A Cell Phone Makes Me Pregnant Ch. 02

His version of making love could be more accurately described as a pig squealing as it was rutting. That was what my ears heard, as he pumped against me, his one arm holding my knee had against him, holding me fast, while his bulk flopped onto me again and again. I could feel him in me, but I wasn't getting much out of him. He just wasn't as long as many men. In fact, I think he would even lose a distance contest with my pathetic husband. He also didn't last very long.

It was over in just a few minutes, maybe three at best. His high-pitched squeaks grew louder until he grunted and drove into me as far as he could. That was the only indication he had climaxed. I couldn't feel a thing, and couldn't do anything about it. The very last thing I wanted to do was finish to myself off. Not anywhere with him around. I couldn't give him the satisfaction.

After several hard gasps for air, he flopped lazily aside, and rolled onto his back. He was sweating profusely, and I had to lie on my back to see him. I lay there, feeling a tickle of his ejaculate leak. He couldn't possibly have shot deeply into me. I was just starting my safe period on my last visit, but had little worry of his impregnating me now. It had only been eight days, and he was hung like a mouse.

"You may go." Was all he said between gasps.

I reached for my thong, but he managed to snatch his hand away from my reach. "I'm keeping these."

I just rolled my eyes, and rose to my heels, smoothing my dress back into place, and spying a tissue box on his desk. Wiping between my legs, I managed to do a very decent job of clean up, mostly because the mess was small. As I turned to leave, I dropped the tissues on his rotund form.

"Thank you for your time, Warden. I'll give my husband your regards." My smile was more for me, than for him. For once, I had finally found a man with a dick smaller than my husband's.

I gave my best sultry strut as I stepped over him and made my way out, not looking back.

-----

Zack went into the kitchen and pulled the phone off the hook, dialing his neighbor's phone number.

"Ok, Tony. She's gone for at least a few days. Wanna come over and play?" He was asking in a conspiratorial whisper over the phone. Left behind as his wife went to re-shoot her news story, he was now gifted with the freedom to work on his primary passion. Becoming a girl, or at least as close as he could get.

His moniker, Nikki, was from his favorite porn starlet, a redhead who looked oddly like his wife, and had similar taste in fashion. Sexy short skirts and dresses, four-inch heels, and a long wig made him look like her, at least in his eyes. To the rest of the world, he may have looked like a small-statured man with no real defining characteristics in his build. This made looking like a girl somewhat possible, though he would need dim light, distance, and alcohol to help others see Zack as more than some strange looking female, or as a guy in drag.

"Nah, I can't... Too much going on here. How about tomorrow?" Tony answered.

"Sure... Make it around nine, then..." He replied. He was standing there, dressed in short baby blue satin robe, white lingerie and heels. As he stood connected to the wall by the phone, he couldn't help but dance a little in those heels, and checking out his legs, encased in white thigh-high stockings, the garter belt holding them in place well.

After hanging up, he went to the TV, to turn on his favorite channels, porn. Lately, he'd been taken to switching between sissy-porn, and interracial sex. His very favorites were videos and movies of buxom women who were accosted in public, and had sex with hung black strangers. Or so the titles said. He was sure that they were all paid actors. One actress he especially enjoyed was a stacked redhead, who wore patent-leather 'fuck-me' heels and satin outfits. Even just watching her walk across the street and letting the traffic-created wind gusts blow her skirt up was enough to make him start to leak droplets from his four inch dick. Her face was never really revealed, and there were internet chatrooms and websites dedicated to identifying her. But her face was either blurred out, or obscured from view by her full mane of auburn tresses.

The actress was insanely popular, it was turning out, and her most recent release, being bedded hard by a number of 'inmates' from the 'state penitentiary' looked very realistic. Zack couldn't help but to start jerking off with his robe over his throbbing manhood as he watched black cock after black cock fill her with virile man-juice, while others held her legs up and wide, and her arms lay at her side, with her dress at her waist and her thong hanging from one heel. All the while he was wishing he could be her, and be subjugated by those powerful black men.

The movie had to have been fantastic, as when it had ended, almost four hours had gone by. He yawned and looked down, somehow unable to remember how he had shot so much of his ejaculate on the carpet. He wasted no time in tottering to the kitchen and get what he needed to clean up the mess before heading to bed.

