Hot Neon - Segment 01.6

//Hot Neon Segment 1.6: Sunset Calling

It's another late night in I-Block, and the prison's unceasing swaths of concrete and atomically-reinforced steel provide little solace, little warmth from the cold that creeps in when the day's heat is nothing but a distant memory.

All the women of the ward, those who have sense, are wrapped up tightly under the threadbare prison blankets, likely asleep, bundled up as best they can against the brisk and nipping night air which filters through the tiny windows in their cells.

The night guard posted outside the ward is probably lost in reading, playing games, browsing idly on their comm and, only on occasion, checking the camera feed to reassure themselves that there is no trouble - for, indeed, the confines are so sturdy that major incidents are quite uncommon.

My cellmate, Chains, and I should probably be asleep too, rather than fooling around, but sometimes a girl gets urges. It's her idea at times, and mine at others, not that there's reason to complain about it either way it goes.

It isn't every night that she and I get busy, but Chains is definitely losing more loads than she did before I got here, and she certainly seems to be enjoying the semi-regular sessions with me, though we both know it's not going to last forever.

She's on a fifty-year sentence, and me? I'm just waiting for my syndicate to pull some strings and arrange a pardon, or at least an unfairly early release. I'm not too proud to admit that I'm actually going to miss this woman terribly when I eventually do walk out of here.

But tonight, as I lay curled into her embrace, all is right with our world. Our lovemaking is gentle, slow and sensual, neither of us wanting to rush things because, well...

Well, it doesn't really matter why; what matters is that we're together, that we feel like two people sharing something special between them, even if only for a time.

She's got brawn, hard edges serving as remnants of a life as a hitwoman, but also a very warm heart, a tranquil disposition, a gentle touch, and soft lips. Sure, she's probably something like thirteen years older than me, but I don't care about age, and I suspect that she doesn't either.

She's a practitioner of Zen Buddhism, seeking to atone for her past of violence and find her way back toward enlightenment. She aims to liberate herself from worldly desires, but what I'm doing with her is definitely not helping to achieve that goal. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've made it worse for her.

We're lain on my bunk at that moment, our entire uniforms crumpled up on the cold floor below, our bodies entwined. The more I see of that hewn body of hers, the more I think I like it. Her hefty frame weighs down atop me as we cuddle up in a sixty-nine position, her head bobbing languidly in my lap while she rolls her hips, bucking her thickset powerhouse of dick slowly into my mouth, eliciting pleasurable moans and groans from each of us as I take her pleasure to new heights.

We try to go slow, both to prolong the experience and to keep it as quiet as we're able given the circumstances. Just muffled grunts and groans, heated exhales from either of us, or the occasional dirty, slurping sounds of my tongue sliding over her pulsating tool, or of her lips nursing my thrumming-erect length in kind.

I don't know if we're lovers, good friends, or just fuck buddies. Putting a label on something that we both know has an expiration date seems like a road straight to misery, and I'd much prefer to let this thing end when it does without having any regrets.

We talk and laugh together, she keeps me from getting my ass beat by the other women or worse, and she hammers me in every single game of chess we play. I'm not cunning enough to give her a challenge in that regard, but I learn from her and try my best to avoid making stupid moves, especially since she knows how to use pieces to advantage and thus frustrate my plans.

And then, on some nights, like this night, she and I get frisky and satiate our womanly urges. That part is nice, but it doesn't make me forget the reality that I'll never see her again. No matter how wonderful our time together may seem. In fact, it might just underscore how rough we're going to take it when we can't get rough together in the future.

Having her on top of me like this is nice. When she pushes in deep, her plump balls smush into my face, and my breaths drink in the hot perfume of her sex as I inhale deeply through my nostrils, tasting the saltiness of her arousal. I like that. Didn't realize how much it would push my buttons, but damn if it doesn't.

The aroma of her is almost worth the sore throat that inevitably comes from her mammoth prick scrubbing my gullet. I've become a tiny bit more practiced, but there's only so much I can to do help it when she's so damned big. My gag reflex is still a problem. I'm not going to have the time to get good at it for her, like I'd want to.

