Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 05

"Yeah? Well, you can count freckles all you want but it won't be long before there's other guards walking the hall outside. So up to you how you spend the time." Rob answered. He walked over to the table, retrieving his lighter and then retreating back out of Arlene's line of sight.

This spurred Lucas into action. He lowered her arms but kept his hold on the cuffs. Now he led her to the back of the room, pulling her through the old cell door and spinning her round so that Arlene fell onto her ass as back of her legs collided with the edge of the prison cot. Lucas pulled the door closed behind him, for effect Arlene thought until she heard it snap close with a worrying 'click'.

"Feels different this side of the door, don't it?" Lucas moved till he stood above her, he waggled his half erect cock in front of Arlene's face like an orchestral conductor gripping his baton.

She didn't bother answering him, she just wanted this over with. Arlene did what she had to do, using one hand to guide his cock into her open mouth.

As she suckled on the rapidly hardening dick she gagged slightly from the salty taste of sweat and the smell from his crotch. Clearly his bathing habits were as haphazard as his shaving technique. The black cock swelled between her lips, rigid now as her tongue flickered beneath the head. She bobbed her head a few times, each upward motion accompanied by her lips pursing and tightening around the shaft, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked deeply on the fleshy lollipop.

"Jeezus..." Lucas moaned as Arlene drew her head back, cock momentarily escaping from its confinement with a moist shucking sound. Strands of her hair had worked their way loose from her ponytail and they hung like a diaphanous scarlet veil, poorly shielding the sight of Deputy Arlene McGuigan eating convict cock ravenously. The smell and taste no longer bothered her. The cock mattered. The black cock splitting her mouth as she coated it in drool.

He slapped the flat side of the cuffs so that the tenuous hold she'd had on his cock was torn away. Then he gripped her by her hair, pushing his cock deep inside, holding it in place as she choked, the stiff member pushing her gag reflex. He pulled back slightly, then began fucking her mouth, staying just shy of setting off the innate reflex once again. Arlene closed her eyes as he fucked her mouth like it was a sexual organ, she visibly held herself back from stopping him, fingers curling into fists as her bound hands hung between her knees.

When he finally stopped, he pulled out at an angle, so his cock distended her cheek as it was dragged slowly from her saliva smeared mouth. Lucas didn't give her anytime to recover, perhaps Rob's warning has in the back of his mind now, giving a sense of urgency to his movements as he hauled Arlene upright from the bed and to her feet.

Arlene found herself gripping on a bar of the old cell door as Lucas roughly kicked her feet further apart, spreading her legs. He pushed his cock inside her, no finesse, just driving himself in deep. Her pussy was slick, Rob's ejaculation and her own juices giving the convicts black cock a smooth passage despite her muscles clamping onto the invading shaft, walls pressing on all sides.

He started fucking like a man possessed, fast and hard. She couldn't really blame him. Before she had succumbed the night she'd escorted Erica to the bar, Arlene had gone without sex for over a year. Lucas had been without real release for twice that length of time. He was certainly attempting to make up for lost time but she feared he'd finish before she did.

"If I had the time, I'd a fucked you in this phat ass, had you gruntin' like the pig you are." he gasped as he burrowed deep inside her pussy.

"Ghnn, uhh, uh, uh"

"Yeah, love me a phat white ass an' you got a fine soft piece of fuck meat pushin' back on me." he continued, slapping her on each cheek, left, right, left again so that her ivory skin burned red beneath the blows and tears of pain and pleasure leaked out, rolling down her face.

Lucas, his cock inside her, shuffled back a half step. Arlene had no option but to waddle backwards as well, her grip on the metal cell door slipping lower as she did so. He raised her left leg clear off the floor, she bent it back at the knee so it found some purchase against his body. Lucas grabbed at her left breast, kneading the soft flesh pillow, feeling its weight in the palm of his hand. He continued to massage it as he began shifting back and forth once again, his pace slower but as deep probing as before.

"Jes not enough time." the young black prisoner complained, "love to soak these titties in cum as well, see it drippin' off them nipples."

"Uhhh... Uhhh... Uhhh... Uhhh." Arlene grunted in a steady outpouring of unintelligible sounds.

