Dyker's Island Ch. 01-08

"If I could, I'd show you some of my work."

She heard Imogen smack her lips together on the bottom bunk.

"Man, you don't know how lucky that makes you." Replied the emo prison Stud.

Tattoos meant everything in prison. Most of the so-called "artists" at Dyker's were amateurish hacks that did botch jobs with pen inks and unsterilized needles. There was a considerable lack of professional tattooists and piercers here, and that was something that would unexpectedly work in Stephanie's favor.

Stephanie crawled over to the edge of her bunk, and hung her head down. She looked at Imogen with her usual doe-eyed expression.

"Huh?"

Imogen smiled back politely. Steph really was a little slow on the uptake, clearly.

'It's a good thing she's beautiful because I'm not sure she's all that smart.' She thought to herself.

"Being a tattoo artist here is like being royalty." Replied Imogen. "They'll seriously treat you like a queen here."

Now there was a thought that got Stephanie firing. On the outside, she loved it when boys spoiled her. She moonlighted on OnlyFans and had an army of simps who would buy her everything for a single snap of her pale italian goth ass. It had always made her feel so sexy. It was one of the things that fueled her nymphomania.

Stephanie had always been polyamorous. Oftentimes, she would have multiple men compete for her attention on a date, and almost always slept with at least two of them at once. A single cock wasn't enough for her. She needed more.

Despite the act of sex with a woman being unappealing to her, she knew that she would like the attention all the same.

Stephanie laid back in her bunk and placed her hands under her head.

"Maybe things won't be as bad as I thought..." She whispered.

Imogen looked over at Ana, who was sobbing in the corner. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her eyes were red from crying. The streetracer clicked her fingers. She was nowhere near as friendly as she was with Steph.

"So Ginger, what were you before you became a murderer?"

The girl responded meekly.

"My name is Ana..."

Imogen cackled cruelly and shook her head. The street racer gently pushed Ashley's arms off her and leant forwards towards the redheaded black widow. She tightly grasped Ana's face in her right hand. The girl could feel the prison bully's breath on her skin.

"No, no, bitch. It's not. I don't like that name. I like Ginger. It suits you much better."

Ana yelped and tried to pull her head away.

"No! Please! Don't hurt me!"

Imogen gave out another cruel giggle and licked the redhead's face.

"I don't want to hurt you, Ginger." The tomgirl whispered sensually. "I want to protect you."

The tom girl put her fingers around Ana's throat. Then, she stuck her free hand down the front of the girl's fatigue pants. She rubbed Ana's clit through her prison issue panties.

"Poor widdle baby," Teased Imogen. "All locked up with us mean girls. All alone. You won't survive five days here, baby. Not without me."

The street racer's loins burned at a temperature that only V8 engines had ever previously been able to achieve. Her chest was all warm and gooey inside. All eight of her cylinders were white hot and firing. The best part of it was that she knew no matter what she did to her, she'd never feel bad. Ana was a self confessed murderer, and didn't seem to be very remorseful either.

Unfortunately, the irony seemed to be lost on Imogen, but nobody likes a golddigger. She'd consider this to be her contribution to Ana's punishment.

Ana's heart was pounding in her chest. She couldn't speak. It was slowly beginning to dawn on her that a life of sexual servtiude would be the only way she could survive here. It would be bad enough if it was with men, but couldn't imagine the idea of it being with a woman. She hated that. Ana thought about ending it, but her pathological ego would never allow her to take her own life. The truth was, the thought of a world without Anabelle Blake was more horrifying to her than her actual death was.

Imogen whispered into her ear.

"Be my bitch. I won't treat you mean, baby, unlike the other girls."

If this wasn't mean, Ana didn't want to think about what mean was. She could feel the tom girl's hand around her throat, but it wasn't enough to choke her. Just enough to let her know who was in charge. The girl swallowed what little remained of her pride and slowly nodded her head. After all, it wasn't much different to how she got along in life, just with the opposite sex.

Ana managed to muster a small voice in the back of her throat.

"Yes, Daddy." She replied meekly.

Imogen let go of the girl's throat.

"Yes, Daddy - What? I want you to say it."

Ana caught her breath. She hung her head in shame.

"Yes, Daddy. I will be your bitch."

