The Last Time

"Haven't you noticed what I've got in my hair?" she asked, a flirtatious giggle lifting the corners of her mouth, pointing a finger at the mistletoe tangled in her hair, the unexpected acquaintance of his lips meeting hers in a meaningful kiss bringing her quickly back to sobering reality.

She stepped back, breaking away from the kiss, her face registering uncertainty as if contemplating a situation that she really wanted but never expected could actually happen.

Words weren't necessary. A playful interaction of touch and feel and a brief exchange of persuasive gestures was all it took to fuel the fire of passion.

He kissed her with the compulsion of a hot-blooded man overwhelmed by the natural and compelling pursuit of human sexual response, pressing urgently against her body, letting her feel the firmness inside his pants.

He was suggestive. She was flirtatious, pushing back against the force, meeting the intensity of his impulsive urge, letting him feel the softness of her warm inviting body.

Even though he was a little surprised at the speed of her submission, the intoxicating touch of her soft lips and warm breath quickly eroded any indecision from his mind.

But he was aware that the real challenge he faced with Christine wasn't because she was naive or inexperienced. It was more that her impetuous desire for stimulation might be compromised because of the bizarre circumstances.

Caution and rational melting away in the heat of passion, pulses racing, hormonal chaos awakening senses, the harnessing of involuntary gestures and a simulation of coital foreplay stirring emotions, the promise of expectation increasing arousal, faces coming together, mouths meeting, lips touching, tongues flirting and dancing over teeth in a mating courtship of mutual engagement, responsive gestures and impulsive movements promising him the moment was real.

The risk. The danger. The excitement. The promise of persuasive gestures fuelling the fire of passion, her face flushing with urgent desire, her heart banging inside her chest, the buttons on her blouse almost bursting, arterial busts of emotional fluids gathering between her legs, urgency and need brushing away any last chance of caution.

Although fearful of the incriminations should she be caught fucking an inmate, the desire to have him between her legs far outweighed any complications or uncertainties.

"Follow me," she smiled, curling a finger invitingly as she headed into the corridor.

Obeying her command he followed quickly on her heels, although with such an impressive hard-on he would have probably obeyed any order she gave.

However, although the promise of surreptitious intimacy was stimulating and exciting and washed away the need for caution, the consequences of being caught were never too far from his thoughts.

The inmate's toilet at the end of the corridor was desperately small and left little room for movement. With a toilet pan and a small wash hand basin and a single light bulb hanging from a bare wire it certainly lacked romantic ambience.

It certainly wasn't designed for two people anticipating intercourse.

It was dangerous. It was outrageous. It was insane. It would have to be hurried.

His pants were at his feet before her bottom hit the toilet seat.

A gasping moment of awe and disbelief, her eyes wide open staring with alluring fascination at the gruesome limb liberated from captivity, bobbing and swaying between the folds of his shirt, shifting her weight on the toilet seat and curling her fingers around the thick veiny shaft, feeling the swollen object pulsing between her fingers, feeling the weight of the throbbing muscle cradled in her hand.

A well-practiced hand worked the length with proficient ease, pulling and tugging, up and down, pulling and dragging, tugging and releasing, long strokes fast and meaningful, short strokes slow and deliberate, feeling the surge of blood throbbing between her fingers, stretching the loose foreskin down the length, pulling it back until it shrouded the head.

Insatiable lust, arousal and expectation fuelling impulsive gestures, curiosity and responsive pursuit driving habitual explorations, the promise of lustful intent dancing behind flashing eyes, dragging her long fingernails across the scrotum, cradling his oval testicles in her hand, giving each one a gentle squeeze before curling her fingers around the long veined column and easing him into her hungry mouth.

Easing him in, easing him out, a warm mouth, a long tongue and a bobbing head working the length with sensuous ease, leaving a wash of oral fluid glistening on the smooth head, sweeping her tongue over the small eye with hungry intent, feasting on a smearing of sticky fluids before peppering light kisses along a sinuous blue vein, feeling the warmth and the visceral surge of blood pulsing between her lips, easing him in, easing him out, holding his cock in tender capture between her teeth, a prisoner in her mouth, sucking and blowing, looking up into his eyes to see his reaction.

