windar
Teller of Tales
How come he gets that and I get
?Don't worry, you're in for 2 years. I'm sure we can get around to it later...
It got 1 star on "Prison Advisor"
As Rodriguez would say, "Yeah!"
Just shaking my head, Moore...
Can I join them?
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Barb Behind Bars
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
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Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Is this OUR Barb?
OMG, Our Barb?
OK , maybe.
Now that is not her!
Stan learned long ago. His general answer when asked was "Can't complain, Barb wouldn't listen anyway"
"Seemingly" Ok. That gives some hope of the real Barb appearing. (I'm hoping to see the defiant, complaining Barb, because that would mean he punishes her more!)
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Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Learning to swallow, smart move!
I would expect a modern correctional institution like Newtown Correctional Facility for Women to have three holes - like its name implies.-
Great story. You've given yourselves a tough level to maintain. I look forward to seeing you try.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
windar
Teller of Tales
13.
Stan knew that Barb wouldn’t be allowed to make any phone calls during her first week in the prison, but today was the one week anniversary and not a word. It was eight PM now, and likely the prisoners were being locked in their cells for the night, so he had to resign himself to the fact that she wasn’t going to call today.
Was there some problem, had she broken some rule and been denied phone privileges? With Barb, that was certainly a possibility. She had many great qualities, but strict adherence to rules, especially ones that were arbitrary and didn’t make sense, as was doubtless the case in the pen, was not her strong suit.
Worse, Stan worried, what if Barb simply had decided that things were over between them? She was, after all, a switch hitter and prison was nothing if not a smorgasbord of possibilities for girl-girl action. He often tried to minimize it in his mind, but he was a good couple of decades older than her and even though they had a hell of a lot of fun together, perhaps she was re-evaluating her life and not seeing any place in it for him.
Resigned to not hearing from her until at least tomorrow, Stan opened up his laptop and started to peruse some web sites that he probably shouldn’t have been looking at. There were a lot of nice looking women up for kinky things, at least for the right price. Yeah, many of them were in places like Russia and Czechoslovakia-he could hear Barb telling him, “That country split up into the Czech Republic and Slovakia almost 30 years ago, Goldman, you dinosaur!”-and Romania (he was pretty sure that one hadn’t changed its name). His ancestors had left those places generations ago for damned good reasons and he wasn’t desperate enough to go there just yet.
There were dating sites, of course, but he’d tried those after his divorce and before meeting Barb and his batting average there was worse than that of the bottom of the Mets’ order. He even thought about calling his ex; being retired now he would have plenty of time to devote to her needs and, who knows? After all, they had loved each other once and maybe he could prevail upon her to play a few of the games he played with Barb. And maybe pigs would fly, too.
In the end, he decided that all of these measures were a bit extreme given that Barb had only been away for a week and she had two years left to serve. So he poured himself another Scotch and watched the Rangers game, falling asleep mid-way through the third period.
The next day, just after noon, his phone rang. An operator asked if he would accept a collect call from a Barbara Moore. ‘A collect call?’ Stan thought. He hadn’t made or received one of those since the Reagan Administration, if not earlier. But of course, he knew that inmates were forced to use that method in order to keep in touch with their loved ones. He shuddered to think how much some company that had gotten the Department of Corrections contract (probably through some generous campaign contributions to the Governor and key Legislators) would rip him off for a brief chat, but what choice did he have?
“Yes, I’ll accept the charges,” he replied, his voice trembling a bit at the excitement of finally hearing from Barb, and, perhaps a bit, if the truth be told, at the likely hit to his wallet.
“Stan is that you?” the soft, melodious tones of Barb’s voice came over the wire.
“Barb? Is everything OK? I was expecting to hear from you yesterday.”
She hesitated a second. “I’m fine, Stan. I had a touch of the flu the last couple of days, but I’m over it. All these women in close quarters, germs spread like crazy.”
Stan had a momentary vision of Barb snuggling up to some muscular woman with a buzz cut and a bunch of tattoos. He ignored the insistent tingling in his groin that scene provoked. “But you’re OK now, right?”
Barb coughed twice. “Yes, Stan, I’m fine. A little flu, no big deal.”
Stan knew that prisoners’ calls were subject to being monitored by the guards, so he wondered if she would tell him if something really were wrong. He decided she might very well not. “Good, Barb. I really miss you.”
