Chloe in Prison Ch. 13

Days Twenty-One to Twenty-Four

The days began to resemble one another, each as monotonous as the one before and the one to come. Slopping-out; breakfast; shaving inspection; using the bucket; lunch; dinner; shaving; lights-out: all these punctuated by short periods of daily exercise, and long periods of lying down, dozing, rubbing, filing my nails to the quick with the emery board and going almost insane with boredom.

It was true I was not going crazy with lust, as I had been the previous week. The 'top-up' orgasm with Prana in the Exercise Yard was enough to keep me going, possibly right through to the next Showers, although since I had no longer set myself any masochistic vows of chastity, I was quite relaxed about the possibility of rubbing-off as and when the need arose.

But other desires came to fill my waking hours. Despite what Rose had advised - don't think about what you can't have - my thoughts were drawn to my old life, which now seemed more like a past life, and I found myself longing for my old friends, for happy evenings spent in the town or the Students' Bar. I was homesick, too, and filled with longing for my mum and dad, who had always supported me, and who would be sitting unhappily now in the family home, with the cats, and the television - and an empty chair where I used to sit.

So whenever I could I dismissed these painful thoughts and tried to concentrate on my life in prison, which was all I had. I thought about Micky, though Rose was unable to enlighten me as to what she had done, and why or for how long she was here. I thought of the other prisoners and their different stories and habits. And above all I thought about Prana: and how desperately I longed to be with her.

In a strange way, I felt I had already done my time. If prison was supposed to teach a lesson, if the point of all this was to lead a person to self-knowledge and change - then I had learned that lesson, and made that change. I had discovered my true sexual orientation; I had found the person I wanted to be with. There was nothing more to be gained by my being here: I was ready now to leave.

Unfortunately the Law did not see things this way: I still had nearly two years to serve.

Two years of being locked up every day. Why?

Perhaps if I had been fifty years older I could have acquiesced in all this inactivity, this mind-numbing routine. But I was young and full of life and vitality, longing for fun and adventure and learning, longing to get out and explore the world. It was unnatural - it was a crime against nature - to be locked up in a cell.

So the time passed, day after night after day. Until it came to the day preceding Showers, when Raymond came in to inspect our shaves. Some of the Wardens poked and prodded, and made as much of a meal of it as they could. Raymond, as was her way, ran the back of her forefinger lightly against the grain of the hair growth, testing for uncut hair.

"Very good, as always Littlehayes," she said. "I think perhaps we spend some time together this afternoon. You like this?"

"Yes Sir" was all I could say.

"You'll be alright," said Rose, when Raymond had gone. "She won't do you any harm."

Shortly after lunch Raymond arrived, and Rose was despatched with Wilkes to sweep the corridor.

"So Littlehayes," said Raymond. "I look forward to this. You too?"

"Yes Sir."

"First I think we take off our clothes."

I was already semi-naked: it didn't take long to remove my shirt and bra. I watched as Raymond, who seemed far too tall for the tiny cell, divested herself of her uniform. She'd always seemed willowy to me, but, although she did not have Hardiman's body-building physique, now that she was naked I could see that there was power and strength her body too. I remembered the force with which she had laid the strap across Cradock's bottom; I remembered Rose referring to her as a nymphomaniac; and despite Rose's reassurances I was afraid. I was not afraid she would hurt me exactly: it was rather that, in her uniform I knew just what to expect from her. Naked, without her badge of office, she seemed to exude a power of a different kind: I felt I was in the presence of a woman of unknown lusts and passions, of a raw intensity that could overwhelm and annihilate me.

"You like my body?" Raymond asked. "Here: you feel."

She flexed her right arm and offered me her biceps. I squeezed them with my thumb and fingers: they were very firm.

"Now I think we lie on the bed," she said.

I lay down, and pressed myself as close to the wall as I could. Raymond lay beside me, wedging me in. Her face was almost touching my own. Close-up I could see the veins in her nose and cheeks, all the tiny blemishes in her skin: she looked older now than when seen at a distance, maybe thirty-five. Her straw-blond hair was splayed over my pillow; her eyes, which were very blue, held mine.

Then she kissed me: not just a token peck on my lips, but a long, forceful foray with her tongue which sought out and explored all the recesses of my mouth. I could feel her warm breath inside me, as her tongue slowly snaked its way over my teeth and behind my lips, into my cheeks and up into the roof of my mouth. I tensed against this, but my lack of response only served to provoke a more determined onslaught. She turned my head this way and that, pressed her mouth against mine at different angles, sucked and salivated and drew my lips between her teeth, nibbled at me, all the time probing away with her tongue.

