In the Slammer Ch. 04

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Banging Rachel Ramirez.
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4.53
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Part 4 of the 6 part series

Updated 06/11/2023
Created 09/20/2013
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Rachel Ramirez was not only good looking, she was smart as a whip. She knew every answer in Hygiene class before Mrs. Carlsen even asked it. She never raised her hand, though. There wasn't anybody in our class she was even halfway interested in impressing.

Mrs. Carlsen had assigned the two of us to do a little project. But Rachel never wanted to work on it. I went over to her one evening in the day room.

"It's due the day after tomorrow," I reminded her.

"What's she going to do? Throw us in jail?"

"Come on. Why don't we just work on it?"

"I'll tell you what. You want to work on it so much, how about you do something for me first?"

"What's that?"

"How about you rip my clothes off, throw me down across this table, and fuck me like you mean it. I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"Rachel!"

"You want to, don't you?"

"Right here in the day room? In front of everybody?"

"It's as good a place as any."

"What about the matrons?"

"They'll just have to wait their turn."

"What about your boyfriend?"

"He's done time. He knows how it is."

"Come on, Rachel."

She looked at me and yawned. "OK, Lover Boy. You wore me down. You talked me into it. Let's work on the dumb project. Let's shoot for the goddamn Nobel prize. Work now, fuck later. That's my motto."

---

The weather had warmed up quite a bit, and they finally started sending us out to pick up trash and clear brush along the county roads and open spaces. Everybody was happy to be out in the sunshine and fresh air. I even caught old Bulldog cracking a smile.

One evening, Dolores and I were lying on the top bunk. The sky outside our little window was clear and blue. We'd scooted down to put our feet up on the railing.

"You know what I saw today?" she asked. "It was on a bush. At first I thought it was a piece of tissue that had gotten caught there. But it was thicker, like maybe a napkin had gotten wet and then dried again. But it was kind of cobwebby, too, and when you looked closer you could see that it was attached to the branches, not just stuck there. It kind of looked like somebody had wrapped a napkin around their thumb to make a mummy, then tied it to the bush. But it was torn open, like the mummy had slit his way out."

"A cocoon!"

"It must have been, don't you think? And right after, I saw a butterfly! A yellow one, with a black border around its wings. It could have been the very one that hatched from that cocoon. Not hatched, but what-do-you-call-it-ed."

"That's pretty cool. I never saw a cocoon before."

"Neither did I, until this one."

---

One of the perks that Rachel had managed to secure for herself was to be in charge of the weekly inventory of the storeroom. Nobody really knew what went on in there except for Rachel and her lieutenants. But by the time that Tuesday rolled around, word had gotten out that I was to be her new assistant.

The girls weren't so sure how they felt about this. It upset the equilibrium. They didn't mind Rachel flirting with me as long as everybody knew I really belonged with Dolores. But now Rachel and I would be alone together in the storage room, beyond public scrutiny, for an hour and a half every Tuesday afternoon.

I too figured she must have something up her sleeve. But once we were in the storage room she was all business. There was a lot to be inventoried. The place was considerably more extensive than I had thought. There was all kinds of county stuff in there, not just for the Women's Facility. Rachel had me counting traffic cones, toner cartridges.

One of the things I came across was a whole stack of blankets, new ones, enough that none of us would have had to double up. It made me pretty angry. "Ah, little grasshopper," said Rachel, "who are we to second guess the beneficence of the county. Though it may flow through many channels, it all flows to the same ocean."

There was also was a big, half empty box of condoms. I couldn't understand what they were doing in the Women's Facility. Rachel explained it to me. "The maleficence of the county flows through many dicks, little grasshopper, and they're all pointed at somebody's twat. This is what the county gives you when they put you back out on the street. A twenty dollar bill and a packet of rubbers."

She kept track of everything on her clipboard, checking boxes and filling in numbers. When it was time to knock off, we hadn't quite finished, but she said it was enough for this week. "We got a lot done," she smiled. She hung the clipboard on the wall. Then she came over to me.

"Hector," she said, coyly, "remember our project about the food pyramid? Remember how hard I worked on it and how proud Mrs. Carlsen was of the two of us? Wasn't there something you were going to do for me in return? Didn't we have a little deal?" Here it comes, I thought.