“You’d better miss me, Goldman!” she replied.
Well that certainly sounded like the old Barb. “How is it in there?”
Barb coughed twice again. She must not quite be over the flu, Stan supposed. “It’s boring and the food isn’t exactly like what Marty serves, but it’s really not so bad,” Barb said. “I’ll do my time and come home, no problem.”
“And your cellmates?” he asked.
Barb coughed twice once more. “They’re OK. We stay out of each other’s way.”
“So they don’t know who you are and what you did in your past life.”
Barb coughed twice yet again. “Nope. I told them I was an accountant who got caught fooling with the company books and they seemed to accept that just fine.”
“I hope you didn’t fool with our joint account,” he said.
“Not funny, Goldman.” He noticed that she hadn’t coughed this time.
“But you’re sure everything’s OK and you’re not in trouble?”
Barb coughed twice. “Yes, Stan, I’m fine. I’m a grown up and been in a few tough spots and I can handle myself. Stop worrying. What’s up with you?”
“I fixed that leaky faucet in the downstairs bathroom,” Stan said.
“Geez, I’ve been after you to do that for two months and you wait until I’m gone? You’re a prince, Stan.”
“Otherwise, I’m keeping busy,” Stan said. He figured he wouldn’t talk about his on-line activities. He’d have to erase all the traces before Barb came home, but he had two years to figure out how to do that. “Are you cleared to have visitors?”
“I don’t know. Let me ask and I’ll tell you next time I call. Listen, there’s three other inmates waiting for the phone, so I have to go. I love you, Stan and I miss you.”
“I love you, too Barb. Be careful and stay out of trouble.”
Barb coughed twice. “I will, Stan. Don’t worry about me. OK, bye.” And then the line went dead.
‘Well, she sounds OK, other than a little cough,’ Stan thought as he heated up some left over ribs and mashed potatoes from the take-out he’d ordered last night.
It was later that afternoon that Stan suddenly remembered the “secret code” they had used back in the detective squad room when they hadn’t wanted the other detectives to know what they were talking about. Two coughs before a sentence signaled that the meaning was the opposite of what the words conveyed.
Barb had coughed a lot during the conversation and always twice, never once or three times. And, as he replayed the conversation in his head, Stan was pretty sure that she had only done that before telling him that everything was OK. So, that meant that maybe everything was NOT OK!
In his head, he could hear Barb yelling at him, “Geez! How dense can you be, Goldman?” And the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that she was trying to tell him she was in trouble. Maybe the other inmates had made her out as an ex-cop. Maybe one or another of the guards, male or female, had taken a shine to her and was harassing her. That kind of thing was not unheard of in women’s prisons.
He might be misreading the signals, but Barb might really be in a jam. Knowing Barb, which was more likely? But, suppose she were in trouble, maybe even serious trouble, what could he do? She was in prison, and even if he were still a cop, which he wasn’t, what could he do about that?
Then, Stan remembered that he did have a contact in the Department of Corrections, a guy named Harold Coughlin. Coughlin had been a member of the NYPD detective squad that Stan had been on. When he had failed the Lieutenant’s exam for the third time, he had looked for better opportunities elsewhere and taken a job with the DoC. Something in Administration, pushing papers around as far as Stan remembered, but maybe he could help.
The number Stan had for him was out of date, but he couldn’t be that hard to track down, Stan suspected.
Stan knew that Barb wouldn’t be allowed to make any phone calls during her first week in the prison, but today was the one week anniversary and not a word. It was eight PM now, and likely the prisoners were being locked in their cells for the night, so he had to resign himself to the fact that she wasn’t going to call today.
Was there some problem, had she broken some rule and been denied phone privileges? With Barb, that was certainly a possibility. She had many great qualities, but strict adherence to rules, especially ones that were arbitrary and didn’t make sense, as was doubtless the case in the pen, was not her strong suit.
Worse, Stan worried, what if Barb simply had decided that things were over between them? She was, after all, a switch hitter and prison was nothing if not a smorgasbord of possibilities for girl-girl action. He often tried to minimize it in his mind, but he was a good couple of decades older than her and even though they had a hell of a lot of fun together, perhaps she was re-evaluating her life and not seeing any place in it for him.
