Prison Snatch

by Cairo

  But she’d learned quickly if it didn’t apply to her, to stay in her own lane, keep her mouth shut, and mind her own damn business. And she would.

  Still . . .

  “He’s probably pissed he couldn’t get someone over on Two East to suck him off tonight,” Sabina continued, “so now he’s over here looking for anyone he can send to lockup; ole stump-dick fuck.”

  “So he works nights?”

  “Yeah. Third shift.”

  Heaven blinked. “Wait a minute,” she stage-whispered. “Did you say he had a stumpy dick? How you know that?”

  Sabina began making smacking noises with her mouth. “How you think?”

  “Oooh, you nasty bitch,” Heaven hissed, then started laughing. “You fucked him?”

  “Hell no. You know my kitty-kitty only likes the taste and feel of dark-chocolate dick inside her. I sucked him.”

  “Say, what? You sucked him?”

  Sabina giggled. “Like a Jolly Rancher. It was nice and fat, too. But short as hell.” She laughed. “All that muscled man—six-six—and he walking around with a short dick. A damn travesty.”

  “I’m not gonna ask you again,” he barked through the tier. “Where the fuck is it? I know one of you crack whores got that shit hidden somewhere, probably stuffed up in one of your funky-ass holes.”

  “We don’t have nothing,” she heard one of the women say. She sounded young, and practically in tears. “I swear, Sir. I don’t do coke. I only smoke a lil’ weed.”

  “I never did that shit, either, Sarge,” another voice chimed in.

  “Evans, shut your lying ass up,” he snapped. “Your knotty-headed ass still sniffing that shit; both of you stinking bitches probably in here snorting and eating each other’s stank-ass pussies out.”

  Heaven’s frown deepened. He was vulgar. “I wish he’d shut the fuck up.”

  “Good luck with that. Once he has it out for you, that motherfucker can be ruthless. He’s been known to storm through cells tearing up shit, looking for contraband—real or imagined. He’s even been known to set up inmates, planting shit in their cells, fucking with their mail. Even getting them jumped.”

  “Say, what? Ohmygod, he’s crazy. How come no one reports his ass?”

  Sabina snorted. “And, what? Get labeled a snitch? Or end up with your face cut? Not. Ain’t no one gonna say shit unless they looking for a long stay in the hole, or a trip to the infirmary. All that freaky motherfucker wants is his dick sucked.”

  Heaven licked her lips and her cunt clenched beneath the covers.

  “What did you say his name was again?”

  “Struthers,” Sabina repeated. “Sergeant Harold Struthers the Third. And trust me. He’s definitely not someone you want to piss off, or cross. He’ll fuck your whole bid up. I’ve seen him do it. I’m telling you. That’s one evil bastard.”

  Heaven slid her hand between her legs, slipped them down into her panties for a brief moment. She was wet. Her fingers flicked over her clit, and she stifled a low moan. She needed to know more about him.

  She removed her hand, then brought it to her nose, and breathed in her arousal.

  “Is he married?”

  Sabina blew out a breath. “Hell if I know. If he is, he don’t act like it the way he runs around here chasing after head.”

  Mm. Is that so? “And you said he had a fat dick?”

  “Yeah, jaw-locking fat. But, short. Like six—maybe six-and-a-half on a good day.”

  “You measured it?”

  Sabina leaned over her bed and shined her book light in Heaven’s face, causing her to blink. “Unh-uh, tramp. What’s up with the Twenty Questions? What, you want his dick stuffed in your mouth, too?” Her hair fell forward over her face, and she thrust her free hand through her hair above her forehead, pulling it tight against her head in a backward motion.

  “Ohmygod,” Heaven said, shielding her eyes with her hand. “Hell no.” Maybe it was a lie. She wasn’t sure yet. But she was sure she needed to figure out a way to lay her eyes on him. She needed a way to reel him into her web—she only hoped he wasn’t some ugly fuck. “Now get that damn light out of my face.”

  “Mmhmm. If you say so.” The light clicked off. She let go of her hair and Heaven watched as it flopped over her face once more. Sabina shook her head. “You seem too interested in his dick all of sudden, but okay. Annnnywho. Yeah, I measured it.”

