Prison Snatch

by Cairo

  So he circled her clit again, spinning out another orgasm. She moaned and drooled over the sock, her teeth clamping down on the thick white ball of cotton, squeezing him, her soppy cunt thrumming and sending him over the same blissful cliff.

  “Shit . . .” he gasped, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he felt fire flick down his spine. She’d grabbed him and taken him into her tight-fisted cunt in a way not many women ever had.

  His eyes grew drowsy with more desire. Goddamn. What the fuck?

  He wanted to stay right here, her soft, wet pussy clenching and unclenching around him, her moans only fueling the flames already spreading through him.

  The sex had been more than he’d expected. And somewhere around her third or fourth orgasm, Officer Thurman found himself feeling obsessively possessed by this vixen’s hot cunt; already making plans in his head for another round.

  ELEVEN

  Catchin’ Feelings . . .

  Thirty-five-year-old Officer Austin Rawlings hadn’t expected to fall in love, but shit . . . who did? The problem was, there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He was in too deep. And he didn’t know what to do about it. No, no. Who was he kidding? He knew exactly what he needed to do—cut her off. Stop fucking her, period! Yeah, that was what he knew he needed to do.

  But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. She’d become his guilty pleasure. That fat pussy of hers had become his drug. And he’d become a straight-up love junkie for that wet, gushy shit. Straight like that. The freaky bitch had him under her spell. She kept his head reeling with images of her. Her taste, her touch, her scent . . . every part of her was stained on his tongue, his skin, his dick, his brain.

  His dick stirred in his underwear.

  Fuck.

  He wanted some pussy.

  Tight. Deep. Wet. Hot.

  Her pussy.

  He slid a hand down in his front pocket and discreetly shifted the bulge in his pants desperately throbbing for release, before pulling out a pair of red, laced panties. Contraband. But, shit. He couldn’t have his baby wearing prison-issued cotton panties. Hell nah. She deserved better than that. That pretty cunt of hers was too damn good to be covered in cheap cloth. Victoria’s Secret was the only thing he wanted her in. Well, truth be told. It was what she required of him. Lacy, frilly, expensive panty sets. That was, if he wanted to keep feeling the silky heat between her smooth, reddish-brown thighs.

  And he did. Oh, fuck yeah—he fucking really did. And he didn’t care how many pairs of the pricey undergarments he had to sneak in with him every shift to keep his woman feeling sexy and feminine.

  Yeah, that’s right. His woman.

  The pussy—she—was worth every dollar spent.

  He held the ones from the night before up to his nose and breathed in the remnants of her sweet, musky scent stained in the silky garment. She’d slipped them to him on the low—as a late-night treat—when he’d come to her tier to relieve another CO for his break. He swallowed the lust that began slowly pooling in the back of his mouth.

  From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he knew he’d have her . . . one day. Shit. He just hadn’t expected it to be on the job. Again. Yeah, he’d gotten away with fucking an inmate once before. Some homely-looking bitch with a phat ass and big, juicy dick-sucking lips—about six years ago. He’d fucked her twice. Sadly, she couldn’t take dick for shit. But her head game was the truth. So he swabbed her throat real good a few times a month, nutting down in her greedy-ass neck. But he had to cut off her dick supply when she started tripping; obsessing over him, acting all nutty and shit like she was his girl. So he had to fall back before the bitch blew his spot up.

  He’d sworn then that he’d never fuck with another inmate. Shit was too risky. He couldn’t afford to get caught out there.

  Now look at him.

  Strung out.

  Pussy whipped.

  In love—well, damn near close to it—with one of the baddest bitches he’d ever seen in a state penitentiary. He’d been working in corrections for well over a decade already, and he’d seen his share of bitches come and go. And several of them had been dime-pieces. But none had ever been as fine as this one here.

  Fuck.

  He blamed working the third shift; he blamed her for being in lockup for all those months, then coming back; he blamed the muhfucka in the control center for playing with his dick watching porn on his cell, instead of monitoring the cameras. He blamed everything and everyone else—except himself—for his current dilemma.

