Dead Man Breeding

She was early. Andi sat in her car for a good hour, searching her soul for courage. Courage to retreat or courage to go forward, she wasn't certain. Courage to make a choice, perhaps. But then time ran out. You don't need to choose when the path is clearly laid out for you. She got out of the car, crossed the parking lot, and entered the prison.

She was expected, but there were still security procedures that had to be followed. She secured her purse in the provided locker, empting her pockets at the same time. The sign said to hold onto her I.D., so she kept that in her hand as she shut the locker and chose her combination. She walked to the security window. In a frail voice, she said, "I'm here to visit Inmate James Whitfield."

The guard pointed to a sign on the window, instructing her to slide her I.D. through the slot. She did so, and waited as he copied down the information. "Your name?" he asked.

"Andi Burns," she replied. The guard glanced at the driver's license, then back at her face, telling her silently to try again. "Andrea Michelle Burns."

"Warden wants to talk to you," the guard said. "Go to the gate and I'll buzz you in."

"My I.D.?"

"You'll get it when you leave."

Andi walked to the gate and pulled it open when she heard the buzz. On the other side, an angry-looking guard told her to follow him. He led her through two service doors which unlocked remotely as they approached them. Someone was watching their progress on the surveillance system.

The second door led to a carpeted hallway with offices on either side. Andi followed the guard to a door marked, "Warden." At the guard's knock, a voice called out, "Enter!"

The warden was an obese man with thinning hair and a red face. He pointed to a chair in front of his desk and glared at her as she sat down. "You a lawyer?" he asked.

"What are you? Why are you here?"

"I'm not supposed to say."

"And I'm not supposed to ask you any questions. But I'm asking. You ain't going any further if I don't get some answers."

Andi breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to let her in. Courage not necessary. She stood up. "Okay, thank you. Can I leave now?"

"You want to leave?"

"I wasn't thrilled to come here in the first place. And I signed a paper saying would keep my reasons for being here private. If I answer your questions, I go to prison myself. So I guess leaving is my only choice."

For a long moment, the warden stared at her. "Fuck!" he said finally, standing up and coming around the desk. Her spirits sank and she realized her visit was happening after all.

The warden led her from the office, down the carpeted hallway, and through a locked, heavy door at the end. On the other side was a bewildering labyrinth of concrete halls and cage doors. There were no windows and the only artwork were the words, "Respect," "Dignity," and "Honor," stenciled on the walls.

A secure elevator, accessed by a numbered keypad, took them to the third floor. As they exited, the warden said, "We don't do this here, Ms. Burns. Not ever. Someone with a lot of juice arranged the meeting. The governor himself ordered me to make this happen. I'm breaking my own rules and I don't even know why. I don't like that."

Andi remained silent. She wasn't sure she wanted to be here, but the warden's attitude was starting to really piss her off. The courage she'd been lacking was starting to develop, a stubborn determination to go through this just to defy this shithead warden. She understood his dislike for this duty, but he had no choice. It was his duty and his hostile, unprofessional attitude was not going to change anything.

They exited the elevator into a large, high-security reception room. A small holding cell was on the left. On the right was a guard sitting at a bank of monitors. Straight ahead was a cage door, and beyond that was a metal walkway with floor-to-ceiling chain link fencing on one side and cell doors on the other.

"Here we are, Ms. Burns," the shithead announced. "Welcome to Death Row. Inmates get out of their cells twice a day, one at a time. They walk up and down the catwalk for an hour, then go back in. If they refuse to go back, we hit them with pepper spray and we come in heavy, six officers with batons, to drag them back, and they don't come out again. Meals, meds, and mail are delivered through a slot in the door. Only trained personnel are authorized to be here. You do not belong."

"Obviously, I do belong. The warden himself escorted me here."

The warden scowled at her flippancy. The guard smirked and stood up. "All right, Ms. Burns," he said. "You can belong. But I have to search you."

"Isn't a female guard supposed to do that?"

"Supposed to, yes. But females seldom qualify for this duty. There are height, weight, and strength requirements."

"Fine," Andi said. She put up her arms and waited.

"Nope, the guard said with a leer. "Strip."

"No way!"

