Desire Behind Bars

by Salome Wilde

  “Is she shaved?” a thick voice interrupts from down the row.

  Della bites back a laugh. “What do you think?” she teases back. “My girl’s entire body is always smooth, soft, and prepped to get down. She keeps that shit neat.”

  A chorus of appreciative catcalls acknowledges the description.

  Her audience’s reaction stills Della’s hand. Wanting to enjoy their attention more fully, she pulls herself up to sit with her back against the wall. The position gives her a clear view across the hall where one of the more vocal, outspoken inmates in the block stands flush against the bars of her cage, staring open-mouthed at her. They’re friendly rivals on a good day, but at this moment, desire has left the normally abrasive Maria Amaro speechless.

  With a wicked grin, Della unfastens her pants and slowly shoves them over her hips, down her legs, and then kicks them off completely. Her gaze, meanwhile, remains locked with Maria’s, and her voice is noticeably hoarser when she continues.

  “Her pussy is wetter than the tub can account for. I always wonder for a moment if there was some self-pleasure included in my girl’s relaxing bubble bath, but as I lift my fingers to my nose and catch the faint scent of lavender, I remember the bath oil and brush aside my moment of jealousy.”

  Della spreads her legs wide as she directs the next words to her voyeur. “I close the distance between us again and this time my index and middle fingers both slide knuckle-deep into the moist opening between her legs. The passage is slick and it’s so, so satisfying to slip inside her. We both moan in pleasure at the ease of penetration. The bath has left her warm and ready, and the oils have softened her up for my attention.”

  As she speaks, Della’s fingers mirror her words. She pushes her panties down and lets two of her fingers slip past the curls of her pubic hair to penetrate her own soaked opening. Knowing Maria is watching, she thrusts her digits in and out roughly, arching her back to ease the entry.

  Across the hall, Maria finds her voice at last.

  “Fuck, yeah,” she moans wantonly, her eyes locking with Della’s as she buries her left hand down the waist of her pants. Her right hand grips the bar of her cell so tightly that her knuckles are white.

  “Do you know what I do then?” Della calls out breathlessly.

  She waits just long enough to slip a third finger into her aching entrance before giving her own answer into the curious silence. “She’s stretched so wide and begging so sweetly, I give her what she wants the most. Slowly, carefully, I slide in a third finger, and my fourth…

  “Her knees are shaking so hard she can barely stay upright, so I kneel and pull her down onto the floor with me. We don’t waste time spreading out a towel. As she stretches her flushed body out across the cool tiles, I crouch above her, with her face centered between my knees.

  “Eagerly, her lips seek out my slit, but I pull away. I like to make her earn that. Instead, I treat myself to a taste. She moans and spreads herself wide open. My tongue slips in so easily, and I let my fingers follow. Her clit demands my focus. I flick my tongue against it and feel her vibrate with pleasure beneath me. I suck harder; I roll my tongue around her pearl and thrust my fingers deep.

  “She keens and bucks under me. I laugh as her hands grab my ass, greedily dragging my pussy to meet her mouth. I tilt my pelvis to allow her access. Her lips are hot and hungry. She presses wet kisses to the top of my cunt, then slides her tongue down the length, splitting me open. I groan into her pussy as she licks my inner lips with slow, teasing strokes. She knows that drives me wild.

  “I reciprocate by scraping my teeth lightly across her plump, swollen labia. Not enough to hurt—just enough to make her feel it. She shudders, and her fingers dig hard into my ass.”

  Della pauses briefly to lick her lips, her throat increasingly dry. It’s so quiet around her you could hear a pin drop. She’s dizzy with arousal and can’t stop until she’s done. “Her mouth is sucking now, mimicking the attention I showed her clit but with less finesse. She’s rough and sloppy and it’s so fucking good. I have to pull my face away from her cunt to catch my breath, but my fingers keep rubbing her. Encouraging her. Her inner thighs are slick where I rest my face against her. I’m smothering her with my crotch, spreading my legs so wide my thighs ache. My girl’s fingernails dig into my ass cheeks, parting them. Then, while her mouth devours my pussy, her left index finger slides across my ass to press against my hole. That extra pressure is all it takes to make me come.

  “I bite down on her thigh as I climax, and she laughs against my cunt. I’m grinning too when I finally catch my breath, but I’m not finished yet. Turning my focus back on her wet slit, I stroke her insides slow, just the way she likes it. Her pussy squeezes tight around my fingers as I pick up the pace, and she screams the filthiest damned words as I fuck her. Our tiny bathroom echoes with them as she comes over and over again.”

  Pulled in by her own story, Della’s voice hitches as she drives her fingers deeper, thrusting into herself. She bucks her hips sharply, and her gaze seeks out the woman across the hallway. Maria is still watching her intently. Her eyes dart hungrily between the spread of Della’s legs and the bed above her.