"Stand up," he whispered, taking her arm, the motioning gesture getting her to her feet, his hands already unbuttoning her blouse, fumbling and cursing with the bra clasp until it yielded and both garments fell to the floor.

Heart beats racing, pulses buzzing and humming, chemicals charging adrenaline, hormonal chaos dancing in a tango of carnal uncertainty, mouths colliding, hands sweeping over hot naked flesh, hips moving in a simulation of coital foreplay, a courtship of promising expectation, fondling and squeezing breasts, biting and mauling nipples, groping and scratching buttocks, touching and feeling genitalia, the receptive and unrelenting compulsion of reckless interaction accompanied by commentary of compliments and empty promises.

Her inner thighs were moist, her knickers wet, her legs parting in an invitation of carnal enquiry, a searching hand sliding inside the lace fabric, feeling the thick bush of pubic hair slipping between his fingers, feeling the wet flaps and folds of a burning vulva, her slippery entrance welcoming his fingers inside her body.

"That's so good," she breathed into his mouth, sending a rush of hot breath spilling into his lungs. "More fingers," she urged, her confidence growing in urgent gestures of persuasive simulation, her libido increasing by the second, her body preparing for the invasion she knew was coming and desperately needed.

A hesitant pause, a deep intake of breath and a frustrated sigh, as if contemplating the risk of her next action. But with a body swimming in a sea of hormonal chaos, a brain clouded with probability and uncertainty and a mind struggling to process rational words, the conclusion was always inevitable.

"Fuck it," was all she said, turning around to face the wall, shamelessly pulling her knickers to the floor, lifting her skirt over the contours of her hips until the fabric had gathered at her waist, leaning forward with one knee on the toilet and one foot on the floor, one hand flat against the tiled wall, the other hand gripping the hand basin, her legs spread apart, looking back over her shoulder, words dancing impatiently behind her eyes.

Christine was hot and impatient. She had given up worrying about making too much noise. It was far too late to agonise over such trivial matters now.

Her words were loud and insistent. "FUCK ME!"

No preliminary. No finesse. A single thrust of his hips and he was inside her body.

A carnal connection of urgent commitment, both hands holding her waist, thighs smacking against her buttocks, the treacherous limb stretching the moist flaps and folds, opening the inner walls, filling her body with nine-and-a-half-inches of hard cock.

"Oh yes," she breathed. "Don't stop...Faster," she urged, a visceral surge of adrenalin and oxygen rushing through her bloodstream into genitalia, stealing the life source from other organs, glancing over her shoulder, the expression on her face a twisted mask of pleasure.

She was swimming in a sea of hormonal chaos. He was drowning in an ocean of testosterone. Two strangers caught in a raging sea of emotional tides and turbulent currents, riding the waves of an unpredictable storm, testing the troubled waters of risk, danger and uncertainty, a responsive expression of carnal lust and submissive persuasion, a physical demonstration of tireless stamina and endless libido, the alpha-male easing into a steady momentum, buttocks clenching and relaxing, entering and retreating, pushing in and pulling out, hard and fast, penetrating deep, plunging into the depths of her burning interior, increasing the pace, thrusting and pushing, hammering and grinding, in and out, back and forth, banging her like a screen door in a hurricane.

A whimpering cry and an uncomfortable shuffle, a breathless voice gasping for precious air, submissive gestures and pleas for calm hissed between clenched teeth.

"Your cock is too big. You're hurting me. Slow down," she pleaded, the brief pause giving her just enough time to adjust her knee on the toilet seat and tighten her grip on the wash hand basin, before the impulsive gestures of intimacy interrupted her calming appraisal.

With the momentum of a perfectly tuned piston he moved inside her body, easing in slowly, stretching the tight entrance, easing out in a seamless exit, in and out, slow and methodical, allowing her to adjust to the brutal force, watching and waiting for the signal to unleash the ultimate pulse and let her feel the energy of his tireless machine.

