Chapter 3
Duia settled into prison life. She had her daily routine, her little duties and idiosyncrasies. Of late Ringo hadn't gone after her. He was spending most of the time with the other three.
Once, when coming back from her duties in the laundry room, she heard the distinctive groans of sex coming from the cell.
When she came in view she saw a strange site. Ringo was fucking Peri, humping with ferocious strokes, as Kathy was squatting over Peri's face, her twat square over the mouth of the Amazon.
Rocky was positioned by the bed, just under the vortex of action, her tongue licking the pecker as it plunged into Peri's pussy.
'Good God,' she said to herself, quickly removing herself from view. 'A strange family indeed. . . Fuck if I'm going to get involved with that shit.'
Duia took herself away, going back to the cafeteria to get a bite to eat.
This was one thing about prison that had shattered her fantasies. She had always seen prison as some kind of monstrous lock stepped castle where each movement was gauged under the barrel of a rifle. But in reality she had more freedom than when she had been living with Sam. Sam never let her out of his sight, except to go score dope for him. Not only that, she had to do his cooking and cleaning. Here, in prison, it was all done for her.
No one but a few workers were in the cafeteria. The prison hired people on the outside to run the thing; she heard a rumor that when the prisoner's were running the cafeteria one of them had dumped a batch of heroin in a vat of mashed potatoes. Ever since then they hired from the outside.
Duia got a cup of coffee, sipping and thinking. She was thinking on the scene she had come upon-that scene of her 'sisters' and 'daddy'. They were really into it. She could never get into it that way. When she wanted a man she had to have him by herself.
All the while she ruminated, she didn't notice the eyes that were staring at her. A man, in his fifties, peered out from behind the door of the kitchen, a plate and washcloth in his hand. His tongue wagged outside his lips like some lizard.
Duia finished her coffee and took the cup to leave it at the counter.
"Psssst, hey you," this man who was working the kitchen, whispered.
Duia looked at him for a moment. "Yeah?"
"Bring me your cup?"
Duia halted for a moment. "What?"
"I'm the dishwasher. Here, bring me your cup."
Duia was about to tell him to fuck off but an impulse caught her. She walked to a counter door and lifted it, letting herself on the other side of the cafeteria.
The man waited, then pushed the door open-the door leading to the kitchen.
"Come in here. I want to show you something."
Duia halted at the entrance of the kitchen. She looked around to see if anyone was around. Nobody.
"What is it? What do you want to show me?"
The man lowered his voice. "I.. . I've got some dope in there. I've got a joint that's all rolled and ready to toke."
It had seemed eons since Duia had been high. She liked the idea. In she went, into the kitchen which was cluttered by pots and pans.
The door swung closed and the man confronted her.
"All right," she said, "where's the joint?"
"You're in it sister."
"None of this clowning.. . you said you had a joint, now where is it?"
The man left her and went to the sink. Suddenly he flashed around, holding a huge butcher knife in his hand.
"Not a word honey or you're a dead cunt." Duia froze. The gleaming blade was thick and sharp. It wouldn't take much to slice her throat in two. "Now sister I'm goin' get me some ass . . . the cunts in prison is no good nohow . . . We on the outside have to chase all around to get one little fuck but I got to figurin' all you pussy just sittin' in here waitin' to get a big piece of meat up your twatter."
"You're crazy man . . . Put the knife down and I won't tell anyone."
"Yeah, that's right you won't tell anyone." He pushed the knife in front of her, waving it like the head of a wary cobra. "Now, take those clothes off."
Duia complied, quickly removing her clothes till she was stark naked.
The man's eyes flicked up and down as he looked at the dark bush of her cunt.
"All right woman, that looks good for eatin!"
He drew the blade of the knife lightly down, stroking between her tits, then lowering it down her belly to the clumped bush of her cunt. He carefully spread the pussy lips with the tip of the knife.
Duia was frozen in terror. She could feel the blade nick the top of the lip opening but she dared not make a move lest he slice her real bad.
"MMMmmmm, I could look at that pussy all day but we'd better hurry along before someone comes in and blows the whole plan."
He withdrew the knife and began loosening his pants button. His thin, long cock squirmed from his pants.
"Now get down on your knees and suck this meat!" He struck the knife in the air in a menacing fashion as Duia dropped to her knees.
The scarred, ugly pecker swam in front of her mouth like a fleshy water fowl.
She opened and slid forward, fearing for her life. He held the knife to her neck, letting the blade slide across her skin, making sure she knew the consequences of any wrong move.
Her tongue unfurled like a coiled snake and spread its warm wetness over the surface, making the man's prick leap around like a jumping bean.
His legs trembled as Duia secured the grip around the taut shaft with her wet lips.
"Oh lord," he groaned, "the devil's got my horn!"