Resigned to not hearing from her until at least tomorrow, Stan opened up his laptop and started to peruse some web sites that he probably shouldn’t have been looking at. There were a lot of nice looking women up for kinky things, at least for the right price. Yeah, many of them were in places like Russia and Czechoslovakia-he could hear Barb telling him, “That country split up into the Czech Republic and Slovakia almost 30 years ago, Goldman, you dinosaur!”-and Romania (he was pretty sure that one hadn’t changed its name). His ancestors had left those places generations ago for damned good reasons and he wasn’t desperate enough to go there just yet.
There were dating sites, of course, but he’d tried those after his divorce and before meeting Barb and his batting average there was worse than that of the bottom of the Mets’ order. He even thought about calling his ex; being retired now he would have plenty of time to devote to her needs and, who knows? After all, they had loved each other once and maybe he could prevail upon her to play a few of the games he played with Barb. And maybe pigs would fly, too.
In the end, he decided that all of these measures were a bit extreme given that Barb had only been away for a week and she had two years left to serve. So he poured himself another Scotch and watched the Rangers game, falling asleep mid-way through the third period.
The next day, just after noon, his phone rang. An operator asked if he would accept a collect call from a Barbara Moore. ‘A collect call?’ Stan thought. He hadn’t made or received one of those since the Reagan Administration, if not earlier. But of course, he knew that inmates were forced to use that method in order to keep in touch with their loved ones. He shuddered to think how much some company that had gotten the Department of Corrections contract (probably through some generous campaign contributions to the Governor and key Legislators) would rip him off for a brief chat, but what choice did he have?
“Yes, I’ll accept the charges,” he replied, his voice trembling a bit at the excitement of finally hearing from Barb, and, perhaps a bit, if the truth be told, at the likely hit to his wallet.
“Stan is that you?” the soft, melodious tones of Barb’s voice came over the wire.
“Barb? Is everything OK? I was expecting to hear from you yesterday.”
She hesitated a second. “I’m fine, Stan. I had a touch of the flu the last couple of days, but I’m over it. All these women in close quarters, germs spread like crazy.”
Stan had a momentary vision of Barb snuggling up to some muscular woman with a buzz cut and a bunch of tattoos. He ignored the insistent tingling in his groin that scene provoked. “But you’re OK now, right?”
Barb coughed twice. “Yes, Stan, I’m fine. A little flu, no big deal.”
Stan knew that prisoners’ calls were subject to being monitored by the guards, so he wondered if she would tell him if something really were wrong. He decided she might very well not. “Good, Barb. I really miss you.”
“You’d better miss me, Goldman!” she replied.
Well that certainly sounded like the old Barb. “How is it in there?”
Barb coughed twice again. She must not quite be over the flu, Stan supposed. “It’s boring and the food isn’t exactly like what Marty serves, but it’s really not so bad,” Barb said. “I’ll do my time and come home, no problem.”
“And your cellmates?” he asked.
Barb coughed twice once more. “They’re OK. We stay out of each other’s way.”
“So they don’t know who you are and what you did in your past life.”
Barb coughed twice yet again. “Nope. I told them I was an accountant who got caught fooling with the company books and they seemed to accept that just fine.”
“I hope you didn’t fool with our joint account,” he said.
“Not funny, Goldman.” He noticed that she hadn’t coughed this time.
“But you’re sure everything’s OK and you’re not in trouble?”
Barb coughed twice. “Yes, Stan, I’m fine. I’m a grown up and been in a few tough spots and I can handle myself. Stop worrying. What’s up with you?”
“I fixed that leaky faucet in the downstairs bathroom,” Stan said.
“Geez, I’ve been after you to do that for two months and you wait until I’m gone? You’re a prince, Stan.”
“Otherwise, I’m keeping busy,” Stan said. He figured he wouldn’t talk about his on-line activities. He’d have to erase all the traces before Barb came home, but he had two years to figure out how to do that. “Are you cleared to have visitors?”
“I don’t know. Let me ask and I’ll tell you next time I call. Listen, there’s three other inmates waiting for the phone, so I have to go. I love you, Stan and I miss you.”
“I love you, too Barb. Be careful and stay out of trouble.”
Barb coughed twice. “I will, Stan. Don’t worry about me. OK, bye.” And then the line went dead.
‘Well, she sounds OK, other than a little cough,’ Stan thought as he heated up some left over ribs and mashed potatoes from the take-out he’d ordered last night.