"Ma'am, this is maximum security. Everyone strips before going past this point. I gotta do it when I come on duty. My relief has to do it before he takes over. We have extremely dangerous men housed here. They're waiting for their execution date and might do anything to escape. Nobody gets through that gate unless I have verified that they aren't smuggling anything in."

Burning with embarrassment, Andi took off her skirt and blouse and heels, and handed them to the guard, who searched each garment before setting them on a chair to the side. She stood there, in bra and panties, glaring at the guard, trying hard to ignore the grinning warden.

The guard looked at her and shook his head. "Nope. Everything," he insisted.

What the hell, Andi decided. She was about to whore for the CIA. Why not start with a striptease? She took off her underwear and handed it over. The guard made her turn around, then crouch and cough. When she stood up, he handed back most of her clothing.

"The hooks in your bra could be used as weapons. Same with the high heels. They've gotta stay here."

A wild recklessness was rising in Andi. She put on the skirt and blouse and waited for the guard to unlock the door. "Keep the bra. Keep the panties, too. My special gift to you. Sniff them as you jack off. And say my name when you come."

"What's your name?" the guard asked.

"Andrea," she lied. "Remember it."

"Will do. Go down the catwalk. Fourth door. I'll unlock it when you get there."

He handed her a rolled up poster and a roll of tape. "Cover the window with this if you want privacy. Take it down when you leave. Whitfield can keep the poster, but bring me back the tape. Lock yourself in the cell with him, if you're determined to do this. You have three hours."

The guard unlocked the cage door and Andi walked through. Then the door closed behind her, locking her in. Breathing hard, she took stock of her surroundings. She had the impression of clinging to the side of a cliff. On one side was the cinderblock wall with heavy metal doors every few feet. On the other was a steep drop. Beneath her feet was a metal walkway, separated from the drop by chain-link fencing. Across the chasm was a wall of windows where guards could keep an eye on these high-security prisoners without ris k of the inmates coming over and creating a threat.

Andi marveled at her situation. She felt incredibly vulnerable. She was barefoot, wearing just a skirt and blouse with no underwear. She was walking alone, and nearly naked, through a men's prison. She was like the cheerleader showering in the football team's locker room or the girl at the beach who had just lost her swimsuit in the waves.

She could see the men's faces as she walked past their cells. The doors were heavy duty steel, painted a dull blue. There was a large window in each door, a clear plastic pane with a wire mesh inside, depriving each man of any privacy.

Each man rushed to his window as she passed by, eager to see their first female in years, and burning with curiosity as to why she was here. But she couldn't enlighten them. Her business was a national secret. And she did not have permission to pass it to any but one.

At the fourth window, she stopped. This was it. Behind this door was James Whitfield. There was no turning back now. The buzzer sounded and the door unlocked. Andi took hold of its handle and pulled it open.

Whitfield looked up in surprise from the book he was reading as Andi entered his cell. He was in his mid-fifties, with a handsome face and fine blonde hair that hadn't seen a barber or a stylist in some years. He sat up slowly and carefully dog-eared the page he was on before setting the book aside.

"Who are you?" he asked in a cultured voice and a European accent. "Why are you here?"

Frightened, but resolute, hoping she wasn't making the biggest, or last, mistake of her life, Andi closed the door and locked herself in with a convicted murderer.

For the moment, she ignored the killer. Very conscious of the curious guards watching from across the pit, Andi immediately unrolled the poster the guard had given her. Considering his general attitude and that of the warden, the gesture had actually been considerate and thoughtful. Carefully, she taped the poster over the window, blocking the view.

The poster was surprisingly pornographic. Once she had it up, Andi took a long moment to evaluate the image. A nude blonde woman was staring out the viewer, wearing only a broad smile. A naked redhead knelt at the blonde's feet, her fingers buried deep in the blonde's sex.

But the poster wasn't meant for her. Andi shuddered as she realized that it probably had belonged to a former resident of Death Row, who no longer had any need for such things. And the guard could give it to Whitman easily, knowing that he'd eventually get it back again.

But contemplating the optimistic poster and her dark thoughts were not productive. She was stalling. Andi forced herself to turn around and face the condemned man. "Hi. I'm Miranda Abbot. You can call me Andi. I'm your conjugal visit."

"Texas doesn't allow conjugal visits," Whitfield informed her.

"Special circumstances. They allowed this one."

