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I'm thrusting my cock into her, my jumpsuit and underwear pooled around my ankles, and her elbow bumps into the canister of tongue depressors and it crashes to the floor, along with her clipboard. We stay still for a moment, making sure no one noticed—we are trying to play it safe, but even that noise can't stop us as I continue my rapid thrusts, penetrating her wet and pulsing body with my cock. "We have to…. Be quiet," she says between breaths. But honestly, the more I fuck her the less I care about anything around us. I even tell myself that the rest of the world be damned—let the guards see us.
Right now, this woman is everything. She's the real deal and if I could fuck her every minute of the day I would. "Fuck, you're a goddess," I say, and she seems to like that because she's purring and her whole body is bucking wildly, threatening to swallow me whole.
Then my body tenses and I feel my cock suddenly spasm, spewing thick ropes of cum deep inside of her. Kerri's gyrating her hips and milking my cock even when I think I have nothing left. Then I pull away from her and she turns to me and gets down on her knees, keeping her gaze locked on mine. Without hesitation she takes my cock in her mouth, sucking the remaining cum from my shaft until I'm dry. I exhale deeply—satisfied but spent.
"I've gotten my protein for the day," she purrs, looking up at me with lusty eyes. But before I can even respond to that we hear what sounds like footsteps just outside the door and we quickly jump up—the trance broken—trying to pull ourselves together and I'm pulling my jumpsuit back up and over my hips, and up even further over my shoulders. I give her one last look and kiss the tips of my fingers and then press them to her own lips in one final gesture. She looks at me as if she wants to say something but doesn't. Is she holding something back?
"Until next time," I whisper, and just like that, I'm leaving the infirmary and rounding the corner, walking down the long, narrow hallway—and not a moment too soon because sure enough, here's Gerry rounding the corner with his huge belly and keys jangling in his pockets. I merely tip him a nod hello and keep moving. And besides having to leave the woman of my dreams and being locked up in this place, I'm fucking happy—like really happy. It's as if nothing can bring me down—not even this fucking place, because today I just banged a goddess and if I'm honest with myself, I really like this woman.
I'm rounding the corner practically whistling to myself when something doesn't feel right. It starts to feel like I'm walking under a perfectly clear and cloudless sky yet there's a shadow. I look up and my gut instincts are right. Standing in front of me are Grinder and four other guys. They are pissed and looking at me like they're shooting daggers from their eyes and I know they aren't here to ask me to a friendly game of Scrabble or some shit—they're here to kick my ass and they're out for blood.
"Well, well… look who just joined the party. I don't know if you've realized this yet, but today, we're gonna make you our bitch," Grinder growls. He's smiling now, and it's the most sinister grin I've ever fucking seen in my life. "This'll be the last time you ever think about fucking around and cashing checks you can't keep."
"Look, Spider wasn't straight with you. I never promised I could pull off that transfer to St. Smith's. Like I said, the bitch in the infirmary wasn't budging."
"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Grinder asks. "You think I'm falling for any of that bullshit." And as he says this, he advances closer to me and points a finger at my shoulder, and that's it. I've been around enough violence in my life to know that it's a hostile cue. If I stand around any longer I'm gonna be assed out, so I pull my arm back and deliver an uppercut to Grinder's square jaw. Despite him being as thick as a truck, I watch as his knees buckle and he crumples to the ground. This takes everyone by surprise—even me, but within a second, another guy steps in.
He's all business, his eyes wide and flashing hate. He steps in and swings his arm at me, but I'm ready and I block it. I throw my elbow into his nose and I hear a sickening crack—I know it's broken and gushing and I slam my knee into his ribs, also cracking them. He's doubled over now, clutching his side and struggling to breath.