It was later that afternoon that Stan suddenly remembered the “secret code” they had used back in the detective squad room when they hadn’t wanted the other detectives to know what they were talking about. Two coughs before a sentence signaled that the meaning was the opposite of what the words conveyed.
Barb had coughed a lot during the conversation and always twice, never once or three times. And, as he replayed the conversation in his head, Stan was pretty sure that she had only done that before telling him that everything was OK. So, that meant that maybe everything was NOT OK!
In his head, he could hear Barb yelling at him, “Geez! How dense can you be, Goldman?” And the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that she was trying to tell him she was in trouble. Maybe the other inmates had made her out as an ex-cop. Maybe one or another of the guards, male or female, had taken a shine to her and was harassing her. That kind of thing was not unheard of in women’s prisons.
He might be misreading the signals, but Barb might really be in a jam. Knowing Barb, which was more likely? But, suppose she were in trouble, maybe even serious trouble, what could he do? She was in prison, and even if he were still a cop, which he wasn’t, what could he do about that?
Then, Stan remembered that he did have a contact in the Department of Corrections, a guy named Harold Coughlin. Coughlin had been a member of the NYPD detective squad that Stan had been on. When he had failed the Lieutenant’s exam for the third time, he had looked for better opportunities elsewhere and taken a job with the DoC. Something in Administration, pushing papers around as far as Stan remembered, but maybe he could help.
The number Stan had for him was out of date, but he couldn’t be that hard to track down, Stan suspected.
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Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
This isn't the Dorchester, Goldman ... you can afford it!
Geeeze!!!
Shit! Now when I call the plumber, he's gonna charge us twice as much!
Like I said, Stan can be a bit slow on the uptake ... too many episodes of Seinfeld, will do that!
Now we know he can count to three ...
When have I ever said that?
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
That is a very tough question. Stan is remarkably good at misreading everything, especially Barb (for example her new-found love of giving blow jobs), but Barb is remarkably good at getting in jams.
Maybe he should just wait a week until the next call and judge then. Meanwhile, so many Seinfelds, so little time!
Sharkman
Governor
Tastes are not so different. Who knows what's coming next?
windar
Teller of Tales
It's hard to know what Moore goes for in women. In men, of course, she likes the tall dark and handsome type, smart and funny, like yours truly....
14.
Slowly I replaced the receiver of the antiquated wall phone that the Newtown Correctional Facility for Women made available to its inmates. A wave of uneasiness had risen in my gut. I wasn’t at all sure whether Stan had picked up on my ‘double cough’ signal. I knew he could be a little dense about such things. And I was pretty sure he hadn’t sounded as though he had caught on.
As I turned to say to the next inmate in line that the phone was all hers, I was surprised to be rudely shoved aside by Buckner, who had apparently butted into line while my back was turned.
I staggered backwards, lost my footing and landed hard on my ass. Infuriated, I scrambled to my feet and was about to lay into my ‘number one’ nemesis, when a firm hand gripped my shoulder.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” declared Matron with a distinct edge in her voice.
"What?"
“Perhaps a cushy week in the infirmary has dulled your memory, Moore, but another fight with Buckner will surely land you back in the ‘hole’, and more than likely for more than a single night!”
“But she started it!”
“Let it go. You’ve got another appointment with the Warden right now. Best not to keep him waiting.”
“No one told me he wanted to see me?”
“I just did. Follow me!”
Obediently I fell in step behind the matron, but not without contemptuously flipping Buckner the finger behind my back.
Two corridors and a flight of stairs later I found myself standing outside the Warden’s door. As before he was on the phone. So Matron and I cooled our heels outside until he had finished. He must have sensed our presence, though, for we were promptly invited in without knocking.
I was ushered to the same chair in front of his desk that I had occupied on my earlier visit. I took a seat, quickly crossed my legs and folded my hands over my thigh.
Matron took her place directly behind me. Did they think I might flee?
“So, Moore .... the Warden began, after taking a moment to check whether I had successfully covered my girl-parts. “I understand you’ve experienced a little hazing from Buckner and her pals.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I replied heatedly. “They tried to kill me!”
“Yes I understand they did. It appears you have some real enemies here at Newtown. You’ve certainly managed to piss off Buckner and her crowd, and apparently Chao and Morton want you dead.”
“You’re well informed. Are you going to do something about it?”
