Page 26 of No Way Back
I nod dumbly, too afraid to risk having her repeat herself.
My ear aches from the hit; it’s disorienting, and my vision struggles to clear. Her blurry figure drapes over me, breasts grazing over my lips as she lowers down my body. “I can take it off for you, or you can take it off yourself.” Her tone is sweeter now, amused and aroused all at once.
“I-I’ll do it,” I answer quickly, kicking my shoes off so I can slide out of the jumpsuit without standing.
“You don’t have to leave tonight. You can stay here.” She leans back over me again, lowering to whisper in my ear, “Be my good girl forever.”
She sits on my stomach, straddling me, something wet smearing over my skin.
The female inmate takes a deep inhale at my neck, moaning before she speaks. “You smell so good.” Her tongue is hot against my neck, and she licks down all the way to my collarbone. “Is it Dior?” I cringe. “Do you feel how wet I am?” She grinds on me again, slick and sticky all over my stomach while she holds me down by the shoulders. I nod. “Are you wet for me, too?”
“Y-yes,” I try to answer, to say whatever she wants in hopes that maybe, if this ends, she’ll let me go.
The blood still coating the baton in her hand tells me otherwise. She brings it to my neck, pressing it against my throat until I can’t breathe. “Don’t lie to me!” she hisses, releasing the baton and tracing it down my stomach. “Why don’t we check?”
I feel the intrusion of the object sliding between my folds, but she’s right. I’m not wet, and it hurts. She pulls it out before it goes any further, bringing it to her mouth and wrapping her lips around it. “Liar.” She laughs.
“I-I’m sorry.” I don’t know why I say it, but I do.
“That’s alright. I’m wet enough for both of us.” She slides down my stomach, sitting herself right at my crotch.
I squirm from sheer instinct, her palm coming down and squeezing my breast. “See?” she breathes, positioning herself between my legs, scissor-shaped.
The inmate grinds against me, her pussy dripping over mine, her mess coating my flesh as she uses it for lubricant. She moans, touching herself with the baton while her free hand caresses me. I feel the spark of pleasure between my folds, a whimper falling from my lips, and I’m filled with self-loathing. I turn my head away, revolted, a wave of nausea rushing over me, sitting at the base of my throat, threatening to spill.
I hate it, need it to end, but with every grind of her hips, it becomes less obvious whose arousal is between my legs. I close my eyes, hoping that If I can remove her image from my brain, I can maintain some sort of control over myself.
But I can’t, and soon, my soft sounds of pleasure have her moving faster, fueling every undulation of her hips. The feeling builds, winding inside me, tightening in my core. I hold it back; it’s all I have.
Then, I feel it again, the head of the baton invading between my thighs, her cunt still grinding over my clit. There’s no resistance when she thrusts it inside me.
My eyes open wide in alarm. “Shit,” I hiss, covering my mouth with both hands.
“Such a good girl,” she says in a breathy voice. “Letting me ride you and fuck you like this so I can remember it for later.”
Her laugh makes me angry.
I’m just a toy for this lunatic’s amusement. The baton moves faster, making it impossible to try to chase away the feeling, to try to ignore it further. I pull my hands from my face, clawing at her as a painful orgasm explodes from within me.
“Stop!” I cry, my body convulsing under hers, the ASP still moving freely in and out of me until I’m no longer shaking.
“Mmm,” she hums, taking pleasure in licking the stick clean this time. “So much better.” The woman crawls over me again, pulling at the hair on the top of my head to get my attention. “Do a good job. I haven’t been properly fucked in four years.”
She lowers over my face, her pussy coming down over my mouth and nose before I have a chance to process. I feel her weight over my head, and it’s suffocating, panic-inducing to be trapped under her like this.
“Lick, suck, anything. You gotta do something, girly,” she commands from above, tapping the metal baton on the floor next to my ear.
My tongue moves for me, saving my life like it knows I’m too stupid, too frozen in fear to understand. She bucks against my face, grinding over my lips the more I press my tongue against her clit, her hand on my hair relaxing as she uses it to guide my hand to her ass. She holds it there before another moan rips from her vocal chords.
The hand holding the baton loosens, dropping it to the ground as she writhes in pleasure. Her hands move to support herself from behind as she leans back, still grinding, watching me spread my tongue over her folds. “Oh, yes.”
She cries, letting her head fall. I don’t stop—I keep sucking, moving my tongue, encouraging what I can to keep her pleasure going. I continue searching with my fingers, patting the ground near me with desperation until I feel the cold metal beneath my hand.
I wrap my grip around it, thanking God it’s the hand I can use.
And then, I swing.
I swing with everything in me until all I hear is bone crunching and wet meat. I swing until she’s no longer on top, but underneath.