Imogen smiled deviantly. Her panties were getting wet again. That was an understatement - They were soaking. She couldn't have imagined how much she would enjoy being a bully. She never could have thought how great it would be to be this mean. It made her forget that she was a prisoner. That her own body no longer belonged to her - It belonged to the state.

She pushed Ana's chin up with her finger.

"Look at me when you say it."

Water welled in Ana's eyes, but she did what she was asked.

"Yes, Daddy. I'll be your little bitch."

Imogen thought that Ana's eyes looked especially beautiful at that moment.

"Kiss me." She ordered.

Ana had only ever kissed girls for attention on her instagram. She had never used her tongue before. She closed her eyes and imagined that the prison stud was a cute boy. Imogen's short hair and athletic tone helped with the fantasy. The two of them kissed roughly, the street racer's tongue wrestled against Ana's in her mouth.

Imogen spanked Ana's ass and pulled out of the kiss.

"Were you a dancer before you got pinched?"

She nodded meekly.

"I did ballet..."

The street racer licked her lips.

"It shows."

Imogen fell back into Ashley's embrace.

"But look, it doesn't matter what you did before prison now. Because all of you, with the exception of Delgado, are basically my property now."

She let out a long, slow sensual moan as she ran her eyes over the girl, undressing Ana with her mind.

"Take off that top. And those pants. Leave your underwear on."

Ana nodded obediently. She knew it would be easier this way.

"Yes, Daddy."

The redhead stripped down to nothing but her white boyshorts and matching socks. Stephanie watched uncomfortably from her bunk as Ana kicked off her shoes, dropped her pants, and pulled off her top. The goth girl didn't know how to feel about all this. It just seemed so... Gay.

Imogen didn't think the girl had much of an ass, or a bust, but she was petite, and her face looked so cute and innocent. It would be boring, slow and tedious locked in the cell until lights out. She'd want entertainment, and how lucky she was that the redhead happened to be an entertainer.

"I want you to dance for me. Show me how good you are."

Ana pouted and nodded silently. Obediently, she did what she was asked. The girl knew that Imogen didn't want to see her dance ballet though. It was a good thing that Ana was also trained in burlesque and the art of pole dancing. It was hard without music, but Ana danced suggestively in her underwear, her bare perky tits in plain view of everyone.

The girls in the cells across from them all gathered at the bars to watch. They whistled and jeered obscenely. It was strange how so many women here approached sexuality more like men. Maybe the place did something to them.

Ana wiggled her ass and shook her tits as silent tears streamed from her eyes. Imogen thought the water works just made her that much more beautiful. She really did enjoy the show. The tomgirl put one hand down her pants while the other played with her nipples.

"Oh yeah." Moaned Imogen. "I can see why all the boys must like you."

As Ana danced suggestively, Imogen imagined all the ways she could exploit her talent. There wasn't anyone charging cigarettes for lap dances that she knew off. Maybe that was a racket she could get in on. It could make her a pioneer. Even better, she knew that the Homegirls and the Cholas would pay good money to see a petite white girl shake her booty. And they would pay in cash, or drugs that could in turn be exchanged for cash.

That was sure to get her into Mabel's good books.

Stephanie didn't enjoy the show as much. It made her uncomfortable. She turned over on her bed and faced the wall so she didn't have to look at it. It seemed strange that somebody like her could be friendly and comforting to her in one breath, and then so mean and sadistic to someone else in another. Maybe that's just what prison was like. She was still so scared about what the next twenty five years had in store for her.

Yuki was still standing in the corner, rubbing her sore backside. But she didn't have any delusions. She had trained for this and knew what was expected of her. If she was to survive in this hell, a mean girl like Imogen would have to be her queen.

The Japanese woman dropped to her knees and crawled over to the side of Imogen's bed. She looked up at her with pleading eyes.

"Will you protect me too, Daddy? Please, I'm innocent. I can't survive on my own."

A cheeky smirk spread across Imogen's cheeks. She tapped her finger against her lips and looked to the ceiling in a facetious gesture.

"Hmm. I don't know. What will I get out of it?" She asked teasingly.

"I know what's expected of me, Daddy. I know what I have to do."

Imogen let out another long and sensual moan.

"Do you?" She said, as she began to pull down her overalls. "Why don't you prove it?"

