Coventry Correctional

Author's note: All sexual activity portrayed in this story is between legal consenting adults. This is entirely a work of fiction, with no intended resemblance to any actual persons or places or events.

Coventry Correctional

Gwen sat in her car for much longer than she usually did before work. She'd spent the entire previous night debating about which makeup to wear or whether to wear any at all. That morning, she obsessed over her reflection in the rearview mirror. After countless minutes touching up her blush, reapplying her favorite pink lipstick, getting her mascara and eyeliner and eyeshadow just right, Gwen had to accept that she was stalling. The appointed time was coming up, and overdoing her makeup wouldn't help anything.

Gwen took another moment to put her hand over the cupholder, quietly drawing strength for what was coming. Then she gathered up her paper bag from the passenger seat, got out of the car, and walked toward the employee entrance of Coventry Correctional Facility.

The protesters could be heard loud and clear on the other side of the grounds. She willed herself to ignore them. At the gate was Lewis Tennyson, a tall and wiry man in uniform as a correctional officer.

Gwen raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, Lou. Where's the warden? He should be here for this."

Tennyson shook his head. "He didn't want anything to do with this. Nobody did, really."

"Deniability?"

Tennyson nodded. "Yeah."

Gwen sighed, disappointed but not surprised. At a gesture from Gwen, Tennyson led the way inside.

The first stop was to the property clerk. For everyone's safety - most especially her own - Gwen agreed to have all her personal items logged and locked up, like she was any other visitor. As such, she had everything stowed away in a paper bag for the clerk to sort with his mechanical efficiency.

"One set of keys. One wallet, with ID belonging to Gwen Buckner. One set of dog tags, printed for Gwen Buckner. One iPhone, white."

The clerk paused a while at the next item. "One sealed envelope, addressed to Warden Mercer."

All eyes turned to Gwen, who simply replied. "Just lock it up."

The clerk shrugged and continued. "One purple t-shirt. One pair white cotton panties. One pair blue denim jeans. Do you have anything else to declare?"

"No," she lied. So the clerk gave her a property voucher and waved her through to a small windowless room with Tennyson.

"All right, Gwen, you know the drill."

They both did, and Gwen knew this was coming. She came to the prison in nothing but a grey bathrobe, black lacy panties, and a matching bra to make the strip search easier. Pity she couldn't wear her heels, but she found some flats that came off quick and easy.

Gwen disrobed completely, setting everything on a nearby table, then stood naked in the corner with her hands behind her head. She made no attempt at covering up her toned and muscular body, and Tennyson didn't stare, but pawed through her clothing with dispassionate efficiency.

Tennyson didn't expect to actually find anything, but did indeed find a suspicious lump in the pockets of her bathrobe. Gwen could do nothing. She couldn't ask him to put it back or pretend he didn't see anything. Technically, she shouldn't have had it. Though technically, he shouldn't be letting her do this at all.

With only a shared glance of conviction, Gwen implored him not to take it away, because the both of them knew that this was one time when this one rule needed breaking. Tennyson gave an imperceptible nod of agreement and replaced the contraband. Over his shoulder, he heard Gwen release a sigh of relief.

Tennyson took out a compact flashlight and turned to Gwen. "Okay, open." Gwen opened her mouth for Tennyson's flashlight.

"Toss your hair." Gwen kept her blonde hair cropped short, but she tousled it as best she could.

"Spread your toes." He looked between her toes and inspected the soles of her feet, taking dim notice of the bright pink polish on her newly pedicured nails.

"Squat and cough." Gwen squatted and coughed three times.

"Bend over and spread." Gwen bent at the waist and reached back to spread her cheeks while Tennyson pointed the flashlight at the taint between her smoothly shaven legs.

"You're good." Though routine, a strip search was still the ultimate humiliation and Gwen had played the perfect inmate like a champ. She put her underthings and shoes back on, then covered herself with the robe.

"We'll have to go out there," Tennyson reminded her. She almost wished he hadn't. As with all prisons, Coventry was so massively overcrowded that there were no private spaces or deserted corridors. Everyone would see Gwen dressed like this, and secrets spread so quickly that everyone would know by now what she was doing.

She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get everything back in place without the benefit of a mirror. "How do I look?" she asked him.

Tennyson looked her over and gave her a smile. "You look good, Gwen." He meant to sound gentle and reassuring, and she gave him a grateful smile for the effort.

