Brittany's Life of Crime

Home Brittany, on the other hand, was going through a rough patch. Her husband was concerned about her frequent partying — and he let her know it. Britt reacted defensively, telling Adam that he didn't understand. When she was home Britt was often tired or cranky; the couple's sex life, never spectacular, dwindled to almost nothing. Adam finally found work, but it was a lousy job and money was still tight. The arguments, money trouble, and lack of sex only made her life around the prison seem more attractive. So she spent more time with her friends as Prison Brittany, which made things still harder on Home Brittany, in a vicious cycle. Ironically, she had to go to jail every day to feel free.

***

It was 11:00 AM on a Monday and Britt was in her glass-enclosed booth overlooking the common area in C Wing. Her partner that day was an older guard named Stu, a nice enough guy who was also the laziest CO in all of Townsend — Jasmine popped into the booth.

"Hee-ey, girl! What's crackin'?" She was in a good mood. "Stu, you mind if I steal your partner for an early lunch? I need her for something important."

Stu shrugged. "Yeah, whatever. It's quiet out there." At no point did he look up from his crossword puzzle. The women shared a quiet giggle over his apathy at being left alone to watch scores of inmates — the prison was a bit of a shit-show. Britt followed Jasmine out and they made their way through the back-alleys of C Wing.

"Pick up the pace, Britt! We gotta hustle."

"Shit, what are we doing? Is it serious?

"Uh, yeah: seriously awesome. We're having a little adventure, and Monique said you just had to see this."

"Oh, wow. Thanks!" Her friends were going out of their way to include her; how touching.

Jasmine led Britt on a complicated route that took them to a door in the basement, down a utility corridor, up two flights of stairs and finally through what might have been a crawl space. They emerged into a tiny, lightless room with a narrow, darkened window spanning the length of one of the walls. Monique was there waiting for them, as was Isabella, another member their posse. Britt was officially confused.

"Guys, what the fuck is this pl—"

"Shhh!" All three girls shushed her at once. Monique whispered an explanation. "No noise, and don't take out your phone. It's a one-way mirror, acrylic. Just wait a second; the show's about to start."

A minute later, the lights flickered on in the room next to them — it was one of C Wing's communal showers. Britt's hand flew up to her face and she silently mouthed, What the fuuuuck?

She watched as the men of C Wing ambled into the room, naked except for their flip-flops. They'd bathe around 30 at a time, cycling in & out, and the voyeurs behind the mirror had an excellent close-up view of the action. Britt was aghast, embarrassed, terrified of being caught, and frozen in place.

So it only dawned on her slowly that she was also horny. This was such juvenile hijinks, to say nothing of a firing offense if discovered. But that sheer wrongness was also an unexpected thrill for someone who'd been the good girl her whole life. The weeks in a dead-bedroom marriage had left her erotically starved. Monique was standing behind her, almost pressed up against her back; the radiant warmth from her body, and the older woman's soft breath grazing past Britt's ear, provided a tactile sensation that made the whole thing feel achingly real — and, again, she was starved for physical contact.

And then there were the naked bodies in front of her. The men came in all shapes, sizes, and colors, and some were unremarkable to look at. But then, so many others were young, solid, muscular. They had little to do all day except exercise, and it showed. So much masculine flesh, so close, awakened her feminine instincts in a potent way.

Britt glanced to her left and saw that Jasmine and Isabella were absently holding each other, fondling here & there as they watched the scene. Before she could deal with the meaning of that, Monique closed the distance between them and rested her hands on her shoulders. Her friend's wet lips came right up to her ear — Britt could feel them moving against her skin as they spoke.

"Good show, yeah?" Monique whispered.

"Uh-huh." Britt nodded stiffly.

"Glad you came?"

"Uh-huh."

That was all the speech she was capable of. She fell deeper into an erotic trance as the four of them watched the scene for another few minutes before Monique whispered into her ear again, excitedly this time.

"Ooh, look who it is! Your hero..."

Cesar Luna walked into view and Brittany had to stifle a whimper. Even in a room full of brawny, powerful men he stood out; a long forgotten biology lecture bubbled up from memory and Britt's subconscious whispered: the Alpha. Obvious strength, far outclassing the rest. Rolling muscle mass, accentuated by the tattoos covering his tan skin. A quiet confidence and total command of the room, implicitly acknowledged by the others.

