Jailed Young Housewife

The plates of food from the previous night sat half-eaten, cold and congealed—laced with hidden venoms that rendered females readily moist and men hard, slipped into their meals by Captain Torres from the start.

The two young prisoners had consumed enough for it to sear into their marrow, blind to chemicals facilitating their frequent physical interaction. Torres eyed Kaylah’s pale, naked form sprawled across her Black cellmate, limbs entwined in what appeared to be a post-coital snarl. Her smooth skin gleamed against Reggie’s dark frame, a vivid clash of light and shadow, a tableau of violation Torres had brilliantly orchestrated.

For several minutes Torres watched Kaylah sleep, draped over her cellmate’s torso, serene in oblivion—as if a bond was forging between them Torres had kindled. Torres pictured their crescendo—a steamy, profitable digital feed containing anal sex—and itched to scour last night’s video, hopefully a treasure trove of new material.

“Okay, lovebirds, it’s feeding time. Rise and shine,” Torres called, his flawless English edged with the faint Spanish accent, a cold summons piercing the cell’s dank air.

Kaylah’s hand twitched, drifting over her cellmate’s swollen pecs as if they were affectionate partners, and no longer predator and victim. Still dazed, her fingers grazed his carved muscles—firm yet yielding—a strange heat flaring in her touch. For a fleeting moment, before completely waking, she sank into a phantom of love, a thick haze from the potent drugs pumped into her veins the preceding night remaining, blotting out her chains.

Sleep peeled away slowly at first, leaving her groggy—then jolted as she registered Reggie beneath her, her arm slung across his bulk, hand stroking his smooth, muscular chest.

No! she wasn’t embracing him, wasn’t caressing him! The bed was too small, she insisted to herself disoriented, senses clawing through the thick fog Torres kept putting her in. Bolting upright, she scanned the cell for cover. Her cellmate lay sprawled on their only sheet, so she scrambled for her undergarments and prison clothes stripped from her yesterday and strewn across the floor, as Torres leered at her nudity—her wedding band and engagement ring glinting on her finger.

“Hurry and eat—all of it this time. Don’t waste anymore food, or you will get none. Shower in an hour,” Torres barked, voice flat and pitiless, before stalking off to other tasks.

Reggie slid off the bed, his sleek, chiseled muscles rippling beneath the inked lines and symbols on his skin as he stood.

Kaylah’s eyes betrayed her, lingering on the broad sweep of his back, his deep ebony complexion catching the cell’s faint light with a quiet sheen. Her gaze dipped to his enormous manhood, swaying heavily between his thighs—a rush of flashbacks crashing in: his flesh pressed against hers, his huge hard cock stretching and deeply filling her wet pussy, his taste mixed with her own flooding her mouth while finishing him off with oral sex. She began feeling something for her cellmate, despite the horror binding them.

He bent to grab his prison uniform, flashing his carved abs before pulling it on with a casual swagger. “You like what you be seein’, baby?” he drawled, tucking his thick Black length into his trousers.

Kaylah jerked her eyes away from his enormous penis, disgust and shame twisting in her gut as she sobered more. “No… I-I-I was just…” she faltered, voice trembling, sickened by her spark of attraction to her cellmate—a flicker ignited in spite of forced sex.

“I know. You was checkin’ out my junk. You white bitches all be the same—actin’ too good for niggers, ‘til you get high on some good shit and fucked by one a few times. Then you can’t get enough Black dick. That white dude you swore you loved when we started fuckin’, forgotten. Locked in a Mexican prison, getting shot up with drugs, jail wife to a negro you sharin’ a cell with, all making you change. You loved it when I pounded your ass last night, baby. Made you cum twelve times. That how we bondin’, with all my hot cum fillin’ you up.”

Kaylah flicked her eyes away, refusing to face him. She was Steve’s wife—Steve, her kind, true husband—not this thug’s, no matter his claims. What she remembered of the previous night’s vile assault remained murky. He had ravished her while chanting how she was his until she blacked out,—a relentless tide of drug induced euphoria and forced orgasms. Hate seared her core, but beneath it, a sick thread of desire twitched, stoked by a relentless pull toward him.

She fiercely denied it, but the doping and sex provided reprieve from this prison hell, endorphins surging, her brain awash in opioids, cocaine, and the flood of oxytocin orgasm brought, perversion binding her to her cellmate against her will.

“Pretendin’ you don’t want it, huh? Gonna keep fuckin’ your ass ‘til you take to it. No worry ‘bout gettin’ knocked up with a nigger baby that way, like you was complainin’ ‘bout before. Make sure you clean that tight ass real good in the shower,” Reggie sneered, his grin a sick twist that churned her stomach like rancid oil and sparked her memory of the new way he had taken her.