“Well, I might. Stand up and remove your top and we’ll talk about it.”
I bit my lip, considered refusing to strip naked for him again after what happened the last time, thought better of it, and rose slowly from my chair. Reaching down, I took my orange prison tee by the hem and whipped it off over my head. Then I threw it right at him!
He was quick, though. He caught it in one hand, scowled at me, and laid it gently on his desk.
Getting up he began to circle around me as Matron dragged my chair out of his way. I stood my ground and followed him with my eyes, noting the rattan switch he held firmly in one hand.
“So, Moore. You’re asking me for protection, is that right?
“Yessir. Could you please begin by moving me to a different cell so I can be free of Buckner and Rodriguez.”
“Hands at your side, Moore. And stand at attention when you speak to me!”
“Yessir” I said, stiffening up and throwing out my chest.
He came around front, looked me straight in the eyee and brushed my erect nipples a couple times with his switch.
I grimaced.
“Still a little tender after all this time?”
“Please sir, not those nipple clamps again.”
“No, not now,” he said reflectively as he slid his switch between my thighs and slowly drew its supple end through and between the dry lips of my labia.
“Tell you what, Moore,” he purred, as he repeated the sliding of his switch through the cleft in my pussy.
I twitched involuntarily and glowered at him.
“Stand still!” he barked, stepping to one side and delivering a stinging stroke across my tight little.
I rose on my toes, but managed to both remain in place and resist the urge to put my hands on my ass cheeks, which throbbed and throbbed as he came around front again to reinsert his switch between my thighs.
“As I was saying, Moore. I will help you. But in return I expect you to help me. I have special uses for attractive young inmates like yourself. Lucrative uses.”
“Yessir.”
“I provide special services, you see, to certain influential clients. Men who like to enjoy themselves by having young women perform for them in various kinky ways. In private, of course, out of the public eye ... very discrete ... do you get my drift?”
“Yessir, I think so.”
“If I protect you from Buckner, Rodriguez, Chao and Morton, can I count on you in return to perform whatever services I order you to provide for my high-placed clients? Whatever is demanded? No guff. No matter how offensive. Complete cooperation?”
“Ummmm ... Yessir, I think so. What form will that protection take, sir.”
“Well ... he mused as he slid his supple switch through my pussy again, this time with a little flick at the end of the stroke to tweak my clit. “I won’t reassign you to another cell, Moore, but I will assign a guard to keep a 24-7-eye on your cell to ensure that no further attempts on your life occur there.”
“Yessir, that sounds like a good first step.”
“In return, you will show your good faith by doing two things for me.”
“And what might they be, sir?” I said a little huskily as he began sliding his switch rapidly back and forth. Damn! He was making me moist!
“First, you’ll follow me back to my private quarters now and help me finish what we’ve started here,” he grinned as he reached for a desk drawer and pulled out the dreaded pair of nipple clamps affixed to a chain.
“I must tell you, sir ... most respectfully, I wish to emphasize ... that I don’t enjoy performing fellatio. I never have. Really, sir!”
“Not to worry, Moore. I had something else in mind this time,” he laughed as he grabbed my right breast, cupped it high, squeezed and attached a clamp.
I winced, but held my place as he squeezed my other breast and attached the other clamp to its nipple.
“And what was the other thing I am to do for you?” I gasped. These damned things hurt like hell!
“Tonight, Moore. Later tonight. A little private session, just you with a few carefully chosen trusted clients. I want to be assured that you can and will perform as required ... without the slightest complaint or protest ... before I let you loose in a bowl with the big fish! But for now, please come with me.”
“Yessir.”
With a sharp tug on my nipple chain he led me away, calling over his shoulder, “That will be all, Matron. Dismissed.”
I scurried along behind him, trying my best to keep up so as to lessen the pain inflicted on my poor nipples by his insistent tugging on the chain. Once inside his inner sanctum, though, he thankfully relented, leaving the chain dangling against my belly while he went back to shut and lock the door.
"Now what?" I said, with no small amount of trepidation in my voice and wincing as he roughly removed each of the clamps. "You said, no fellatio, right? So just what is it that you want me to do?"
"Satisfy me of course," he replied, as he unzipped and lowered his pants.
"So, you just want sex, is that it? Well, ok. I'm willing to do that, if you insist. We'll make it nice, ok?" I said cooperatively. "Where? How about if I lie down on the sofa over there? That should work, right?"
