Chapter 5
There were no windows in the supply room, no light except the one naked bulb, but Tony had grown so used to prison routine, to rising at daybreak and turning in shortly after dark, that he knew it was morning. He yawned, glanced at the sleeping girl at his side.
"Man!" Even after hours of lovemakang and in the torn and wrinkled hospital gown, she was a beauty. He wanted to touch her; he wanted to start the day with a ravenous breakfast ... Nurse Simmons as the main course.
But there were things to do, he reminded himself. It had been too dark for Spider to see who slugged him and ran off with the girl, but Tony knew that sooner or later Slick Jack would become aware of his absence, would look for him on the compound - if only to brag - and might put two and two together if he couldn't be found. He didn't want that; he couldn't afford to have a thousand angry cons suspect he'd taken the ripe girl for himself, was getting what they were missing. Which meant he had to be seen on the compound. He had to make Jack and the others believe he was staying in the background because of the parole hearing a few months away. They'd understand that. It was the only thing they would understand, and he had to get the word out before they came looking.
Quietly, he rose from the cot, dressed. He went to the sink to wash the stale taste of cunt from his mouth. The tap hissed. He adjusted the cold water to barely a trickle, so as not to disturb the girl. Hurriedly he washed his face, combed his hair with his fingers, and moved to the door.
Outside the sky was red-gold at the horizon, and clear blue higher up. The long gravel path from the tag shop to the main area was a runway from soft Jeanie Simmons to the hard life he'd known for a decade, and he was a jet, moving swiftly, crouched low at the brush abutting the walkway - unwilling to return, but compelled to if he was to have the girl to himself until the besieged prison was retaken. He was a prize fool, he knew. For a few days of sexual bliss he might forfeit yet another lifetime. If he had any sense at all, if he could think for a change with his head instead of his prick, he'd get the girl out and maybe put himself in line for an Executive Pardon.
"Shit! Who the f uck're you kiddin' ?" he demanded of himself, nearing the hospital area. The damage was already done. Taking the girl out now, even if he could manage it - and he wasn't at all sure he could - would only mean a few less days of having what he'd been denied for too long.
He dismissed the thought, circled behind the quiet infirmary and peered around the edge of the east wall. Already the compound was stirring, the prisoners, now with prisoners of their own to feed and see to, were carrying large trays of food from the mess hall kitchen to the bedraggled hostages herded like cattle into the hexagon-shaped Operations Center. He could see the two women through the glass partition, some of the huge, supposedly shatterproof, sections broken, that rose from the chest-high concrete apron to the rainshield overhang. He almost laughed. How many times had he heard the cons razzing the screws at Center, calling them "car hops" and demanding burgers and Cokes. Now, with the food going in, men moving briskly back and forth, only the absence of cars marred the image.
He waited until he was certain no one was looking his way, and stepped from behind the infirmary. He crossed unseen to the wall abutting the mess hall, hugged it to the big gate. A group of boisterous cons ran joking from the kitchen entrance. He fell in at the rear.
Spider, who was leaning on the concrete apron in front of Center, saw him first, waved. The left side of the wiry little man's jaw was puffy, black - half a dozen shades darker than his complexion - and blue, and his eye, the one opposite the side Tony had connected with, was swollen shut.
Slick Jack! thought Tony as he approached. Apparently the ringleader had belted the creep for allowing their blonde prize to escape. He looked past the man's gigantic Afro, so huge it dwarfed the rest of his head, through the glass partition at the con inside Center who was feeling the secretary's ass while she ate.
"Where you been, man?" asked Spider.
Tony scowled. "Miami Beach."
Gingerly, Spider rubbed his bruised jaw, and eyed him, as if thinking he was about the right height and weight, and could be the man who had punched him through the jalousie window. He stared speculatively. Tony stared too, an unspoken threat in his eye. Until Spider laughed, refusing the dare, lit a cigarette and snorted two streams of gray smoke from his wide flattened nose.
