Prison Works

"If someone fucks with you, fuck them up them real bad. Even if you have to take a bit of pain yourself, if it takes them down, do it."

Not exactly the motherly advice you'd find in "Homemaker Monthly", but advice I've remembered for almost twenty years, told to me on my first day of elementary school. It helped me through the tribulations of my schooldays for sure. However, like my mother, it didn't stop me from marrying the waste of sperm I loved for a while, my husband, Lewis.

Married at twenty, and almost broke by twenty-one, I thought things couldn't get much worse. I was wrong. By the age of twenty-two I was visiting my husband in Prison. Looking back, I guess his love of fast cars and reckless heavy drinking were always doomed for a head-on collision - as was he, with a packed schoolbus. Eight years in Prison were to follow, more had it not been for the miracle of no fatal or even serious injuries.

Six months down the line from the trial, and my life had become a drudgery of making ends meet, interspersed with fortnightly visits to the Forddale Maximum Security Penitentary.

Lewis had never been a strong man, and it didn't take long for prison to wear him down. Each time I met him he seemed to have slipped further into listlessness and despair. The old arrogance and cocky smile, the things that had first attracted me to him, were vanishing quickly. The man who sat behind the reinforced glass and glared back at me was becoming as sorrowful and bland as the grey walls that surrounded him.

I tried hard to rouse him from his apathy, but he was becoming less and less communicative. It was almost a year into his sentence when I got a clue about what was wrong.

It was around March. I was sitting behind the glass, watching the prisoners file out into the visitors room, waiting for Lewis. I saw him emerge, but before he reached me another man sat opposite me, and picked up the phone. He was dark-skinned and stocky, with short black fuzzy hair. It came as a shock to see him opposite me, a smug grin sweeping across his face as he looked me up and down shamelessly.

"You a nice piece of ass, bitch,"

His words shocked me, I'd forgotten I'd already picked up the receiver, anticipating Lewis. I felt my face flush, shocked by his words and tone. He was casual, laid-back, but from his eyes I could tell he meant what he said.

"Why don't you come back here, let me play with that tight white pussy of yours, I'll..." He was suddenly grabbed by one of the guards, and yanked away before he could continue. I sat stunned, watching him grin at me as he was dragged away. As Lewis slunk into the vacant chair I realized he had been standing nearby listening to this without saying a word, or lifting a finger.

"How could you let that man talk to me like that?" I blazed.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything," Lewis stammered, "He'd go crazy if I did. I have to know my place."

"Know your place? You let that man make those suggestions and you did nothing," I hissed.

I was furious with the stranger of course, but keen to take out my frustrations on my pathetic husband. I had wanted to shout many times before. Lewis loved to wallow in self-pity, and whilst I was of course sympathetic to his suffering, it always struck me how he'd never ask about my problems, or even inquire much as to how I was. The past year had been a major struggle, and everything I'd achieved had been entirely despite Lewis, I certainly never got any support.

"You're so pathetic Lewis." I continued, "Don't be so weak. Be a man for once in your life, please."

I continued for alot longer, listening to his grovelling apologies only made it worse. After calming down I apologized to him myself. I still loved him, after all, and I felt so guilty attacking him that way, and leaving him to his prison cell.

For a time things improved a little. I was as kind and loving as was possible with our situation, and Lewis seemed to respond to it, a little at least. A few months after that first incident we got some good news. Due to his good behaviour Lewis had been granted "special visiting rights". We would have three blissful, private hours together. I felt like a virgin on her wedding night. It had been almost two years since I'd had sex. Recently things had improved financially, which meant I hadn't had to work so hard. Having all that extra energy had made me almost permanently horny. I had respected my wedding vows and been faithful to Lewis, despite the ease with which I could have cheated.

After the verdict I had been inundated with sympathetic men, some married, some close friends of my husband even, all offering to support me in any way they could. They always took great care to hint which way in particular they'd like to take care of me! A slim young blonde, alone and scared, in need of male protection and support - I was the fantasy figure of every man in the neighbourhood!

Having been so good and resisting, I was like a dog on heat as I made my way into the prison. The guard at the special visitation suite looked a happy man, aswell he should. I imagined his job consisted of processing sexily dressed and beautifully smelling women, all horny as hell. I was certainly no exception. I'd splashed out and bought everything new. New tight black dress, new stockings and suspenders, new bra and panty set, even new high heels and perfume. The room itself wasn't up to much, but i didn't care. I was here to make love with my husband, my pussy was already moist and twitching at the prospect.

I was bitterly disappointed. My husband lasted no more than a few seconds. Of course, i had prepared myself for a short session, it had been a long time after all, but the total lack of passion or affection stunned me. My anger would no doubt have got the better of me, had it not been for my husband breaking down shortly afterwards. Something terrible was happening to him, but I couldn't get him to explain what.

I found out about a week later. It was sunday morning, I was in bed. I always get horniest in the morning, and my hand had slid down my body, under my knickers, over my little tuft of pubic hair. I was playing with my clit, moaning quietly, eyes closed, imagining my husband on top of me, when the phone rang. I was really close and not wishing to be disturbed I left it to the answermachine, continuing to glide my wet fingers over my mound. The phone beeped, and I heard a familiar voice.

"Hey bitch, you there? Pick up. You remember me, I know you do. Your pussy been thinking about me I think."

It was the man from the Prison, I recognized his deep laid-back Southern drawl. I stopped for a moment, confused. How could he call me?

"You sound real hot bitch," He continued, "I got hard just listening to your voice on the message. I got your number from your husband, he gave it up pretty quickly. He gives up alot of things pretty quickly." He laughed, a nasty deep laugh. "Why you marry that cocksucker anyway? You a fine ass woman, any man wanna fuck you."

My pussy twitched hard as he spoke, demanding to be touched. Without thinking, i began to stroke myself again, lying back on the soft pillows of my double bed.

"You let me, I'll give you the fucking of your life bitch. I still remember how those titties of yours looked in that tight top you was wearing."

I began to stroke harder, listening to his voice, so authoriative and dirty.

"I can just see my cock between those tits of yours. your sweet lips around my cockhead. I know you want the black cock don't you girl?"

"Yes," I murmured, half in answer to my growing pleasure, half in answer to the voice making me so wet.

"And when u finished bitch, I'm gonna put it deep down in that tight pussy of yours, fill you up real good, suck on those puffy nipples while i fucks yo...." the message time ended and his voice cut out as my body convulsed into a majestic total orgasm, rocking my body, sending juices all over my fingertips. In my head, I could see him on top of me, his smooth black skin rubbing against my flat stomach, my heaving, sweating breasts.

In a moment, I was plunged back into reality. horror at how this man had been able to call me, the things he'd said. Shame, in the way I'd reacted to these words. Guilt at the thought of my poor husband, and anger that he had given away our phone number, putting me in that position to begin with.

I had no idea that things were going to get alot more interesting.....

part two coming soon...