"No, I want you to get down on your knees and bend down over the ottoman!"
"Oh no! No, no, no!!! You're not going to .... "
I never got to finish that sentence. Seized by the neck, I was swiftly spun around and thrown face down over the Ottoman. Before I could roll off and be free, he came around behind to grip my hips in both hands while pressing down with his thumbs ... deep into my ass cheeks, spreading them wide to expose his intended target.
"Remember our deal now, Moore!" he hissed, "... no fuss, no complaints! ... just compliance ... complete cooperation."
"Yessir."
As he leaned over my back, I could feel his hot breath move the hair that rested on my neck and shoulders. I felt the tip of his hard penis, poking, probing and pressing, working its way home, widening the opening.
"Owww ... you're hurting me," I groaned.
"No complaints!" he reminded me, letting go of my hips and grabbing fistfuls of hair with both hands as he began to ease himself inside of me.
"Yessir."
"That's better! Relax, Moore ... that's it ... almost there ... little more ... Now! ... Yesssss!
Fully impaled from behind, there was little I could do but lie across the ottoman and let him have his way. He began pumping. He was rough, and it hurt! The leather ottoman was soon sticky with my sweat. My skin stuck to its surface as I rocked back and forth ... driven by his vigorous, relentless pounding ... in and out ... in and out ... his balls slapping wildly against my bottom.
I thought he'd never finish. I moaned and sobbed, clutched the legs of the ottoman with whitened knuckles ... my skin made loud smacking and suction noises against the dampened leather ... and then ... abruptly ... he did it, letting out a loud roar of satisfaction and collapsing full on top of me.
He rolled off and lay on the floor, panting. I got up slowly, awkwardly, my legs feeling like rubber.
"May I go now, sir?"
"No, Moore. You might as well stay here until it's time for this evening's little gathering. You can stretch out on the sofa there and get a little rest, if you like. You'll need it. This was nothing compared to what may be demanded of you tonight."
Slowly I replaced the receiver of the antiquated wall phone that the Newtown Correctional Facility for Women made available to its inmates. A wave of uneasiness had risen in my gut. I wasn’t at all sure whether Stan had picked up on my ‘double cough’ signal. I knew he could be a little dense about such things. And I was pretty sure he hadn’t sounded as though he had caught on.
As I turned to say to the next inmate in line that the phone was all hers, I was surprised to be rudely shoved aside by Buckner, who had apparently butted into line while my back was turned.
I staggered backwards, lost my footing and landed hard on my ass. Infuriated, I scrambled to my feet and was about to lay into my ‘number one’ nemesis, when a firm hand gripped my shoulder.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” declared Matron with a distinct edge in her voice.
"What?"
“Perhaps a cushy week in the infirmary has dulled your memory, Moore, but another fight with Buckner will surely land you back in the ‘hole’, and more than likely for more than a single night!”
“But she started it!”
“Let it go. You’ve got another appointment with the Warden right now. Best not to keep him waiting.”
“No one told me he wanted to see me?”
“I just did. Follow me!”
Obediently I fell in step behind the matron, but not without contemptuously flipping Buckner the finger behind my back.
Two corridors and a flight of stairs later I found myself standing outside the Warden’s door. As before he was on the phone. So Matron and I cooled our heels outside until he had finished. He must have sensed our presence, though, for we were promptly invited in without knocking.
I was ushered to the same chair in front of his desk that I had occupied on my earlier visit. I took a seat, quickly crossed my legs and folded my hands over my thigh.
Matron took her place directly behind me. Did they think I might flee?
“So, Moore .... the Warden began, after taking a moment to check whether I had successfully covered my girl-parts. “I understand you’ve experienced a little hazing from Buckner and her pals.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I replied heatedly. “They tried to kill me!”
“Yes I understand they did. It appears you have some real enemies here at Newtown. You’ve certainly managed to piss off Buckner and her crowd, and apparently Chao and Morton want you dead.”
“You’re well informed. Are you going to do something about it?”
“Well, I might. Stand up and remove your top and we’ll talk about it.”
I bit my lip, considered refusing to strip naked for him again after what happened the last time, thought better of it, and rose slowly from my chair. Reaching down, I took my orange prison tee by the hem and whipped it off over my head. Then I threw it right at him!