Yuki peeled off her own uniform. Just like she had been trained to. She figured that her new mistress wanted her to keep her panties and socks on like the other girls. She was thankful she was allowed that simple modesty at least.

Imogen turned over on her stomach, and hung her toned emo ass off the bed. She was completely naked now, but somehow, still completely dominant. Ashley changed positions on the mattress. Without a word from her mistress, Ashley leant over and continued massaging her back.

"What a good girl, Blondie". Praised Imogen. "I might have to reward you later."

That thought made Ashley's mouth water. Her cheeks were plush with red and her womanhood tingled.

"Thank you, Daddy."

Imogen knew that her other bitch would require more training before she could be properly broken in. She looked behind her right shoulder.

"Ginger, I want you to watch what Wolfie does." She ordered. "Get on your knees next to her, and pay attention."

Tears welled again in Anna's eyes. She didn't want to lick another woman's ass. It would be worse than when she had to suck her husband's wrinkly cock. And now, she couldn't just get a divorce. The redhead let out a deep sigh and stopped dancing. She dropped to her knees and crawled over in nothing but her underwear.

"Yes, Daddy." She sobbed.

Imogen looked over her left shoulder at Yuki.

"That's you're new name, by the way. Wolfie. Because you're a Wolf of Wall Street. Do you like it, bitch?"

She didn't. It humiliated her. But she had been taught better than to complain to her Daddy.

"Yes, Daddy. I love it." She replied unenthusiastically.

Imogen clicked her fingers.

"Well, get to it. It ain't gonna eat itself."

Yuki began to kiss the girls ass cheeks. Slowly pecking around her butt in a circle until she reached her asshole. She went in and lapped up the girls sphincter. She dug her warm wet tongue deep inside. It made Imogen moan.

"Ohhhh."

She put her hands between her legs and began to rub her clit.

"Oh yeah, just like that. Don't stop."

The tom girl moaned and panted in pleasure. She closed her eyes. Between the woman eating her ass, and the one rubbing her back, Imogen escaped her cell in her mind. She went back to a place where she was drifting around sharp corners on a mountain highway. The street racer felt like she had the wheel in her hand and her foot on the peddle. Time appeared to happen faster for her, in this place.

Anna watched the whole time in horror. But she made sure not to look away. She knew that she would have to perform to this cruel inmate's standard. 'Pretend it's a cute twink' Thought Anna internally to reassure herself. 'Pretend it's a cute twink'.

Stephanie wrapped her pillow around her head in an attempt to drown out the sound. All the moaning was making her horny, despite her best efforts. She was too afraid before to think about sex but now Steph's nymphomania was coming back to her.

She didn't want to have sex with women. But she had to have sex sometime soon otherwise she would suffer withdrawals from her addiction. It was as deadly as any other.

Stephanie closed her eyes and sucked her thumb. She imagined she was sucking the cock of ripped and tattooed twink. She slipped two fingers inside her pussy and imagined that she was being fucked by an equally as delicatable boy.

As the cell filled with slurping and moaning, it only seemed to make Steph more to the brink.

She let out muted moans and groans of frustration as even her fantasies didn't seem to satisfy her here. Imogen heard her from the bottom. She called out to her and ripped her from her day dream.

"Hey, Delgado. You like girls? There's two of them down here. I could... Lend you one for free."

Steph's heart pounded. She had half a mind to accept the offer, but she was still too insecure to accept that part of herself. The goth girl pulled her thumb from her mouth and replied back shly.

"No. I already said that. I'm straight. It's fine. I'll take care of myself."

Imogen chuckled.

"Whatever doll, means more fun for me. Offers always open."

Stephanie went back to fingering herself. It only seemed to make the time go slower as she sucked and fucked her own fingers in the absence of any men. She was so horny, but she fought the urge to become a lesbian. She still thought that was gross.

For Imogen, the hours passed like minutes. Yuki licked her ass for about three hours straight.

That's when Dinner time came.

An olive skinned Italian-American woman pushed a catering cart down the cellblock. Her orange fatigues were trimmed and cut in a sleek fashion that probably resembled the stylish way she dressed before her incarceration. Her hair was teased and closer to heaven than she herself would ever get. When she stood in the light, she resembled Jamie Lynn-Sigler.