A mutual engagement of intimate connection, her willingness to continue acknowledged in an invitation of verbal gestures and coital suggestion, wriggling and swivelling her bottom, pushing back to meet the full impact of his perilous length, giving and taking, taking and giving, entering and retreating, giving more, taking more, moans and groans, whimpering cries and choking gasps, fading in a monologue of breathless curses and urgent suggestion.

"Fuck me hard. Make me come," she pleaded, shuffling on her knee in a precarious but well-practiced vulva squeezing action, gripping his cock in a vice like grip, feeling the obscene length and formidable girth almost tearing her apart.

"Christine wanted a good hard fucking. She was getting that...But how would she deal with an orgasm," he thought, glancing at his watch, the fast ticking timepiece reminding him that after being locked behind closed doors for twenty-minutes, it was time to find out.

Her beauty, her unabashed nakedness, the curves and contours of perfection, the cheeks of her bottom open and inviting, the dark pigmented skin of her anus and sphincter muscles pulsing with aroused expectation, the musky odours of sex teasing his nostrils, beads of sweat dripping off his chin and onto the floor, his shirt stuck to his back, a synchronised fucking-machine pushing in and pulling out, in and out, a seamless expression of domination over submissiveness, two people groaning out their pleasure under the rhythmic sound of hard masculine flesh slapping against soft feminine flesh, the wet sloppy noises from their tireless copulation echoing in a musical overture off the tiled walls inside the small enclosure.

Compliments following a string of insincere promises, curses following uncompromising commands, moans and groans smothered under a chorus of euphoric mutterings, a woman reaching the heights of no return, a woman freefalling towards orgasm.

"Oh God," she cried. "Oh God," she repeated. "I'm fucking coming," she cursed in an outburst of unholy pledges and filthy vocabulary, her blessing from the almighty as close to a prayer as she had come in a long time.

A helpless mouth breathing in short gasps of air, a body shuddering and jerking, tensing and stiffening, her legs beginning to buckle, vaginal muscles tightening around the custodial visitor, gripping his cock in tender confinement, orgasmic mutterings growing in pace and volume, an active volcano of immense proportions erupting from her toes and up her legs, into her chest and face, tingling her fingertips and rattling her teeth, reaching the farthest recess of her brain, a whiplash of blinding white-hot orgasm flooding through her body in a plateau of euphoric waves, a heavenly sea of emotional ecstasy, the ultimate release of an earth shattering, knee-trembling orgasm celebrated in shimmering silence.

Shuffling her feet and glancing back over her shoulder, a deep intake of breath, the earth shaking tremors slowly subsiding into shivering gasps of exhaustion and complete surrender, a primitive part of her soul offering a breathless gesture of urgent persuasion.

"You need to come," was all she said.

A couple of thrusts accompanied by a vocal chorus of teeth grinding moans and groans, his balls exploding firing a sea of seminal fluids gushing up his shaft, his steamy cascade spilling from the single eye with the intensity of a flash flood, his reserves of liquid passion endless, multiple loads of his life creation splashing with an unforgiving force against the threshold of the cervix, coating the walls of her innermost depths.

After a short interlude of rearranging clothes and making sure that all signs of mischief had been removed, they shared a smile and a kiss and with as much dignity as they could manage they walked back to the kitchen and casually resumed their duties.

Neither of them spoke for a while, two tongue-tied strangers sitting in silence, staring at each other, radiant faces betraying their moment of risky fornication, breathing in the fear and excitement, forcing the occasional smile, both aware of that they had been outrageously daring and extremely lucky not to have been caught.

"I don't think we've been missed," Christine said, breaking the silence, lighting a cigarette with a shaking hand and pouring wine into a glass, draining the contents in a couple of mouthfuls trying to calm her nerves and regain her composure.

She spoke in conspiratorial whispers. "That was amazing. Have we got time for seconds?" she mockingly asked her post coital flush fading. "I can't wait for your release date," she added, shooting him an impish smile and raising a quizzical eyebrow.

He was aware that Christine was responsible for sending out the inmates visiting orders and would therefore have a record of his personal details, including his home address, telephone number and marital status.

He returned her smile but said nothing in reply.

Christmas and New Year slipped quietly away.

A few inmates risked going over the fence to celebrate Christmas and New Year with friends or loved ones, but their freedom was short lived and inevitably one-by-one they eventually returned to face the consequences of an extended sentence.

