Steamy Jailbird Romance Collection

It’s a brown and orange sticky mess, and I wonder if it’s even legal to call it food. Then again, the law doesn’t apply here - we’re all criminals. It doesn’t matter if you’re actually guilty of the crime you’re convicted of because, as soon as you’re on the other side of the fence, you’re a felon in everyone’s eyes. They could feed us dog food, and no one would care.

If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine this being a cafeteria bustling with people. But it’s a difficult task - since we’re only allowed plastic trays and cutlery, the sound isn’t the same. Not to mention the stench. I try to block out the odor by imagining the sweet smell of freshly baked cinnamon… No, I can’t go there. That was another time, another life. I’ve made a new one here. Besides, I can’t show any signs of weakness.

I push the tray in front of me and stand up, heading for the exit.

“McKenzie!” a familiar voice barks behind me. I stop and turn around to look at Brad, one of the guards. His smile is smug, his stance wide, and he’s holding his belt with both of his hands, trying to look intimidating. Like he’s trying to make up for that tiny d*ck of his. “You know where the tray goes,” he says, giving me a stern look.

“So do you. Why don’t you put it there?” I challenge, not breaking eye contact.

“I’m not your servant, McKenzie! Now take your f*ck*ng tray and put it where it belongs.” He’s losing his patience. Good. It allows me to make a statement.

I walk back to the table, pick up the tray and walk to him slowly, dropping the tray on his feet. “Go f*ck yourself,” I say and saunter away, not bothering to look back. I know exactly what’s in store for me after this, but it’s worth it. I must assert my authority here. I’ve worked my *ss off for almost eight years to build myself a reputation - sucking dicks, licking pussies, taking beatings, etc. And a prick like Brad will not take it away. The people in here are like wolves - they can smell fear. And the moment you show any type of weakness they will rip you to pieces. Kill or be killed.

On my way back to my cell I pass a couple of guards sneering at me. I just glare back. Pieces of sh*t. To be able to climb to the top of the food chain, whether you like it or not, you’ll have to s*ck a lot of dicks. The new ones usually settle for a handjob, but once you’ve given them an inch, they want a mile.

I’ve never liked my cellmate. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but she gives me a bad vibe. Rumors say she’s an axe murderer, but I don’t know how much of that is true. I find it hard to believe that she would end up in a medium-security prison if that were the case. She doesn’t like me either, but at least she’s not sucking up to me, which I can respect. We have a mutual understanding - I don’t mess with her, and she doesn’t mess with me.

She’s reading a book from the prison library as I walk in. “Heard you told Brad to go f*ck himself,” she says without lifting her gaze. “You know that’s going to cost you.”

“Yeah, it’s nothing I haven’t done before. Where did you hear that anyway?”

“You know I won’t tell you that. You’ve got your ways to stay on top, I’ve got mine.”

That’s the longest conversation we’ve had in a week, so I leave it at that.

* * *

I should be used to the blaring horn at night, but I still jerk at the sound.

“Twenty minutes before lights-out!” a robotic voice shouts through the speaker. I drag my tongue across my front teeth, feeling their ragged surface. I grab my bag with toiletries and walk toward the communal bathroom. I’m not surprised when I meet Brad in the hallway on the way back.

“I think you have a problem with authority, inmate,” he says, pointing his baton at me.

“I don’t. Because you don’t have any authority over me.” I try to keep a condescending tone - fear or weakness will get me nowhere.

Brad approaches me with long strides and grabs the collar of my shirt, pulling my face toward his. “We’ll see about that,” he hisses in my ear, roughly shoving me into a nearby closet - a closet I’m more familiar with than I would care to admit. As soon as he’s closed the door, he grabs my left hand, cuffs it, and locks it above my head on one of the metal shelves. I close my eyes and hear the familiar sound of pants unzipping. Pulling out a knife, he presses it to my throat. Guards aren’t allowed to carry knives, but I guess he’s found a way to smuggle one in. It’s not that difficult.

“Grab it,” he growls into my ear. I take his d*ck in my hand and start stroking it, making sure to squeeze the head the way I know he likes. He’s already hard, and I hope I can finish him off as soon as possible, so I speed up the motion with my hand. “Not so fast, Laura.” There’s a hiss at the last syllable, and I cringe at the sound. I prefer if they don’t use my first name - it makes it too personal. “Do you think a simple handjob is gonna make up for that stunt you pulled?”

He puts both hands on the waistband of my pants and pulls them down along with my panties, leaving me completely naked from the waist down.

“What’s the matter, inmate? Don’t know where to put it?” he mocks. I stay silent, not wanting to give in. “I think you do. It’s not our first time,” he groans in my ear, his breath on my skin disgusting me. “Why don’t you put it there?” he taunts, mimicking my words from earlier. I could refuse to do it, but he’s got the upper hand, and I know there’s no way of escaping. So, I might as well get it over with.

Reluctantly, I bring his cock to my pussy, and when he pushes it in, I try not to show the pain that he’s causing. He can feel that I’m not wet enough for this not to hurt, but I think the fucker thrives on that.

Instead of fighting it, I put my head against the wall and try to imagine someone else. Someone who never would have been this rough without my permission. I remember him moving above me, inside me, showing me what real pleasure was. How his gentle touch always made a warm, fuzzy feeling spread throughout my body. No. I won’t go there.

“That’s right. Right there,” Brad pants, breaking me from my thoughts. For a second it didn’t hurt, but with his words, the pain comes back in full force. He seems to be close, pushing into me faster and faster. He puts one of his hands on my breast, squeezing it hard, and this time I can’t hold back a cry. I curse myself for letting him know much this hurts. I can’t be weak - not in here. But he seems to be too wrapped u