When he turned in the shower and faced the mirror, Britt's knees wobbled. "Fuck," she murmured. Her eyes locked on to Cesar's cock: darker in color; uncut; joined to the largest pair of testicles she'd ever seen; and proportional to his body — which is to say, huge and thick, powerful like the rest of him. Her mouth watered and she could feel a trickling wetness seeping into her underwear.

Monique could sense the changes happening in Brittany and a mischievous smile spread across her face.

"I know, honey," she whispered. "He's really something. Honestly, he's the reason we brought you here. The main attraction, for sure..."

Her left arm snaked around Britt's shoulders to hold her tight; her right arm drifted lower to slowly glide back & forth across her stomach in a sensual way. A lump formed in Britt's throat at her touch.

"Monique, I don't, uh..."

"Relax, darling, just hugging you. I'm not into girls — not like those two closet dykes to your left..." Britt looked over to see that Isabella now had her head buried in Jasmine's neck — Jasmine was still watching the men, but with her hand rubbing on Izzy's ass. "Let's just enjoy the moment, ok?"

Britt nodded; she let her friend continue to touch her as she stood there, slowly deliquescing over the next 10 minutes. She made it back to her post after lunch but was basically useless the rest of the say, unable to concentrate on anything.

After work, for the first time in a while, she turned down an invitation to go carousing. Instead she rushed home and marched through the door on a mission: she was dying for a fuck. Why had she let herself go so long without? She would tackle her husband, soothe her needy pussy, and rejuvenate her marriage.

"Babe! I'm home," she called out. Silence. She checked every room and found out she was alone. When she pulled out the phone she'd ignored all day, she saw a message from Adam saying his boss had moved his shifts around and he was working tonight.

"Argh! Motherfucker!" she screamed and collapsed on the bed — this was maddening, an itch she couldn't scratch. She lay on the bed and wallowed in her frustration for a minute. Considered masturbating, but she was so annoyed it was killing her mood. Finally, she reached for her phone. I wonder which bar the girls wound up at...

40 minutes later she had a drink in her hand, slightly manic, loudly complaining about her husband to her amused coworkers.

***

It was ten days after that naughty girls' trip to the shower and Brittany found herself in the yard, talking with Cesar Luna — that seemed to happen rather a lot lately.

"So yeah," she was saying, "the cartons are over there behind the thing, same place as last time. You can just grab 'em on your way back inside."

"Ah, gracias! I really appreciate it, Officer Harrell, truly." Not for the first time, Britt thought to herself: Jeez, he's awfully well-mannered for a convict. "And I know Dunhills can be hard to find, but that's the only brand Mateo will smoke, so you're really helping him out."

"It's no trouble, Cesar."

This was Britt's second time delivering cigarettes to Cesar and his friends. Before the first time she'd sought guidance from Monique, who was all too happy to provide it: "Girl, it's nothing, just some cigarettes. Don't even worry. Actually you'd be doing us a favor: it's better to have the inmates happy & coughing instead of cranky & stabby, you know?"

That was good enough for Brittany. After the incident in the yard she still felt such gratitude towards Cesar — as well as, since the shower, a growing sense of respect — and hated the thought of disappointing him. And, yes, ok: the money had something to do with it. Cesar doubled her money on the cigarettes she bought, and it seemed like she could make a couple hundred dollars a week. She & Adam badly needed the extra cash, even if she could never tell her husband where it came from.

So, sure, she'd deliver cigarettes to the polite, helpful murderer. What's the harm?

"Anyway," Cesar continued, "if it's not too much trouble, maybe over the weekend you could pick up a few more cartons? Two Marlboros, one Kools?"

"Sure, that's no problem. Monday then."

"Sweet. You're a lifesaver, Britt. Oh, damn — excuse me: Officer Harrell."

"Um ... no. No, it's ok. Britt's fine."

***

It was the middle of the day on Wednesday and Britt had just returned to the control room after an uneventful patrol around C Wing. Monique and another guard were there, but one of their number was missing.

"Where'd Sherry go off to?"

"Oh," Monique answered, "she just left a minute ago to grab a new computer monitor. This one's acting up but we have some extras."

"Supply room?"

"Yep."

"Well, maybe I should go catch up with her? I feel guilty. She's pregnant and that's a hell of a long way to be lugging stuff back."

"Nah, I don't think that's..." Monique paused, thought for a second, and smiled at her. "Hmm. Actually, yeah, maybe that would be best. We'll hold down the fort. No rush."

