She about to catch it, for real.”

  “You got that right,” someone else yelled out. “You know how we do. All day!”

  “That’s right, baby,” Goldie said. “We fucking gladiators. We fight to the death.”

  “Malone, you and your cronies had better shut the fuck up with that dumb shit,” the CO snapped as she handed Heaven a fresh pink jumper—the color for inmates in lockup, “before I write your ass up for making threats and trying to incite a riot.”

  “I ain’t tryna start no fucking riot,” she spat. “All I said was that that bitch is good as got. Period. That ain’t no threat. It’s a promise.”

  TEN

  Pussy is Mine . . .

  “Oh, God, yes,” she breathed. “It hurts sooo good.”

  In her mind, she heard Marsha Ambrosius angelically singing out, “Your love’s sooooo gooood . . .”

  God yes. And it was.

  She’d had her share of big dick, but almost twelve inches was taking her to a new level of pleasure. And she was climbing, climbing, climbing. Rising over another wave, her orgasm building rapidly into a sea of pleasure-pain.

  God, why did he have to look like a damn baboon?

  Mm, but . . . but the . . . the dick—God, yes . . . it was everything.

  Still, she wanted to be on top. Wanted to ride him deep into her guts. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to stomach looking him in the face. She’d have to keep her eyes shut tight. And he’d want her to keep them open. She knew he would. Men loved staring into her spellbinding eyes, especially when they were glazed over by heated lust.

  But she simply didn’t have the stomach to stare back in his. The small space wasn’t dark enough. And, money or not, he just wasn’t worth the risk of puking up her breakfast.

  So she contently lay on her side, her left leg lifted and bent, while he slow-fucked her from the back. A Sunday dick-down, he’d called it.

  The weekends were the easiest days for debauchery. No administration, less chiefs, and lots of horny Indians.

  “Uh, mmmmmmm . . .” She concentrated over her whimpers of passion and tightened her walls, grabbing him like a fist.

  He growled. “Goddamn, baby.”

  Then he licked his index finger and found her clit, setting his wet finger on her clit. And then came those magical circles over her clit, around and around, while his dick slid in and out. His muscled chest was pressed into her back, and she could feel every twitch, every strain, of his flesh as he worked his hips into her body.

  His eyes flashed fire and his jaw clenched tight.

  “This pussy tight,” he hissed, his thrust slow and deliberate so her body would gradually open to him—all of him. She was amazingly deep (gutless almost) and so fucking juicy. “Aah, Heaven, baby,” he murmured. He closed his eyes, and red-hot lust swam behind his lids as she whimpered low in the back of her throat and came around him.

  It had taken CO Thurman almost three weeks to bag her. He’d waited until she released from lockup, then got up in her ear when he’d seen her leaving medical.

  “Damn, you pretty, baby.”

  “I’m not your baby,” she’d hissed.

  “Then what I gotta do to make you my baby?” he’d prodded around a grin.

  She’d frowned and walked away from him, but his lusty gaze went straight to the sway of her sexy ass. And fuck if his dick didn’t grow instantly hard. He knew he shouldn’t have looked. But, shit, he was a man (one who loved to fuck) and she was sexy as hell. More beautiful up close than on any surveillance monitor.

  The second time, he’d caught her in one of the corridors coming from the warden’s office. And he’d tried to get at her again.

  “Not interested,” she’d hissed.

  He’d stared at her mouth as if he wanted to tongue her on the spot. And he had wanted to. He’d wanted to devour every inch of her beautiful mouth with his own mouth.

  “Well, what I gotta do to make you interested?” he’d countered over another grin.

  The deep timbre of his low voice had sent jolts of unexpected desire through her, but she’d had no intentions of acting on it. The CO had been prepared for the chase. In fact, he was looking forward to it. He wanted to break down her resolve slowly.

  But then by the CO’s third attempt at trying to spit game at her, she’d surprised him (and herself) and had given in.