  Had he been on days, had she not been in the hole—again, had his boy been more by the book, he wouldn’t have been tempted. He wouldn’t have been lured into her web of seduction.

  He’d tried to fight it. Yet, by just the sight of her, she’d managed to break his resolve. To seduce him mentally, long before he’d ever touched her physically.

  The first time he’d caught her playing in her sweet, juicy snatch, he had to blink several times to make sure he hadn’t been seeing things. But when he’d looked again, his eyes caught hers, and she seemed to open her thighs wider, wanting him to see her.

  All of her.

  In all of her beautiful nakedness.

  And, for a moment, when he’d shone his flashlight on her and their gazes locked, he’d thought he’d seen a soft, secret smile curve her lips as she worked her fingers in and out of her slit. Her pussy lips were glossed with her juices. And its mouth drooled around her fingers, sucking them into her body.

  His gaze had been riveted to the scene before him so intently that he had to force himself to move from her door and continue his tour before he came on himself.

  Yeah. She’d known what she’d been doing all those nights she’d lain naked on her bunk, legs spread, hand between them, slender fingers sliding over her clit, dipping inside her, then going up to her lips and inside that warm, silky mouth of hers.

  He could still hear her strained moans of pleasure. Could still feel the way her gasps caressed his ears, driving him insane with heated desire.

  “Mmmm . . . uhh . . .”

  Yeah, she’d known what the fuck she was doing to him every time he did his fifteen-minute tours, every time he peeked in her cell, every time he’d shone the light on her, every time he’d opened the trap of her door and looked in—she’d been there playing with herself. Pulling open her sweet, puffy lips, revealing the deep pinkness, the wetness, of her slit, that winked come-hither with every movement of her hips and fingers.

  She was brazenly inviting him in.

  Licking her lips.

  Taunting him.

  Offering the snatch to him.

  Shit. He was a man. And he loved pussy. So what had she expected him to do after months of viewing her? She had to know, eventually, he was going to tire of watching, of playing voyeur, before he made his way into her cell to get a closer look, then a quick feel, then a little taste . . . and finally fuck her.

  Right?

  That’s what she’d wanted. Some dick. His dick.

  Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been spending all those nights giving him his very own private peep shows. Her ass would have been under her blanket, sleep. Not prancing around in her cell naked in the middle of the night, dirty dancing for him, not fucking herself in front of him, not on her bunk, legs spread for the taking.

  She’d wanted him to pipe her out, to rock her to sleep with the dick.

  And, eventually, he did. And she’d been so wet, so tight, so goddamn hot.

  “Damn, baby,” he’d murmured in her ear that very first night as he fucked her up against the cement wall of her cell. “This pussy so fucking juicy . . . uhh . . . so . . . mmm . . . fucking good.”

  She’d bitten into his shoulder, then nipped at his ear. “Mmm, yessss . . . fuck me. Oooh, yessss. Fuck my wet pussy . . .”

  He’d slammed into her body, and she’d taking the pounding like a pro. Inch by inch, her warm cunt had hungrily, greedily, swallowed him in.

  “Is this what you’ve bee
n waiting for, this hard dick?” he’d said, his voice low and full of heat.

  “Yes, yes, yes . . . mmm, yes . . . stretch my pussy . . . uhhhh . . .”

  She’d come over and over, her juices splashing out as his dick slid in and out of her quacking body.

  Her wet clutch had made him weak in the knees.

  The problem was, he’d fallen hard after only the first time. First, with the pussy then he’d, somehow, fallen in love with her. What he felt was much deeper than lust.

  It was supposed to be just sex, fucking her senseless, getting his nut, then going on about his business. But she’d turned him on beyond his wildest imagination. Though the sex between them was always wild, rushed, heated, he always felt satiated every time he came. More fulfilled than he’d ever been with anyone else.

  And now he was hooked.

  This shit was crazy.

  She wasn’t his side bitch. She was his only bitch.