Chains is built like a bulldog, mighty shoulders, thick thighs, firm ass, pert breasts. And that dong... have mercy, that thing is huge! Still a shock every time it makes itself apparent, and jeez, does it ever do that. I'm not exactly tiny either, but she has me beat. Ten... eleven inches, maybe? It's a lot to take in, literally and figuratively alike.

Sometimes it feels like I'm being fucked by a small tree trunk, or trying to wrap my lips around one, and I thank all the universe that she's usually gentle with that industrial-sized appendage. She could easily send a girl to medical with that beast, but she tries to be considerate, helping me to keep from getting in over my head.

My hips hump upward into her suckling mouth, too, her tongue hard at work on the topside of my shaft as it slides back and forth across my swollen head, swirling wetly over the sensitive skin beneath my helmet.

"Mmmph," she moans softly, sucking hard on my cockhead. That, no doubt, earns her a nice flex from Little Pepper, and a streak of slick precum to ooze out into her waiting maw. Have to keep things somewhat fair, after all.

She leaks like crazy when she gets good and hard. By the time I clean up a bead of her fluid, another one's already welled up at the tip of her member, just as ready to be savored. Productive is, as far as Chains goes, an understatement.

That applies even more so to the fireworks when she actually does manage to get her climax in. I've brought her off a few times now, and I can attest that the woman is a fucking glue factory.

I work my tongue around the bloated obstacle of her girth as best as I can manage, feeling its hardness throb against the roof of my mouth. Sometimes, she just delves in deep and wiggles her hips there, grinding against me, her fat nuts slapping gently against my nose as they roll along my face. It makes for a rough ride, but I never expected I'd enjoy something like this even half as much as I actually do.

When she bucks forward suddenly, pushing deeper into my eager mouth, I know what's coming next, and I feel myself starting to stiffen as my body responds to the imminent orgasm that's about to burst free. This is how we're going to do it, and I can't complain. Not just because it's rude to talk with my mouth full.

Sure, I wouldn't mind letting her take a few humps at me, or giving her a stiff place to sit, but it's probably best if we just finish each other off like this and move on to our respective beds. Hope I can swallow it all. It isn't that I don't like the thick, silky texture or the bittersweet taste of her, it's just that there's so fucking much.

My view is totally blocked by her south end, her full sack swinging, thick tanks spanking into my nose as her powerful muscles contract rhythmically. My eyelids flutter, a straight-on view of the dark pucker of her anus staring right into my eyes, her fleshy ring contracting as her hips pump up and down atop my mouth, the musky scent of her sexual heat filling my lungs. Oh, I think she's going to enjoy her magic moment, and soon.

Her motions grow a bit more fervent, a bit more reflective of the many other cues her burly body is giving me to signal that she's getting close. Her breath comes harder and faster, her legs shake slightly under the force of her thrusting, her toes digging into the sheets as her muscles all seem to clench.

A shudder passes through her core, building in warmth, and then her whole body seems to freeze in place. She's drawn almost all back, just the plump head of her heartbeating prick lodged between my lips as she poises to empty her reserves with a shuddering, muffled groan that almost brings me off right then and there.

When she's about to pop, it's poetry in motion. I adore the way she looks when she's right there on the edge, and maybe even more so when she finally gets to tip over. The tension releases, a torrent of cum erupting from the depths of her guts.

She fills my mouth with warm cream, and I feel the hard flexing of that enormous prick inside of me as it pumps out her ejaculate. It's almost steaming-hot, viscous, potent despite the fact that she's blowing out an absolute river. It's twice what I put out, probably, and I'm pretty good at throwing a batch of spunk out when I get worked up.

My nose fills with the sweet smell of her passion as she wrings out her mess, my body writhing underneath her as I, too, start to spurt out my gooey load, making her moan warmly as she tastes my essence, while the back of my throat gets showered in hers.

It's coming hard and fast. I have to start swallowing, just so I won't choke or spill any of that mess. More than a mouthful. Maybe a double or triple mouthful. It's probably like having three partners erupting between my lips at a time.

