Nightly Needs Ch. 03

Steffi Fittälska paused to appreciate the moment. So rarely did one come along quite like this.

Somehow, in record time, her utterly nude ex-mother-in-law had managed to jam the entire outsole of her precious red-bottomed powerslut shoe inside her dripping shaved cunt. The whole toe box was up in there -- she'd shoved all the way to the shank!

Beverly worked it with ease now up against the front wall of her vagina, clearly massaging her sweet spot. Drool slowly ran out of the corner of the exquisite older woman's panting mouth. The tasty-looking saliva fell in a thin, contiguous, viscous rope down onto her heaving tit, which sent it then sliding dreamily down into her cleavage, where it remained trapped in the fold of her fit belly against the bottoms of her firm, amazing breasts.

"Oh my, she's adorable," murmured Stef appreciately. She turned her head only slightly and winked at the guard standing a few feet behind her. "Don't you think so, Sasha?"

The thick strong woman merely continued to stare straight ahead, barely breathing, absolutely still and silent. Her hands were clasped behind her back. Her feet in thick rubber-soled black boots -- certainly not the typical institutional issue these days -- were set a little wider than shoulder length apart. Stef could easily smell the woman's arousal. Sasha was hairy all over, and her musk clung to her with delicious tenacity. Since Stef had met her, of course, the guard now only superficially rinsed her aromatic zones.

No more soap. Much more stink. It was the way Stef liked her dykes. Or, more accurately, her bulls. Her Three B's: Big Butchy Bitches.

She liked other kinds of dykes, too, naturally. Especially the lesbians who weren't lesbians until they met Stef! Women were amazing in so many ways -- from tiny, petite sprites to Average Alices to long, tall hotties to Earth Mama's to the Three B's, and beyond. It sometimes seemed to Stef like the universe existed simply to provide her with a delicious variety of female bodies (and minds) to fuck.

Stef, herself, was no dyke of course. No.

Stef was an opportunist.

A risk taker. A speculator. An accumulator.

Stef was an investor, using proven methods.

Where others might think of her risks as wild, her speculations as crazy gambles, and her accumulations as nothing but lucky hits, Stef knew better.

She'd invested in stocks and bonds and futures, true enough -- but not fair enough, at least in the eyes of the Securities and Exchange Commission. And that meant Stef had some time on her hands now. Some very tightly controlled time. In a profoundly unappealing place. At least, that's what it seemed like at first.

Looking at it another way, though, Stef found herself almost eager for the chance to finally concentrate with her full attention on the kind of investment she'd grown to enjoy the most: molding the female mind.

With men, it had been too easy. Almost no challenge at all, even in her early days of adulthood. By the end of her undergraduate years in college she'd become so bored with males that she practically swore them off. Not that she didn't still snag some choice studs every now and then -- she'd found that one long, sweaty night with a nice big group of the silly things usually scratched that itch well and good, keeping her from needing a man for many months at a time.

Meanwhile, Stef had turned her attention to accumulating women, which presented a far greater and much more exciting, satisfying challenge. Because women's minds didn't have that boring simplicity. Like their bodies, women's minds thrilled her in their diversity, their twists and turns, their sudden special defenses, their quirky fears and strange obsessions.

Stef knew a happiness like none other when she persuaded a woman to do what she wanted. What joy to witness a woman finally soften and readily serve! Some women she kept in her power for a few hours, some for a few days. Some she kept for years. All of them loved her. And why wouldn't they?

Stef knew how to give women what they wanted.

Every woman secretly craved wild. Every woman yearned to go crazy. Every woman lusted to be broken. To be busted open. Burst. Blown away.

Then remade.

That was true with Sasha, for instance. Stef could tell right away.

It was her boots.

They were far, far too expensive for daily wear, no mere women's work boots. They were more fit for weekend fetish jaunts, frolicking in the downtown bars with her own kind. By the way the woman's cheap polyester trousers fell around them, even at their first meeting Stef could tell that the top of the boots came to just beneath the guard's knees, with thick bulky strings to tie them snugly around the woman's powerful calves. The knobby, aggressive-looking rubber soles were at least two inches thick at the toe, three at the heel, helping the already tall guard to tower over everyone else in the prison. The leather was polished and fine, ink-black and velvety-looking.

Stef couldn't wait to find out if the guard was already licking them whenever she touched herself. If she wasn't yet, she soon would be.

Yet in that one glance it was just as obvious: the boots were it. That was as far as the big woman would go.

