Page 7 of The Way We Rot
“Shit,” I groaned as I slipped my hands into my underwear, honing right in on my clit. Another thing about prison, you get good at getting off analog. Fast and hard.
I was alone in here, but hell knows how long that would continue. The guards looped through here often, making sure none of us had found a way to kick the bucket in the overbearing silence.
I rubbed myself and squeezed my tit, rocking my hips and imagining what I would have done to that last one if I’d had time. If I’d not rushed it.
That was my downfall, the rushing of it. But fuck, it had been too much of a boon to miss. Fated, I think.
My orgasm began to build as I heard the telltale signs of a guard’s footsteps getting closer, click clackingalong the hard flooring. I grinned, working my clit faster.
He muttered something to someone down the hall and moved his ass closer, opening and shutting the window hatches on the doors.
My orgasm rolled through me at the same moment CO Darling pulled my hatch open and met my eyes right on, like he knew right where I was in the room.
No shame, I stared him down, biting my lip and moaning loud, squeezing and writhing as I let the sight of him make it even better. Power, there was power in not stopping.
He watched. He said nothing, and I couldn’t see anything of his face but those vibrant eyes, but he didn’t look away.
“Oh, wow,” I moaned after, as I edged back down, still rolling my fingers over my clit, running them through my wet pussy, through all the lips and dips, just enjoying the aftershocks with the kind of audience I wanted. Alone was great, what I thought I wanted, but the extra kick of pleasure his eyes on me gave was something to think about.
A crazy sexy man, not a snoring, farting woman twenty years older than me and twice as grizzly.
“CO,” I said when he still didn’t turn away. He seemed hypnotized, fascinated.
And as I pulled my hand free from my underwear and slipped my wet fingers between my lips, sucking off the flavor of my pussy, a shiver definitely ran through him. Not so stoic, useable. It made me hate him.
“There’s more where that came from, if you ever fancy a taste,” I told him before throwing a salute his way.
That did it.
He stepped back into the shadows I couldn’t see through, and a second later, my hatch slammed shut and his footsteps hurried away, that click clacking a little less measured than before. Mandy yelled at him for not checking on her, I think, but my mind was wiped.
I fell asleep with images of CO Darling, bathing in that blood with me, drowning in it. The last thing I saw before sleep took me was a spurt of red flying from his mouth, coating me as we swirled in death together.
I wanted his hands in me, on me, cut off and bleeding stumps.
Perfect.
Three
Penny
Ispent three days wandering the four walls of the cell and mapping out all the places other women had scratched out their pleas into the brick, three glorious lonely days where my mind could wander however it wanted and no one watched me shit. Or tried to talk to me while I was pissing.
It had been a week, maybe two, since then, and I’d worked to keep my head down. Solitary was fine, but only for a little while. Anymore than that and the voices got too loud.
CO Randal leaned over me in the mess hall; his hands braced on the metal table while I tried to eat my dang pie. Pie night was one of the few good ones, the pastry rock solid, but the innards mush — together, somewhat edible.
And CO fucking Randal was getting in the way of it. From someone I’d never seen around before, he wassuddenly everywhere. He looked at me with hunger now, with knowing, like I was about to fall to my knees any second and finish what we started. He thought he had the power.
I heard one of the other inmates whispering about the attention he was giving me, suspicion strong in their tone. They giggled about it, wondering if they might get anything from me for it. Whatever they thought I was blowing him in exchange for, they wanted it, too.
In the time since our sort of accidental blow and split, the way he stared at me grew darker, more urgent. He pestered me for another go every time he passed me by.
I looked up at him through my eyelashes, ignoring the glare from the woman opposite me, a braver one who asked me to share whatever favors I was getting and who I’d told to go to hell. “Yes, CO Randal?” I asked, sweet and low, plastic fork braced over my pie.
His eyes narrowed. “Showers.”
“I don’t need a shower,” I told him, enjoying the most coy and innocent act I could muster up. It was laughable, really, that anyone might mistake me foran innocent, but Randal’s cheeks flushed. Anger or horniness?