He was quick, though. He caught it in one hand, scowled at me, and laid it gently on his desk.
Getting up he began to circle around me as Matron dragged my chair out of his way. I stood my ground and followed him with my eyes, noting the rattan switch he held firmly in one hand.
“So, Moore. You’re asking me for protection, is that right?
“Yessir. Could you please begin by moving me to a different cell so I can be free of Buckner and Rodriguez.”
“Hands at your side, Moore. And stand at attention when you speak to me!”
“Yessir” I said, stiffening up and throwing out my chest.
He came around front, looked me straight in the eyee and brushed my erect nipples a couple times with his switch.
I grimaced.
“Still a little tender after all this time?”
“Please sir, not those nipple clamps again.”
“No, not now,” he said reflectively as he slid his switch between my thighs and slowly drew its supple end through and between the dry lips of my labia.
“Tell you what, Moore,” he purred, as he repeated the sliding of his switch through the cleft in my pussy.
I twitched involuntarily and glowered at him.
“Stand still!” he barked, stepping to one side and delivering a stinging stroke across my tight little.
I rose on my toes, but managed to both remain in place and resist the urge to put my hands on my ass cheeks, which throbbed and throbbed as he came around front again to reinsert his switch between my thighs.
“As I was saying, Moore. I will help you. But in return I expect you to help me. I have special uses for attractive young inmates like yourself. Lucrative uses.”
“Yessir.”
“I provide special services, you see, to certain influential clients. Men who like to enjoy themselves by having young women perform for them in various kinky ways. In private, of course, out of the public eye ... very discrete ... do you get my drift?”
“Yessir, I think so.”
“If I protect you from Buckner, Rodriguez, Chao and Morton, can I count on you in return to perform whatever services I order you to provide for my high-placed clients? Whatever is demanded? No guff. No matter how offensive. Complete cooperation?”
“Ummmm ... Yessir, I think so. What form will that protection take, sir.”
“Well ... he mused as he slid his supple switch through my pussy again, this time with a little flick at the end of the stroke to tweak my clit. “I won’t reassign you to another cell, Moore, but I will assign a guard to keep a 24-7-eye on your cell to ensure that no further attempts on your life occur there.”
“Yessir, that sounds like a good first step.”
“In return, you will show your good faith by doing two things for me.”
“And what might they be, sir?” I said a little huskily as he began sliding his switch rapidly back and forth. Damn! He was making me moist!
“First, you’ll follow me back to my private quarters now and help me finish what we’ve started here,” he grinned as he reached for a desk drawer and pulled out the dreaded pair of nipple clamps affixed to a chain.
“I must tell you, sir ... most respectfully, I wish to emphasize ... that I don’t enjoy performing fellatio. I never have. Really, sir!”
“Not to worry, Moore. I had something else in mind this time,” he laughed as he grabbed my right breast, cupped it high, squeezed and attached a clamp.
I winced, but held my place as he squeezed my other breast and attached the other clamp to its nipple.
“And what was the other thing I am to do for you?” I gasped. These damned things hurt like hell!
“Tonight, Moore. Later tonight. A little private session, just you with a few carefully chosen trusted clients. I want to be assured that you can and will perform as required ... without the slightest complaint or protest ... before I let you loose in a bowl with the big fish! But for now, please come with me.”
“Yessir.”
With a sharp tug on my nipple chain he led me away, calling over his shoulder, “That will be all, Matron. Dismissed.”
I scurried along behind him, trying my best to keep up so as to lessen the pain inflicted on my poor nipples by his insistent tugging on the chain. Once inside his inner sanctum, though, he thankfully relented, leaving the chain dangling against my belly while he went back to shut and lock the door.
"Now what?" I said, with no small amount of trepidation in my voice and wincing as he roughly removed each of the clamps. "You said, no fellatio, right? So just what is it that you want me to do?"
"Satisfy me of course," he replied, as he unzipped and lowered his pants.
"So, you just want sex, is that it? Well, ok. I'm willing to do that, if you insist. We'll make it nice, ok?" I said cooperatively. "Where? How about if I lie down on the sofa over there? That should work, right?"
"No, I want you to get down on your knees and bend down over the ottoman!"
