Chapter 2
Tony awoke in a sweat, the dream, pretty blonde Lois Fielding, still vivid in his mind. Sunlight had replaced the moon in the barred window over the bunk. Another day closer to home, he thought. One less night in the seem-ingless endless stretch that left his eyes black-ringed from restless tossing caused by nagging, desire.
He lay with eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the prison - cons storming from their cells, shouting to one another on the way down the stairs and outside into the main courtyard, and the nerve-wracking click-click-clang of the night locks being electronically sprung, the doors rolling open. Far in the distance, beyond the hospital area, the dull thumping of the tag shop presses had already begun the day. He could almost see the new license plates streaming from the machines, being stacked, then wrapped and sent off to the State Motor Vehicle Agency. He envisioned the screws taking the 6:45 a m. headcount, calling "Numbers clear t' over the bitchbox.
Tony frowned. He listened hard, trying to detect what was wrong. "The headcount!" he blurted.
He leaped from the bunk to the door, peered out the small window. He could hear the electric time locks being released one by one down the length of the upper and lower tiers, could see the men flinging the doors back to race from their cells. Yet the intercom system hadn't cleared the numbers, and the cells - the locks controlled by a master panel at the Operations Center - were never, but never! opened until each con had been accounted for, the number tallied with that on the count roster, and the Supervisory White Hat at Center, the man in charge of the shift, had given the okay. Impatiently he waited for the electronic click-click to reach his door.
"Hey, white boy," called Slick Jack as Tony stepped from the cell. "You ain't gon' be much help to us like that." The tall husky black in for murder, doing life, pointed and roared with laughter.
Tony glanced down at himself; at the piss-hardon protruding from the open fly of the shorts. "Shit!" He returned to his cell to dress, reappeared as Jack and several others were lifting the huge desk at the far end of the tier. Mouth agape, he watched them throw the thing through the floor to ceiling plate glass window across the front of the housing unit. Riot! It made sense now; a takeover was the only way the time locks and count system could be gotten around. Upstate, at the monstrosity he'd left barely a week ago, tension was building. The late news report the night before had said state officials expected trouble at any time, and that precautions were being taken through transfers - getting the ring leaders, those like Jack, those with little or nothing to lose, away from the tempers ready to blow. The Governor's Penal Reform Committee was, the commentator had said, trying to meet legitimate inmate demands before blood was spilled.
So they'd sent Slick Jack to the spanking new complex made primarily of glass, Tony mused, the crash of the shattered pane still ringing in his ears. And now ... !
"Who got the Center, man?" called Spider, another black - a wiry little man doing thirty years for rape - from the top tier of the cell-block.
"Never min' who," answered Jack with a scowl. "We got it is what counts, baby. Now let's go get us the rest o' this zoo." He waved his arm in a sweeping overhead motion, bellowed triumphantly and leaped through the space where moments before a plate glass window had stood.
The others whooped and followed, dragging the gagged and bound wing officer with them.
Tony hesitated. He watched them, and the cons pouring like excited ants from the other cell-blocks situated around the open courtyard, race toward the besieged Operations Center, where the entire first shift - White Hats and Blue Hats and those civilian personnel unfortunate enough to have come to work half an hour early - was surrounded by hundreds of inmates brandishing bedposts and homemade shanks and artillery from the arsenal, in support of their rebellious brother cons upstate.
Tony cursed. He suddenly realized what Jack and the others had in mind. He strode outside, shielded his eyes from the sun's glare and watched them run past the gate separating the main area from the West Sector where the infirmary was located. Jeanie Simmons! The petite blonde had relieved the third shift nurse at 6 o'clock, he knew. And now there were a dozen jubilant cons, among them a rapist and a murderer, headed for the place where she - perhaps unaware of what was happening - stood dropping pills and medication into small paper cups, preparing for the 7 a m. sick call.
Jeanie frowned. Usually the hospital was bustling with activity long before sick call was announced over the loudspeaker system, the men anxious to get the pill-line out of the way and go to chow. But now there was no one - not even the officer assigned to watch over her. "As if I need watching over," she murmured, dropping the last capsule into the last paper cup on the medicine cart.