She took hold of the drawstrings of my pants. "You didn't want to do it in front of everybody, so I arranged for us to have a little time by ourselves."

She played with the drawstrings. "I know you're worried about Dolores finding out. But you know that the rules here are different than on the outside. We've all got to bend a little just to get by. We've got to cut each other a little slack. My boyfriend knows how it is. I'm sure Dolores does too. Deep down she knows it isn't fair for her to keep you all to herself."

She took a step closer. "We don't have enough time to fuck now, I'm afraid. But could you at least hold me in your arms for a bit?"

Her breasts brushed against my chest. "I was hoping you'd fuck me, though," she whispered. "I didn't wear any underwear today, just in case."

She was in my arms. She looked into my eyes. Our lips came together in a tender kiss. I tightened my embrace, pressing her movie-star breasts even more closely against my chest. "Umm," she murmured.

But it was time for us to get back to our work groups.

---

All that week, whenever I closed my eyes I could still feel the soft insistence of Rachel's kiss. It had been so much more tender, so much less wet, than I would have imagined. Her whole behavior had surprised me. I'd had her pegged as a spoiled vixen, used to getting whatever she wanted. I'd thought the only reason she had anything to do with me was because there weren't any other guys around. But she hadn't really been like that at all. She'd been a lot of fun to josh around with. She'd actually been kind of sweet when we kissed. This image of her didn't quite jive with other images I had of her being mean and even cruel. But who was I to judge?

By the time that Tuesday rolled around again, I still wasn't sure how I felt about her. But I'd availed myself of every opportunity in the showers and the changing room to ogle her luscious tits and her beckoning slit. She was beautiful, classy, and smart. None of the other girls even held a candle to her. And none of the other girls had arranged to be alone with me for an hour and a half in the storage room.

And so, that afternoon, as she walked past me on her way to the traffic cones with her pencil and her clipboard, I wasn't really all that surprised to find myself holding my arm out and catching her up in my embrace. Nor was I surprised that she let herself be caught. I slipped one hand down inside her baggy work pants. No panties, just the silky smooth skin of her bottom. I slid the other hand up inside her top. No bra, just the flawless, uninterrupted skin of her back. I was embracing her naked body inside her clothes.

I lifted up her top and she raised her arms to let me take it off. How many times had I seen those luscious breasts in the showers, and now they were all mine. It took both hands to caress each one fully, to feel its heft and its three-dimensionality. Her nipples were as firm and plump as dark red cherries. I licked one and kissed the other and then went back to the first one to savor it more thoroughly.

I put both hands down her pants, running them down her taut butt cheeks then back up her hips. I slipped the pants down and she wriggled out of them, sitting back on the stack of blankets. I knelt down and pulled off her shoes and socks so that she was completely nude. Her legs were long and smooth, and she had them slightly opened with her pussy right there in front of my face. There was not a hair to be seen. The outer lips were drawn slightly apart, and the inner ones were peeking out, pink and frilly.

I ran my tongue along them. I tried to angle down to the very nadir of her slit and to stick my tongue as far up into her vagina as it would go. She gently took my head between her hands and guided me back north, up to the top.

"Try it up here, baby."

She tasted slick and pink. I kissed and licked the inner folds, trying to sort them out with my tongue, trying to get my tongue up into the very crease of every little pocket, trying to lick out every last speck of frosting.

"Right there, baby," she murmured. "Right there." She clamped my head between her thighs and gently rocked her cunt against my mouth. I painted her with kisses, tongue flicks, broad licks, slurps, playful nibbles. Her breathing became heavier, almost panting. She clamped her thighs even harder and wove her fingers through my hair. She spasmed and writhed, stretching her legs out against my shoulders with my face still tangled up in her crotch.

