Chapter 8
The riot ended as abruptly as Tony had figured. Daybreak was accompanied by a barrage of threats and counterthreats from the loudspeakers on both sides of the wall, those at Center making light of a final plea to free the women hostages, to be reasonable. The prison was in an uproar. Slick Jack had passed the word - get Tony Giardino! The story of what had happened the night before infuriated the cons, and the troopers and guardsmen outside the high wall, the promise of immediate repercussions if the women weren't released, merely gave them something upon which to vent their rage.
All hell broke loose. Moments after the fruitless loudspeaker exchange, Tony clutching the frightened girl in his arms, the two huddled in the spot where they'd spent the night, the hel-meted heads and rifles appeared atop the grim granite parapet.
"They're comin' over," someone yelled. Rocks flew. A volley of gunshot shattered the morning calm. Tear gas grenades exploded, forming a cloud of choking mist between the rioters and the outer perimeter. Rope ladders slithered down the inside of the wall, and uniformed men wearing bulletproof vests, gas masks, riot guns slung over their shoulders, poured into the prison. All but the toughest cons scattered.
They'd had it, Tony knew. He looked into Jeanie's dirty but nonetheless lovely face. The lust was gone. Now the loathing he'd seen on the night he whisked her away to the tag shop was back in her eyes. The seige was over, her look seemed to say. It was her turn. Soon the place would be back in the hands of the rightful keepers, and he, along with Slick Jack and Spider and all the others who had used her, would be made to pay for what they'd done.
"Over here," she cried, breaking free as the first line of guardsmen kneeled, fired into the air, and then covered the milling cons while the second wave - the troopers with the gas guns and chains to restrain the rioters - scaled the wall. Trying to hide her nakedness, hands strategically placed, she ran from the brush.
Tony watched the guardsmen hesitate, eyes bulging behind the gas masks as the naked minx approached. He watched Jeanie stop, say something, cover her face with her hands, then begin to weep. He stared hard at her plump ass, etching it on his mind. It would be a long time before he saw another, he mused. Maybe never. Maybe he'd die inside the grim wall for being unable to resist the lush little blonde.
"Cover that woman," an irate guardsman with lieutenant bars barked. "On the double."
Half a dozen men rushed to obey. Bulletproof vests were flung off, and shirts - one draped over her small heaving shoulders, another with the sleeves tied about her slim waist - hid Nurse Simmons' charms.
Tony drew a deep breath, sat. He wished he had a cigarette. He listened to the gunshots and shouts, calmly watched wave after wave of troopers and guardsmen, followed by city police, come down the rope ladders. The wall trembled as the tall electronic doors a hundred yards away were opened, and trucks carrying reinforcements roared into the compound. That meant Center had already been taken, he mused. Minutes now. Soon the rebellious cons, him included, would be back in their cells, the prison under tight security while the damage was repaired. Then the indictments. Rape for him and the others. Kidnap. Destroying state property, and whatever.
He closed his eyes. Was it worth it ? Jeanie ? Would he think so in say a month, when the new charges were filed and he was dragged into court to be sentenced to ... to the rest of his life?
But it didn't happen that way. In the days following the riot, he watched from the small window in his cell door as Jack and the others - all bedraggled, all in need of a change of clothes and a shave - were hustled one by one to court. Each evening he listened to the radio commentator announce the indictments ... frowning ... wondering what was taking the authorities so long to get to him. He wanted it over; he wanted to take what he had coming, crawl into a hole somewhere and forget.
On the morning they opened his door, Tony braced himself, expecting the same rough treatment - the shoving and curses - Jack and the others had been subjected to. Instead, the White Hat in charge of the four-man escort detail grinned and said, "Better shave and put on some clean clothes."
He blinked, wondering if he'd heard right. "I... it'll take me awhile."
"All the time you need. We'll wait. Here." The White Hat, a sergeant labeled by the cons as a prick, produced a pack of cigarettes, matches. He studied the hand that accepted the offering, added, "We'll take you to the infirmary and have the nurse change that dressing before we go out."
He couldn't figure it: they were treating him like royalty, a V I.P. But ten years in prison had taught him to expect the unpredictable, and so he went along with the script. He washed himself down in the sink, shaved, changed clothes and accepted another smoke from the concerned guards. It might be a long time before he received like treatment, he thought. The radio commentator had said the rioters and rapists were being shipped back to the ancient maximum security complex upstate, where a similar surprise action had put down the rebellion and everyone involved in both uprisings was being thrown into the hole - solitary. It might be a lifetime before he saw daylight again. Grimly he followed the escort out of the wing and toward Center.