Once again, he shifted position, pulling out of Arlene's body and guiding her to stand up straight. He turned her around, ducking between her shackled limbs so that her arms were draped over the back of his neck. With a show of strength that she thought beyond his skinny body, the younger man hoisted her up effortlessly, holding her in place with a single hand while he guided his cock into her sopping wet pussy, lowering her onto his shaft. Arlene curled her legs around his waist as he removed his hand from her ass. Now she was fucking him, rising up, dropping down, grinding her needy snatch against the root of his strong stiff cock before rising up anew.

"Yeah girl, come get what you need." he taunted her. Arlene sped up, small micro-orgasms teasing her, her body titillating her in tandem with the man's words.

"Uhuh, uh, uh, uh, uh, ah...ah-ha, uh, yes... yes...uhh"

"Not in yo phat ass, not on them sweet titties... nah gonna finish up in that cop cunt. Gonna breed me a pig bitch, cum all up in her. You still fertile bitch, not too old for breedin' are ya?" Lucas was staring her in the eyes as he heckled her, daring her to respond, to stop. Arlene couldn't, she was too close now, the finish line was in sight.

"Urrrghghh... uh, uh, urrrgghh" she rode him harder, trying to punish him with a frantic pulverising pace. He soaked it up, loving it.

"Yeah, you not too old, can see you buckin' and fuckin', whole body achin' fer the cum. You jes keep on going, de nut is comin'. I got me three different baby mamas on the outside, all boys they gave me. Maybe knockin' up the po-po will give me a little female piglet, eh?"

"Just... uh, just fucking cum...uh, uh, you... you bastard." she wheezed breathlessly.

Arlene's gun belt jiggled on her bare hips, her sensitive nipples dragged themselves up and down on the grubby white tank top he wore. Her tits were sore from the friction and the jostling action, her ass still stung from the slaps he'd delivered. A hundred and one aches and pains emitted from her body, an ever present unhealed emotional injury tormented her soul, none of them matched the throbbing, gnawing, pounding, stabbing, shivering, darting, itching NEED that filled her pussy. She let herself go, pushing down the regrets of the past, the fears for the future. She swallowed them deep down, covering them up with the now, the cock, the pleasure, the orgasm. Arlene's head tilted forward and to the side, her lips finding Lucas's, tongue darting inside his mouth, mashing into his and twirling around like a deranged ballerina.

He clamped both hands onto her ass, supporting her as he pushed her back against the cell bars, adding his own pelvic thrusts to hers, perfectly in sync, flawless erotic rhythm. The sweating panting forms melded into one, ebony flesh penetrating ivory, white skin dragging against black. Arlene broke the kiss against her will, her need to scream countermanding her desire to feast on his mouth as his cock finally delivered, pumping his cum inside her. The sperm stoking the flames inside her pussy instead of dousing them, her orgasm mauling, cleaving its way through her nerve endings.

"ARRRRGGGGGHHHhhhh, uh, oooohhhh, arrgghhhhh, uuuh, uhhh, uhhh" the sounds of her pleasure feral, savage.

Episode 3: "Nitimur in vetitum" *We strive after what is forbidden

Erica checked herself in the bathroom stall mirror once more. She hadn't much to go on and that made her nervous. There was a name, Cranston Haywood, a work address and the fact he had shared a cell at one point with Gerry Butterman. That was it, no personal details or even a photo. Still, aside from the nerves, she felt good getting back to what she knew best... investigating a story.

She had no leverage to make him talk and chances were presenting herself as a reporter working with law enforcement wasn't going to endear her to the guy. That's why Erica had adopted a persona, a disguise... sort of. She was wearing a dark trouser suit and white open necked shirt to give herself a formal appearance. Her shoulder length brown hair was tied back into a severe, no-nonsense bun and a pair of oversized glasses completed the look. The glasses weren't prescription and the woman working the register at the opticians had been puzzled when Erica had bought a pair with clear lens in them. They did the job though, her blue eyes lowered demurely behind the lens as she posed in the mirror. She looked like a low-level government office worker, exactly as she hoped.

The icing on the cake had been courtesy of her high school years, a forged official looking ID badge pinned to her suit jacket. The ID read 'Erica Smyth -- Virginia Department of Corrections -- Probation and Parole' and she'd fixed a passport sized picture of herself about the text. It looked good, she hoped it looked good enough to fool Cranston Haywood at least.