  Della glances up at the underside of the top bunk. Over the noise of her own panting, she can hear but not see the rapid breathing of her cellmate. Soft grunts and the rhythmically frantic creaking of the bed frame betray Lorrie’s activities. She can’t see her, so Della lets her imagination drift. Her thoughts stray to the other woman’s body. Her pussy tightens as she allows herself to picture the large, muscular woman pleasuring herself. Fantasizing about those heavy breasts bouncing with each breath and that intense gaze burning with need and lust draws a deep groan from Della’s throat.

  An answering moan calls to her from across the hallway. Turning her head again to look out through the bars, Della watches Maria. The other woman is shamelessly grinding the heel of her palm against the front of her pants. Her small chest heaves with arousal and her nipples are visibly hard through the thin fabric of her white tank top.

  Della lifts her free hand to squeeze her own breasts, teasing her large nipples as her pussy clenches around the fingers of her other hand. A cry rips free from her throat as her climax overwhelms her. She hears an echoing shout, but is too drowned in the flooding rush of her own orgasm to recognize which of her eavesdroppers has come with her.

  The sheets beneath her are twisted and damp with sweat. Della still trembles from her climax when the white noise ringing in her ears finally tunes itself into a soft, breathless voice.

  “Then what do you do?” Katey’s voice is clear, curious, and, to Della’s delight, devoid of any hint of tears.

  Her question draws an eager gasp from the woman lying above Della and, glancing across the hallway, she notes that Maria has collapsed across her bunk, spent, but her hungry gaze is still drawn to Della’s voice. A wicked smile spreads across Della’s face. Not wanting to disappoint any of her audience, she sprawls back against her pillow and lets her legs fall open loosely as she resumes the story. “The fun isn’t over after we both come. I lean across her to turn on the faucet because now that we’re both so damn sweaty and spent, it’s time to wash up…”

  Pen Pals

  by Geonn Cannon

  Love at first sight? No. There are plenty of examples of it in the world, but our experience was nothing like that. For us it was all about the chase. I saw her as something to get away from and she saw me as something to catch. I was setting up my latest victim in an empty ground-floor rental space. For just a relatively small down payment, they could reserve prime real estate for their business. By the time they figured out the storefronts weren’t mine to sell, I would be long gone. Then Detective Girard had to show up and ruin everything. The door opened and she walked into my life, an outlier in my carefully plotted scheme.

  Our eyes met across the room and sparks flew.

  I tried to escape, but Girard wouldn’t let me get away. I’m a fine runner, but Grace k
ept up with me as I fled into the alley. I always had an escape plan, but the perfect map doesn’t mean anything if a cop paces you every step of the way. She was unrelenting. No matter what obstacles got in her way, she overcame them. I barely made it to the street before I felt her hand on my shoulder. She threw herself against me and I went down, scraping my cheek on the asphalt of the alley.

  She forced my hands behind my back, snapping one cuff against my wrist before she reached for the other. We were both breathing heavily as she secured my hands and got to her feet. She hauled me up and turned me around to walk us back the way we’d come.

  I didn’t know her name at the time. She recited my rights, handed me over to booking, and I didn’t see her again until the trial. It was only in the courtroom that I noticed how attractive she was. I was grateful I’d been caught by a good-looking woman instead of a balding beat cop with a beer gut. I felt like Detective Girard was my equal, which made the idea of losing to her a bit easier to swallow.

  I was found guilty of fraud and theft and sentenced to ten years. This was foremost in my mind, of course, but Detective Girard was at the sentencing, and I caught her eye as I was led out. That should have been the end. There was no reason for our paths to ever cross again. She’d caught me fair and square. I wasn’t the sort to flip the board over when I lost a game. So, as I was led away to do my time, I offered her a smile, nodded to acknowledge her triumph, and gave a flick of my fingers to bid her farewell.

  There was no reason to make a fuss. I was a pro, and I knew how to cope with defeat. I ran my first con out of the orphanage where I grew up. All I wanted was money for comic books, but I soon discovered I had more fun figuring out ways to get people to give me their cash. I read books about thieves and confidence men, and soon I was coming up with my own plays. But even though the stakes were high, I never let myself forget that it was a gentlewoman’s profession. There was honor in what I did, no matter what anyone else thought about my crimes, and I wasn’t going to sully it by whining.

  I was sent to the women’s correctional facility, got an orange jumpsuit that I eventually traded for tan, and began serving my time like a good girl. I requested a position in the prison library and spent my free time educating myself on the ancient cultures I had gotten rich copying from.

  I was eleven months into my sentence when I got my first letter. I had no family, and my friends who hadn’t been caught were smart enough not to associate with me in my current situation. So it came as a surprise when the envelope was delivered. It was then that I learned Detective Girard’s first name was Grace, and that she lived in Olympia.

  Part of me wanted to throw the letter out. I was pragmatic, but I could still be petty. The woman who sent me to prison wasn’t someone I was interested in corresponding with. But curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know what she had to say. The letter was brief, a simple request to have her name added to my visitation list. My first instinct was to deny the request. There was a chance Girard only wanted to rub her victory in my face, and I had no interest in facilitating that. Then again, it would be interesting to face the woman who caught me. Curiosity won out, and I did as she asked.