It was the silliest job she'd ever held. The inmates, even the old ones, those too wrinkled and lame to do anything with or to a woman, ogled her openly, and the officers, even those with families, kids, repeatedly warned her to stay out of "tight situations" and did their hungry eye-balling on the sly. But she knew how to handle men; she'd come through school and nurses' training with only one lover, Mike, her nance, and she had no intention of marring the almost virginal record - prison or not! Not for anyone!
Sighing, thinking wistfully of Mike, wondering what he was up to in Europe - supposedly studying, gathering data for his master's thesis in Paris and Rome - she pushed the cart from the protection of the glass cage, down the long silent corridor to the outside door.
"Oh!" She stepped back, blinked at the group of whooping inmates turning the corner at the security gate near Center. Her mouth dropped open. Fear gripped her chest, chilled her nipples. Where were the guards ? Where were the other nurses? Where was anyone?
For a moment she stood transfixed, watching the men eat up the distance between her and the gate. Confused, not wanting to accept what she knew was happening - riot! Just as the news reports the night before had predicted - she glanced back at the cage. The phone! She ran to it, fumbled with the receiver. She placed the reassuring instrument to her ear, pressed the button marked CENTER, and was about to speak when a strange voice, someone other than the polite lieutenant who usually answered her calls, said, "Yeah?"
"I... this is Miss Simmons at the infirmary." Her hand trembled. Her breath grew labored. Now she could hear the men outside coming closer, almost at the door. "I... t-there's something hap-happening here. The men. Inmates. They ..."
"Har! Fuckin' right there's somethin' happening," growled the mocking voice at the other end of the phone. "An' if I know them guys comin' over there, lots more's gonna be happening to you in a little while, baby. I may be over there myself in a little bit - for a little bit!"
Jeanie gasped, dropped the phone and looked frantically about the deserted hospital; just her and two patients, those bedded down far in back, cons who would stick with their own. Her mind raced. Her legs felt like jelly. She stared at the door at the opposite end of the corridor ... waiting ... not knowing what else to do.
Slick Jack was the first through the door. He paused for a moment - crouched, the muscles standing taut in his arms, beneath the tight T-shirt, dark-lidded eyes searching the tiled terrain. He nodded, as if satisfied. He straightened. His gaze settled on her.
Jeanie gulped. She clutched the edge of the medicine counter to keep from falling. "You y-y-you men aren't sup-s-supposed t-to be in this area without a pass," she stammered inanely. "G-go back to your wings."
Jack, those who had entered behind him, guffawed. They came slowly toward her, moving as one: an octopus with arms that were going to encircle her body, she knew. With hands that were going to violate her clean flesh, and dicks - she could already see the incredible monster in the ringleader's pantsleg - that were going to force their way up the hot special place belonging to Mike. Mike who was always in Europe, at college, cramming for an exam, but never where she needed him most. Never there ... except for an occasional lay.
"Please!" She made an impulsive dash, darting around them, trying for the door.
A strong black arm caught her around the waist. "Bitch! Where in the fuck you think you're goin'? Ain't this the hospital? Ain't you the nurse? I come to get medicated!"
Wide-eyed Jeanie stared into his sweating face. Her belly turned over. She could feel his stiffness against her buttocks ... pressing . , . pressing. "Let me go!" she yelped, struggling to break free of the brute, to escape the hands coming at her.
"Hold it!" snapped Jack, thrusting his free hand out, traffic-cop fashion. The others stopped, apparently having agreed on him as their commander-in-chief. "Me first," he continued, the tone of his deep voice silencing any would-be objections. "I had my eye on this one since I come down here from upstate. Now... !" He tightened the arm at her waist, brought his free hand down hard on one jutting breast.
"You ... you filthy black bastard!" hissed
Jeanie, furious. She kicked back and up, trying for his balls. The effort brought only a gruff mocking laugh. The hot blood of shame rushed into her face. It was a bad dream, she told herself. A nightmare. Something she'd seen on TV - an old gangster movie, where the heroine was always an innocent girl, and there was always someone to save her.