Stepping out of the bathroom and through the door of the diner that she'd stopped at for a quick coffee, Erica glanced at Google Maps on her phone. Cranston had gotten a job at a facility for manufactured homes. She'd had to google that as well when Arlene had sent her the information, it seemed that he was working in a place that made trailer homes. It was only another five-minute drive so Erica stopped her stalling, got into her car and headed to the factory site.

Factory site might have been a generous term. Facility also didn't seem quite right either. Had she not known any better, Erica could have sworn she'd pulled up in a scrap yard, a place where trailer homes went to die. The 'factory' consisted of a number of single storey warehouses, four that she could see, set back from the road and surrounded by a chain metal fence. There was an intact trailer just inside the main gate that had 'office' spray painted in red on one side of the door. Flanking the warehouses at the front and curling in behind the office were the decaying, semi demolished remains of twenty, maybe even thirty of the mobile homes.

Erica drove her car to the side, parking it against one of the decrepit looking trailers. As she stepped out an elderly man, bald as an egg, hobbled out of the office and made his way towards her.

"Help you miss?" He made the enquiry as he approached her, pale blue eyes squinting at her identification as he spoke. He offered her a hand; liver spots flecked the white skin on his gnarled hands.

"Yes, thank you. Would you be the... owner, manager maybe?"

"Yes, I'm the owner, Harold Masterson."

"Fantastic, pleasure to meet you Mr Masterson. I'm just here to speak to one of your employees, a Cranston Haywood. Would he be working today?" As she asked, Erica realised that there was a chance the man she sought might not even be here.

"Sure, sure, Cranston is here. Back behind building four. Working on cutting the frames. There a problem? He okay? He's a good worker, I haven't had any trouble at all with him."

"Please, please, there is no cause for concern. I'm sorry to turn up here unannounced as well. I happened to be in the area when I was asked to call out here to ask Mr Haywood some questions." Erica was bullshitting, thinking on her feet and loving it. "No, I can assure you that Mr Haywood is in no trouble at all, this is simply a case of some follow up questions related to another parolee."

"Uh-huh, well if you say so." Masterson glanced at the watch on his wrist, then squinted up into the evening sky. "Well, if you want to catch him then I won't keep you any longer. It's almost finishing time and he'll soon be done for the day. Best you leave your car where it is, only a short walk down. Building four is last one on the right, Cranston should be out in front of it."

Directions given, Mr Masterson turned and trundled back towards his office, apparently dismissing Erica from his mind completely.

She fished her handbag from the car, locked it up and began walking towards the warehouse that he'd indicated. She could hear the crash of metal on metal, the low grumble of machinery and the occasional high-pitched shriek of metal sheets being cut. Despite all the noise, Erica didn't see anyone around, all the workers appeared to be inside one or other of the buildings.

As she drew close to building number four Erica could make out two figures sorting through long lengths of steel. 'These must be the frames' she thought to herself. Closer still and Erica felt a sensation she was all too well acquainted with. A slight trembling of her legs and a flight of butterflies staging ariel acrobatics in her stomach. The reason? Both men were black.

"Keep it together and keep your legs together." she whispered to herself as she walked on, "Focus on the job."

At first, she thought the smaller of the two men was a midget but that was just because the second man was so tall. The smaller man was in fact about the same height as herself, older, in his forties certainly and with a scowl that did nothing to improve the ugly cast to his face. The taller man had giant like proportions. Maybe seven feet tall and built as solidly as a truck. He didn't have the toned musculature of a gym enthusiast, the impossibly broad shoulders and slabs of muscles a product of nature and his labour it appeared. Like his shorter friend he had an unattractive face. The smaller mans features seemed too small, beady eyes, a receding chin, the bigger man's features being the opposite, a wide and oft broken nose above a misshapen mouth filled with crooked teeth. Both of them wore matching green bandanas on their heads and were shirtless, just old stained jeans and heavy work boots to protect them as they laboured.

Taking an educated guess, the bigger man looked to be in his early twenties although his build and features made that a shot in the dark, Erica assumed the smaller man was the one she was after.

"Cranston Haywood?" The tightening of his shoulders was all the response she got, but it was enough. The two of them had watched her approach but now they stooped back down, lifting a long piece of steel from a mismatched pile, dropping it with a clang besides others of a similar length.