We're both soaked in sweat by the time her climax subsides. Ten fat ropes, coming from her, is a pretty moderate amount. Fourteen on a good day? Yes, she can certainly get real generous when she wants to. It's almost scary, the amount this woman can squirt when she gets going.

But hey, I don't complain, not when I can drink every last drop of it. The gene therapy to make her shoot like this must have cost a ton of creds, but goodness, if it isn't a hell of a lot of fun. She's like a cannon when she really starts firing. She could've gone into smut vids with an output like that.

Little Pepper looks satisfied, and her belly swells as Chains pops off of her, leaving her to twitch in the open air, a mere final drizzle of pearly nectar leaking from her tip as she begins to delicately soften. "Ohhh, damn..." I pant, sighing deeply. "That was... mmm, wow."

Chains doesn't bother saying anything, simply lying still, her glistening member dangling between us after it slips back out of my mouth, still twitching a little from residual stimulation. Maybe it's just that she can't say much that wouldn't be a big, happy groan, the kind that'd wake the block.

We lay there for a minute, just basking in the afterglow of such a rousing session. I'm exhausted, but I'm also sated and happy. No better fuel for sweet dreams than this, really.

***

I've almost lost track of the time I've been behind bars now. I think it's coming up on three weeks, but maybe it's actually nearer to a month. And yet, I'm surprisingly content here, even though I've been forced to endure some truly miserable moments. Chains is to blame for any contentment I've found, instead of abject suffering.

Having someone to watch my back, to make sure the other women don't screw with me- either figuratively or literally- has definitely been a comfort. Especially since it turns out I have quite the soft spot for the big blonde who keeps me company most nights.

When the day comes that a Warden buzzes me into her office, I am led down the empty halls with something close to apprehension. Soon, I know, I'll be leaving this place behind, but a part of me almost doesn't want to.

There's something comforting about knowing where you stand, having someone looking over your shoulder, keeping you safe. Back out there in Sunset City, on the outside? It's just my syndicate and myself that I can count on, and in both I sometimes have my doubts.

But I know the truth: This prison will always hold a special place in my heart because of what happened here. For the first time ever, I got to give myself completely to another person, to let them take control and do whatever they wanted with me.

It isn't just because we fucked, with me on the receiving end. That was new and pretty exciting, but it doesn't explain the entire situation I'm feeling.

All the flings I'd had before, all those brief encounters with partners that barely had names or faces to me, were never really about me. They were all about my dick, about getting it hard and inserting it wherever was convenient, close, preferably wet - and, after popping out a thick load, moving along.

I didn't think any of this could be anything more than a little stupid fun. Until I met Chains. Not only did I find her attractive, I found her intelligent, thoughtful, and funny. I enjoyed spending time with her.

That, I hadn't experienced before. It's not how it's supposed to go. You do it, have a lot of fun, and part ways when it's done. I found tons of girls I wanted to bone, and I could've taken it from some lady who had the right gear, if I ever had that inclination about myself, but...

"You're a lucky bitch," says one of the guards standing at attention outside the Warden's door. He's wearing a black uniform, his badge gleaming in the dim light. His voice is low, calm. "Get in there, have your meeting, and get your ass out of here. I hope we don't ever have to see your face again."

He pushes open the heavy steel door for me, and I step inside. It's a very tidy office, the low thrum of the aircon almost lulling me into a daze as I look around.

A huge desk dominates the middle of the room, flanked on both sides by tall bookcases full of books. Wardens. There's a reason why even the toughest bitches, if they have any sense, shut the fuck up and shrink in their presence.

The Wardens, as they are, aren't really individuals in this prison, so much as a single entity, an AI construct with a number of frightening sim bodies to inhabit and wear.

This particular one wears a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up. Her hair is long and golden blond, falling past her shoulders and framing her delicate features. It makes me feel self-conscious. Absolutely no disguising her plated skin, her artificiality. Not born, built.

Even behind the desk, it's apparent that this woman is Amazonian in stature; towering over me, making me feel small and insignificant. She could pull me apart like a pair of chopsticks - or anyone I could think of, even the stupidly tough ones.