She sat up a bit and reached down to pull off my shirt. She tugged me up so she could slide my pants down. My cock was as hard as a telephone pole. She ran her hands over it, then held it and licked it like a banana pop. She got up and maneuvered me around so that I was sitting on the pile of blankets. She knelt down, straddling my lap, and brought her slit up alongside my cock. She flexed her crotch up and down as if the lips of her cunt were a chamois and she was polishing my hood ornament. I started flexing too, sawing my cock up and down against her like I was trying to start a little fire right there on our laps. Her pretty face was only two inches from mine. We were both looking down at the action, but then she looked across at me and gave me a sweet, playful grin.

She stood up, went to a shelf, and brought back one of the condoms. "Courtesy of the county," she said. She unrolled it over my cock and then squatted back down on my lap. This time she raised herself up higher and bobbed her opening up and down over the head of my cock like a ring toss game at the fair. Finally she found the target and wriggled herself down until she was sitting on my lap, pegged so close that our belly buttons touched.

She flashed her smile again, like the two of us were secret co-conspirators in the most fun game ever. She started jousting me with her tits, twisting her torso to brush our nipples together, first on one side, then on the other, pivoting back and forth around the linchpin of my cock. I twisted and jousted back in counterphase.

I put one hand under her butt and one arm around her back and lifted her up, still coupled, and hobbled us around so that she was lying on the blankets again, her bent legs up in the air, and me on top, my cock pumping its way in and out between them. She closed her eyes, and her mouth relaxed into an open "Ahhh." She was not only naked, but every last bit of hardness and attitude and meanness had been completely stripped away as well, leaving only the yearning, trembling, vulnerable, unfiltered girl underneath.

It was too much for me. It sent me over the top. She embraced me tightly and ground her pussy up into my crotch and held it there long after I had finished spoutng. And then slowly she relaxed, and my cock slipped out, and she scooted a bit to let me lay down beside her, and we cuddled together, as best we could, on that little pile of folded blankets.

"What about the inventory?" I asked, finally.

"Ah, little grasshopper," she sighed. "I'm afraid I may have led you on a bit last week." She stood up, still nude, took up the clipboard and started to fill it in. "The truth is that nothing in here ever changes. Nothing ever comes in, nothing ever goes out. The county seems to have forgotten that this place even exists. There's a metaphor here, little grasshopper, a koan, about justice and rehabilitation and honest labor. Every week I write the same little haiku about traffic cones and toner cartridges and the shining intended beneficence of the county, and every week it gets filed away somewhere without ever getting read.

"But who are we to try to set anything straight? Our job is to scriven, and that's what we do." She made a final mark. "There. Scrivened." She hung up the clipboard. "Our little secret, OK?"

---

I couldn't think about anything but Rachel. I could still smell the musky scent of her cunt when I flexed my upper lip. I could still taste the tangy flavor of her cum on my finger. I could still feel the exact caliber and texture of her nipples against my tongue. I could still feel the frank heft of her body on my lap, the smooth pliability of her buttocks, the pulsing ripples of her orgasm. How could I think of anything else?

Dolores and I were on the lower bunk, lying side by side on top of the blankets. Me with three quarters of a hard on from thinking about Rachel. Dolores got up. She seemed upset about something.

What I loved most of all was the way that Rachel had gotten when we were lying together afterwards. She'd become a whole different person---sympathetic, vulnerable, even a little shy. No chip on her shoulder, just happy to be there with me, happy to be lying in my arms.

Dolores was glaring at me.

"What?" I asked.

She was angry. She had her hands on her hips. She looked over at our little shelf and the packet of condoms that Mrs. Carlsen had given me."Why didn't you use them?" she barked.

I remembered the way that Rachel had playfully rolled the condom down over over my turgid cock. "Courtesy of the county," she'd said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked Dolores.

She was furious. "An hour and a half in the storeroom with Rachel Ramirez! That's what I'm talking about! Do you think there's anybody who doesn't know you're fucking her? You've got those things there, why don't you use them? Haven't you heard a single word that Mrs. Carlsen has been saying?"

I could feel my ears burning. I should have known that it would be impossible to keep any kind of secret in this place. It was no use trying to deny it. But what business was it of hers, anyway?

"Rachel has a supply of them in the storage room," I said.

"A supply!"

This conversation was getting irritating. "And what business is it of yours, anyway?"

"She's got you wrapped around her little finger, just like everybody else."