"I'm with the Department of corrections. Can I have a moment of your time?" Erica stepped to the side to try see his face as she persisted.

"Ya had ten years, think I'll keep what's left of my time." Cranston answered, never turning towards her.

"Honestly, just a couple of questions and I'll be gone." Erica wheedled, "two minutes... tops."

The small man stood up arching his back. He looked at Erica, craning forward to examine her badge. Cranston grunted softly and spat to one side, his mouth opening to reply. Whatever he was to say, a sharp whistle reminiscent of a train's cut through the air silencing him. As the noise faded away the two men began to walk away, towards the back of the complex. Behind her, Erica heard the sound of doors opening and a low hubbub of conversation as the other workers spilled from the buildings and headed home after the day of work.

"Wait, please, just a minute... Hey!" Erica tottered after the departing men, both of whom totally ignored her calls as they strode past the back warehouse, disappearing around the corner of the building.

It took Erica a few seconds to negotiate the pathway in order to follow them, stands of steel bar and discarded metal cuttings made the footing treacherous to someone in heels. Rounding the corner, she saw the big man sitting on a lawn chair outside a completed Trailer, Cranston was disappearing inside as she stepped past the buildings edge.

She continued towards the trailer and saw Cranston re-emerge, a folded law chair in each hand. Seeing her he scowled once more.

"You still here?"

"I have questions, so yes I'm still here."

The scowl never left his face as he tossed the chairs to the big man who didn't flinch, snatching them out of the air, opening them up either side of his own. Cranston stepped back inside the trailer but returned before Erica was forced to follow him inside. He had a fourth lawn chair which he opened up and set up a few feet opposite the one occupied by his large friend. He stepped back and ungraciously motioned that Erica should take a seat.

She settled into the chair as Cranston took a seat beside the big man, facing her but unspeaking.

"This shouldn't be unpleasant. If you'd just hear me out, you'll see my questions are totally benign and in fact aren't even related to you. They are actually concerning someone you were incarcerated with." Erica tried to sound soothing and reasonable, but his inscrutable stare remained. "I'm Erica Smyth by the way, I should have introduced myself at the start."

Cranston turned his head, spitting onto the ground. He faced her again and jerked his chin towards her. Erica frowned, unsure what he meant by the gesture but then there was movement behind her. She swivelled her head around, eyes tracking the new arrival. Another black man, similarly attired as the other two. He was of an age with the big man, somewhere in between the others in height and build. He wasn't particularly attractive but in the company of his friends he appeared male model like. His hands were filled with three large colourful bottles that Erica recognised as a popular brand of fortified wine.

"Cran, Bishop." he said, tossing a bottle to each of the men. The newcomer took the last chair as Cranston opened his bottle, taking a long pull on it.

"Fuck... Shane, needed that. Thanks." Cranston said to the newcomer, Shane, before belching loudly.

"Who's this?" Shane indicated Erica with the bottle, "If it's a stripper for my birthday, you two months early."

Erica flushed but Cranston gave a wicked chuckle at Shanes remark, "Nah, calls herself Erica Smyth, says she's with the DOC. She's lying though."

Her flush of anger at Shane's remark deepened into a blush of embarrassment at Cranston's assertion that she was lying. She opened her mouth to deny it but a raised finger from the small man gave her pause.

"Before you go throwing more bullshit my way. I seen DOC identity badges before. What you got aint it. So maybe that's your name but you aint told me shit about what's your game." he said before swallowing another mouthful of wine. "Now girl, I had a fucking long day, I jest want to unwind, chill with friends. You know, regular shit like regular folks do. Answering bullshit questions aint exactly a relaxing experience so you can either take your shit out of here never to return, you can come back with someone who's got a real badge or ID and try asking again or if you don't like them options you can have a drink with us, mellow the fuck out and who knows, I get drunk enough I might answer your questions."

Erica looked at the three men, all now waiting on her reply.

"Fine, pass me either melon or raspberry flavour, I can't stand that pineapple crap."

"So, so lemme let me get this right, you were all in prison?" Erica fought hard not to slur her words as she talked. Between the four of them they had managed to go through almost six litres of the fortified wine and her mouth felt sticky from the sweet concoction. Something of her own inebriation was reflected in the expressions of the three men even though they had consumed the lion's share of the alcohol.