  He missed seeing her every night. Missed having her in his arms. Missed having his dick tapping the bottom of her well as many times as he wanted.

  He sighed.

  For three months—well, if he wanted to include the two months she’d done her first time in solitary, then it was five months. In any case, he’d had her all to himself on night shift, giving her long dick whenever she wanted it. They hadn’t started fucking heavy until she’d returned to lockup the second time, and—as far as he was concerned—he’d stamped his dick all in it. The pussy was his. But—fuck. Now, for the last several weeks, she was back in general population, again, doing her own thing, probably enticing other motherfuckers.

  His jaw clenched as he stuffed her panties back into his pants pocket. The thought of her giving another muhfucka her loving made his blood boil. He knew how grimy the dudes he worked with could be. He also knew of a few cats that were fucking several of the inmates already. So he knew it was only a matter of time before one of them shady motherfuckers tried to get a taste of what was his.

  She was his, period.

  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of Newport cigarettes, then reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a lighter. He lit a cigarette, tilted his head back, and let the sun hit his caramel-coated face. He inhaled. The world shimmered in front of his eyes, and, for a brief moment, he imagined a life with her outside of these concrete walls. The thought caused his erection to stretch, and liquid heat to pool in his testicles, and more than anything, he wanted to pull his dick out and stroke himself.

  He groaned inwardly, then exhaled a long plume of smoke. He closed his eyes for a moment. What the fuck was wrong with him? He wasn’t an ugly muhfucka. His six-one frame was gym right. His dick game was on point. He had paper in the bank. And he knew he had major swag. He could have any woman he wanted. And he had his share of them throwing the pussy at him left and right. So how the fuck had he gotten caught up falling in love with an inmate?

  Fuck if he knew.

  He took a deep breath. It was almost time for him to head back into the building. He’d taken overtime, just so he could be on day shift to see her, if only for a moment. Still, he needed to get her out of his head. Walking around with a hard dick all day was the last thing he needed, especially when he wasn’t able to stick it deep into something tight and wet.

  He took one last pull from his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and stepping on the burning tip with the heel of his boot.

  Then he headed back to his post.

  TWELVE

  Sex with Me . . .

  The cell doors slid open, and Heaven stepped out of her cell; her dark-brown hair tumbling to the center of her back in thick, bouncy waves. A cacophony of sounds swept around her. Other inmates yelled out to their homegirls across the other side of the tier, some rushed out of their cells to hit the showers, and those who didn’t own a television of their own in their cells wanted to get to the first two rows on either side of the day space in front of the two fifty-inch flat screens anchored up on each wall.

  The first inmate to the TVs’ remotes was who controlled what everyone else watched. The TV bullies ran shit. So much for a democracy, it was nonexistent.

  Heaven blinked.

  Hazel eyes, full of mischief, rested underneath a set of ridiculously long lashes. Lashes that most women would kill to have. She dramatically shook her hair, sliding a hand through her luscious mane as if modeling for a Pantene commercial. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked in her surroundings. So much had changed, and so much had stayed the same, since she’d been dragged back to lockup.

  Apparently being the sole reason for one of the prison’s most notoriously vicious bullies on 4 East being ushered off the housing unit on a stretcher and, then, fighting her cronies singlehandedly had earned her respect, and had quickly moved her slightly up the inmate prison pecking order.

  Whoopty-fucking-do.

  All she knew was, the next time she—if there happened to be a next time—or any other bitch stepped to her crazy or disrespectful, or tried to put their hands on her, there’d be more blood shed.

  And they’d need more than Hazmat and a stretcher.

  They’d need a coroner.

  Oh well.

  That Snake chick got what she got. And that ghetto bitch over on 4 East had gotten what she deserved as well. So she wasn’t about to worry herself over it. However, since the day of that bloody incident, she had changed. Solitary confinement—lockup—the second time had changed her. Hardened her. Made her more conscious of her needs. Of her wants, her desires, her sexuality . . . of what she needed to do in order to survive behind these walls.