So, Britt made her way to the supply room, blissfully ignorant of what lay in store for her. It was inconveniently located, always a pain in the ass to make a round-trip — way out of the way, on the far side of some disused office space.

She walked down the last, long hallway, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness ... until she heard something else. She puzzled over a distant, repetitive clacking sound. Then a faint screech, like metal sliding against linoleum. Oh, Sherry's moving some furniture. Then a chilling sound: an urgent guttural groan, the noise made by an animal in distress. Shit! Brittany rushed ahead to help her friend in need, now panicked about emergency she expected to find. She rounded the last corner, arrived outside the supply room, and looked in: it was so much worse than she imagined.

On the other side of the closed door, through a grimy window, there was Sherry: bent over, hands against the wall, pants around her ankles, being violated by a dark-skinned giant. By Cesar Luna.

Britt stood rooted to the spot, mouth agape. This was a nightmare, a sickening assault she had to stop, and her options were terrible. Backup was at least five minutes away, and likely ten. But charging in was hopeless: Luna was twice her size and infinitely stronger; she'd probably get one or both of them killed.

She was seconds away from calling for help when she heard it.

"Mmmmm," Sherry moaned as a wicked smile crept across her face. "This is what I wanted ... it's been too long, Daddy."

Outside the room, Britt's radio fell from her hand, dangling from its cord by her side. Oh my god, she mouthed silently, too scared to make any noise. All she could do was listen as the couple inside fucked each other like savages.

"No shit you been wanting this," Cesar growled. "I see you flaunting it around me, trying to get my attention. Every day with this shit. You're the neediest bitch in the whole joint."

"I'm sorry, Daddy! I can't help myself around you ... oh, FUCK! ... I just need it so bad..."

Cesar sneered. "How come you need it so bad, officer?"

"I ... unh ... I..."

"Ain't you got a man at home?"

"Nooo ... he's good to me, but ... but..."

"But what, slut?"

"But he doesn't count! Oh, FUCK! You already know that ... he could never fuck me like this..."

"Your man can't fuck you right? Then he ain't really your man, is he?"

"Oh, fuck, NO! You're my man! You're my Daddy! You take care of me so good..."

"That's fuckin' right."

Sherry seemed to be riding some perpetual orgasmic high, and Brittany couldn't make herself look away. The shock that had hit her like a lightning bolt was slowly replaced with awe at the raw carnal display, so unlike the tame lovemaking she was used to. Her awe slowly gave way to jealousy — I can't even get my husband to touch me, and this silly cheating slut gets the life fucked out of her by a dark-skinned Superman.

Britt's jealousy only intensified as she watched Sherry began to lose her very mind to the power this forceful fucking held over her. She began wildly flailing her arms backwards, first one and then the other, as if trying to find a hold on Cesar and somehow embrace him while facing the other way. Britt could see the panic in Sherry's eyes, like her brain had been switched off — she looked like a drowning woman groping for a life preserver, and her pathetic efforts just wouldn't stop.

Cesar soon became annoyed at the distraction and decided to put a stop to it. He pulled out of Sherry and shoved her to her knees below him, and at that moment all of Britt's jealousy was obliterated by pure lust: she now had a full-frontal view of his powerful body. Seeing it in the shower had been a thrill, but this was a sledgehammer to the gut — because, now, he was aggressive, he was sweaty ... and he was hard. That thing between his legs was menacing, like a weapon — pulsing with life, as thick as her wrist, and dripping with her friend's juices. It was the hottest thing Britt had ever seen.

While Sherry looked up at the man from her knees, Cesar bent down and snatched the pair of handcuffs on her belt. "Hands!" His voice boomed; Britt jumped at the sound, but Sherry quickly complied. She lifted her arms over head, offering them up, and Cesar slapped the iron on her wrists — the metallic *clink* of the cuffs sliding home echoed in Britt's ears.

Cesar spun the guard around and pushed her shoulders to the floor, then took his place behind her and lined up his cock. Sherry was shackled, face-down, ass-up — ecstatic in her complete submission to this man she was supposedly in charge of. Happy to claim his prize, Cesar reentered this eager mate and built up to a vicious, pounding rhythm. His words were just as harsh.

"Pinche puta ... your husband can't get the job done so you just bend over and give it away to thugs?"

"Nooo ... only for you, Daddy, it's all for you — FUCK! — keep fucking meee!"

