Backin' It Up to the Fence

"Have you got a rubber for me? We don't have to do this unprotected."

"No," she said. "I want to feel you inside me—the real you, not you in some rubber getup." And, so saying, she tipped his penis into her and leaned back against the fence. As her buttocks came into contact with the metal grid, he slid deep inside her—very easily, thanks to the dripping wetness between her legs.

"Oh," they gasped together.

Terry paused to catch his breath after his initial delicious bare entry. "Suit yourself," he panted. "But you're going to have one heck of a story when someone asks how you got pregnant while your husband was in prison."

For answer, Anna pushed back against the fence once more. Terry, for his part, thrust forward, putting his fingers through the fence and holding on for dear life. Thus, they went back and forth through the wire, moving the section of chain link back and forth in a rhythmic clanking cadence. With some distant part of her brain, Terry heard the metal's squeaking racket, loud enough to attract even the most somnolent guard's attention, but he didn't care.

It felt wonderful to be in his wife: she wanted him despite his shorn head, the prison stripes, the ball-and-chain around her ankle, the fence that separated them. It didn't matter, as long as she wanted him.

He finally lost control. He kept coming, pumping semen into her, as if he'd never stop, and she exploded joyfully, moaning loudly as she sagged against the chain link, her legs spread, braced at 45-degree angles against the fence, her back bent over. He, for his part, stood bolt upright, hugging the metal, pressing himself against it, his hands clawed into the chain link. Panting, she leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. As she did so, her vagina pulsed convulsively, twitching hard against his wilting manhood, squeezing out the very last drops.

"Oh, my," she gasped. "That was amazing."

"Yes," he agreed. As his deflated penis grew limp, it slithered out of her. She straightened and turned to see his drooping manhood resting on the metal for a second before he stepped back from the wire and, with a groan, bent down to pull up his striped pants.

"So," he said, still panting, as he stepped forward to lean against the fence once more. "What will you say when asked how you got knocked up while your husband was in prison?"

"The truth," she smiled, leaning forward and putting her fingers through the chain link to touch his again. "That I backed it up to the fence."

"I thought you said you weren't that kind of a girl," her husband said with a laugh.

"Well, guess what?" she laughed in turn. "I am!"

"I love you," he leaned against the fence to get as close to her as possible. "I'm so grateful you're doing this for me. It's so wonderful of you. I really owe you," he gushed.

She, for her part, leaned against the outside of the fence, trying to get as close to him as possible. "You do," she agreed. "And I'm going to make sure you pay in full."

"You're starting to sound like my guard."

"Speaking of which," Anna reminded him. "Don't you have to get back to work? You don't want anyone coming back here and catching us like this."

"No," he admitted. "But I don't want to get too much done, either. After all, I want an excuse to come back here and meet you like this again."

"So this time tomorrow, you think?" she asked.

"Yes," he grinned.

"I guess being in prison makes you horny, huh?" she grinned back.

"I think my being in prison makes you horny," he replied saucily.

Long after his wife disappeared into the woods and he'd pulled himself together, his guard reappeared. Terry'd taken up the scraping tool again and listlessly applied it to the back of the shed, but if she noticed how little his half-hearted efforts achieved after all this time, the guard said nothing. Instead, she merely took him by his right elbow and began to lead him back to the main building.

As they stepped around the shed, he looked over his shoulder and mouthed to the now-abandoned stretch of fence—only a scant few minutes before the unlikely scene of lovemaking as passionate as that of any wedding bed—the promising word, "tomorrow."

May 2019

"So that's what you meant when you answered my question about Lil Con's origins by saying you 'backed it up to the fence.'" Jean shook her head as she gazed at the floor. "That's quite a story," she said looking back up at her friend. "I'd never figured you for that kind of girl," she tisked.

"Well, now you know that I am that kind of girl, and here's proof," she added, as she gently eased the now-sleeping Lil Con onto the bed and off her stomach, where he'd fallen asleep after nursing.

Together, they laughed, but the sound of the front door closing cut off their merriment. Anna buttoned up her nightgown quickly, so that by the time Terry stepped into the bedroom, wiping his hands on a towel after having washed them, they looked just like two friends, one visiting the other to see her new baby for the first time, not like they'd shared a deliciously guilt secret.

"Hi, there," Terry said. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Anna shrugged, innocently.

"Just girl talk," Jean added.

Then they both betrayed themselves by bursting into girlish giggles.