Jailed Young Housewife Alternate Version

Warm water ran over Kaylah, and for a moment it helped. She scrubbed her cellmate’s dried semen off her skin, watching the soap bubbles circle the drain like the last traces of what he’d done to her. She shut her eyes and let the water pour over her face, trying to drown out everything else. Her mind was blank, stunned from the things she’d endured, the water’s noise a soft roar that swallowed every other sound.

She hated him. In front of Steve his tattooed hands had dragged down her pants and panties, gripped her hips, and lowered her onto his enormous penis. Sitting in his lap like he owned her, Reggie had made her practice taking him inside her—sliding up and down, pulling him out, rubbing her clit with him, pushing him back in. How did she get wet from something so vile? Her own juices had flowed without her asking, slicking him, making it easier for him to use her while Steve watched helplessly, until there was one more shameful stain on the sheet.

Disgust rolled through Kaylah in dark waves. Her body had turned against her. She’d grown wetter for this repulsive man than she ever had for Steve—her handsome husband, the man she loved. She cursed herself for it. She couldn’t understand it. Her cellmate, with his scarred ink and hulking size, was everything she wasn’t, everything she feared, and still he dragged responses out of her that humiliated both her and her husband. Black men had never bothered her one way or the other before—but this man stirred a revulsion in her that went deeper than anything she’d known.

Lost in that swamp of feeling, Kaylah didn’t hear his quiet footsteps through the steam, the air hanging thick as a wet blanket.

Reggie slipped into the shower behind her unseen.

Her hand reached for the faucet to shut it off when his arms closed around her, yanking her back from the water with a jerk. She fought against his grip.

“Oh my God—what are you doing here?” Her voice shook; she shoved at him with both hands.

He tightened his hold, bare skin pressed to bare skin, his huge soft penis bumping against her buttock—a weight that made her sick. “No… let go of me,” she gasped.

“Relax, baby. Captain want me showerin’ with you.” His voice was low and sure.

“I-I’ve showered already… I was leaving,” she stammered.

“Don’t lie,” he said, spinning her roughly around to face him so that her back hit the cold stone wall. He stared at her nubile breasts. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Lather that soap—clean my cock.”

“P-please… I can’t!” The thought of touching him there again made dread climb up through her.

He clamped his hand around her wrist and forced it onto his flaccid shaft. “Captain want us tight—said ‘get to know each other better’ and for you to treat me nice. You gon’ play with my cock, make it hard, and get to know me real good,” he said against her neck.

Her stomach turned over—but she stroked him anyway.

Under her fingers his huge penis stirred and grew. Her disgust mounted with every inch he gained—harder, heavier, stiffening for her hand. Each stroke fed the hatred in her, but she couldn’t quit; his will held hers captive. The thought of being used again cut like a blade through her heart. At least Steve wasn’t watching this time.

“Yeah, that good, baby. You learnin’ how to stroke it nice and make me hard—been too long since I had a girl like you. You gettin’ into big Black dick yet?” His smugness stung.

“Uh… I-I don’t know,” she said, pulse hammering—unable to say what was true: that touching him sickened her soul.

“See how hard you got me? Wrap your arm ‘round my neck,” he ordered.

“Why… w-what are you going to do?” Her words came out thin as paper.

“Stop askin’ questions—and do it. Hold my neck,” he snapped. She obeyed, hanging on like someone about to go under.

His hand closed on her knee and lifted her leg high—she went rigid against him. “Look what you did to me, playin’ with my cock like that—it throbbin’ for pussy now, baby. And you got the only one here. Gotta love you some more. Put me in your pussy like we practiced last night and this mornin’ in front of Steve,” he said.

She turned away from him so he couldn’t see her face; numb inside herself now as she reached down and guided him into place with a sob. “I’m married! Why are you making me do this with you?” The question ripped out of raw disgusted flesh.

“Eyes on mine while you put me inside you—have to keep reminding you I don’t care if you was married! I'm your boyfriend, and you lovin’ me now!” His mouth twisted into a sneer as he said it: “It a beautiful thing when people join! Stop actin’ like it somethin’ bad!”

Tears ran off Kaylah’s chin as she looked into his eyes again—her mouth open wide with terror even as she accepted him—his cock stretching open what little remained of herself until there was nothing left unclaimed by him inside there too: “Ah… ah… uh…”

“Feel better each time we do it, don’t it?” he taunted, pinning her to the ancient stone, her hand bracing the wall, the other clutching his neck as he thrust with her leg held aloft. Their rhythm was primal, skin slapping, a dark echo in the steam.

“Uh… no… oh… p-please… it’s disgusting—wrong…You’re not my husband…”

Her nipples ached against his chest, her pussy was throbbing—a silent plea she despised. “P-please… don’t,” she whimpered, shoving against his torso with her free arm, but his strength was a cage that sealed her fate.

“Your pussy feel too good to stop, baby—so tight and silky…griping my cock…Can’t pull out,” he rasped, his grasp around her constricting.

“You’ve got to… please!” she begged, voice a desperate shard. “You can’t keep this up—why?” Additional tears streaked down her cheeks, dread of receiving more of his semen in her womb overwhelmed her— yet it was inescapable.

“Oh… no… p-please… you’re still inside me… ah… pull out…”

His cock pulsed, flooding her with his hot ejaculate, a violation she couldn’t stop, her body clenching his huge penis in an ultimate betrayal.

He pumped deeper, emptying his swollen testicles, a sticky deluge that left her trembling.

As he withdrew, his glistening shaft slid free—a freight train of flesh—spilling the excess of their mingled fluids to the stone floor, washed away by the water.

Until yesterday, she only had intercourse with her husband—now Reggie’s relentless need shattered that fidelity, his endless capacity a sick marvel that churned her gut with fear and disgust.

Torres’s voice sliced through the spray, sharp as a blade. “Time’s up—five minutes to finish and dress.”

Water beaded on their flushed skin as they rinsed in haste.

Kaylah’s cheeks burned, her shame a wildfire at the thought of her debasement. Why did Torres pair her with this predator? Humiliation consumed her.