He did, and his stamina seemed to have no end. Britt watched the whole thing, utterly in awe of the display before her. She saw the spanking, the hair-pulling, the impact of Cesar's thrusts rippling through Sherry's whole body. She heard her friend's moans and pleas for more & harder fucking, as well as the obscene, wet smacking coming from the point where they were joined. Sherry's shirt had ridden up, and Britt could make out her tiny but unmistakable baby bump. Her eyes drifted down further and saw Sherry's wedding ring, on her finger, scraping against the concrete floor as another man sexually dominated her.

Finally, Britt's roving eyes returned to her friend's face to find that Sherry had spotted her through the window and was looking right at her. Impossibly, she didn't seem to care about having been caught. No, in fact she looked ... proud. She kept her eyes locked on Britt's as an evil, contented smile spread across her face. She gave Britt a conspiratorial wink, and that was too much for the young officer — emotional overload. Spooked, she fled back down the hall.

After 30 paces she was stopped dead in her tracks by a terrifying masculine roar from behind her, followed by a woman's desperate plea: "YES! Cum in me, Daddy! Never stop cumming in meeee!"

Britt hurried back to work, where nothing seemed the same.

***

The rest of that day went by in a blur for Brittany — anxious, disoriented, and disturbingly aroused. Normally she'd talk to Monique about this sort of thing, but she couldn't. Monique was Sherry's supervisor, and if she didn't already know about the affair it could be disastrous. This went way beyond sneaking in some cigarettes. Sex with an inmate wouldn't just get you fired, it was a crime: a real one, a "wind up in jail yourself" kind of crime. Jesus.

The end of the day couldn't come soon enough. Britt rushed home in a tizzy, and this time Adam was there to greet her. She walked into the house and attacked him. She needed something to calm herself down, but more than that she needed release. She needed a piece of what she'd seen in that supply room ... and what she still saw every time she closed her eyes.

Within eight minutes of walking through her door she was in bed, naked, on all fours while Adam thrust into her from behind; on her face was a look of intense concentration.

"Harder..." she whimpered.

"What?"

"Harder, Adam!"

Ever obedient, her husband put more force into his blows and Britt tried to reach her peak. It felt good, but somehow only added to her frustration — this wasn't the wild fucking she'd watched earlier and replayed in her head all afternoon. Not even close. It pissed her off, made her feel cheated. She growled at her husband with real venom in her voice.

"God damn it, HARDER!!!"

Adam was startled but he did his best, slamming into his wife as violently as his slender frame would allow. It still wasn't enough for Britt. With an annoyed grunt she reached down to rub her clit while getting fucked; that helped some. She closed her eyes and thought back to the scene in the supply room, to Sherry having the life fucked out of her on a dirty floor; that helped even more.

But it still wasn't enough. So she reimagined the scene in her head: she wasn't standing outside the door watching Sherry — she was in the room, and that was her getting fucked like an animal. Her hips in Cesar's hands, her pussy being reshaped by his life-changing cock. Her wedding ring scraping against the ground.

That did it.

"Aaaahhh! Fuckfuckfuck-oh, FUCK! OH GOD FUCK ME CEEEE-AH!!" She came explosively, clawing at the sheets, howling loud enough to wake the neighbors. Adam, shocked by the display, lost control and spurted his cum into the condom.

Afterwards, lying there in a sweaty heap, Adam asked the obvious question.

"Damn, Britt. What was that about?"

"I just needed to ... I don't know, I needed you is all. Been needing it all day. I've missed you, you know? I'm sorry we've been fighting, That's not what I want."

"Oh, god, I know that, honey. I'm sorry, too. All you ever have to do is come home to me, and I know we can figure out the rest."

Yes, Brittany thought, maybe this can work. She couldn't bring Adam with her into the prison, but maybe she could take some of that energy from her time as Prison Brittany — the excitement, the naughtiness, the danger — and pump it into her home life. Then she could make both work.

***

It didn't happen quite the way she'd hoped.

Her relationship with Adam did get better. They talked more, fought less, and had a better time together — that was nice. Sex, however, remained a problem. Britt made an effort, but their work schedules (and Brittany's nightlife) were still getting in the way. Worse, when they did make love, Britt was horrified to discover that she couldn't get into it if she was focusing on her husband. She could only get off if she was thinking about ... other things. She'd feel so guilty afterwards that it almost wasn't worth it.