"Do the rest of you have a fucking death wish or what?" I spit, breathing heavy but my entire body on fire—my muscles tense and ready to spring like a lion getting ready to bring down a herd of weaker animals—I'm egging them on and daring them to step forward. My fists are still clenched. My nostrils are flared in anticipation. One guy gets close and I leap forward, boxing the shit out of him—throwing every combo I know, moves I haven't used since my days hustling on the streets and it's obvious he's had enough because he's slumped against the wall and struggling to get away. I watch as he spits blood and a tooth tumbles to the floor. The man looks stunned, like he can't believe what's happened, and I begin to think that maybe I've got this—that I can fucking take on the world.
And just as I think the whole fucking group has had enough, the remaining two lunge at me, one from each side. I'm landing a few solid punches, knocking one guy in the eye, but it's not enough. These guys are nearly seven feet tall and look as if they belong to some sort of fucked up circus show, and I feel a fist crash into my temple and I'm dazed. I'm not seeing stars but pretty damn close.
"Take that, bitch!" one of the tanks growls, and I see his lip turn up in a curl that exposes a series of missing teeth. I feel myself going down—sinking with the weight of the blows, and the heaviness of being overpowered. The only thing left for me to do is to protect my face. My entire body crashes to the hard floor, blood smears creating streaks like warning signs everywhere I look. Instinctively, I raise my arms and curl them around my face as a shield. I'm in a ball now—practically in the fucking fetal position, and I see and feel their feet like hammers, whacking my body. Blow after blow—the violence of it all seems to excite them. Thwack, I hear what sounds like a rib breaking. I try to edge my body away, but it doesn't work. They continue to kick me, and when one shoe lands in the middle of my gut with so much force that I can't breath, my vision goes dark. I can't see anything now, but I can st
ill hear and one man says, "We know you're fucking Kerri." He says it like he's spitting venom. I can't speak; I can't breath. I try to tilt my head and say no, that they've got it all wrong, that she's got nothing to do with any of this, but nothing comes out.
I stay conscience long enough to hear the words that make my blood run cold, "Next time, she's going to die."
And with that, my world fades to black.
Kerri
The pregnancy has caused me to get a second wind in exploring Lucien’s incarceration.
Actually, I've spent the last few days obsessing over Lucien’s case. Pouring over newspaper reports and court transcripts, and Googling every possible search term I can think of to dig up even obscure details. I honestly can't believe what I've been reading. The findings are shocking. There are a number of discrepancies that even to an untrained eye like mine stand out as glaringly obvious.
Lucien is sitting next to me. I can't wait to tell him everything I've learned in the last 24 hours. Does he even realize what a shitty job his lawyer did representing him?
I set everything up so that we could meet in the infirmary today, and now here he is. But I'm nervous because I know there's another reason why I wanted to meet with him today, and I don't know how he's going to handle it. But I have to say it. Holding it in is driving me crazy and clouding my thoughts.
When I told him I had something to share with him, I figured he'd be in a better mood, but he's acting sullen and withdrawn, as if he's preoccupied. But I know this could be the break he needs—all of these discrepancies—and honestly this is a break I need too. Maybe he'll snap out of whatever mood he's in when I tell him what I've found.
I touch his hand with mine. They are big and calloused—working-man hands—and sit in stark contrast to my own. He may feel that there's no hope, but I'm not buying that. I think he's wrong. Not wanting to waste anymore time, I start to tell him about what I've dug up.
"I've been researching your case and I've found some factors that haven't—"
He cuts me off. "You've what? Are you fucking serious?" The look on his face is pure anger.
"What do you mean?" I ask, taken aback. That wasn't the response I was expecting.
"Stop. Just stop, okay? You have no business digging through my case. I've been convicted, remember? That means a judge and jury have found me guilty. It's the beginning and the end of my story."
"Don't say that. Your story is just beginning," I contest, trying to keep him optimistic. He shakes his head. "Do you even hear yourself? You shouldn't be sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
I can't believe what he's saying. "Sticking my nose where it doesn't belong? Oh I see. Sure, you can stick your dick in me, but the minute I want to help… Lucien, look at me. What are you even talking about?"
"What don't you understand exactly?" he asks. "You need me to spell it all out for you? I thought you were smarter than that."
