Page 3 of Justice

As Justice raises herself from the table, she ponders why these motherfuckers willingly do this shit, knowing it is another bargaining chip the warden has over them?

Then, as usual, she reminds herself where she will be in a few days, and how much money will line the pockets of the same guards the warden threatened.

It’s a vicious cycle she surmises, every soul standing in the room is out for themselves, willing to cut the throat of anyone getting between them and a payday. For her, the day will come, and the reward won’t have a single dead president stamped on it. But someone will die, that she will make sure of.

CHAPTERTWO

The brick building,which had become her second home, came into view. To any onlooker, the structure appeared to be a nondescript warehouse found in any major city with its remote location and less than mediocre exterior. But it was what the eye couldn’t see that attracted so many. State-of-the-art security and a private landing strip for those corporate jets, secret rooms designed for most any fetish know to man to come to life. Area Sixty-Nine, as a select few who know of its existence refer to it, was owned and operated by one Veronica Howard. The girls on the bus with Justice, however, called her warden.

Three days a week, no matter if it’s Christmas Eve or an ordinary Friday night, the women Warden Howard hand selected were bused from the prison to the exclusive strip club, to dance for sex hungry men, willing to pay top dollar for an ounce of pussy and one-hundred percent discretion.

Most of the men were older with money to burn and frigid wives at home. Occasionally, a man in law enforcement would come in, usually as a guest of one of the more prestigious clients. Justice assumed their presence was as a thank you for turning a blind eye, or making something, or someone, unpleasant disappear.

For the first six months of her incarceration, Judge Nolen made a monthly appearance, choosing one of the other girls to shake her tits in his face as he jacked off under the table. Not that Justice worried he would recognize her, as a lot had changed since the rainy afternoon in his courtroom where he slammed down his gavel and delivered her sentence.

The warden felt she had enough blondes to entertain her guests and had Justice’s hair dyed from the platinum strands she was born with, to the inky-black waves, which remained. Where most girls blossom during their early teen years, Justice had taken her sweet time, going from barely a B cup to a full-on double D before she celebrated her first month behind bars.

She’d been tempted several times to steal the gun off one of his security detail and shoot him in the back of his head, however when he failed to show up two months in a row, Justice used the connections she had formed with other inmates to learn of his tragic death, the result of an angry father who didn’t appreciate Judge Nolen letting the man who raped and killed his daughter be set free. For all the protection of Red’s outlaw biker club Judge Nolen did, Red came up short in returning the favor.

“Come on, Justice. Better get in there before Stone catches you daydreaming.” Officer Sanchez taps the side of his boot against the shackles around her ankles.

Unlike Stone, Miguel Sanchez is a decent guy with a wife and four kids. He doesn’t feel the need to mess with the girls, choosing instead to help a few hide the tips they receive. Warden allows him to keep a percentage off the top of what he collects, and even with the amount he lets the inmates keep, Sanchez, is able to send all of his kids to a private school, while his wife stays at home.

“Thanks, Officer Sanchez,” she says, stepping off the bus and onto the gravel parking lot, the stones crunching under her feet. It’s the end of November, Thanksgiving is in a few days, not that she needed a calendar to tell her as the parking lot is full of SUV’s, men in black suits standing guard, clouds of smoke billowing out of their noses from the cold night. Sanchez had been wrong when he said she was daydreaming, the truth was she was procrastinating.

As soon as Halloween had taken its witches and vampires and packed them away for another year, the dread in her gut began to build. Holidays meant the House and Senate would take a break, giving its members plenty of time to stop in for a night of sexual debauchery before heading home to the turtlenecks and separate bedrooms which awaited them in the mansions they called home.

Senator Kenneth Jones, from Massachusetts, was one of those who would enjoy not only the overpriced drinks and unlimited tits and ass, but also the ability to do whatever he wanted with the girls, as long as he paid for it. He loved bringing in a truckload of his colleagues, throwing his hard-earned cash around as fast as he could print it, acting as if he owned everything, and everyone, in the building. His fantasy, as Justice assumed by his conduct, was to be in control, forcing everyone to do as he demanded, and if they failed to comply, be a big enough force to inflict serious pain.

