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She moaned and swallowed, then kept greedily sucking him.
“Yeah, that’s it, you greedy little cum slut. Swallow that shit.”
He palmed her head like a basketball and grasped the base of his dick
“Hold still, fuck-girl,” he said hoarsely. “Where you want this nut? Ya mouth?”
She nodded.
He grunted. Squeezing the top of her head, he snatched his dick from her wet, sloppy mouth and began jerking at his dick in rapid back-and-forth motion, its head slapping over her swollen lips—until a hot jet of cum shot into her eyes.
She shook, shutting her eyes as the thick cream coated her lashes, blurring her vision. He grunted again, his hand jerking over his incredibly thick shaft as he aimed another spray of his nut into her face. The creamy load slid down her nose, then dropped from her lashes.
Satisfied with his liquid paint job, he trailed two fingers over her face, collecting his cream. Then he held them to her lips.
“Open your mouth.”
He smeared cum over her lips, then scooped more of his nut onto his fingertips and slid it over her tongue. “Suck it,” he said huskily.
Her mouth closed over his fingers, and she tasted his musky essence and sucked at his fingers until he’d finger-wiped her whole face and fed her every drop. And then he slid his still-hard dick back into her mouth and pumped away until another nut flooded the inside of her mouth.
Her jaws burned. Her knees ached. But, she was surprisingly wet. And almost willing to let him fuck her too—if he wanted pussy too.
He stepped back, his limp dick flopping out of her mouth. She eyed him through cum-coated lashes as he stuffed his sticky dick back into his underwear and zipped his pants.
She quickly stood to her feet, then took the wet rag he handed her and washed her face. He waited until she was done, then reached for the two Burger King Whoppers and large fries sitting on his desk and handed them to her.
“Now get the fuck out,” he snarled.
FOUR
Only the Strong Survive . . .
“Don’t eat my shit. Don’t touch my shit. And don’t say shit to me unless I want to be bothered with you.” Contempt coated the brown-skinned inmate’s words like crackling fish grease. She stood in the middle of the cell in a white sports bra and men’s white boxer shorts.
Heaven blinked.
She’d just stepped into the cell, and hadn’t expected to be greeted with such disdain. She’d been in lockup—or the hole, as they called it—for the last sixty days for slicing Snake’s face open over on 3 West. And now it seemed as if everyone over here was having a problem with her since the notorious bully had had her face split open to the bone, and a part of her ear sliced off. One hundred and fifty stitches later.
The woman stood in the way as Heaven tried to get to her bunk. Clearly, she’d been waiting for her. Wanting a confrontation.
Heaven held her breath. She didn’t think she could do this. This, this . . . general population shit. She could alr
eady tell she would have problems over here. And the whole idea of having to constantly watch her back was a bit daunting. She’d either have to get off this housing unit or she’d end up back in solitary.
Lockup seemed like a much more suitable choice. At least down in the Dungeons (what the inmates called solitary confinement since it was housed over in another section of the prison where you had to walk through a long, winding tunnel to get to), she didn’t have to deal with this type of shit. She was housed in a single cell, and showered alone.
At least with being on twenty-three-hour lock, she didn’t have to deal with anyone, other than the guards who had to do their mandatory thirty-minute tours or pass out food trays with whatever inmate worked kitchen detail, or when the COs had to let her out for her daily hour.
During which time she came out to shower, and, maybe, write a letter. She was only allowed to make collect calls once every fifteen days (which she never did). And she didn’t have access to a television, so she’d usually shower for twenty minutes or so, then return back to her cell to read a book. One of the female officers, Ms. Kimberly, was always nice enough—any time she worked overtime on that unit—to pass down her books after she’d finished reading them herself.
But now—mmph.
She’d have to share a cell with this cranky bitch. And be stuck using a shower with at least sixty other women over on this tier. She wasn’t sure how this was going to work for her.
At least her time over on 3 West, as short as it had been, felt more like being at a country club compared to this shit she was currently assigned to. 4 East. The moment the housing officer had clicked open the door, she’d felt like she’d walked into the hood.
And she had.