------

My fresh smile was a little forced, as I went to meet with the producer and tech crew for the actual shoot. They had a new credential for me, and after exchanging pleasantries, the producer, a smarmy little white pipsqueak with dirty-blonde hair named Gary, looked me over. Shaking his head, he tsk'ed at me.

"Suzi, this just won't do."

"What? My outfit?" I was semi-incredulous. I was wearing the same outfit that the warden had just found unable to resist. "It has already been approved by the warden for being inside."

The last thing I wanted to do was get naked on security cameras in this place. Hundreds of guards would be ogling me within an hour, I was sure.

"Yes. Your outfit. The Network has given direction on what you are to wear, and they are so serious about it that I am to take you shopping if you didn't bring along the appropriate attire. Think in terms of what you would wear at the studio. That is what they want."

I rolled my eyes. "Greeeaattt..." I muttered, and looked for a place to change, noting that the crew already had my suitcase. "I need a room to change in."

"Already arranged. Just go with the guards, and they will get you situated. Be ready for makeup in ten minutes."

Sighing heavily, I looked to the crewman, who handed my roller to me. With a look to the guard, I nodded and gave him a very nice and polite smile. If something went bad during the interviews, he, or someone just like him was going to come save my ass. I hoped. No use trying to piss him off. "If you please, Sir?"

In the conference room I pulled out my potential outfits. One was simply my travelling outfit. Pink satin blouse, black satin split-leg pants, and pink heels. No way was that going to fly, except on the plane home. In a way, that was good, because the overlaying fabric joined at my hipbone, so there was very little to hide me, and no way to develop any modesty if I sat. On an airplane, at least, I had some sense of decorum. The Mile-High Club was pretty much dead, nowadays.

A black and white skater dress was next. I shook my head. The neckline was too high, with an Oriental collar, and the hem, while cute, wasn't going to flare nearly as much as my wardrobe on set at the station did. After laying it aside, I pulled out a gold draped-front top, held up by two bikini strings, and a black satin miniskirt. The skirt was a tad long, actually, hemmed at my knees, and not the length I normally wore. This became my plan 'B' outfit.

Last was my white-satin halter dress. It was hemmed at mid- thigh, and had a very high waist. The flare was very wide, and the halter was a very low-dipping drape, that accentuated not only my chest, but also showed a lot of side-boob and even the hint of the curves forming my cleavage. The halter tied in a large white satin bow under my hair, but was actually two button-snaps. I tied the wide white satin sash behind me in a large bow. The tails of the sash hung from the knot just below the hemline.

This one I knew was a winner, my Plan 'A'. I had worn it before, or tried to, at the station, but the camera guys all had a stroke about me wearing white on set, because of a conflict with the lighting. But in the prison? There weren't the harsh lights of a TV news set, and the color would help me stand out from any prisoners. I could even wear it with my red stilettos, which were the only matching heels I had for it. Only down-side was I didn't have panties to wear with it. The warden had decided to keep my only color-coordinated ones, and I had little doubt there were going to be angles focusing on showing some extra leg. Shrugging, I decided to do without.

Pulling up a chair, I changed, peeling off my stockings and pulling on silky-sheer white ones, and a lacey garter belt. All the while I kept sneaking glances up into the corners of the rooms. Yep. Security cameras in all four corners, and I didn't have to be told that they were all actively monitored. I slid the new dress down, from my shoulders, and gently tugged and smoothed it in place, aware that since I had zero privacy, I was giving my own porn show as the guards got to watch me nude, save my heels and lingerie. I was going to be some guard's fist fuck-fantasy tonight, that much was certain. Exiting the room, I pulled my newly-packed suitcase behind me, and made my way to the makeup artist, to get my 'broadcast' face on. Smokey eyes, longer lashes, blood-red lipstick that glosses brightly and a reddening blush, and finally ready, I was shown back to my crew, and given my new instructions.

I met the General Population, or 'Genpop' as they called it, Chief of Security. He reached out with his open palm, and spoke tersely.

"Mrs. Recreant, you should know the following. Per your Network's request, we are modifying our normal security past this door. Once you are inside, you and your crew will be on your own. Of course, in the event something goes wrong, we will rush in and try and save you, but in those crucial moments, when your need is more dire, you will be... on... your... own."

I forced a smile and nodded.

"Thank you, Chief. I am sure my Network has its reasons for this. But I will not hold you responsible."