At last she paused for breath: then put her mouth to my ear.

"I am very highly sexed person," she breathed. Then she sucked on my ear lobe, causing shivers to run over my thigh, and followed this by forcing her wet tongue into the hole of my ear.

My thigh was a mass of goose-flesh: it was hard to say whether this was pleasurable or not.

Then Raymond's big hands were all over me, passionately stroking and squeezing, swiftly finding their way down to my pussy. I tried to respond in kind, stroking her as best I could, but I was unsure what she wanted, and lacking her passionate drive I couldn't keep pace with her. Before I knew it, her fingers were inside me, forcing me open: still her mouth was working on me, sucking my nipples, sucking in almost the whole of my breast. I tried to reach between her legs, but she had rolled on top of me: she quickly straddled my right thigh, and began working her hot pussy against my flesh, round and round, side to side, humping me as though she was working out, pumping at me forcefully until I was helpless to do anything except cling to her shoulders: until, with a series of fierce grunts, she came.

She flopped down, half on me, half beside me. But any respite I'd hoped for was short-lived. Shaking her hair out of her eyes, she wriggled down head first to the bottom of the bed, scissored her legs wide, and, holding my feet, tried to slide back up towards me.

"Now we go pussy to pussy," she said.

Her feet were in my face: I took hold of them as our legs interlocked, and her hot shaven mound made contact with mine. It was the strangest sensation, the heat of another woman's private parts against mine. Gently at first Raymond began to move, trying to slide her pussy from side to side: but the position was awkward, the contact was grinding and unpleasant to me. I gave up thoughts of my own comfort, and let Raymond use me as she wanted, trying to go with her movements however uncomfortable to me. I looked down her long legs to where our pussies met: she seemed to find a rhythm, moving not too fiercely, our pussy-lips kissing sideways-on. The wetter she became the less friction marred her pleasure, though when she pulled on my legs and pressed herself firmly into me for a second grunting orgasm I was thoroughly relieved.

"Now you come," she said.

"It's all right Sir," I said: "I'm happy to pleasure you."

"No, you too must come," said Raymond firmly.

Inwardly I groaned. I was resigned to accepting Raymond's forced intimacies, but I did not feel aroused, and very much did not want to be obliged to come. Still, her words seemed to leave me no option, so I tried to work my pussy against hers. It was a very odd position, and difficult to get right: too much pressure and her mound simply pressed against me uncomfortably; too little and the contact with her lips was lost. But the pussy to pussy touch, when right, was stimulating, and once I'd got into the right rhythm intermittent shoots of pleasure coursed through my genitals. The trouble was, they were lost and soon as gained. I was beginning to get frustrated, struggling to stay even marginally aroused.

"It's too awkward Sir," I said.

"OK," said Raymond: "you come on my leg."

We adjusted positions, so that my arse was against her pussy, and my pussy against the inside of her thigh. This, at least, was comfortable: the soft fleshy warmth of her thigh a relief after the grating of her pubic bone. Still I didn't want to come. But I made an effort, focussing hard, willing myself into a state of arousal, and after what seemed an age I managed a small orgasm.

"Now we go tip to toe," said Raymond, giving me little breathing space. She reversed herself, knelt with her knees beside my head, and lowered her pussy onto my mouth. At the same time she sank down, spread my legs with her arms, and placed her lips on my pussy. I'd become used to sucking women: though this reverse position was harder than facing from the front. I was aware of Raymond's tongue between my legs, but it was impossible to concentrate on myself and her at the same time. She seemed to realise this, and abandoned my pussy, pushing herself more upright to give me better access. I opened my legs as wide as I could to give her a good sighting, then licked and sucked and breathed in her moist, strong vaginal odour, until for the third time that afternoon she grunted and came.

"Now you," she said again. I spread myself, and tried to give myself up to her tongue. This time it was even harder work.

"You are not trying, I think," said Raymond after some minutes. "I do you by hand."

She shifted positions again, slipped two fingers inside me, and began to work my pussy. Again I had to struggle and will myself to respond, but she worked and worked at me, until once again I managed to come.

"Now we rest," she said, lying alongside me once more.