"Maybe I don't want a conjugal visit. You're assuming that a man in prison will be so desperate for pussy, he'll jump at your offer."

Andi said nothing, merely waited him out. And inevitably, his resistance crumbled. He nodded his acceptance. "You're probably right."

They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment. "Please don't tell anyone my real name. I came in with a fake I.D. The guards think I'm Andrea Burns."

"Who am I going to tell?" the inmate asked, looking around the cell.

Andi shrugged. "The guards, maybe. The warden's angry with me. He might make trouble."

"I'll take your secret to my grave, my dear. In about three weeks."

Andi cast her eyes down, afraid he'd see the horror in them.

"Who are you? Do you work for the prison?"

"No. I'm a whore." She frowned at the admission. "Well, usually, I'm a waitress. Today, I'm a whore."

"Explain. Please."

"I only have three hours. Don't you want to get to the sex?"

"Indulge me, please," the inmate insisted.

"Some men from the State Department came to see me a few months ago, offering to pay me a lot of money to come in here and have sex with you. It took a few months to get the Texas prison system to cooperate, but I'm finally here." She was already embarrassed, so she lifted up her skirt to flash her pussy at him. She wasn't skilled at seduction, but she didn't think this conversation was heading in the right direction.

"My mother set this up," the inmate realized. "But why? And why you? Who are you?"

"I'm nobody. But I met their qualifications."

"Which were?"

"I'm young. Eighteen years old. I'm single with no children. I'm dead broke. My father was born in Maklund. And I'm the youngest of eleven children."

"Why is that last one important?"

"The last one is the most important," Andi assured him. "My mother had eleven children. Her two sisters had eight children each. All four of my sisters already have three or more children."

"You'll notice that I still have a confused look on my face."

"How much clearer can I make it?" she asked, blushing furiously. "The women in my family get pregnant. Easily. If I drink from your cup, I'll probably have your bun in my oven. And it is the perfect time of the month for it. I'm at my most fertile. Two doctors confirmed it and my visit was timed accordingly."

"This is about the succession," he deduced.

"Yes! But I have a question of my own, now that the subject has been breached. How does the Crown Prince of Maklund end up in a maximum security prison under another name?"

"Stupidity," he answered. "My father was American, so I have dual citizenship. I actually live here most of the year. I have a law practice in Dallas. Or I did. I got in a bar fight with some asshole and got kicked out of the place. I passed out in my car for maybe an hour. When I woke up, I tried to drive home. My stupid drunk ass hit the gas instead of the brake and I plowed into a man and woman and their daughter, whom they had taken out to celebrate her 21st birthday. No survivors."

"Tragic, to be sure," Andi said. "But accidents don't usually end up with..."

"The needle? The death penalty? You're right, of course. It doesn't usually end like that. But the father I killed was the same asshole I'd fought with in the bar. Coincidence? Bad luck. Fate, maybe. The prosecutors made it sound like I'd waited in the parking lot until they left. Revenge. Premeditated murder. The needle."

"The State Department got me in here. They couldn't get you out?"

"If I didn't have U.S. citizenship, they would have deported me. But citizens can't be deported. And murderers don't get pardons. So I'm stuck. But it's only for three more weeks. That's almost a comfort.

"But let's talk about you," he said. "What do you get out of this?"

"Maklund citizenship. A real palace to live in. A title. And more money than I've ever dreamed of."

"So, you were right. You're basically a whore."

"I'm a whore." She nodded glumly. "That about covers it. I'm a whore. My mother would be so proud."

"You could look at it as an act of charity for a dying man. Or an act of heroism for a small nation that still depends on its monarchy for stability."

"I could, yes. But the truth is, I'm broke, I'm behind on my rent, and I'm tired of eating Ramen noodles and popcorn. When the government guys told me about the money and the fancy house, I said yes. I'm a whore."

"Did you ever steal any money?" he asked.

"No."

"Ever sell drugs?"

"No."

"If the State Department had offered you money and a house to kill a family of three with your car, would you do it?"

"Never," she said shaking her head. She thought she was starting to see his point.

"Have you ever in your life had sex for money?"

"No."