Duia let a fresh well of drool tumble down on the vibrating prick, getting it all slick. She could control the motion of the cock with her lips and tongue but the slicker it became the more the man lost control, till he was whipping his hips back and forth like a blurring machine. His pecker became a wild-eyed Bantu, intoxicated with the lust rhythms of nature. It circled through the hot tissues of Duia's mouth, inching down her throat.
When she felt herself losing control she panicked, fighting the prick with her tongue, trying to keep it from invading the privates of her esophagus and the tender endings of her bronchials.
"Take it all down missy," the man growled. He kept the knife secure against the neck, putting a bit of pressure on it, forcing her head forward till his mangle of hair was plastered against her straining lips. The flesh taut prick stabbed deep into her throat, making her eyes flush with tears. For a moment she couldn't breathe but as the dick lodged like a docking ship she was able to control the gag reflex.
Her tongue swung wildly around, slashing at the pecker like a moist machete.
"Shit. It's excruciating. Excruciating!" he moaned.
Duia couldn't see his face but if she could she would have seen his revolving eyes and dangling tongue play in opposite directions, as if he were being strangled by a garrote. He began pumping his hips up and down, scratching the young woman's nose with his gray hairs-suffocating her in his old groin.
"Bite it honey! Bite on it!" he groaned in a tightly wound voice.
Duia wasn't sure what he meant. He certainly couldn't mean scissoring her incisors on the stretched skin of his love muscle, she thought. But long time discipline had sharpened her sense of obedience. Why sure, she'd clamp down on his pecker-bite it right in two if he wanted.
She squeezed her jaws together, letting the sharp tips of her teeth grind into the blood rushing prick.
"Ahhhh, that's it.. . More! Harder!"
Duia was enjoying every moment. She had sucked off many dicks in her day and had always been careful lest the nibs of her teeth would flay a bit of bark, so to speak. But many times she had desired nothing more than to bite down on the oily smelling pecker-devastate the man for life. And now she had her chance.
Down came the upper jaw full bore as the lower jaw was set tight. She held the pecker in a vice grip, feeling the taut foreskin give way under the pressure of her pearly whites.
"OOOOOWWWWW!" the man howled in ecstasy. The sound was a bone rattling, blood rising cry that startled Duia. It wasn't the howl of passion but the utter scream of pain.
At the same moment that her jaw viced the lust wracked pecker Duia's tongue went out and smoothed, then swam the prick with a warm bath.
"Oh God!" the man moaned. "I'm in heaven. In heaven!"
Duia moved her jaw back and forth, gouging the cock with her teeth.
"Now my balls!" he cried hotly. "Take my balls and squeeze them!"
The young prisoner's hand swept up the man's leg to the dangling balls ensconced in a mass of gray hair. The soft palm wrapped around the balls, as if they were bird eggs retrieved from some wind blown nest.
"Squeeze 'em honey! Oh God, crush 'em!"
Duia closed her hand on the balls, feeling the wrinkled skin skid through her fingers till she was at the naked nut. She squeezed slowly as if in her telescopic sight was a narc, moving in for the bust.
She squeezed and squeezed, feeling the balls quivering between her fingers.
"Awwwwww!" the man shrieked. His legs were trembling.
"That's enough! Enough!"
All the while the man was cutting up the back of her neck with the knife. His hand had become uncontrollable as she bit down on his pecker, crisscrossing bloody lines on her pretty neck. She could feel the blood trickle down her naked back but couldn't do anything about it.
Duia let go and at the same moment the man gurgled a passionate moan and his dick doors flew open under the hot assault of his spurting seed.
"OOOOOOO!"
The come splurt down Duia's throat, heating the sides like boiling syrup. She let go of the prick and let it whip around her mouth like a crazed hose spurting its momentum through a tiny hole.
Duia felt her mouth fill with the ancient seed-seed that had lost its tang and potency years ago.
The pecker slithered down to a small irritation before it popped out between her moist lips. The withered prick slashed across her mouth, leaving a slug like trail of come.
When Duia finally looked up, the man was standing, eyes closed, one hand clasped around his groin, his face red-breathing hard through the crack of his mouth.
His red pecker was a wet, dangling instrument poked with the even ridge of Duia's teeth points.
The bloody knife was swinging at his side, dripping with the blood of Duia.
She stayed on her knees, gulping down the last rolled clump of come that congealed in her throat.
"You," the man stuttered, "you.. . h.. . hur.. . hurt me. You've hurt me and you will have to pay for it."
Duia looked up at him. As she did she felt the tiny cuts on her neck fold into each other, oozing out the sticky blood of her veins.
"Man, I don't want to walk on anybody's trip, but you're fucked up . . . You told me to hurt you."
The man glared down at her, his eyes glassy eyed, his lips pulled tight.
"Prove it you little witch. Prove to me that I said anything like that."
Duia was silent. She had met all kinds of crazies in her life and realized the best thing to do was to remain silent.