I was mightily relieved. Although Raymond had not been unpleasant to me, in some ways, through being compelled to respond, I felt almost more violated than I had been by Hardiman or Dawes.

Eventually Raymond sat up: it must be over, I thought. I saw her reach into a pocket of her jacket, and for a second my thoughts turned to chocolate: what she pulled out made me gasp.

"You use these before?" Raymond asked.

"No," I said. But though I had never used one, I knew a strap-on when I saw it.

This one was black, about an inch and a half in diameter, and six inches long.

"Now we have deep vaginal orgasms," Raymond said. "You wear first please."

I stood up, and she strapped the thing into place: it stuck out from my mound like an erect penis.

"OK," said Raymond. "Now you fuck me please."

She lay on her back on my bed, and drew her legs up. Tentatively I climbed up on top of her: it seemed presumptuous for me, a prisoner, to be on top of Raymond, a Prison Officer, but that seemed to be how she wanted it, for she took hold of the 'penis' and slid it inside her.

So I began to hump her. Everything about the position and the action seemed perverse, an inversion of the natural order. Not only was she in authority over me, but physically and in terms of age, experience, and just about anything you could think of, she was dominant. Yet I was expected to pound her into the mattress, adopting the man's position, pinning her down. "Harder; faster," she kept urging, as my reluctance slowed me down: "Push back my legs please." I hooked my arms behind her legs and pressed them until her knees were close to her ears. Then I humped away. Soon she came; I tried to stop; she ordered me to continue; I carried on humping; she came again.

I lost count of how many times she came. I was exhausted. I kept slowing down, and panting for breath. After the briefest respite she urged me on again. I began to think I was fucking some superhuman creature: surely no woman could come so many times? We were well into double figures before I began to detect a diminution in the flexing of her body and the volume of her grunts. At last, at long last, she fell still, and stretched out her legs. I flopped down on top of her, panting as though I had come many times myself.

For some minutes we lay like that, my head pressed into the pillow beside Raymond's face. Then she said with a sigh:

"OK: now is your turn."

"Oh no, no," I said, forgetting for the moment Hardiman's warning that I must never say 'no' to a Prison Officer. "I'm fine Sir, honestly."

"You do not push yourself I think," said Raymond. "You must find out your limits and extend them."

She eased herself from underneath me, and unbuckled the strap-on. Then she made a few adjustments, stood up, fastened it onto herself and towered above me, dripping in sweat, with the black erection sticking up almost into my face.

Wearily I lay back and opened my legs.

Raymond knelt on the bed, eased the strap-on inside me, and lowered herself, mercifully taking her weight on her own arms.

"You like?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. Actually, it was the first time I'd had anything other than a finger inside my pussy since I'd been in prison, and I felt a wave of nostalgia for a penis, the feel of a living penis, inside me. But though this filled me up it was anything but living, and I had no desire or energy left for a fuck.

Raymond was having none of it though. Slowly, remorselessly, she began to work her hips and thighs, working the strap-on in and partially out, working it round and round, working it against my vaginal muscles and my clitoris. I felt like a rag doll. I struggled and tried every trick I knew to think myself aroused, and eventually managed to come.

"This is little girl orgasm," said Raymond. "You must have big, woman orgasm yes?"

"Yes," I mumbled.

Again she worked me: how she had the energy I just could not fathom: she seemed as remorseless as a machine. I thought about faking - something I'd never done in my life - but having got started I found it slightly less difficult to respond, and presently I managed another orgasm, this time putting more vigour and noise into things.

"This is better," said Raymond. "Now again."

With varying degrees of effort, and very little inclination or satisfaction, I came several more times, until I was utterly spent.

"Again," said Raymond.

"Please," I said, almost in tears. "I've reached my limit: I can't come any more."

"Always our limits are more than we think," said Raymond. "You must push."

I could barely move; my pussy was raw, my back ached, and I was totally spent. But I had to go on. Raymond tried to help me, pulling my buttocks upwards and onto her where I lacked the strength myself. One of her fingers slid into my anus - I was so wet and slippery she managed this without any resistance from me - and she wiggled it in time with her thrusts, using everything she could to aid my response. I was hot, and bothered, and exhausted, when I forced myself to come for the final time.

Instead of feeling triumphant I dissolved into tears.

"OK," said Raymond, easing out of me. "You have reached limit now. Perhaps I push you too far." She put the strap-on in the wash basin, then reached into her jacket pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and wiped my eyes.