Gwen took a breath to collect herself, then gave a nod to Tennyson. "Let's go," she said, and walked into the prison corridor with her head held high.

The response was nothing new to Gwen, but there was more of it than usual. She walked through a cacophony of catcalls, wolf whistles, and lewd propositions in English, Spanish, and crude parodies of French. The inmates stared at her, wagged their tongues at her, mimed blowjobs at her, tugged their crotches in her direction, did everything they could to get her attention or any kind of reaction. She did her best to ignore the depraved masses, letting Tennyson and the other guards handle the inmates. Though many of the officers gave her withering looks as well. Those were harder to brush off.

At last, Tennyson had escorted Gwen to solitary confinement. They stopped at the door of one particular cell.

"Last chance to back out, Gwen. After this, every inmate, prison guard, and cop in the state will know you as a—"

"Did you hear them out there?" she pointed out. "It's too late for that."

Tennyson looked between her and the door. "You know you're going in there alone, unarmed, and literally naked, right?"

"He's clean?"

"Strip-searched. Twice."

"You got the tape?"

Tennyson reached into his breast pocket and handed her a voice recorder. After another deep steadying breath, she gestured for Tennyson to open the door.

The grim gray cell was the size of a parking space, barely wide or long enough for a concrete bed, an unmovable stool, and a combination toilet/sink. On the bed sat a black man in his late 30s, known throughout nationwide headlines as Tommy Pine. He was freshly showered and clean-shaven for the big day, his white inmate uniform bleached to a crisp shine. And he was handcuffed, to Gwen's visible frustration.

"He's cuffed," she hissed at Tennyson. "You know we went over this, I was very clear—"

"Gwen, please, for your safety—" he muttered back.

"He'll need his hands." Gwen's tone and glare made it clear she would not be deterred, so Tennyson shook his head and removed Tommy's handcuffs.

"They weren't supposed to cuff you," she assured Tommy. "Totally unnecessary, I apologize." Then she turned on the voice recorder and spoke.

"This is Gwen Buckner, correctional officer with the Coventry Correctional Facility. At the time of this recording on May 13^th of 2023, I am of legal age, sound of mind and body, and free from any duress whatsoever. Sir, will you please state your name for the record?"

She pointed the recorder at Tommy, who leaned in as he spoke. "Tommy Pine. Is this for the execution?"

Gwen continued. "For the record, Mr. Pine, would you please repeat your stated wish for your final meal?"

Tommy hesitated, but leaned into the voice recorder. "Pussy," he said. "I told them a hundred times I want pussy for my last meal."

"So we're clear, you're prepared to waive your last meal privileges in exchange for sex?"

Tommy looked strangely confused, or maybe he was just surprised. Regardless, he gave a small uncertain nod, and said into the recorder "That's right."

Gwen was sure to talk clearly and directly into the recorder. "In keeping with Mr. Pine's final wishes, I consent to sexual contact with Mr. Pine through giving and receiving oral and manual stimulation of nipples and genitalia."

With her other hand, Gwen reached into her bathrobe pocket to pull out the packet of condoms with a small bottle of lube, placing them at the sink. "I also consent to vaginal intercourse on condition that the provided lubrication and prophylactics are used."

Looking directly at Tommy to make sure he understood every word, she continued. "I do not consent to giving or receiving any bites, scratches, hair-pulling, punching, or anything else that may be construed as assault."

Tommy raised his hand. "Uh... question, ma'am? I thought guard-on-inmate sex was supposed to count as statutory rape. Isn't this whole thing kind of assault?"

Gwen silenced him with a finger, gesturing they'll get to that. She continued, "There will be no roleplay, no raceplay, no bondage play of any kind. Mr. Pine, do you have any hard limits or anything you will not consent to?"

"Nothing with piss or shit, right?"

"I knew I forgot something. Anything else?"

Tommy shook his head. "No, ma'am, I think that's it."

Gwen kept talking into the voice recorder. "Any other kind of romantic or sexual contact will be subject to private negotiation between myself and Mr. Pine. There will be a hard time limit of one hour, at which point all contact will cease and Mr. Pine will be taken to his execution. We both have the right to withdraw our consent at any time, at which point all contact will be immediately terminated and Mr. Pine taken directly to his scheduled execution."

She turned to Tommy. "Mr. Pine, if you accept these terms, you will agree to hold myself, the Coventry Correctional staff, and all government authorities absolved of any rape or assault charges. You must accept of your own free will, sound of mind and body, free to withdraw your consent at any time."