But there was nothing unreal about the hand kneading her tit, or the hard cock digging through the summer-weight dress into the split up her ass. Nor was there anyone coming to save her. She felt herself being lifted, the arm at her middle become a cruel steel band hoisting and turning and pointing her toward the lounge. She screamed. The others cheered as she was carted away - an armful of kicking garbage.
Jack threw her roughly down on the sofa where, each day at noon, she and the other nurses sat to gossip and giggle about the ogling cons. She struggled to rise. A huge hand covered her face, slammed her back against the armrest, arms and legs flailing. "Ain't no use fightin' me," he told her. "Ain't had no pussy in eighteen years, an' I mean to get me some now."
God! thought Jean, staring incredulously up at the tall well-built man. He'd kill her! Eighteen years without a woman, and a dick as big as the one plainly outlined at the fly of his pants meant sure disaster for her delicate wedge. And a filthy black dick at that! She didn't know which was more loathsome - rape, or being subjected to ... to... to the savage attack of... of a nigger!
She was so busy with thoughts of shame, of her own degradation, she didn't notice that the dress had ridden high on her legs, exposing the tops of her stockings, her garter belt, and the warm shadowy area between her succulent thighs.
But Jack hadn't missed it. He stared hungrily into the breach, eyes growing large. He looked from there to her beet-red face, grinned crookedly. "Bet you ain't never had no big black meat in you," he said. "Bet you ain't never had much o' anything 'cept some dumb white boy who don't know nothin"bout what ails you."
"I... I'm engaged to be married," she blurted, stunned because what he said fitted Mike, who was what the girls at college used to call a jackrabbit. "He ... we ... I ... oh ... ! I never d-did it with anyone else. Please. Please let me go!"
Jack grunted ugly laughter. Abruptly he sat at the edge of the sofa, thrust his hand under the hem of the dress.
"Oh! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" She wrestled the wrist at the end of the hand groping to get at her pussy. She closed her legs tight, protecting her cunthole from the stab of his fingers. Her head spun. She felt nauseous - mostly because of the shame, the humiliation, but partially because her body was reacting ... anticipating ... all pleasure points hypersensitive to manipulation.
"I said I mean to get me some pussy!"
A hand closed at her throat, cutting off air and forcing her down on the cushions. She thrashed. Her legs came slowly apart. The hand under the dress cupped at her sex, squeezed. She gasped. Her hips bucked uncontrollably.
"That's more like it, baby. White sugar." Jack relaxed his grip on her neck, leaned to touch his lips to the bruises left by his fingers. The hand at her crotch slipped beneath the leg-band of the panties, rubbed her mound, teased her tight slit.
She moaned. Further resistance was useless, she knew. There was no place to run to even if she could wrestle free of the beast. She could hear the others in the corridor to the right of the lounge. They were making crude jokes, about her - about what they were going to do when their turn came. She was helpless. Worse! Her entire lower abdomen was afire. Her nipples were hard little points showing through the bra and thin dress. Her cunthole was wet. The sex part of her, the part Mike ignited each time they screwed but always left screaming, unsatisfied, was cooperating with the filthy black fingers exploring all over down there.
"D-don't!" she breathed, struggling with the shameless desire. "You oh!" Her ass shot high off the cushions. "Oh, you mustn't. Um! T-take your hand a-way-ay."
"White baby wants somethin' bigger, huh?"
"No!"
"Sure she does." Jack captured her hand, steered it to the mighty bulge in his pantsleg.
"Somethin' big as that maybe. Big 'n' good V hard. Take it out fo' me, white baby."
"No! No! No! No! Nooooooooo ... !" But her trembling hand was already there, clutching his hardon, unable to escape his strong grip on her wrist. She felt the links of the zipper - as cold as the stiffness was hot. She felt his huge balls like billiards beneath the coarse khaki prison garb. She felt him go tense, the veins popping like cords in his neck, like tempered steel cables in his powerful forearms.