"You find the guy who sprung the nurse?" prodded Tony, certain the news would by now be all over the compound and anxious to learn what Jack and the other knew. Knowing too that the minute he left, Spider, eager to get back in Jack's good graces, would trot to the infirmary and mention that he was seen.
Spider grimaced, then winced in pain and resumed rubbing his jaw. He threw the fresh cigarette violently to the ground. "It was them f uckin' sneaky troopers," he said hotly. "Snuck in after dark, the way I figure. Must've used a ladder 'n' come over the wall behin' the infirmary, man. Three of 'em. Two held me while the other one punched me out."
Jesus H. Christ! thought Tony jubilantly. He wondered if Spider had told Jack the same story to get himself off the hook. Troopers! It was believable. The State Police were the elite, and when the prison was retaken, when those outside got tired of waiting and negotiating, it would be troopers who came over the wall. He breathed a sigh of relief. His stomach growled. He was suddenly hungry. Starved. He glanced again at the con fondling the elderly secretary's big ass, working the dress up in back.
Spider followed his gaze. Together they watched as the con lifted the hem of the dress to her waist, exposing filthy white panties, a greasy handprint on one cheek. The woman, bent forward over the counter that ran around the inside wall of Center, broken only at the exit, continued to eat. The man said something to her. She looked back at him, her tired face blank. She barely blinked when the hand on her ass traced the crack down, and the man's fingers disappeared into the gap at the back of her full woman thighs.
Tony's dick stirred. Every morning he watched the warden's secretary walk through the compound, and wondered if the flesh beneath her skirt, her wide swishing ass, was as firm as her shapely calves. He could see that it was: firm and white and appealing. She was a big woman - five-seven or eight - with long legs, and hips that would someday grow fat, but were, right now and from where he stood, perfect for fucking.
"Ain't had her clothes on more'n two hours," said Spider. He rubbed the front of his pants, massaging his limp hoselike prick. "She been fuckin' since we took over, man. Likin' it, too. Want a shot?"
Reluctantly Tony shook his head. He could believe the big woman enjoyed screwing; he could almost see her spread-eagled, legs high, thick black pussy working beneath a stiff dipping cock. But he had to maintain the image of a guy who didn't want trouble; he had to use Spider to get the message to Jack and the others, so they wouldn't get curious. He had to have blonde Jeanie Simmons for himself.
"I ... I'm counting on a parole," he said at last, chest tight, dick growing rapidly stiff. "I see the board in a couple of months, and if I get involved in this ... shit! I got too much time in to shoot craps with another thirty years for rape. No cunt's worth it."
Spider looked from him to the secretary. The con had yanked the woman's panties halfway down and was moving his stinkfinger along the crack of her ass. It was a good ass, Tony mused, round and soft, with an abundance of black hair growing low in the split. Whether she liked fucking or not, whether she was willing or not, he wished he could take the other con's place for ten minutes ... just long enough to sample the woman's enormous bottom. Asshole fucking! She was made for it! And it was the only way he hadn't screwed Jeanie.
The civilian commissary worker stepped uncertainly from the room at the rear of Center, two grinning cons behind her. The room was used by the graveyard shift, Tony knew. There was a cot and a table and chairs inside, the former for catnapping, the latter for coffee breaks. But the cons had put the room to better use, he could see. The woman's red hair was a mess, and her clothing, what was left - her blouse was torn at the shoulder, revealing the fact that she wore no bra and had drooping tits, and her skirt was ripped up the side with no panties beneath - was even filthier than the secretary's underwear. She moved as if she were sleepwalking. As if she'd been caught in a bad dream, hadn't yet accepted her plight as reality, and had been fucked almost senseless.
"Here comes my tray," said Spider.
Tony eyed the plateful of scrambled eggs and buttered toast, the steaming pot of coffee. He watched Spider fall in behind the kitchen worker. His stomach grumbled. He hesitated. But Jeanie was safe, he reasoned. It wouldn't take long to get some hot food into his belly, and it would give him a chance, maybe the last for a long time to come, to get close to two more chicks ... if only for a better look at the secretary's wide ass.