The badge on her customized uniform said Francesca Antonino. She was the trophy wife of convicted mob boss Giuseppe Antonino. And in this lesbian hell, she was Mabel Reilly's closest business partner. Francesca was a ride or die type of girl with an entrepreneurial spirit.

But Fran had more than just a passable knowledge of her husband's criminal exploits - She was directly involved with them.

Operating several dummy business ventures to launder her husbands blood money, Fran's own criminal career later expanded into prostitutions and extortion; Using escorts from her agency to blackmail rich and powerful clients for a profit. Francesca was arrested along with her husband and found guilty of these crimes, as well as being charged as an accessory to at least four murders.

It broke her heart when the judge gave them both life - She knew she would never see her king again.

Since then, she assumed leadership of the Mob Wives and forged an alliance with Mabel to counter the Russians. Fran has managed to forge quite a fortune from their various rackets together; Drug smuggling, prostitution and the sale of other illict contraband just name a few.

Despite her constant separation anxiety, the woman didn't let it show as she pushed the cart along and served inmates dinner though the bars. She had since learned to live without the touch of her precious husband Gyp. But it didn't mean she didn't miss it.

Francessca was always a schemer. Even when she was performing her mandated duties. The woman had a folded sheet of paper slipped between her breasts. She stopped when she got to Imogen's cell. Fran rolled her eyes and groaned at the sapphic sex fest. She was used to the sight, but that didn't stop her from thinking it was incredibly gay.

Fran and her Mob Wives were some of the few women who didn't fuck other girls inside. They had bitches, but their slaves served them in more of a domestic sense, like handmaidens.

The mob wives were all ride or die. They all made vows swearing to be together 'till death do them part.' Fran's husband wasn't dead yet. Just locked away upstate in Queen's Peak.

She really wished they would let her write to him. But she knew it wasn't possible. Not after all the evil they both did and still continued to do behind bars. She pushed the tear from her eyes with her eyelids and pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind.

The mob wife knocked on the bars and cleared her throat to get the girls attention.

"Uh-Hmm." She groaned.

She naseled through the bars in her swill New Jersey accent.

"Dinner's served ladies, but I see that some of you have already eaten."

Yuki and Anna weren't hungry. Somehow, all the ass had ruined their appetite.

"Alright, Wolfie. You can stop."

Yuki couldn't pull her tongue out of the girl's ass fast enough.

Imogen pulled up her overalls and walked over to the bars. She left her bitches in nothing but their panties. Yuki, Anna and Ashley followed her on their hands and knees. Stephanie jumped down off her bunk. At least food might be able to help her pass the time.

Fran slipped Imogen the folded piece of paper through the bars between her fingers.

"You're Mabel's new girl, right? The street racer? Got something for 'ya."

Imogen snatched the note from her and hid it in her palm.

"What is it?"

The mob wife turned her head behind her to check for the screws.

They weren't paying attention. Except for the ones on her or Mabel's payroll.

"Somethin' she wants you to do."

The street racer nodded in acknowledgement and slipped the paper into her panties.

Fran put her hand out through the bars.

"I'm Francessca. My friend's call me Fran. I'm Mabel's friend. Which means, I'm your friend too."

The Italian MILF smiled.

"My girls will watch your back."

Imogen smiled back and shook the woman's hand firmly. She knew who she was. It was all over the news. Someone like her who lived "the life" always kept themselves informed on the major players.

"I'm Imogen. Pleased to meet you."

Mabel's own mob were relatively resilient and had the famous sly of the Irish.

But their membership made up a minority faction of the prison. The Irish Crime Queen couldn't rule the block without the support of Francessa's Mob Wives, who had the connections and the numbers to supplement them effectively.

The two gangs were autonomous, but each one got a taste of the other's pie and would come to the aid of the other if hostilities ever arose. It was a mutually beneficial partnership, but Fran couldn't help but admit that she liked the Irish woman's company. Her dry wit had stopped her from going mad the past six years.

Francessca started lining up the plates and plastic cups on the small delivery slot between the bars. Stephanie gagged. She didn't know what it was but it definitely wasn't vegan.

"What's this?" She asked in an entitled and privileged tone.

Fran rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. She pointed to each portion of the metal plate.