"Take it the fuck out!" he demanded, the hand on her pussy rubbing, a smoldering threat in his dark hooded eyes. "You a fuckin' nurse, ain't you ? Do some nursin' on me. Whack me off. Gimme a nice white girl han' job."
The horrid black beast, she thought, the words making her ears burn with new shame, clogging her throat. He was no better than a gorilla; he even looked like a gorilla with his brown-blackness and rubbery lips and dark staring eyes. And the thing in his pants - oh, the awesome hose throbbing in the sweating palm of her hand - was even bigger than the fat filthy cocks on the apes she'd once seen at the zoo.
But it wasn't as if she'd been given a choice. Slick Jack - wasn't that his name? Hadn't she once heard someone call him Cool Man Slick Jack ? - was "telling" not asking her to commit the perversion. And her fingers, as if hypnotized, as if wanting to - actually wanting to! - holding the terrible thing, were suddenly working the zipper ... slipping inside ... inside the shorts too ... caressing the long veiny shaft... fumbling to free the fat tip she expected to look like the red bulb at the end of her Mike's short handsome hardon.
"Ar-arrrrr!" Jack drove his fingers deep in her cunthole as she freed him.
Jeanie yelped from the pain and the sight of the ugly uncircumcised thing in her hand. Did he actually intend to shove the unwholesome thing up her tight little pink slit? It was madness! Too big, too! She sniffed, caught the awful smell of his black balls and stinking asshole, recoiled. Yet her fingers remained. Her hand gripped the long pulsing shaft as if it were a life preserver, and she, adrift on a turbulent sea, needed something to hang onto.
"Ahummm! N-not too much," sighed Slick Jack, face contorted, loins pumping slowly. "Nice 'n' easy or arum! Um!" He fucked his prick in and out of the soft circle formed by her tiny hand. "Don' whack too hard or I'll be blow-in' the roof off this place wit' my load. Don't want that, sugar. Wanna save it for here!" His fingers slipped from her sopping wet cunthole, curled at the crotch of the panties, and yanked.
Lungs refusing to work, tits threatening to explode, Jeanie opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out. She heard the panties rip, felt the nylon being torn away from her sex. The faint morning breeze from the open jalousie windows licked her gash. A delicious thrill passed through her loins. She moaned, closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the look of triumph on Slick Jack's black face. She didn't want him. She didn't! She didn't! She was holding his big filthy cock because he wanted her to, was making her do it. Her cunthole was nipping because ... because... ! Her asshole, too! Her tits! There was no use resisting, was why. It was as simple as that; it had nothing whatever to do with wanting the long steely thing up her belly.
Jack lifted the hem of the white uniform high on her waist, bent close. He sucked breath through his teeth. "Lordy-Lord!" he exclaimed, fingers gently stroking the satiny yellow curls of her hot pussy. "Ain't never poked in nothin' as pretty as you got, sugar. Lordy-Lord - ain't never even seen one like it before."
She tried not to hear the words, tried to ignore the wondrous caresses. It was like the first time with Mike, she recalled. She'd always accepted the springy blonde curls as a simple natural phenomena, unaware that most pussies - no matter what the color of the hair on a girl's head - were midnight black, and hers was a prize. But the first time Mike saw it, touched her there, parted the glistening ringlets with his long middle finger as Jack was doing, she'd known there was something special about her sweet little mound of fine fuzz. She'd known by his loving words, by the way he'd rained kisses over her young thighs and belly, and later, when she grew bolder, began to talk intimately with other girls, that hers was the dream of most men: true blondeness! And pinkness beneath. A slit that opened onto a slippery passage as rosy as a baby girl's spanked behind.
"Hum! Ha-hum! Hummm! He-ummmm!" She threw her hips up onto the sandpapery tongue that had begun to lick her wet cunt, her clit. She looked down at the kinky head between her plump thighs, whimpered. What was wrong with her, she wondered. She was being raped - she was being sucked off by a disgusting black giant she loathed. He was washing her thoroughly, preparing her tight lovely slit for the thrust of the filthy thing in her hand. Yet there she was ... bucking! The halves of her ass were squeezed tight together, awaiting the lunge. It was dreadful of her. Obscene.