As the Chief went about the final preparations he needed to do, I shot a death-stare at Gary.

"Gary, when this is all over, you are going to die, if I have to choke you myself."

Gone was the nice, soft, normal Suzi voice, and out was a soft, feminine snarl. I sounded more like an angry kitten, and I knew it, but there was no mistaking the look in my eyes. After making damn sure he got the message, I turned, and resumed my 'happy smile' face, and made my way into the cell block, where inmates started to whoop, holler, and wolf-whistle. They were loud and raucous, but not nearly as deafening as the sound of the portal being shut behind us. That loud clang left me alone with my one cameraman, an older black man, who I doubted could protect himself from an angry cluster of girl scouts.

"I'm ready for a mic..." I said plainly to him. My irritation was pretty high at present.

The dark-skinned man shook his head gently. "No need. We aren't allowed to use one, so this will be shotgun mic only. Just don't let anyone get between you and me, and we'll be fine."

I took a deep breath and sighed. A plus, for wearing a mic pack meant hooking the transmitter onto the sash of my dress, but the large bow would have gotten in the way, and I did like how to white satin bow tailed and hung off the hem, like a teasing offering. Of course, not having a mic meant that if I got into trouble, it would be possible no one could hear me scream. So far, my fears were coming true. This was going to be a nightmare story.

With a loud clang, the sally-port door slid shut, and it was finally just me and the cameraman. That and about forty convicted thugs and criminals, all of whom were suddenly looking at me in various lustful gazes. I gave my cameraman a look, and when he nodded, I strutted forth towards the middle of the group, wearing a warm smile, my stilettos making my hips sway in a sultry swing, as the hem of my light satin dress flitted about and trailed behind me.

"Hi, everyone. I'm Mrs. Suzi Recreant, and I'm a news reporter from the Rhino News Network. I'm here to do a story on you, and perhaps you can say something to your friends and family back home!"

There was a general stir, and some of the men began to approach me, stopping not far off. Oddly, there was also a lot of looks at the cameraman, whose red light on his camera told them he was recording everything. Still, it was eerie as they started to surround us. In no time, we were completely surrounded. I looked back at the faces. All of them were hard, eyes fierce, and focused on me as I looked at each one. They were of various races. Black, White, Hispanic and even Asian. One thing they all had in common was tattoos, however. Lots of them.

"Will you get a message back to my wife, if I talk to you?" It was a voice from my rear quarter, and I spun on my heels to see who it was.

The hem of my dress flared widely, but it could not be helped. There was a general murmur of appreciation as it happened. My eyes met the gaze of a young man, younger than I am, by the looks of it. I gave him a genuine smile.

"Certainly... You can say what you want on camera, and I'll make sure she gets a copy of if."

He nodded, then broke into a smile and started to speak. "Deal... My name is Dwi-" and he got cut off.

A loud, booming voice from behind me broke in, and made me spin quickly, the pirouette this time making my skirt very widely, and above my thighs. This time, no one reacted to that. All eyes, including mine, were focused on the source of the booming voice.

"What da' fuck is this? I go take a shit, and come out to some white bitch in my cell block?"

My blue eyes kept looking up, as my gaze had started at a normal height, and had to keep going. This was easily the biggest man I'd seen in a week! Or maybe even a month. I finally was able to take in his features.

His body was just... imposing. He was easily six-foot six, or maybe taller. He had bulging arms, the muscles obvious, even under his inmate uniform. His face was scrunched, and not at all handsome. A pug nose, a receding chin with an overbite framed by overly thick lips, with bulging eyes, his countenance was never going to be considered fair. He also bore along, heavy scar, from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, and to his cheek. The scar was wide, and had filled in with a stretched scar-tissue. His teeth were yellowed, and one of his upper fronts was missing. He was bald, and his skin was heavily tattooed. His giant frame was covered in the darkest black skin I had ever seen, and had an oily sheen to it, like he had just taken a bath in baby oil. I stood there, my jaw gaping, as I just absorbed, or maybe endured, his presence, just like everyone else.

In a long couple of seconds, he had managed to insert his dominance of the room, including me. I gulped, and glanced around, as the crowd began to separate between him and me. It must've been an interesting sight on camera, like a petite angel in white about to do battle with a dragon twice her size, and reeking of evil. I glanced at the sally port window. Nobody was there. So I did what I usually did. Try and charm my way out of trouble.