  In the beginning, she thought she might lose her mind. But she hadn’t. Instead, she read books, lots and lots of books. Filthy books. Erotic books. Books that made her pussy quiver, and wet. Had it not been for her books, her time in the “hole” would have broken her. With nothing but time on her hands, she’d learned to turn her situation into her own personal playground filled with naughty seduction.

  Reading passages of her books out loud, enacting scenes.

  Openly masturbating.

  Prancing around her cell naked.

  Dirty dancing to the music in her head.

  It all became a dirty little game to her, knowing someone would have to come by her cell like clockwork to check in on her. Knowing she’d be watched, or at the very least quickly eyed, had made her pussy tremble with excitement. The sultry acts heightened her awareness. Allowed her to hone her seduction skills. And it hadn’t taken long—three, maybe four, weeks—before she’d finally reeled in her first mark.

  Officer Rawlings.

  Horny bastard.

  Sure, he’d fought the urge best he could. But he was a man—for fuck’s sake! Of course her womanly wiles—and nightly sex shows—would sooner than later play on his curiosity, and weaken his resolve.

  And it had.

  What man could possibly stand his ground against her wicked seduction?

  The moment she’d heard the sound of his Folger Adams key opening the trap of her door, and his gaze locked on hers as she purposefully, methodically, brought herself to orgasm; the moment he was bold enough to open her cell door and sneak inside, the first time he’d slid his thick dick inside her and whispered her name over and over, and she’d melted around his every thrust, she knew then that she’d had him. That she’d, eventually, have him eating—not only her twat and ass crack, but out of the palm of her once paraffin-smooth hand.

  And Austin Rawlings was fine as hell. And his lean, chiseled body was everything. But he wasn’t shit for fucking her. An inmate. She could never respect him—or any man, for that matter—who thought with his dick.

  Yes, the dick was good. Real good. But he was only a means to an end. And as long as she was locked up, she would do her prison bid comfortably, using any man’s—or woman’s—weaknesses for her own personal gain. No, she wasn’t a lesbian, but she’d had a lot of time to think it over while in solitary confinement. And she’d c
ome to the conclusion that crooked COs had needs too. So why not cater to them. Indulge their desires. Let them fuck her and lick her cunt clean.

  Quid pro quo.

  They’d have to give something in order to get something in return. And they’d need to make it worth her while. So as long as Officer Rawlings smuggled in the things she desired, he could keep on sniffing her panties, and fucking her. The tracker phone, her expensive Chanel cosmetics, and the lacy bra-and-panty sets he’d managed, thus far, to get into the prison for her were a start. But she desired so much more.

  And, if she had her way, she’d have it all.

  She deserved it.

  She smiled slyly as she thought back to her closet rendezvous with CO Thurman. Two hundred dollars for a twenty-minute fuck was so worth it. It’d been one of her best fucks. Ugly or not, he could fuck.

  She swallowed back the heated memory.

  This wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about needing affection. It was simply about survival. Using what she had to get what she wanted. By any means necessary.

  She almost laughed.

  Pussy was the root of all things evil. Its grip, its pulsing heat, could damn near entice a man to consider giving up a testicle as long as he was granted unlimited access to its silky, wet heat. Well, maybe not to that extreme, but damn sure close enough. Pussy made a man willing to cheat on his woman. Made him willing to risk everything for the sake of getting lost inside of it.

  And pussy—good pussy, that was, didn’t always come free.

  Heaven stepped up to the railing, and looked out over the tier. A wicked grin slid over her Chanel-glossed lips. She was so much better than that cheap shit they sold on canteen. The tangerine-orange color complemented her smooth complexion, and matched her uniform perfectly. Her crisp orange jumper was cinched at the waist, courtesy of her cellmate Sabina’s tailoring skills.

  Her twenty-seven-year-old cellmate was serving a fifteen-year sentence for drug trafficking. A sentence that should have been handed down to her boyfriend at the time, but love and loyalty had her unwilling to turn State’s evidence against him. She’d rather take a bullet to the head, or rot in a prison cell, before she betrayed him.