"L-let me goooooo," she wailed suddenly. She twisted abruptly away from the rubbery hps, knowing it was futile but compelled to do something, anything at all, to assuage her own conscience. "You ... you animal! Pig! I won't! I WON'T!"
On hands and knees, round ass turned to the surprised brute, she scrambled to the end of the sofa. But she had barely gotten one leg over the armrest, planning to flee to the operating room for a weapon - a scalpel, a broken bottle, anything - when Slick Jack growled, caught the neck of the uniform and ripped the summer-weight garment as easily as he'd disposed of the crotch of the panties.
"Still wanna play, huh, white baby?" Jack dragged her back onto the cushions, on her belly this time, the dress open from neck to hem. Deftly his fingers undid the snaps of her bra, tore the last shred of nylon from her thrashing hips. One hand locked at the cheek of her ass, thumb low in the crack. "You stay put or I'll tear your sweet asshole up some," he warned. "Ever feel a fingernail cut through a sphincter?"
Jeanie felt the sharp jagged nail at her anus, gasped. She didn't dare move. She was a provocative sight, she knew - naked except for the sheer nylon stockings, and the pink garter belt biting into her hips and soft upper thighs. She heard something drop to the floor, looked and saw his belt. The khaki pants followed. Her body went cold. He was undressing, preparing to fuck his ugly black dick up her hole. She whimpered as the hand left her buttock, too numb to move now. She tried to convince herself it wasn't happening, even as the boxer shorts and T-shirt joined the things on the tiles.
Huge hands closed at her waist, turned her over. Her gaze met his. "Ain't no mo' play-in'," he told her. "Now we gon' fuck!"
Before she could utter a cry, a last futile protest, Jack was atop her, and was setting the tip of his long - unbelievably long ... longer than anything she'd ever seen, it seemed - uncircum-cised dick at the mouth of her delicate pussy. She felt it tear in past the lips, grate across her sensitive clit. She yelped. She saw him grimace as his hips applied pressure and forced the terrible hose halfway home.
Tears flooded her eyes. She was being driven in two, split up the middle. "Owah! Owwwww-WWWWW!" Her mind and body recoiled from the long veiny black stiffness being shoved up her belly.
"Raise them pretty legs," Jack directed. "I ... I won't!"
"You do like I say or ... !" His hand lashed out, cracked loud against the side of her face; whipped back the other way, back again, slamming her head from side to side on the sofa; jarring her teeth loose, it seemed.
Her vision blurred. She felt weak, dizzy. The sting of the blows made her forget for a moment the terrible hurt at her cunthole. She did as he said - she raised her-lcnees, dropped her legs wide ... all the time blinking back tears. She wouldn't add to his triumph by crying, she told herself. Nor would she move once it was in. She'd lie there like a cold fish, helping only to get the thing planted so the burning would stop.
"Ahhhhhhhhh! Jus' keep doin' like that." Jack pulled back, withdrawing all but the tip of his bloated member. Then he fucked his loins slowly forward, driving more of the awesome length into her small swollen pussy. "Ar! Ar! Ummmm! Push up, sugar. Use your nice plump ass. Wiggle so's I get all of it up you next time I hump."
"I ... I won' ..."
"You won' what?" Again Jack raised his hamhock of a hand, ready to whip it back and forth across her bruised face if she didn't comply.
Frantically she wiggled, frightened now, knowing it meant nothing to him if her lovely young face were left scarred - nose broken, bleeding. Hating herself, hating him, she lifted her buttocks high off the cushions and fucked and fucked herself onto his cock. She watched it go in, inch by fat terrible inch. She watched him pull back again, and drive, and grind the last black millimeter up her tight hole.
"Arrrrrrr!" Jack fell heavily upon her. One hand encircled her tit, squeezed until the ripe pink nipple popped twice normal size. He mouthed the tidbit, sucked. His free hand traced her rib cage, crept around and under her waist, found the split up her trembling bottom. "Airtight !" he croaked. "We gon' fuck with all holes blocked so's you know you been laid."