  “Damn, you smell good,” he’d whispered as she stopped at the corridor podium he was sitting at and handed him her movement pass. “You make a muhfucka wanna fuck.”

  “Two hundred dollars in my account,” she’d stage-whispered shamelessly. “And you can.”

  He’d smirked. “I can what?”

  “Fuck this pussy,” she’d answered shamelessly, taking her pass, then walking off.

  Her response had already fueled his rampant need, causing the tip of his dick to leak in his drawers.

  “Yes, Oh God, yes,” Heaven hissed, pulling the CO from his salacious reverie. She moaned, drawing him like a moth to a flame.

  He could tell her body was on the verge of an orgasm, and he fought back his own desires for release, not willing to let go of this warm, wet feeling. Yet, he felt his animal impulses kicking up as he pumped his erection a little harder, a little longer. Her pussy spasmed, and a flash of searing heat blazed through him, causing his dick to throb wildly. He felt her inner heat rising hotter as he glided in and out of her body. And he began to move faster, harder.

  “Damn you feel so good,” he grumbled, and her mouth curled into a hint of a smile. Officer Thurman had made his intentions known with no pretenses. He wanted to fuck. Her. Period. And—after he gave her the dick, if she wanted it again—he’d give it to her anytime she wanted it.

  All he wanted was thirty minutes of her body. No strings attached. Then he’d be on his way—unless she wanted more. And he was banking on her wanting it (the dick) again.

  “This dick is good,” he’d told her with such a confidence that it had made her instantly wet.

  She liked that. His confidence.

  And there was something sexy about his self-assured cockiness that she found endearing. So why not give him some pussy?

  She was horny. And he was willing to pay. And the two hundred dollars in her commissary was another month she wouldn’t have to pinch off her own measly coins.

  So, ugly or not, it was a win-win situation.

  She moaned. “Mm, mm, mm, mm . . . mmmmmm . . .”

  “Come for me. Get yours, baby, before I lose it.” His voice was hot, husky, and ragged.

  She gasped. Went slick around him and he moved easier, pushing until she groaned at his depth—deep, toe-curling, soul-touching dee
p.

  He felt himself floating in her wetness, his mind completely adrift.

  “That’s it, baby,” he murmured. “Love all over this dick with that sweet pussy.”

  Her slick walls rippled around him, and she bit down on the sock he’d stuffed in her mouth to muffle her groans. There was no way around not moaning. He had too much dick. And the deliciously dirty act of fucking him inside a utility closet, surrounded by dirty mops and buckets only heightened her arousal.

  CO Thurman lifted her hair from her neck and pressed his lips to the satiny skin of her nape, his mouth gently sucking there. He’d found one of her hidden spots. He ground his pelvis into her ass; his dick hitting spots and then more spots that she hadn’t known existed.

  “Feel what you’ve done to me, baby?” he murmured. “Got this dick harder than it’s been in a long time. Aaah . . . shit . . . mmm.” More slowly burning thrusts sent her body into uncontrollable shivers. “I wanna lick you in your asshole, baby,” he crooned, his rich baritone voice vibrating off her skin.

  The pain was sweet agony, like the bite of a whip lashing over her clit, over her cunt, his dick strokes seared through her body, burning her skin.

  She felt the swell of her G-spot and then came a fiery ache that emerged from somewhere deep in the pit of her. She was throbbing and swollen and sopping wet. Her orgasm came scalding out of nowhere as she exploded all around his Magnum, mewling.

  His nostrils flared and he hissed as her succulent scent filled the air around them. And then she had him gasping for air as need swept through him, heating his blood and making his heavy balls ache for release.

  His movements grew fast and furious, still mindful not to hurt her. He wanted it to hurt sweetly, not kill her.

  A trip to the infirmary for a savagely fucked hole would raise questions for sure. So he fought to slow his strokes, but she thrust her hips and slammed back on him with her own brand of desire and need.

  She wanted to come again.