  Heaven gave her an incredulous look once her eyes adjusted to the cell’s darkness again. “You walk around carrying a ruler, measuring COs’ dicks?”

  Sabina laughed, shoving her hair out of her face again. “No, silly. I use my neck and mouth, and hands.”

  A lock of unruly hair fell forward over her brow as she dangled her arms over the side of her bed so that Heaven could see her as she closed her right hand into a small fist, then did the same thing with her other hand, placing them on top of each other.

  “See, this right here is a five-inch dick.” She spoke as if she were giving instructions on measuring a dick without using a ruler. “If the head peeks out over the opening of my fist, then it’s about a five-and-a-half. Now if I stick it in my mouth and it only hits the back of my throat, then it’s usually only six inches . . .”

  Heaven stared at her in amazement. “And if it’s smaller than five inches?”

  Sabina gawked. “Then that’s a damn Tic Tac, honey.”

  Heaven couldn’t help herself from laughing. “Ohmygod, girl. Your ass is silly.”

  “Uh-huh. And I’m a dick connoisseur. I’ve sucked a ton of dicks to know the length of one.”

  “Wait. I thought you had a boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, and? Sucking dick was my side hobby. The bigger, the better; but don’t get me wrong; I don’t mind a short dick, if it’s nice and chunky, like Struthers’. But if it’s skinny annnnd short, hell no.” She feigned a cough. “I’m allergic to little dick. The only thing a toothpick can do is, pick out the food between my teeth.”

  Heaven shook her head as she eyed her. “Now why exactly did you suck him again, knowing how ruthless he is?”

  She scoffed. “Because when he asks you to suck his dick, you get down on your knees, and you suck it. Or feel his wrath. He doesn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Oh, so he basically sexually assaults females?”

  “No. It’s more like creative coercion,” she rationalized. “He coerces you, then creatively finds ways to keep you indebted to him. Interestingly, as nasty and horny as he is, he’s very selective as to who he lets suck his dick.”

  Heaven sat all the way up. “Oh, how so?”

  Sabina continued leaning down over the edge of her bunk, her hair falling into her face again. “He usually likes them real young and fresh, straight off the bus; especially the ones who’ve never been to prison before.”

  “Mm. Fascinating. So he’s a predator,” Heaven said, her mind swirling with all sorts of dirty thoughts.

  She hadn’t even seen what he looked like, and already she had him fucking her, bent over, feet in a wide stance, her hands up against the wall. Him in back of her, bent over, sliding his tongue down her spine—then giving her ass a heavy swat with one of his huge hands, the sting causing her pussy to tighten.

  Her imagination started running like a wildfire. Hot, juicy images of him grasping her hips with those hands of his, yanking her backward as he plunged his hard dick inside her, burying himself as deep as his stumpy dick would possibly allow as he fucked her fast and hard, her pussy growing slicker with every thrust.

  She couldn’t help—

  “Suck his dick good for him,” Sabina continued, snatching Heaven from her salacious reverie just as a delicious thrill coursed through her body, “and he might bring you in some McDonald’s or a chicken cheesesteak.”

  Heaven blinked out of her—hell, she didn’t quite know what to call it. She frowned. Had she heard her right? A chicken cheesesteak? What the hell? McDonald’s?

  Mmph. These dumb hoes were definitely playin
g themselves too short, sucking dick for burgers and fries. So all they thought they were worth was a damn hot sandwich, or some burger joint?

  She raised a brow. “And what did you get?” she asked Sabina curiously. “A burger too?”

  Sabina grunted. “Mmph. Hell no. Don’t even play me like that. I got three packs of Newport, and six mini bottles of Fireball.”

  Heaven blinked. So this bitch was sucking for smokes and 50ml nip bottles of cinnamon whiskey?

  “Ooh, do it, girl. You ran his pockets, huh?”

  “Unh-uh, ho.” She pointed a finger at her. “Don’t even judge me. It was my birthday, and I wanted to turn up. So, yeah, I sucked his dick. And I’d suck it again if I had to. Do you know how much a pack of cigarettes are worth up in here?” She didn’t wait for a response. “A fortune, okay.”