New pain shot through her as his cruel middle finger twisted high in her asshole. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her pussy pissed juice down his balls. Then his lips - his horrible black nigger lips and foul-smelling mouth - were covering hers, sucking the breath from her lungs as he'd sucked her cunthole her tit. Airtight ! she thought. So's she'd know she'd been laid! She wanted to laugh and scream, cry, do she didn't know what all. Because she didn't need anything more than the magnificent ...
No! Not magnificent! she quickly reprimanded herself. Horrid and beastly! Shameful!
She didn't need anything more than the thing beginning to dip in and out, in and out of her sopping wet cunthole, to know she'd been laid. Screwed like never before. Ravished. Abused. Taken by force by a black - the worse degradation a good white girl like her could imagine.
Out in the corridor the others were becoming impatient. Spider, who had raped three young girls before he was caught, was kneading his meat, keeping it hard and ready. Julio, one of four whites in the group that continued to grow as jubilant cons found their way to the hospital, was flashing the knife Tony Giardino had tried to take away from him the day before.
"Motherfuck all this one by one shit," someone growled. "That bitch in there got three holes, man. Ain't no sense lettin' two of 'em go to waste."
"I'm an asshole man anyway," agreed Julio. "Don' matter to me," said Spider. The three laughed, moved closer to the lounge. The others began to group off; the strongest, those known to be tough, in front, the rest content to accept seconds or thirds, fourths or fifths - wherever the number fell, whichever hot hole - on the lovely young blonde Cool Man Slick Jack was fucking loudly enough to be heard in the corridor.
Beyond the infirmary the prison was a bedlam. There were two women, a middle-aged commissary worker and the warden's elderly secretary - both having come in early because this was the one day each week commissary orders were given out and inmate accounts tallied - among the civilians being held at Center. The hospital routine was spreading; men without women were eyeing the two well-built hostages, talking rape.
Tony Giardino stood where Slick Jack and Hie others had left him. He could almost see what was going on at the hospital, the dream of Lois nagging at the back of his mind. He could imagine black dicks pissing cum all over the nurse who was so like the blonde he'd punched a man into eternity for. His bandaged hand throbbed. He wanted to run past the security gate, find Jeanie Simmons, and get her the hell out of there. But there was no place to run to. Around him a thousand cons were kicking out windows, yelling heave! as they tipped and snapped the tall aluminum posts atop which the searchlights rested. Others were in the gun towers at the four corners of the wall surrounding the complex, shouting to reporters, local bureaucrats and state policemen outside.
Perhaps later, he thought. After dark. There was no getting out, he was certain. He could hear the loudspeakers outside the high wall, coming from all directions, gruff voices issuing threats of reprisal if anything happened to the hostages. They - the cons, the civilians and cops - were trapped until the men in the riot-torn prison upstate saw physical evidence of the reforms being promised.
It was a standoff which could last for days, a week. More. He looked about, not wanting any part of the riot or negotiations. Wanting out. But wanting Jeanie Simmons, too. Wanting to rescue her, hide her. Wanting to do to her what he knew Jack and the others were at that very moment doing.
"Fuck 'er!" he mumbled. He clutched his hard cock, remembering Lois, the dream. "Stick this up 'er pussy."
He groaned. Stepping back into the relatively quiet cellblock, he went to his room, closed the door. There were plans to be made, and rest to be gotten for the long night ahead. The machines in the tag shop were still thumping. But the place was deserted, he knew. It was where the riot had started, he'd learned. The cons working the graveyard shift to get the license plate tags out on time had made the first move. Now the building was the perfect place to hide a young cunt, with only the presses - left running to burn out the bearings - as company. He lit a cigarette, fell back on the bunk, and stared at the barred window.
Outside the destruction continued. Glass shattered. The men raced aimlessly here and there. By nightfall they'd be exhausted, Tony mused. They'd post a skeleton guard while the majority slept, and he'd get his chance to get next to the girl whose face and lush little body were emblazoned on his mind.