Christmas in prison was lonely and depressing, but light always follows darkness.

The Parole Board had recommended that he could be released early on licence and therefore he would only have to serve six-months of his initial eighteen-month sentence.

Nothing else mattered. He had a new vitality to his life. All he could think about was his new release date and the eventual home comforts with Jill and their daughter Catherine.

'Keep your nose clean...Stay out of trouble,' the mantra inside his head repeated.

Time in prison seemed to stand still. Long tedious days, predictable weeks and monotonous months, all seemed to move desperately slow and for most inmates boredom was inevitable.

Sometimes a letter or the monthly visit with friends or loved ones was the only thing that kept them going.

He should have listened to Tom Bradley when he told him not to get involved with the personal grievances of other inmates.

But when the 'Dear John' letters started to arrive and he discovered that a large number of inmates lacked a basic academic education and some couldn't even read or write, he volunteered his literary services.

But his skills as an 'Agony Aunt' therapist didn't last long. Most of his letters proved to have a negative response which led to some inmates becoming aggressive and threatening, so for the sake of his health he decided to decline any further assistance to inmates concerning matrimonial issues or matters of infidelity.

He quickly turned his skills from human therapy to Chess. Teaching a couple of inmates how to play Chess was certainly a safer option than the hostility of a scorned woman.

One of the inmates wrote a letter to his sister in Canada which triggered a lot of interest from her family and friends who were keen to set up a game.

They accepted that the game would have to be communicated via the postal service and would inevitably be a time consuming event. Nevertheless, everyone was enthusiastic and subsequently England-v-Canada began positively.

But after only four-weeks into the game Douglas Wood got wind of what was taking place and decided it was inappropriate and subsequently prevented any further postal contact overseas. The game was terminated with all black and white pieces still in play.

Once again the 'King' had looked down on his 'Pawns' with amusement and contempt.

Christine Noble always made sure his visiting order was delivered on time, so when the day arrived he was always well prepared for his monthly visit with Jill and Catherine.

It was only just after half-past one on a cold Saturday afternoon and he was already sitting in the visiting room anxiously waiting for his two-o'clock visit with Jill.

His mind was in chaos. He was eating cigarettes. He couldn't get the thought of the prison officer's irresponsible and careless action out of his head.

'Keep your nose clean...Stay out of trouble...Don't do anything that could affect your parole.

The voice inside his head was a cautious reminder and one that he intended telling himself everyday until his release.

So what went wrong?

It was a typical Saturday morning, working for a few hours in the administration block, cleaning the offices and toilets and making beverages for the three prison officers on duty.

He was almost at the end of his shift when a fat unpleasant prison officer in his mid-fifties called him into his office. A chain-smoker, never without a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a face permanently shrouded in a cloud of smoke, the imminent date of his retirement the only thing on his mind.

"Brand," he shouted, snapping two fingers together as if he was calling his pet dog.

"Come into my office. I've got an errand for you," he gasped, crushing his cigarette into an overflowing ashtray, squeezing his fat arse into a chair and lighting another cigarette, his lack of enthusiasm and carefree persona a clear sign that he had been given a desk-job to ease his transition into early retirement.

"I want you to go to the central store and ask for Fred," he grunted, handing him two large empty coffee-jars, his breath smelling of alcohol and cigarettes, his emphysema making him breathe in quick short gasps.

"Give the jars to Fred and he will fill them with gloss paint," he said, lifting from the chair and slapping him dismissively on the shoulder. "And be quick about it. My wife wants me to paint some doors when I get home today," he cursed, inhaling deeply on his cigarette, a throaty chuckle unsettling the phlegm inside his chest, an uncontrollable fit of wheezing and coughing following him out the door.

It wasn't until he was back inside the pre-fabricated building and getting ready for his monthly visit with Jill and Catherine when he realised the Prison Officer was actually stealing paint from HMP stores, and furthermore he had implicated him in his crime.

'Keep your nose clean...Stay out of trouble...Don't do anything that could affect your parole. The voice of caution nagged inside his head as he waited for Jill to arrive.