"Until I'm dead," he pointed out.

"If you do not accept," Gwen continued, "and you do not provide an alternative choice for your final meal, you will waive your privilege to a final meal entirely. Do you understand these terms?"

After a disbelieving moment, Tommy leaned into the recorder. "I think so, yeah."

"And do you accept these terms?" she asked him.

He considered her a second and repeated "Yeah."

Gwen handed off the recorder to Tennyson, who spoke into the recorder. "Witnessing, this is Lewis Tennyson, correctional officer with the Coventry Correctional Facility. End recording." With that, Tennyson shut off the recorder and opened the cell door.

"You get one hour," warned Tennyson. "Starting now."

He shut the door behind him, leaving Gwen and Tommy alone in that tiny room with deafening silence between them. A blonde blue-eyed white woman left alone with a black death row convict a decade older and a half-foot taller than she was.

Finally, Tommy ventured to ask "So... what now?"

Gwen shrugged. "You asked for this. You tell me."

Tommy pointed to a space next to him on the bed. "Come sit with me." Gwen immediately did so. She kept a straight face, though she could see the wheels turning in his head.

"You'll seriously do anything I tell you."

"If you follow the rules," she reminded him, "I'm all yours."

"I thought conjugal visits were a myth."

"They're technically outlawed, but under the circumstances, I don't think anyone will care."

"So why send a guard? They couldn't get anyone else?"

She gave him a sardonic smirk. "There's no budget for a prostitute."

He pointed to the robe. "Are you wearing anything under that?"

"You want to find out?"

Tommy thought for a moment. "Stand up," he commanded. She promptly stood in front of him. "Take your robe off."

With a seductive grin, she said "Okay," making a slow and sensual show of swaying her hips while untying the belt on her robe.

"Now, bitch!" Tommy suddenly barked out. "I ain't got all day!" Gwen jumped a bit, then threw her robe to the floor in the corner. "Hands behind your head!" Once again, Gwen stood there with her hands behind her head.

Tommy circled her slowly, running his eyes and hands all over and around her, feeling every toned muscle in her lean body. She felt his hands around the tattoo on her left shoulder. She waited for a comment about it that didn't come.

Gwen willed herself not to move or make a sound as he hooked a finger under her bra strap, running his fingers along her shoulders and her back. She felt the tension as he pulled the back of her bra, and the release of tension to signal he had unclasped it.

"Take that shit off." At his command, Gwen took the bra off and threw it on top of the robe, putting her hands back on her head. Tommy circled back around, looking at her breasts hanging exposed. He looked at those tempting handfuls with the pale pink nipples, but he didn't touch them. Then he looked directly at her and said "Open your mouth."

Gwen didn't understand why, but she didn't question it either. She opened her mouth, leaving it open as Tommy looked inside her mouth, shoving his fingers inside and all around.

"Okay, now drop your panties. Bend over and spread 'em."

"Stop," she said.

"Bitch, what you say to me?!"

"I said stop." She pulled away from him, backing to the door. "We're not doing this, I told you no roleplay."

"You're doing what I tell you to."

Gwen raised her knuckles to the door. "Not if I call for Tennyson. All I have to do is say the word and you're done, so just take a seat and let's calm down." Slowly, grudgingly, Tommy sat down on the bed. He stared at the floor, willing himself not to look at her.

"I see what you're trying to do," said Gwen.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"You've spent half your life in here, getting pushed around by every guard and inmate, going through God knows how many searches, and you want a shot at being on the other end. Is that right?"

"Lady, you got no idea."

"So tell me. Please."

Tommy put his head in his hands. "Yeah. Yeah, you know all about the guards and the inmates and what goes on in here. But you know what goes on out there? All the cops and judges and reporters talkin' shit about me, and I can't do nothing 'cause I'm stuck with these shitty public defenders?"

He deflated with a sigh as Gwen sat down on the stool. "You shouldn't be here," he told her.

"Why's that?"

"Because this wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't really asking for sex or a last meal. I just wrote that down because fuck your last meal. Fuck you trying to make yourselves better for taking my life over shit you know I didn't do!"

"Tommy, look at me. Look at me." Finally, he lifted his head up to look at her. "The point is, it happened. I'm a woman - a fucking correctional officer! - I'm here alone with you, and I'm practically naked. You could say 'fuck the system', or you could literally do that right now."