Inside Center, he paused at the open door to the small room. The place was a shambles; the walkie-talkies the guards used for emergencies were shattered and strewn about the floor; the straight-backed chairs were dismantled, the seats piled in a corner, the legs being used as clubs by the men stationed outside Center. The sheet draped over the cot was stained yellow where, if two people were fucking, the woman's ass would lay. The redhead's missing underwear was hung on a nail hammered into the wall, a trophy. The rioters were in for big trouble when the prison was retaken, he mused.
Another kitchen worker entered Center with a tray. He took it from the man, set it down on the counter a few feet from where the anxious con was manipulating the secretary's genitals. He ate with one eye on the pair, and listened.
"Hurry it up, will ya?" complained the con. "You eat like you fuck - from now on!"
The woman ignored him; she stuffed the last hunk of toast in her mouth, wiped her lips with a napkin. She glanced back at the hand on her ass, as if becoming aware of it for the first time. She sighed and straightened. The buttons down the front of her dress were undone, and her tits, surprisingly firm for a woman her age, the nipples dark brown and red at the base, came into view. "I'm ready," she said huskily. "Let's go fuck, honey."
Tony almost choked on his eggs. He watched the pair head for the back room, the con's hand still working beneath the hem of the dress. His dick ached. He glanced from them to where the redhead was being served breakfast. The torn skirt revealed her thigh to the hip. Smooth white skin. Freckles. He could see the gentle swell of her belly, and the dip where her pussy began. As he watched, Spider leaned close, said something in a whisper and made a grab for her tit. The woman tried to move away. Another con stepped up close behind her. She looked hopelessly from him to Spider, dropped her fork, and buried her face in her hands. She trembled as the two felt her - Spider kneading her breasts with one hand, shoveling food into his face with the other, the second con grinding slowly against her plump buttocks.
Tony watched until the two men relented and allowed the woman to eat. Spider kept glancing his way, as if to say, "It's free, man. Better get it while the getting's good." The other man moved to the open door to the back room, where a group of cons were watching the show inside.
Prick throbbing, torn between the desire to take some of what the others were getting, and the need to maintain the image he'd created for Spider, Tony finished his breakfast and joined the whispering cons at the door to the small back room. He groaned. The scretary was laid out on the cot - spread-eagled as he had envisioned her - the dress bunched at her waist, open on top, the soiled panties twisted at her ankle. The man seated at the edge of the cot was sucking one fat brown nipple, his hand working roughly in the black scruff between her full raised thighs. Eyes closed, hips churning, the secretary undid his fly and freed his hardon.
"Urn, baby," grunted the con. "Ah! I...I like that real... ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! Real good! Nice! Jerk me off, baby. Yeah! Ah, yeah, yeah, yeah."
"Goddam! I'm comin' in my pants just watch-in' it," croaked the con who had grinded his meat into the redhead's ass moments before. "Motherfucker! Lookit that!"
Tony looked. He looked so hard his eyes almost popped from their sockets. The secretary had flung her legs wide, and the man's hand, every finger, had disappeared up her cunthole. "F-fuck it," she moaned. "With your - " she jerked hard on his prick, tore a strangled cry from the con. "Hurry! S-stick it in me. You ... your dick, not your fingers. Hur-reeeeee!"
The man obliged. Without pausing to remove his pants, cock standing straight out from the open fly, he climbed into the breach and allowed the thrashing woman to steer the tip home. He lunged, grunted. The entire length of his tool - not as long or fat around as Tony's, but bigger than average - burrowed up her pussy.
The door, opposite the foot of the cot, was the perfect vantage point: Tony could see the deep alluring split up the secretary's fat rear, the pink gash of her nipping cunt. And hair! Curly black hair all over the place! He could see the con's stiffness dipping. Faster and faster as the woman's legs shot up, locked tight at his waist. His own meat threatened to piss cream. He forced his eyes away, knowing that if he watched a moment more, if he saw them come, heard their sighs of pleasure, he'd have to take some ... and to hell with the image!