The nurse who cleaned and dressed his hand was new: a shapeless scarecrow with gold teeth. She too grinned, called him by his first name. By the time they reached the warden's office, Tony was doubting his senses. Were they setting him up for the kill, he wondered. Like a condemned man - all last requests granted, and then zap! He expected the worst as the door opened on a roomful of political brass and local reporters. It was like when he was a kid and had won his first Golden Gloves bout by a knockout.
"Why'd he do it?" the newsmen, the warden, the guards and visiting dignitaries wanted to know. "Had he considered the possibility that he might be risking his own life to rescue Nurse Simmons from the ruthless bunch at the infirmary? Did he expect a reward - clemency? Was he scared?"
Tony was stunned, unable to answer with more than a yes or a no. Jeanie! The girl had omitted his part in the rape, had mentioned only the rescue. It was hard to believe. He recalled the look in her eye when the troops scaled the wall, the silent threat of revenge. Yet no one knew. Slick Jack and the others were being prosecuted for their part in the attack, while he was being commended.
Cameras flashed ... the warden shaking his hand. The newsmen attributed his evasive answers to virtue. One suggested a headline: CONVICT SINGLEHANDEDLY RESCUES NURSE FROM RAPISTS AND SAYS IT WAS NOTHING I
But why? All the way back to his cell he wondered what had motivated the girl to keep her mouth shut. All that day and the next he relived the things they'd done... the asshole fucking and sucking... the way the girl fought each time his stiff dick forced its way up her belly. And then the last time, the ribbon. He recalled how she had asked him; how, after Jack and the others had defiled her in every imaginable way, Jeanie had timidly dared him to eat her. He lay on the bunk with eyes closed, the smell and taste of her fresh in his mind. It was as if his brain had stored the sweet juice from her pussy, and now, him there, the girl miles away - doing what? he wondered. More fucking? Sucking as she had sucked him? - their last night together was being recreated inside his head.
His prick grew hard. His breathing grew labored. He could almost hear her soft mewing sounds, her cries of delight when he popped. And the bug! The tiny ground beetle that had crawled up her ass to help lift her to paradise. He remembered how, even after the previous hours of abuse, the black rods degrading her, Jeanie laughed when it was over and he'd fished the leggy insect out with his tongue. Was that it? Had she purposely overlooked all the bad things because of their last night together?
For days he lay on the bunk and stared thoughtfully. He refused to consider the possibility of executive clemency, as the radio commentator was suggesting. The governor, it seemed, had taken a special interest in the case, and everyone - the press, the prison officials and reformers - was demanding that he be rewarded for his bravery with immediate release. Even Jeanie's family concurred; her father, the newscaster said, had petitioned the State House.
He remembered odd things Jeanie had said - Daddy! He had intended to ask her about that; about why she called for her father at the moment when his stiff meat was grinding up her hot asshole. And Mike, her boyfriend. He'd meant to question her about that too, about why anyone in his right mind would allow a beautiful girl, his girl, to work in a joint with a thousand hard-up cons.
But her father mostly. In retrospect, it was almost as if the girl had been screwing her father. As if, as his long cock slipped deep between her round buttocks, she was remembering another time, another cock. He thought back to his own boyhood ... dredging up cousins, and a mother who, before she ran off with his own father's best friend, used to make his young dick hard by playing physical games - at least they were supposed to be games - no mother, particularly one who was stacked and good-looking, should play with her own little boy.
Was it like that with Jeanie, he wondered. Was her father a secret incest freak, as his own mother had been?
"Jeanie," he groaned on the night a week after the prison was retaken, when the radio commentator announced that the attractive young nurse had been released from the hospital, pronounced physically well, reunited with her parents, and that she would not be returning to her post at the place where she'd been subjected to what the doctors called psychological trauma.
Reunited with her daddy! he thought, remembering how the girl had straddled his lap and fucked herself onto the stake. Could it be ? Was she, at that very moment, celebrating her return home by grinding her adorable daughter-ass onto her own father's stiff cock?
"Jesus!" He closed his eyes tight, clutched his throbbing hardon. He could almost see it. Like the time his mother suggested they play musical chairs, just the two of them. An impossible task, with only one chair and her humming breathlessly, exciting him with the soft sexy sound, the hot look in her eye, as they circled the seat... her wearing shorts no mother should wear in the presence of her tall horny son ... him ogling her buttocks and crotch. Her ass was bigger than Jeanie's lush melons, he recalled, her hair not so blonde. He dug deep in his mind for the far-away images, interweaving the picture of Nurse Simmons' naked behind with the hazy memory of his mother's plumper cheeks. She was no longer his mother, he convinced himself. She'd run off, a tramp - fucking for anyone and everyone, his father often said. That made it okay. That made the fantasies of his boyhood, the wet dreams about Mother, merely another lewd episode in the life she'd chosen.