Tommy turned his head away again. "Yeah, what about you?" he asked. "What do you get out of this?"

Gwen gestured to the solitary window. "You hear the protesters out there? They all think you're being sent to die for nothing. But the papers, the governor, the AG, they all think you're a cop-killing psychopath." She squatted down to look him directly in the eye. "So, you tell me - which of them is right?"

Tommy gave a hollow laugh. "Is that what this is all about? You're here to make me 'fess up to something I didn't do?"

"You can tell me anything you want, Tommy. Tell me now while you still can, because I'm sorry, I really am, but nothing we could say or do will stop what's coming."

Tommy nodded, sadly. "Somebody should be calling the governor's office right now."

"The governor's a dick. He's a vindictive racist fuckhead and you know it."

Tommy raised his eyebrows. "Damn. Didn't expect to hear that from a white woman, and a cop at that."

Gwen stood up to pace around as best she could in the tiny space. "We need a new rule," she said.

"What's that?"

"No more bullshit. No lies, no secrets, none of the crap that won't matter in another hour. Can't we just be two people in bed together so I don't have to be an officer and you don't have to be a prisoner?"

Tommy nodded. "That does sound nice."

She pointed to his prison whites. "Then maybe you should lose the uniform."

Tommy rushed to stand up and tear off his uniform, but then he paused. "Just one thing first."

"What's that?"

"I never killed nobody. We just did some drugs, then the cops came in, I don't even know how I got a gun in my hand, it's all a blur. But I swear to you I never killed no cops. No bullshit, no lies." He said it with a pleading look, begging her to believe him.

Gwen made a show of crawling onto the bed. "I'm not here to judge," she told him. "I'm here to keep a promise." She laid back on the bed, her breasts exposed and upward, her legs spread open for him. "And the sooner you get out of that uniform, the sooner you can eat your last meal."

His prison whites were on the floor in an instant. Twenty years of working out with nothing else to do had left Tommy absolutely shredded. Even Gwen - who had been power-lifting for years as a hobby - had to admire the sculpted physique of the black man standing in his boxers at six feet tall above her.

Gwen squealed in delight as he pulled her by the legs to the edge of the bed and dove his head between her legs. The man was so hungry for pussy, he bit through the string of her panties, literally chewing them up and spitting them out onto the floor. It was scary - but in a fun and exciting way - so Gwen bit her lip and rubbed a finger through her cropped blonde bush to spur him on.

Tommy got to work. His mouth was all over her pussy, his movements erratic and unfocused. Gwen tried gripping her breasts, playing with her nipples, focusing on his hands grabbing her ass and pulling her pussy closer to his mouth...

Finally, she put a hand on his head. "Okay, stop. Stop, Tommy, wait just a minute."

Tommy surfaced, his face staring up from between her legs. "What, did you cum already?"

Gwen blinked. "Okay, pro-tip? Never ask a woman if she came. If I'm cumming, trust me, you'll know. But you did pick up on something very important."

"What's that?"

"If you're in the middle of something, don't stop until I tell you. Whatever you're doing, if I'm loving it, you keep doing it. Especially if I'm cumming, don't you dare stop."

Tommy nodded. "Okay, sure. Can I get back to -,"

He tried to dive back in between her legs, but she stopped him with a hand to his forehead. "Ah ah ah, maybe I can show you a few pointers first. Here, just sit down on the stool over there..."

She guided him to sit down on the stool, then took a glance at his boxer shorts. "Maybe just one thing first," she added, kneeling down between his legs. "I always love this part."

"How many guys have you done it with?" he asked.

Gwen thought about that for a second. "Oh... quite a few." Off his reaction, she added. "You saw my tattoo, right?"

Tommy pointed over her shoulder. "On your back there? Yeah, it's an eagle. Pretty sweet."

"Got that in the Marines," she explained. "And I got so much dick there, too. Marines are all screwing each other, you don't even know."

"You served?"

Gwen gave a heavy sigh, involuntarily rubbing her sternum. "Briefly. Got through a year and a half before an injury took me out. Medical discharge."

"But you're still healthy enough to work as a prison guard?" he pointed out.

Gwen responded by rubbing Tommy's shaft through the fabric in his boxers. "Eight years in this job. After all that, I've seen cocks of every size and shape and color you can think of. But I never get to do this. Feels good for you, yeah?"