"Oh no! No, no, no!!! You're not going to .... "
I never got to finish that sentence. Seized by the neck, I was swiftly spun around and thrown face down over the Ottoman. Before I could roll off and be free, he came around behind to grip my hips in both hands while pressing down with his thumbs ... deep into my ass cheeks, spreading them wide to expose his intended target.
"Remember our deal now, Moore!" he hissed, "... no fuss, no complaints! ... just compliance ... complete cooperation."
"Yessir."
As he leaned over my back, I could feel his hot breath move the hair that rested on my neck and shoulders. I felt the tip of his hard penis, poking, probing and pressing, working its way home, widening the opening.
"Owww ... you're hurting me," I groaned.
"No complaints!" he reminded me, letting go of my hips and grabbing fistfuls of hair with both hands as he began to ease himself inside of me.
"Yessir."
"That's better! Relax, Moore ... that's it ... almost there ... little more ... Now! ... Yesssss!
Fully impaled from behind, there was little I could do but lie across the ottoman and let him have his way. He began pumping. He was rough, and it hurt! The leather ottoman was soon sticky with my sweat. My skin stuck to its surface as I rocked back and forth ... driven by his vigorous, relentless pounding ... in and out ... in and out ... his balls slapping wildly against my bottom.
I thought he'd never finish. I moaned and sobbed, clutched the legs of the ottoman with whitened knuckles ... my skin made loud smacking and suction noises against the dampened leather ... and then ... abruptly ... he did it, letting out a loud roar of satisfaction and collapsing full on top of me.
He rolled off and lay on the floor, panting. I got up slowly, awkwardly, my legs feeling like rubber.
"May I go now, sir?"
"No, Moore. You might as well stay here until it's time for this evening's little gathering. You can stretch out on the sofa there and get a little rest, if you like. You'll need it. This was nothing compared to what may be demanded of you tonight."
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Sounds suspiciously like something not quite according to regulations.
Funny sort of prison, letting inmates wander around without escorts.
Is that foreplay? Buckner isn't very good at this.
This is how they reward you for all your efforts? I would complain to someone.
Doesn't look good. In some trouble here, I think.
On the one hand, good for you!
On the other hand, concentrate! You're in some danger here.I'm not sure I want to like the Matron, but she seems to be good for something, at least. Remember to say thank you (when you get your voice back, of course).
I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU SHE WASN'T REALLY IN DANGER. I WOULD KNOW.
Yes, you're very clever.
Not exactly a fun prospect, but I admire Stan's self-control...so far.
Rope causes flu? Who knew?
He's not fast, but he gets there in the end.
No point in recriminations now. Time to spring into action. You'll need a plan.
Honestly! The girl practically coughed out a distress signal!
Now we're onto something.
Meanwhile, back at the prison, no rest for the wicked. You'd think they'd let you get rid of the flu first.
Okay, if you do that, he's going to get distracted and forget what you're talking to him about.
Keep your eyes open. He might seem considerate, but... What do you mean I'm misunderstanding something?
The things you have to do for a story. Perhaps you should stop doing "true crime" and focus on something safer. On the other hand, at CF even a cookbook might be tricky.
Look on the bright side. You have your protection. Admittedly, it's not much better than getting beaten up by Buckner and co. but at least you're alive.
This is getting interesting, frustrating, and other things ending in "ting". Can Stan get himself invited to the Warden's little party? Is his old contact, Harry Coughlin, a good guy, or is he as bent as the Warden? Certainly planning to tune in again for the next exciting episode.
windar
Teller of Tales
Well, if I'm such a dolt, you wouldn't be looking towards me to help you would you?
And being tight and little it doesn't cushion the fall very well
I have a strange feeling she'll make you pay for that...
The Warden is a public servant obviously
Oh, yes, he is...
Not like with me
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Is his old contact, Harry Coughlin, a good guy, or is he as bent as the Warden?
Of all the surnames in all the world!!
Is he as bent as the warden? Is he the warden?
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Very enigmatic talking! This Newton Correctional is a real prison of secrets, it looks like!
connoisseurs
Senator
connoisseurs
Senator
I´m not a connoisseurs of whine, but I love a good Chardonay. As part of a gift I once got 15 different bottles from all over the world (all between 15 and 35€). The two American were from Finger Lake and California. To retrieve windars honor I have to say that the Finger Lake Chardonnay was in the mid-table. A very good every-day-whine.
Btw. the best French on my list was on the 6. place. The best was a South African.