Half asleep, dick hard in his hand, and his mind a collage of past sexual delight - just as Jeanie's mind had been flooded with unwholesome desires concerning her daddy - Tony recalled how his mother had stopped humming when he was in front of the chair, making it easy for him to beat her to the seat, and how her buttocks had spread in his lap, soft and warm, her arms at his neck, big mother-tits, the nipples swollen, braless, showing through the thin blouse she wore and digging into his bare chest.
"Oh, dear," she'd sighed. "Mother should've known she couldn't beat a big boy like you. What now?"
"Let's ... well, I mean ... I... l-let's just sit here awhile," he brazened.
Mother laughed - the deep-throated sensuous sound that always left him panting. Her wide ass jiggled. His dick began to stiffen. She cocked her pretty blonde head, stared into his face. She could feel him, he knew: she couldn't help but feel the fat rod, that was, even at thirteen, almost a foot long. Yet she sat there, the legband of the shorts biting deep in her full white thighs, the material hugging her cunt like new skin.
"What's Mother's handsome boy thinking?" she asked when, the jeans pinching his balls, he shifted to get comfortable.
"N-nothing, Ma. Nothing at all."
Again she laughed. She too shifted. The aching bulge in his pantsleg centered itself in the hot mother-crack of her ass. She leaned far back on the arms about his neck, raised her legs and rocked - a sexy seesaw in his lap. How he wanted to fuck her; his own mother! He wanted to move the hands on her waist down, feel her pussy and cheeks. He wanted to tear the shorts off ... kiss her___suck her. Instead he sat perfectly still, trying to think of her as his mother and not as a beautiful blonde woman who rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in her son's lap.
Teasing him, making it almost impossible for him to remember who she was, Mother said, "Does my handsome big boy have a girl friend? Someone to play with when Mother's not here to play musical chairs?"
He gulped, not knowing what to say. Her ass felt so good. He played dumb, as if his dick was always hard and the cheeks in his lap meant nothing. He let his hand slip lower, savoring the flare of her hip. "I ... I don't like other girls," he said finally. "Only you, Ma. You ... you're my girl."
"Darling, that's so sweet." She hugged him, kissing all over his face and caressing his youthful stiffness with the wiggling halves of her succulent bottom. Her thighs opened slightly. He glanced down, saw the round tip of the bulge in his jeans ... so close to the soft swell of her mother-pussy. "Kiss Mother," she cooed in his ear. "If I'm to be your only girl friend, then we'll simply have to kiss 'n' hug 'n' play parlor games all the time."
Eagerly he complied. He kept his eyes open, drunk on her beauty and the warmth of her breath at his mouth. It was the first time he'd been tongue-kissed by a girl. His hand slipped lower still, trembling as his fingertips met the bare creamy flesh at the legband of the shorts. Her ass moved provocatively in his lap. Suddenly his hand was there, on her cheek, inches from the hot split. She sighed. Her thighs opened farther. The tip of the bulge in his jeans met the damp indentation where the shorts were sucked deep in her cunthole.
"My baby," Mother sighed into his open mouth.
"Mama, I ... ll-love you."
He didn't know how it had happened. Even now, in the cell, half asleep on the bunk, he couldn't remember how his hand had gotten inside the shorts at the tight legband. He recalled only the silken texture of the hair on her cunt, and that Mother didn't object when his finger crept to her slit and fucked itself in. He remembered her moaning ... as Jeanie had moaned when he forced his dick up her asshole. And the wet kiss that lasted until he came in his pants, and then the sound of a key being turned in the front door lock - his father home from work - and the game ending. There were other games after that, before Mother left, but he had never again mustered the courage to go so far.
Groaning, Tony pissed cum over the bunk. He was caught in the childhood memory, linking it to what Jeanie had said about her father. Rather, what the girl hadn't said - the implications. Was it like that with them, he wondered. Father and daughter, as it had been between him and his mother? Incest was common enough. And with Jeanie, being the male parent of such an adorable minx, it was more understandable. Especially now. After what she'd been through with the blacks, particularly Slick Jack and Spider - sadists both - he could well understand her father wanting to take some, even if he had never done so before.
He jerked his stiff cock, shooting spurt after spurt of hot cream over the bedding. Jeanie! Would he ever see her again ? Would he be given the chance to fuck her the way she deserved to be screwed? In a bed? Eating her cunt until she was ready to scream, then driving his meat so hard up her belly, so forcefully, that she cried and begged him to stop - but all the time fucking? His life for ten years had been one lonely fantasy after, another. Until Jeanie.
"Just lemme get one more shot of that pussy," he choked, squeezing off the last drop of hot cum, rubbing the sticky glans of his prick in the mess, and hoping - daring to hope for the first time - that what the radio commentator had said about clemency would come true, and that soon, because Jeanie hadn't mentioned the rape, though he still wasn't sure why, he'd be free. Then he'd find her. He'd find her and eat her cunt until she gave him some answers.