  “Oh, okay. School me, then.” Her tone was a mixture of sarcasm and sincere interest. She’d never smoked. All she knew was that they were ridiculously too expensive on the streets. She thought anyone stupid enough to spend almost sixty-dollars on a carton of cancer sticks were dumb as hell. Yet, as she sat up in her bunk, she suddenly heard cash registers ringing in her head as Sabina enlightened her on the prison cigarette trade.

  “So be clear,” Sabina added. “Prisons might no longer allow smoking, but an addict is gonna get his or her fix no matter what. And a prison bid isn’t going to stop it. You have the pill poppers, the meth junkies, the coke users, and the nicotine addicts all up in here jonesing for their next hit.”

  She continued on about supply and demand in prison. Depending on the two, one single Newport could cost an inmate twenty-dollars or more. Sabina had charged twenty-five for one, netting nearly five hundred dollars on one pack.

  “I made close to fifteen hundred dollars up in here, chickie. So don’t knock the hustle. I sucked his dick, licked his balls, swallowed his baby batter, and let him call me every degrading name in the book. I did whatever I had to—and I do mean, whatever—to make a few dollars. Not one motherfucker out on the streets has sent me shit, not even that worthless fucker I’m in here for. So, I gotta make money however I can to survive. I’m not trying to be one of these indigent bitches in here begging for somebody else’s scraps.”

  Heaven was quickly learning prison was a breeding ground for debauchery, and was a compound for a very lucrative black market trade. And it was filled with fiends and freaks. And—from what it sounded like—cigarettes, drugs, and sex was a seemingly hot commodity behind these walls, and—yes, yes, yes—she wanted in.

  SEVENTEEN

  No Angel . . .

  Heaven shrugged out of her jumper, washed and pat-dried her face and then combed her hair, before pulling it up and fastening it with a black ponytail holder. Then she grabbed her seven-inch tablet from out of her locker and crawled up on her bottom bunk. She powered up her tablet, and waited for it to boot up. The one-hundred and forty-seven-dollar commissary purchase wasn’t necessarily what she was accustomed to. She’d rather have her Apple instead of this nondescript gadget, but she had no other choice but to make do.

  The money in her commissary account was slowly dwindling down to almost nothing from all of the purchases she’d had to make once she returned to general population. Hygiene products. Hair care. Skin care. Styling products. Cosmetics. Laundry supplies. Padlocks—so bitches wouldn’t be tempted to steal her shit. Towels. Phone cards. Utensils. Radio. RCA flat-screen. Extension cords. Tablet. Table fan. And the list went on.

  She learned very early on, if you wanted to jail comfortably, you had to have money. And before she knew it, she’d spent close to four hundred dollars, leaving her with a little under two grand left in her inmate account. Most of it money she’d already had in her purse when she’d been arrested and, then, some money that had been sent to her while sitting in the county jail.

  Her bail had been too high to bail out—five hundred thousand, and her two bail motions filed on her behalf by her attorney had been dismissed. The two male prosecutors assigned to her case believed she was a flight risk, even though they’d forced her to surrender her passport.

  So she was left with no other options but to sit in the county until her charges were disposed of. She didn’t want her brothers taking on the financial burden of bailing her out. They had their own families, with their own encumbrances. So she’d sat in that disgusting hellhole for almost a year before she was finally sentenced. Then another two weeks before she’d finally shipped out, with her inmate check in hand.

  She shook her head. This prison shit wasn’t for her. She wasn’t used to budgeting money. But without Freedom—fucking Freedom—no longer financing her, and the few friends she thought she had pretty much turning their backs on her, she would be penniless in no time if she didn’t learn to pinch off her coins, and shop sparingly.

  Sure, she had about eight thousand in a Chase savings account and about twelve thousand more of Freedom’s drug money secretly stashed in a safety deposit box. She also had another few thousand tucked away in another hiding place, but there was no one trustworthy enough to entrust with securing her coins and mailing in money as she needed it.

  Her three brothers lived out of state, so she couldn’t impose on any of them to fly in to collect her monies. And she didn’t want them to. They had their lives. And she had hers. And, sadly, they’d drifted apart once she’d gotten involved with Freedom.

  All three of her brothers had thought he’d end up being her downfall. Ha. They’d been right. Now look at her.