She smiles at me, her teeth sharp and perfect. "Hello, Ms, Burroughs," she clips along in that even, quantized monotone that's common among many artificial intelligences, like she's reciting lines she learned a long time ago. "Kindly take a seat, and we may then proceed to discuss matters pertaining to your release."

It's not until I sit down across from her that I realize how nervous I am. Not just because this Warden - Construct 17 - is strong enough to put down a whole-block riot entirely on its own. I'm going to be leaving this place behind, leaving Chains behind too, and I can't help feeling sad about it, to a degree.

Maybe I have feelings for her. I mean, I wouldn't call it love exactly, but there's no denying the intensity of our connection. If I leave her here, alone, I won't be able to see her anymore, talk to her, touch her. At best, all I could do was write her.

"I shall begin. We have received an authorized RoR form PBBX-7BZ-0145E, authorized by the Sunset City Council under section four hundred sixty-nine of the Criminal Justice Act, requesting that I grant you a cessation of your present incarceration status. As such, you will be released from custody within two days' time."

The Warden taps away at her computer screen for a moment, and then looks back at me. "We understand that you have a syndicate affiliation, and as per Penal Code regulations, I must inform you that you are prohibited from associating yourself with criminal activity while residing in Sunset City, including the use of violence against people or property, or participating in any manner in illicit narcotics sales. Should you fail to adhere to these conditions, you will be subject to prosecution according to the terms specified in your probationary contract."

This is all boilerplate, all perfunctory end-user license agreement stuff. But the words hit home anyway, because I'll have to go back to working for Blank Card now that I'm free, and I can't help thinking, what kind of life will I lead?

I've kind of learned some things about myself in these past few weeks, and I don't want to lose sight of those lessons, because when I think about it, it feels like something important is being stolen from me. Something I want, even. Maybe. Possibly. I don't really know.

I look down at the forms she presents me on the tablet, fingerprint-signing them and thinking, somehow, that I'd be more excited about getting out of here if I didn't feel that some small part of myself was being left behind.

***

"All right, look, I would've tried to get you a whole cake and everything, but we're stuck with what commissary has for us, so for now this is gonna have to do."

I laugh a little as I produce, from behind my back, a package of two snack-size cupcakes, frosted pink and yellow. They were a daily special from the commissary. I'd only been given a pittance from Sparrow, and those credits go fast in here.

I had been hoping to get her something better than that, but there wasn't anything else I could afford. And besides, this isn't a real party. Just something I know I need to do, a distraction from our chess game in the library; for the record, I still haven't won, but I've been close at times.

Chains dips her head, a wan smile upon her lips as she accepts the cupcakes. "You're supposed to be the one getting the gifts, Pepper, not giving. Big day tomorrow. Breathe in that city air, hit a noodle stand, be a free woman."

What I want to say is hard. Harder, honestly, than whipping my dick out in front of another girl ever was. Fucking is simple. Basic. You know who you're doing it with, you know where, you know what's coming next. You don't have to feel any feelings inside. There's nothing complicated about it.

With the way I feel about Chains, though... I almost hesitate before opening my mouth. "Look, Chains..."

Her eyes narrow slightly. She knows why I'm saying whatever it is that I'm saying, and she knows it's hard.

"I'm just... going to miss this. Not this place, obviously. It's prison. I sort of fucking hate it here. But I'm going to miss you."

A silence falls between us. Her face grows serious. For a brief instant, I wonder whether I should apologize, and then decide against it.

"Pepper," she says finally. "I am glad that I helped make it more bearable here, but..." she chuckles. "I was doing so well, and then you came along. You've made me suffer, since the first night."

I blink, a little confused, as I look over the table at her. "Suffer? I don't get it. Did I do something? Because I really didn't mean to."

She laughs again, and turns to study the board, as if working to suppress her emotions. "It's a noble truth, you know, that suffering is born of desire. We want, and for our wants we suffer. We long for the thing we cannot have, and thus we suffer. We want better things than those which are already laid before us, and this begets suffering. In my case, and I believe yours too, we want a thing which cannot be, and... we suffer."

I turn my attention to the board. My queen has just taken her last pawn, and I'm ready to move up to checkmate. I take a deep breath. I can't have my mind on the game with all that bouncing around in my brain. It can wait.