"We stop now," she said.

"Thank you," I said.

I heard the sound of running water, as Raymond washed the strap-on, then dried it on a towel. This done she sat on the bed and stroked my head.

"I must go now," she said. "You sleep."

"Yes," I said.

She put on her uniform once more. Then, before she left, she took something from her pocket and gave it to me.

"I think you will need this," she said.

It was a whole bar of chocolate.

"Thank you," I said.

I barely had the strength to slide it under my pillow.

When Rose returned she took one look at me and nodded. There was no need to speak: she had been there herself. She woke me up only when dinner arrived, and to shave.

Day Twenty-Five: Showers

Washed-out as I was next day, I still looked forward to Showers. I doubted I could manage another orgasm, even with Prana's fingers or tongue: but I longed to hear her voice again, to hold her, to hear her laugh. And I was more than willing to give her pleasure, if that was what she wanted.

Raymond hadn't made an appearance, and for that I was glad, though I felt I had not thanked her sufficiently for the chocolate. I saw her in the corridor as we lined up for Showers, but she did not notice or acknowledge me.

Once I saw the steaming water all thoughts of the previous day were forgotten. I spotted Prana quite quickly, in the company of a slim girl with straight blond hair. Was this the elusive SKI? This time I must remember to ask. Prana detached herself, and came straight up to me, putting her hands together and bowing.

"Chloe," she said. "At last I can see you. I am glad. I am so busy today I was not sure there would be time."

"Busy?" I asked. My heart lurched like a pitching ship.

"Yes Chloe: Megan's friends, they want shampoo, they want toothpaste, they want this and that: I have to work hard."

"Work?" I asked - puzzled for a moment until I caught on. "Oh."

"So Chloe, the sooner I start the sooner I finish, and hopefully we can meet up after your shower."

"I'd be gutted if we couldn't," I said.

"I too Chloe: so now I must go."

And with that Prana left.

"Cells One to Six into the showers," shouted Hardiman. "Five minutes."

I watched the first batch of women all but disappear under the curtain of water. I felt ineffably sad. Then Micky was standing at my side.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello Micky." I said, finding her friendly face suddenly welcome.

"How are you Chloe?" she asked.

"I'll survive," I said.

"That's all any of us can do in here," said Micky. "Chloe: please can we have sex again? I'll give you another square of chocolate."

I had more chocolate than I knew what to do with, and I'd rarely felt less like sex in my life. But when I saw Micky's pleading look I took pity on her. Facing possible disappointment myself, I could not disappoint her.

"Come on," I said. "Let's find a bit of space."

We went over to the far corner, which Fatima seemed to have claimed as her own. I looked Micky up and down, noted again the growth of brown hair, thickest on her shins and under her armpits, but spreading quite densely over her stomach and thighs. We embraced: I could barely feel her tiny breasts pressed up against mine.

"I love it when you do that," said Micky, as I ran my hands down over her shoulders and the small of her back.

"Would you like me to suck you?" I asked on an impulse.

"Chloe: would you really? That would be lovely," said Micky.

I dropped to my knees, hooked one arm around one of her legs, and put my face close to her mound. I didn't start licking her straight away: instead, using the tips of my fingers, I stroked the little inverted cone of her mound, drawing my fingers downwards. I had a sudden memory of a time I'd worked some clay in a pottery class, drawing the shapeless clump upwards into a smooth cone, then shaping the cone into a vase, and I had the absurd notion that if I continued to draw downwards on Micky's mound I could tease a tiny penis into being. Instead I teased out secretions: she was making sounds of pleasure, and becoming visibly wet, so I hooked my free hand round her other leg and got to work with my tongue. With her prominent mound Micky was easier to get at than anyone else I had sucked, and my tongue slid smoothly and readily over her pussy, inside her crevice and over her clitoris. Before I'd been sent to prison I'd never licked or smelt another woman, and if I'd ever thought about it I would have imagined they all tasted and smelt the same: the way my own finger tasted and smelt after I had been playing with myself. But the truth was that every woman I had been with had her own taste and smell, which was different from that of every other woman. There were no words for these variations: the nearest I could come to describing Micky was to liken her taste to cornflakes: cornflakes with just a hint of urine. Whatever: she certainly tasted strong: though this was no doubt partially due to her not having showered for seven days, for no amount of dabbing with cold water can cleanse you like a hot shower.