"Hi" I began, my smile bright. "I'm Mrs. Suzi Recreant from Rhino Ne-" and he cut me off.

"I knows who you are bitch, we all do. We get TV fo' hours a day, an we all watchin' yer ass."

Inwardly, I was relieved. Outwardly, I tilted my head momentarily with a soft shrug and then dropped the cheerleader bit.

"Alright. So let me share why I'm here? Unless you have a fly on the wall in my boss's office, I'm pretty sure you don't know that." There, my first attempted parry at his initial thrust.

He looked at me, and I felt his eyes making my dress invisible in a heartbeat. All the while, my own heart was beating heavily. The man was scary as all Hell, and I had no doubt he could snap me in half with his pinky and a spork. The silence was deafening as I waited to see his reaction. Any fears of being raped were long evaporated. I was more afraid of being dismembered and eaten, and all of it on camera!

"Well, I'll give ya' that, Whitebread. Ain' nobody, throw dat in ma' face. So yeah. Tell us why the white fuck fantasy is in my cell block?"

"Well..." I began, being careful not to bite my red-painted and glossy lower lip. "My network wants to know what it is like on the inside. The real story. What it's like to live here, what you go through on a daily basis. In short, we want to show the public what goes on, maybe dispel the rumors about who actually runs a prison, or... maybe not?" I finished with a raised eyebrow. I had just set the baited hook in the water.

He stood there, and his eyes narrowed, suspiciously. The more he contemplated, the more the others moved off. It wasn't long before it was just he and I, and my cameraman.

"So, Whitebread... What's in it for me?"

Inwardly I smiled. He was nibbling.

"Well... first, you will have a chance to tell your story. You can say things from your point of view. You can tell the whole world why you don't belong in here... "

He wasn't looking very convinced. But then, I had little else to offer him. It wasn't like I could sneak even a candy bar into this place. As much of a lecherous jerk the warden was, he knew about security, that was plainly obvious. For a fish, he was pretty cagey. So I played my last card.

"That and I'll make sure you get to send a personal, private message to your family. We'll record it, and I will personally ensure it gets where you want it to go."

The giant thug stood there, looking me in the eyes, my own held there, open and deeply in his gaze. He was taking his measure of my honesty, and I could understand why. Likely he'd been lied to so much telling the truth was a rare luxury, and here was some pretty white girl dressed to kill offering him that very luxury. If we were reversed, I would likely be as dubious as he was. My heart felt like he could hear it beating, and I was struggling not to tremble under his gaze, all the while my cameraman continued to roll. I swallowed nervously, and then he nodded.

"A'ight, Whitebread. You got a sorta' deal. But I doan' wanna' do this here. Back to my cell. An' bring da' camera. Dis way you can't fuck me over by lyin'."

I nodded, with a soft breath of relief, smiling inwardly. "Fair enough... and thank you." Bang, and thank you very much! I had just landed the biggest fish in the lake!

I gave a gesture with my head to make sure my cameraman followed us.

"But I promise you, I'm not lying. I'm a journalist. I'm held to a higher standard of integrity. At least compared to my competition on other networks. I wouldn't advise talking with them... ever."

I had to smile widely at that. Unlike my other network competitors, I had no hidden agenda, nor was I trying to slant their viewer's perceptions and views. I always told what happened, and let the viewers sort out what it all meant. I am a reporter, not a parent. It was part of what helped my career and ratings remain so high.

We reached the cell, and he used one hand to slide the heavy cell door open, effortlessly. The door itself was heavy metal bars and plates, all very securely welded, plus a portal for meal trays. It was another demonstration of his power, strength, and even dominance. Yet, he was even polite enough to enter first, and show me that he wasn't going to trap me. So far. My cameraman set up just outside the cell, and aimed his camera in towards us.

The cell was pretty much like all of the others. A bunk-bed arrangement made of heavy metal, and a small shelf that held his personal effects and toiletries. The top bed was empty, not even a mattress or pillow. He also had a small chair, which he sat on, plus one of the true luxuries I didn't expect. His own television. He looked back at me, standing there, my stiletto heels together, my hands neatly clasped in front of me, and gestured me to have a seat on the lower bunk. I suddenly discovered where the upper bunk's bedding was. I was now sitting on it. As I lowered myself, my skirt floated, and landed in a splayed circle about me, the front draping from my thigh as I crossed my leg at the knee.