  Four weeks later, I was working in the library when the guard told me I had a guest. Visits were held in a large room that reminded me of a high school gymnasium. Guards stood on the other side of a glass wall to watch us without invading our privacy any more than necessary. Detective Girard was sitting at a round table near the vending machines, nervously tapping her fingernails on the Formica tabletop and scanning the room anxiously. As a grifter, I was trained to read a person at a single glance. Even so, I was surprised by how much I remembered about her from our brief meeting in the courtroom. She was just as pretty as she’d been at the trial, and today she had dressed down ever-so-slightly in a V-neck sweater and jeans. Her visitor tag was clipped where her badge would have been. There was no outward indication she was a cop. She glanced up when I approached and straightened her posture as I sat down across from her.

  “Detective Girard. You look good with your hair down.”

  “I…thanks.” She self-consciously touched her hair.

  I enjoyed her reaction. It was a habit in my profession: when entering a conversation with someone who has the upper hand, do something to upset the balance. Even if it was just a small shift, it gave me a foothold.

  “Um, they let me bring in money for the vending machines if you want something.”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. So, how’ve you been?”

  The question seemed to throw her. “I’m…okay. H-how are you?”

  I shrugged and looked around. “It’s kind of a bad neighborhood, but that’s to be expected. I’ve earned the trust of the natives. I get to shower with pretty much all of them.”

  She smiled, then winced. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Why are you here?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?”

  I nodded. “Yes. It’s an honest answer, at any rate.” I linked my fingers together on the table and leaned forward. “Do you want me to absolve you for arresting me?”

  “No.” She sat straighter, pulling away from the table. “You broke the law and I caught you. I didn’t do anything that needs absolving.”

  “Good answer.”

  “But…” She stared at me, her features twisted with obvious inner conflict. “I can’t stop thinking about the way you smiled at me in court. You accepted the loss.”

  I shrugged. “I gave you the win. It’s not exactly the same thing, but I guess you can interpret it as you see fit.”

  Girard seemed to consider the answer before she nodded. “Okay.”

  “So, if you’re not here to make amends, is this your victory lap?”

  “No. Not at all. I’ve been reading up on you. I’m fascinated, I guess. You don’t hear much about female grifters.”

  “We prefer con artist.” To be honest, I didn’t care. I just wanted to throw her again. It was fun watching her decide if she was going to play along. “What I do is artistry.”

  “What you did was theft.”

  I shrugged. “We can call it whatever you want now. In here, I’m not any kind of artist. I’m just Mal Clinton, DOC 212714.”

  She crossed her arms. “Then what does that make me?”

  “You know exactly what you are.”

  “Yes, but I’m curious how you think of me.”

  I was skeptical of her motives, but I couldn’t see what I had to lose by being honest. “You’re a detective. Obviously a good one, since you caught me.”

  She smiled for the first time. It improved her already impressive features. She had a face some might call severe—with a sharp chin and high cheekbones—but her eyes saved her. They were sky blue and piercing in a way that made me think she was very good at getting people to confess. It was like she already knew everything I was going to say and just wanted confirmation.

  “Your turn,” I reminded her.

  “Okay. So, I guess if I was pressed, I was intrigued. I study people for a living. Not for the same reasons you do, but probably in a very similar way. I’ve never seen anyone accept defeat the way you did. It was impressive. It showed a lot of character. And I admire character wherever I find it.”

  I was surprised that she would actually compare us. “Even in a craven thief?”

  Girard shrugged. “I wouldn’t call you ‘craven.’”

  I watched her. “Have you ever followed up with any other of your arrests like this?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never even thought about anyone else after the trial ended. I guess I just had you on my brain.”

  “Well, you did throw me down and handcuff me on our first date. That’s pretty memorable.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, that’s more third date stuff for me.”

  “Good to know.”

  Her laugh tapered off, and she pushed her hair behind an ear. It was an intriguingly flirtatious bit of physicality, and
I filed it away. “Okay, uh…okay. I guess I just wanted to see you face-to-face. Know you as a person instead of a picture in a file.”

  “Why me? I assume you’ve arrested plenty of people. A lot of them probably had more intriguing stories than mine. So why did you make an exception to come see me?”

  “You’re safe.”

  She said it so quickly that I was inclined to believe it was not only the truth, but a truth she might not have known before it came out of her mouth.

  “Like I said, you seemed interesting. Right now everyone in my life is on the right side of the law. It might be informative to see things from your perspective. You accepted your arrest so gracefully I thought you would see the value of a conversation. And this way I get the best of both worlds.”

  “You get to control the relationship.”

  “Makes me sound kind of predatory, but okay. Yes. This way I get to have friendship without the responsibility.”

  “I don’t know many people who would call friendship a responsibility.”

  She shrugged. “We’ll see where it goes. Bottom line? You’re fascinating. I want to know you as more than just facts on a rap sheet. I won’t apologize for arresting you, but I am a little sorry that I had to.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, Detective Girard.”

  “Oh, you can call me Grace.”

  “I’d prefer Girard. We all go by our last names in here.”

  She nodded. “Okay, then. Can I write you again?”

  “Sure. I can’t promise to write back. I have to earn write-outs.”