"Then it's not about the money," he said. "You're doing a kindness for me and my family and both our nations' governments. You're going to go through pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood, and you are being compensated for a lifetime commitment. I'll bet you were ready to say yes before they even mentioned what you'd get out of it."

And he'd be right, she realized. "You're making me feel better. Thank you. I wish I could do something for you."

"You can," he assured her.

"What is it? Name it"

He grinned at her. "Did you forget what you came in here for?"

"Oh, right. That." Andi blushed again. "I told you about the women in my family, right?"

"Yes."

"And I told you I didn't have any children despite coming from such a fertile family. Did you wonder why?"

The Prince shrugged. "I didn't think about it."

"The truth is," Andi said, "I've never done this before."

"There's something fitting about that. Your first time and my last."

She didn't want to think about his impending execution. Instead, she walked up and sat next to him on the thin mattress. "It's so hard," she said.

"You're a gorgeous girl. Of course it's hard."

"I meant your bunk," she scolded, but she was tickled and flattered by the remark.

"My mistake."

"Do you want me to undress? Or did you want to do it yourself? My mom says men like to unwrap the package."

"Your mom is right. Is it okay to touch you?"

"Oh, yes. Don't worry about me. I'm committed. Do as you like. Touch away."

He leaned toward her and pulled her into a tight hug. "Whatever your reasons," he whispered into her ear, "Thank you for doing this."

"You're welcome. And regardless of the outcome, you have yourself a really good time. Just tell me what you want and I'll do it."

"A blowjob?"

"Of course."

"Can I come in your mouth?"

"If you want."

Can I come on your face?

"Absolutely."

"See that?" the Prince said. "None of that would get you pregnant. You just proved you're not doing this for the money. You're not a whore."

"I'm not a whore," she marveled. "I'm really not."

"Of course not."

"Is it wrong that I still want the money?"

"No. It's not wrong. Let's get you paid."

The Prince leaned over her and tilted her head back so he could kiss her lips. With his right hand, he started opening the buttons on her blouse. "No bra?" he asked.

"The guard kept it."

"He collects them. Secret cross dresser."

Andi giggled and allowed the Prince to ease her shirt off. Her nipples were tight and aching with need as they came into view. She basked in the admiration in his eyes. The expression on his face was very male, persuasive and demanding. Andi willingly submitted to his gaze and his hands.

"You're the first man ever to see my breasts," she told him.

"They're beautiful."

The Prince laid her back on the bunk. He trailed little wet kisses over her face and neck, gradually getting more aggressive. He's marking me, Andi realized. He's making me his. It was scary and thrilling to feel possessed. When he got to her shoulders, he was stroking her with his tongue, licking the soft, smooth skin, causing tingles, shivers, and goosebumps.

She arched her back, offering her breasts to his questing mouth. But it was his fingers than accepted the invitation. Andi moaned as a man touched her tits for the very first time. His hands shaped to the supple female flesh and she thrilled at the sensations.

It is forbidden to touch a woman's breasts unless certain social rituals have been observed. Even looking at them is frowned upon in polite society. Andi had waited years for those rituals to begin, and a craving had built in her that she didn't even know how to identify or recognize. Now, the Prince had unlocked that chained desire, and she didn't think he had enough fingers to fulfill her newfound need to be touched.

Andi wept in gratitude when his lips and tongue joined the games. The Prince's kisses climbed her slopes and circled her peaks until she could stand it no more. He tasted the taut, yearning nipples and sucked on them. Andi's breath was coming in great gasps as he teased her.

Dimly, she recognized that his fingers had traveled further down her body and that her skirt was being lifted. She was fully exposed to him now and she welcomed his exploration. One of the counselors at the State Department had strongly recommended that she shave off her pubic hair, so the soft lips were bare to his eyes and touch.

The Prince's roving fingers cupped her heated sex, rubbing gently. He spread her leaking passion over the sensitive lips, causing her to writhe in need. She recognized the unfamiliar wanting for what it was. Her virgin cunt was aching to be filled with hard cock. Her pussy was drooling in eager anticipation.

"Fuck me, she begged the Prince. "I'm so ready for you."

But the Prince was not. With his arrest, trial, conviction, sentencing, and appeals, he'd been locked up since before this girl had even been born. Twenty years is a long time to be deprived of a woman and eternity was even longer. He had this one chance and he was going to make the most of it.