  For a fleeting moment—one mixed with momentary insanity—she’d thought about asking Kareema, but quickly dismissed the idea. That bitch would run off with her money, then say someone had robbed her for it. She knew how grimy-hoes could be when it came to dick and dollars. And she knew exactly what kind of ho Kareema was. The type to fuck an ex’s father while still fucking him, too; the type to fuck a man in his girl’s bed, punch holes in condoms, lie about being pregnant, then trick men out of their money for make-believe abortions.

  That bitch was as nasty as they came. Cum-swallowing anything with a pulse. She’d been known to . . . fuck raw, fuck married men and . . .

  She frowned.

  Wait one goddamn minute. Something suddenly churned in her gut. Had she missed it all these years? Had that scandalous bitch done her dirty too? Had she been smiling in her face all these years, while fucking her man—well, ex-man—right up under her goddamn nose?

  Grimy bitches had no scruples.

  Freedom had been a cheating dog, but she didn’t believe he’d stoop that low and fuck Kareema. Let her suck his dick? Well, that was a possibility. But fucking her? She simply couldn’t see it. He’d known how she was. Several of his boys had already run up in her; they’d played the pump and dump game with her, passing her around like a blunt. Then talked trash about her.

  Then again—she’d never thought he’d stoop so low and have fucked some bitch in their bed, either. So, maybe he did fuck her.

  Ugh.

  Did (no, should) she even care? Hell no.

  So why was she feeling as if she were about to have a panic attack?

  There went her gut again; twisting in knots as she mentally noted the way Kareema would eye Freedom on the sly anytime he was around.

  He’d laughed at her when she’d asked him if he’d been fucking her, pulling her into his arms. “Listen, baby. That broad can’t ever get this dick. A’ight? This dick is all yours, baby,” he’d assured her, before molding his mouth to hers in a hot breathless kiss that melted away any further crazy thoughts of him wanting to fuck her.

  But, now—as the disc in her mind rolled backward over her life with Freedom, she realized more than ever . . . anything was possible.

  “You got my heart, baby. Forever . . .”

  “Fuck you, Freedom,” she hissed, throwing her tablet across the cell. It hit the wall, then clunked to the floor.

  Broken.

  Just like her heart.

  Yet, Heaven refused
to cry. Shedding tears over a man who really hadn’t given a fuck about her or her feelings wasn’t going to change her current situation. He was living his life, doing whatever it was he was doing, slinging drugs and dick.

  And now. She had to live hers.

  Behind barbed wire.

  And the one thing she knew for certain was, she wasn’t going to do her time behind bars broke. She needed a plan. Money was what made the world go ’round, and she wanted her world to spin on lots of dollar signs.

  Somehow, someway . . .

  EIGHTEEN

  Silhouettes . . .

  “Excuse me,” came a voice. Heaven looked over at her opened cell, and looked into the tear-stained face of a brown-skinned girl with slanted brown eyes. She was a young, attractive (a little dusty-looking with a tore-up weave), curvy-hipped girl with a small waist, and breasts the size of ripe cantaloupes.

  In her left hand she fisted what was remnants of long weave hair.

  Heaven sighed. She wasn’t in the mood for niceties at the moment (couldn’t this bitch see she was in the middle of having a moment?), but the young woman appeared distressed, and Heaven didn’t have the heart to be rude. She didn’t recall ever seeing the girl on the tier, so she surmised she’d been moved from another housing unit.

  Heaven sighed inwardly. “Yes?”

  The girl sniffled, swiping tears from her face. “Do you have a tampon I can borrow? I don’t have any.”

  Did this little crazy bitch just ask me if she could borrow a tampon from me? Heaven stared at her. The poor thing had to be special needs, she thought. Bless her heart.

  Heaven finally softened her stare. “No, I don’t have any tampons you can borrow,” she said, walking over to her locker, “but I have a few I can give you. We don’t loan out tampons here, sweetie.” And what nasty bitch does?

  In good conscience, Heaven couldn’t let her go without having sanitary napkins or something. Croydon Hill only gave women three to five pads a month, and two rolls of toilet paper apiece. After that, the inmate was on her own until the next month unless she had money to purchase her own hygiene products.