But looking away did no good. Now he saw the redhead, who was younger and more appealing than the warden's secretary. And Spider, who had turned the struggling woman to face him, had her ass pinned to the metal counter and was standing close... grinding ... grinding... rubbing his meat into her crotch as he hissed threats in her tormented face.
Again Tony groaned. He clutched his cock, squeezed. He watched Spider rearrange the woman's skirt, so that the slit up the side was centered in front and her bare pussy - almost as red as the tangled hair on her head - was flush with the bulge in his pantsleg. He heard the woman sob as Spider buried his face at her neck, sucking a hickey. Black and white. The contrast turned him on. He wanted to see Spider's ebony dick part the folds of her sex, disappear to the hilt up the pink and white belly. He wanted to help; he wanted to come up behind the protesting woman, hold her arms until Spider got his joint in, then whip out his own burning meat, spread her cheeks, and do to the redhead what he'd speculated about doing to the elderly secretary. He wanted to do to someone what he had neglected to do to Jeanie.
The thought of Nurse Simmons sobered him. He had gone to one hell of a lot of trouble to kidnap the minx from the others, he reminded himself. He'd taken his life in his hands. It was foolish of him to be there after taking such a chance, and while the blonde - perhaps awake now, frightened to find him gone: perhaps entertaining thoughts of escape - was safe at the tag shop. Through Spider, he had accomplished what he set out to do. He was free of suspicion.
Jeanie was his for as long as the riot lasted. And there was nothing to stop him from doing to the adorable blonde what he most wanted to do.
"Fuck out her sweet little asshole," he whispered, envisioning the tender round melons he'd held through most of the night. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cock, remembering the tuft of blonde fuzz at the girl's tiny anus, and the way she squirmed when he twisted a finger up there. He remembered the taste and smell. He was indeed a fool to consider the others when Jeanie was so much softer ... blonde ... younger and firmer, more appealing.
Quietly he slipped from the unguarded exit. The cons stationed outside Center were busy watching Spider and the redhead through the glass partition, and those inside were glued to the room where the secretary was doing her thing. No-one paid any attention to him.
He made his way unseen to the big gate, then along the wall abutting the mess hall. He paused opposite the infirmary, glanced back to be sure no one was watching. Quickly he crossed the open area and ducked behind the corner of the building.
Again he paused, this time to listen. Something was happening: the loudspeakers weren't barking, which meant something was up. Outside, beyond the high wall fifty feet from where he stood, large vehicles - perhaps trucks, army equipment - were pulling up to the prison. Had the State Police called in the National Guard, he wondered. Were they about to storm the wall?
He knew, and he supposed all the cons did, that It was only a matter of time before the authorities, whoever was charged with the responsibility of the hostages, grew impatient and threw caution to the wind. Then it would end - suddenly, the prison retaken and locked up as tight as a clam. Then he and the others would pay for their brief pleasure.
Tony cursed. There might not even be time to get back to the tag shop. For all he knew, the forces outside the prison were, at that very moment, standing ladders against the high gray wall, and, on signal, before he could get to Jean-ie, a thousand riot guns would appear, helmeted heads behind them, sharpshooters all.
His heart raced. His hard dick protested. There might not be time to sample the only lovely hot hairy hole he'd neglected. He had to move swiftly; he had to get back to the tag shop supply room, and fuck and fuck and fuck like there was no tomorrow. Because, once the riot was over, once Jeanie told what had happened to her, there would be many tomorrows ... but alone! Without pussy! Just him and his cal-lused hand in the bunk each night.
Crouched low, he raced around the infirmary to the gravel path. He was a jet again, scorching the runway. The large building in the distance loomed closer. The labored thumping of the machines grew loud. He covered the last yards at a pace that would have done justice to an Olympic champion, entered the sunlit shop. His breath came in gasps. The stink of hot grease seared his nostrils, and the prospect of losing Jeanie, of losing her tight little asshole, seared his loins.
Quickly, he slammed the outside door, threw the bolt. He ran down the aisle toward the supply room at back.