"See you little scum, see my dick-this is my proof! Huh? Can you deny that?" The man was pointing to his bitten dick, red and swollen. He put the knife in front of her face.
"I should gouge your eyes out." He twisted the blade back and forth, little specks of blood flying off. "Now stand up."
Duia complied quickly, standing naked before the crazed man.
He put the blade against her tit and slowly cut a line down the curve of the boob, ending it at the tip of her engorged nipple. A trickle of blood rolled down the tit and collected around the nipple.
"Haha, look at that. You got blood in those titties."
Duia was in holy terror. She looked down at the blood, feeling faint.
The cut was not deep, just enough to cut the surface flesh. It didn't hurt that much. What hurt was watching the blood empty from her, slowly drawing from her body like juice squeezed from a pair.
The man lifted the knife up and cut lengthwise, across the previous line, forming a crude cross.
"This is my mark honey. For the rest of your life you're goin' to carry this mark with you . . . "
Her head began getting lighter as if filled with a strange gas.
"Looks like you're ready to fall over bitch," he snarled. He took her arm and placed her against the sink. He was in such a position as to look as though she were going to retch into the sink. Her hands were braced against the counter, her small round ass raised in the air.
The man wheeled behind her and put the blade to the exposed ass.
"This'll show you that I mean business . . . That I don't like to be hurt."
Duia wasn't listening to him. Now she wished that she'd been more open to the mini-orgy her 'sisters' and 'daddy' were involved in.
The man cut a slice through one of her ass buns. Duia wanted to scream but she had no voice. The man cut deep through the soft muscle, a half-moon figure.
"Haha, you got blood in your ass too."
"Come on man," she stammered. "I.. . I'm going to throw up. Please . . . Oh God, please, let me go."
"Let you go? Shit, can't you stand a little pain? You can give it but can't take it, is that it?" He cut deeply into the other bun, twisting the blade as he did. A spurt of blood jet from the ass and spilled to the floor.
Duia was a stone statue, not a nerve quivering. She felt sick, a pervasive sickness that filled every pore ol her flesh and stayed like a stagnant pool.
The crazed man took the bloody tip of the knife and slid it down her ass crack, lightly drawing it through the tiny hairs.
Duia tried to settle herself but couldn't do it. Sht twitched slightly at the feeling of the sharp blade drawing through her crack.
The blade passed over her ass button, went between her thighs and began to weave to the under lip of her pussy.
"D-don't. . . please," she pleaded in a slow whine.
The man ignored her and slipped the tip of the blade inside the pussy.
Duia kept as still as possible.
"That's right babe, don't move an inch. If you move even a slight way you're goin' to get all cut up inside your twatter."
Duia was frozen. But she couldn't control her pussy The sexual organ slowly clutched at the blade, the juicing muscles trembling at the first intimations of the steel invasion.
The man slipped the blade a few inches and let it hang a moment. He licked the sweat from his lips; his body was drenched.
The blade rested inside the cunt as the tissues vibrated in spite of the presence of the dangerous weapon. Duia could feel her cunt cutting itself into tiny pieces. Her legs began to tremble.
Suddenly a voice rang out. "Hey Sam! Get out here, I need you!"
The two figures in the kitchen froze. Sam slipped the knife from her twat, cutting the tissue inside.
"Get dressed cunt.. . get dressed and don't make a sound."
The man slipped his pecker inside his pants and slipped out the kitchen door.
Duia quickly got dressed, feeling every cut each move she made. It was excruciating putting the heavy clothing over the various lesions that crisscrossed her flesh. Every time she moved her legs she could feel the chaffed tissues split and bleed inside her pussy.
She could hear her tormentor mumbling to another man just on the other side of the kitchen door. It seemed as if he were trying to stall the man.
Suddenly the door flew open and Ringo came in, accompanied by another younger man, who Duia had never seen before.
"What the fuck is she doing here?" he said, pointing at the young prisoner, she being fully clothed.
Sam faltered a moment. "Well, she came in here saying she wanted to help in the kitchen . . . said she missed doing the dishes."
The other man grumbled under his breath. Then he jerked his thumb. "Get the fuck out of here."
Duia was more than willing, stepping past the two men before leaving the kitchen. As she left she could hear the man say to Sam, "What the fuck is all this blood on the floor!"
She felt a new breath of life. She had given herself up for dead. Sam was a murderer no question about it. How he'd evaded prison was beyond her. But she realized that she wouldn't be able to snitch on him. This was a dictum of all prisoners-no matter what, no snitchin'.
She made her way slowly back to her room. She didn't care if the four members of her 'family' were fucking and sucking each other-she'd ignore them and flop on her bed and crash out.
When she got to her room it was empty. She called a guard over, who opened the cell.
Duia climbed up on her bunk and fell quickly asleep.