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Oh well.
Screw him! Her marriage was nothing more than a goddamn farce these days. So, she’d be damned if she was about to allow thoughts of him right now kill her vibe. She’d suppressed her need and longing for far too long. And, though, it was dirty desire, she was cognizant of what she was giving in to—of what she was stepping in to.
Fire.
And God help her, she wanted it, craved it and ached for it—with every breath in her quivering body. Mmm, yes. She pinched her clit again while staring at the computer screen that sat atop her sleek desk, and her breath hitched. The sight before her made her skin go hot. And her pussy instantly wet. She was slowly drowning in lust, drowning in want, drowning in fantasy.
The image filled her with conflicting emotions. Stark desire mixed with guilty pleasure. Then, always immediately after . . . came shame.
She and her fantasies were filthy. Dirty.
But—damn it—she needed a good fucking. Badly.
Still, she was a filthy, dirty, scandalous bitch for fantasizing over—oh, God help her—an inmate. But she couldn’t help whom—and what—she lusted.
Or could she?
God, yes—of course she could. She’d done it for most of her thirty-five-year career. Kept her secret desires neatly tucked away in the darkest crevices of her filthy mind; that was. She’d mastered pretending. Maintained professional, healthy boundaries, and kept her private life just that—private.
But now she felt herself becoming more enticed, more driven, by her cravings, by the thrill, the rush, which surged through her veins every time she imagined herself taking a bite into the forbidden fruit of desire. Some days, she was so tempted to give in to spontaneity. To snatch the moment and revel in her most erotic fantasies, to indulge herself in debauchery.
It was almost as if she couldn’t help herself. Sometimes she’d walk through the halls of her prison, and the smell of pussy would be clinging in the air, and her mouth would water and she’d become painfully aroused.
Maybe it was the flask of vodka she kept hidden in the bottom of her locked desk drawer that made her feel less inhibited, more daring of late. Maybe it was the fact that it’d been over five years since her husband had touched her, caressed her, or made sweet, passionate love to her.
Warden Kate grunted, her fingers greedily digging deeper, probing faster, stroking and stroking, desperately searching for that sweet spot. Her pussy needed some attention, some tender-loving fucking. A wet tongue licking over her folds would do her body so damn good right about now.
Her husband had robbed her of a good fucking, and she was angry with him for taking his dick elsewhere—giving it to some other bitch. When things first started to sour between the two of them, he had always been too tired, too stressed, too uninspired to even initiate sex. Initially, she’d have to beg him, practically plead, with him to at least let her suck his dick—anything to feel close to him.
Then gradually he’d come to bed long after she was asleep, doing anything he could not to share the same bed with her. And, over the last several months, he’d taken to sleeping in one of their spare bedrooms.
Still, she’d never divorce him. Othello. They had a long, rich history together. They’d started dating when she was eighteen. Then married at twenty. And they shared three beautiful adult children, two sons and a daughter—ages thirty-five, thirty-three, and thirty, respectively. And she had six grandchildren. Her daughter had four children, and her middle son had two.
Unfortunately, her firstborn—the apple of her eye, was too busy being a rolling stone to settle down and start a family of his own. He was a good catch. He was handsome. College-educated. Had fifteen years working with the state, and was making good money. But when it came to women, he just couldn’t seem to get it right. He seemed to be a magnet for every wet pussy gone wild and wrong.
She grunted. She wished like hell he’d learn to keep his dick in his pants, or at the very least—stop giving it out so freely.
She loved him dearly, but he was a manwhore. Or at least he had been.
Of late, he seemed to be slowing down. Not going out as much, or tricking up his money on pussy. Maybe he was finally growing up. He’d been known to practically fuck anything with a pulse, if he thought he’d get away with it. And, once or twice, he’d gotten himself in some trouble with a few of those dogged-face bitches, leaving her to have to clean up several of his messes.
Truth be told, there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to protect her family. She was simply downright too loyal, too supportive. And not always goddamned appreciated enough. But she would always be there for them, including her husband, Othello, no matter how shitty he treated her. So tearing her family apart wasn’t a part of her life plan, even if she had given it serious thought several times over the years. Bottom line, she’d stay stuck in a sexless marriage for appearance’s sake. It was a benefit to them both. And, as he’d once told her, it was “cheaper to keep her.”
Still, some hard dick plunging her cunt would be a nice treat from time to time, even if she did have her mind on something else—someone else. Ooh, yes, God. She had a taste for some pussy. And she wanted to taste herself on another woman’s lips. Maybe even grind clits together while suckling on each other’s tits. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
Hell. She was sure Othello had some Becky-looking bitch sucking his long, fat dick. There’d been a time, long ago, when she enjoyed the feel of him stretching her cunt, hitting the bottom of her well with all nine inches.
But now he was giving the dick to some sidepiece; he just had to be. Oh, sure. She’d found the text message exchanges between her husband and some lonely bitch he’d met on some social media site. Veronica. And she’d even found a few nude photos of the shameless hussy.
She’d become so sick and tired of giving a damn that now she simply didn’t. Still, she’d invested too much of her time and life in her marriage. Lots of sweat and tears and sacrifice went into being married. So if he wanted out, he’d have to leave her. Period.
Warden Kate sighed, pulling herself from her reverie. She sighed
regretfully. She’d given her troubled marriage enough thought for one day. Right now, she had a more pressing matter that needed her attention.
Her pulsing loins.
She licked her lips as her gaze flickered up and locked on the image in front of her on the Department of Corrections’ inmate locator page.