As soon as he walked through the door, he wanted a girl on her knees sucking his dick, another with her finger shoved up his ass and a third to lick his balls all night. Thank God the motherfucker was a hundred years old, and on the off chance he came in one of their mouths, it was more like dust than real come.

Despite his advanced age, he was still meaner than a wet hen and loves to push the girls around. Last time he was here, he got pissed off when Mandy, who was licking his balls, had to sneeze, interrupting his impending orgasm. He had his goons hold her down as he stuck his lit cigar in the center of her chest, leaving her with third-degree burns. She spent time in the infirmary, while the punishment he handed out cost him fifteen grand.

The first time Justice danced for him, the girl next to her tripped and fell into her, causing her to bump into him and knock his drink over. He had Officer Stone backhand Justice, the ring on the hand he used cut her chin badly enough it required six stitches.

Senator Jones had a thing for real tits, and if they were big and real, all the better. So when she saw his Escalade parked by the front door, she knew this was going to be a shitty night. The thought of shooting him in the head crossed her mind.

Loud music vibrated the walls and red lights illuminated the room, making the faces of the guards appear demonic, as Justice shuffled through the back door. She wondered if she would ever miss the ten-armed men with scowls on their faces who flanked the line as the girls were transported on and off the bus?

Once the shackles were off, and the warden gave her warning, she was allowed to cross the hall into the dressing room. The elongated space ran along the back of the building, mirrors covered the walls on both sides. Makeup lighting, plush chairs and top of the line products were available to all the girls. But the last stall, the one with the Hollywood style lighting and the hydraulic seat, was reserved for warden’s best bitch, Justice.

As Justice looked at her reflection in the mirror, watching her hands apply her blood-red lipstick, she allowed her mind to drift back to the last Thanksgiving she had spent with her mother. Red had gone off on some big run with the club, while her mother battled detox on the bathroom floor. His idea of funny was refusing to leave her any money or drugs to get her through until he returned. She remembered holding her mother’s head as she vomited until there was nothing left, sweat pouring off her as she shivered and cried about how cold she was. Justice contemplated running away, leaving her mother and the MC bullshit behind, but one tiny thing held her back. Her little sister, Tymeless.

Her sister had sat beside her, holding her mother's hand, and singing songs she made up, and, as their mother fell asleep, Tymeless made Justice promise she would never leave her.

Justice feared what Red had done to her sister. The bastard lacked any boundaries when it came to women in his care. She prayed he had found a new cut slut, one who would have fulfilled his sick and twisted needs, leaving her sister alone.

“Justice, the Senator is waiting for you.”

Her eyes flashed to the warden’s reflection in the mirror, as she stood beside her, hip cocked to the side, hand resting on the back of Justice’s chair, and a cigarette in her left hand. Veronica was a serious woman with her hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, a scowl on her face and cold, beady eyes. She wore the same uniform of a white dress shirt and gray pencil skirt. Justice couldn’t recall her ever taking a vacation or sick day, and the only time she stayed away was always prison related. She never noticed her take a drag from the cigarette in her hand, but every time she was here, she walked around with it between her fingers.

“Yes, ma’am.” Justice stood, tossing the tube of lipstick on the table, adjusted her tits and G-string, and headed out.

“Hey!” Veronica shouts to gain her attention and as she turns around a vicious smile creeps over her face. “Be extra nice to him, it’s his birthday.”

As suspected, the crowd was wild tonight. Two girls were already on stage, one of their bras wrapped around Officer Stone’s head as he attempted to dance like a normal person, and not the Forrest Gump impression he was doing.

Senator Jones sat in his usual spot; a leather sofa with a glass-top table in front, a private pole for a girl to dance for them and only a few steps from the exit. Tonight he had three men with him, all dressed in expensive looking suits, ties undone and rock hard dicks attempting to escape those Armani slacks.

---