"She hasn't got me wrapped around her little finger."

"She's got you wrapped around her little something."

"So what if she does?"

"Just like everybody else!"

"You don't know a thing about her."

"I know enough!"

"Maybe she's not the person she seems to be."

"You've got that right!"

"What do you care, anyway?"

"I thought you were different."

"Different from what?"

"From everybody else. But you're just the same. All you want is a place to stick your dick."

"Well I sure as hell never found one around here!"

---

It was a loutish thing to say, and I was sorry as soon as I'd said it.

She was on the verge of tears. Still furious, she was now enraged, as if I'd slapped her in the face. Too enraged to speak. Naked, panting, a fierce scowl on her face, tears of fury welling in her eyes.

And that's when I saw it. I don't know how I'd missed it all this time. It was so clear. Those welling tears were the tears of a little girl. That rising and falling chest, that defiant, angry stance, those clenched fists---they were the rage of a little girl. How could I have been so blind?

"You're still a virgin, aren't you?" It was as clear as day. The girl that I'd been showering with, and lying beside, and sleeping together naked with for the past eight weeks, the one whom everyone thought I was banging, was still a virgin.

I felt a wave of white-hot anger at the judge and the warden lady and the goddamn computer who sat up there in their ivory dockets babbling on about honest labor and debts to society and then when five o'clock came went home to their mansions in the suburbs to drink their cocktails not even aware that the little girls they'd just banged their gavels down on had gotten thrown, naked and alone, into rusty, unheated jail cells with random guys who might very well have been real criminals, rapists, murderers.

And at the same time I couldn't help but feel a surge of empathy and admiration for Dolores, still standing there, still glaring at me, the streetwise scrapper who'd been thrown into that rusty cell with that random guy, and who, by hook and by crook and by dogged insistence on a certain basic level of common propriety, had managed to fend him off and to maintain not only her virtue but her integrity as well.

I could only imagine how ashamed she must now feel, having been found out. She'd kept up a good front. None of the girls had suspected. They probably thought we were doing it even now. I got up out of the bed. I wanted to put my arm around her, to let her know that everything was all right, that her secret was safe with me.

But now, even though we'd been sharing a bunk together for the past eight weeks like two innocent children of nature, now the balance of our innocence had been thrown all out of whack. I was hyper aware of the proximity between her virgin maidenhood and my unsheathed cock. It just didn't seem right that I should be touching her. That she should have to put up with that.

"Look," I said, stopping short. "It's OK. Mrs. Carlsen says a lot of girls wait. She says she waited herself, and she was glad she did."

But this made Dolores even more furious than before. She couldn't even begin to articulate her rage. "Fuck you!" she snarled. I backed off, afraid she was going to start swinging. There suddenly wasn't enough room in the little cell for the two of us. She ripped one of the blankets off the lower bunk and stormed up to the top one.

Now I was the one who felt stung. I sat back down on the lower bunk, trying to figure out why was she still so pissed. Was she that embarrassed? Didn't she realize that I didn't hold it against her?

It wasn't until after lights out that it finally came to me. I'd thought she was ashamed to have been found out a virgin. But, in fact, she didn't care about that at all. It didn't enter into her calculation of self worth one bit. It was only in my mind that it made any difference. She was still the same scrappy, self-sufficient, rip-your-balls-off, street tough, natural philosopher she'd always been. The only thing that had changed had been my perception of her.

I could sort of picture the type of guy who would pat someone on the back and reassure them that it was OK that they were still a virgin. I could definitely picture the type of guy who would take it for granted that someone who was forced to share a room with him ought to provide him a place to stick his dick. I didn't much care for either of those guys. I could see why she didn't either.

---

One thing about being in the slammer, it does give you time to reflect. Not only during the hour before lights out, but in the laundry, out in the fields, even amidst the yackety-yack of the day room. You find yourself thinking about things.

I never wasted much time reflecting on my life of crime. I hadn't ever done anything to hurt anybody, and four months in the slammer seemed like more than enough to pay for what I had done, even the stuff they didn't know about. I was never too concerned about the future, either. I knew I could tow the line when I wanted too, and I figured I'd get around to it sooner or later.

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