Sasha wore not one tattoo. Not one part of her was pierced, not even an innocent earlobe. There were no highlights in her dark hair -- certainly no remnants of any attempts at a decent ombre, nothing. She still wore it up in a silly ponytail every day. She applied tasteful makeup: light foundation, a little blush, the barest hint of eye shadow and eyeliner, a tad too much lash thickener, and definitely a little too much worry about those eyebrows. Sasha needed to drop the tweezers and stand down. And clearly, though she was naturally tall and a big, strong, sexy woman, Sasha did not a thing to enhance it. She might have played a lot of softball and volleyball back in high school, but she'd clearly never hit a gym in her life. Her muscles merely rippled drowsily away as she did nothing but age a little more each day, wasting her gifts.

Sasha was just a big little girl still dreaming.

So Stef woke her up.

"I like your boots," Stef had told her, that first day reporting for her sentence. Sasha was walking her to the cell, Stef three steps behind, appreciating the thick strong ass in the thick poly slacks, the broad well-muscled shoulders being lightly whipped by the absurd tail of hair flipping back and forth as it hung down from the back of her head.

Sasha had stiffened at Stef's remark, her stride lengthening just a bit, her pace increased. Touchy subject!

"Thanks," the guard muttered. For several more steps that was it. But then her pace slowed, and the woman's voice quietly drifted back to Stef, barely audible over the echoing noise of the concrete corridor and the sticky signs of life emerging from the dormitory-style rooms on either side as they passed. The master lights were dim. It was still early morning, breakfast would not open the doors for a couple more hours. And many, many women were either masturbating or making love. And not quietly.

"All you prisoners seem to think so."

"Well of course!" Stef instantly replied, as brightly as possible. "They're sexy as hell!"

Sasha stopped and turned to take a long, frowning look at the slightly older, undeniably attractive investment banker. Stef's bright blonde hair was cut in a chic spiky shag -- a modified pixie, really -- and her tanned face and neck gleamed in subtle bronze, emphasizing her perfect white teeth as she halted only one step away from the taller woman and flashed her best melter.

Stef's tan was not long for this world, of course. Not when she'd be stuck inside all but one hour a day (oh, but two on Saturdays, if she "behaved") for the next few years, with no hope for a beach or poolside or tanning bed in sight. So she'd better use it while she still had it, right? Then again, maybe this new best buddy of hers could smuggle in some bronzer....

It always fascinated Stef to discover another person's trigger. For so many, it ended up being the same thing: normally she used her eyes. Her deep, clear, blue, beautiful eyes. But sometimes it was nothing. Some people just didn't budge. That was the run of bad luck she'd had recently -- the SEC auditor, the prosecutor, the judge. Who'd have ever thought it could happen? Three men in a row! Ignoring every one of her carefully-crafted golden words!!

Shrug. Sigh. Etc. Stef was done with the mourning. Shit happens. That's life. And when it hands you a prison full of horny bitches, you might as well make some new slaves. What else did she have to do with her time for the next few years, anyway? If she couldn't talk her way out of her silly little broker crimes, she might at least enjoy the little break she'd been made to endure.

Thankfully that first guard was just what Stef needed. She was different. Special. With Sasha she went with the smile. It was easy to tell the woman liked it. A lot. Stopped everything she was doing, in fact, for at least the tiniest of moments, and stared at it every time. Stef had seen that behavior right off in the processing department, before she'd even been in the facility for two minutes.

The guard had been standing at the inner door, next to the absurdly normal reception desk in the equally mundane waiting room. The place could have been a dentist's office, not a minimum-security penitentiary! It was Sasha's turn to take the next inmate to arrive and commence her sentence. As she naturally always did with everyone, Stef locked eyes with the woman as the guard stepped aside to open the door, then Stef showed off her pretty teeth with her usual smile. Not her melter. Not even her basic deal-closer. It was her ordinary, every-day, friendly, sexy, happy, top-bitch little grin.

"Hiya!" Stef had chirped confidently, pausing for a moment before walking through the door, gauging the guard's reaction.

Sasha blinked. Then she blinked again. Stared at her. Openly. Lips parted. Breath caught. Held.

Stef knew what she was doing. She acted as if she was about to get into the chair for a hair appointment, not begin a five-year-minimum sentence for what other people thought were serious crimes against corporate money. The guard furrowed her aggressively-pruned brow and eventually dipped her chin in acknowledgment.

"This way," she told the prisoner, holding out on arm to indicate the bland florescent hallway ahead. "Let's get you started."

Before Stef moved, though, she smiled again. She powered it up to her casual flirter. "What's your name?" she eagerly asked.

And of course the guard had told her.

Easy. Like nine out of every ten men she'd ever met. Seven out of every ten women. Just find what works. And use it.

Oh, the things Stef could make this woman do! Just for a little glimpse of those pearly whites.

"Sasha," Stef had asked her, on the third day, "Do you like my smile?"

"Yes!" the burly woman had instantly replied. Then, obviously embarrassed by her own enthusiasm, she ducked her head and muttered, "I mean, it's really nice."

Stef caught her eye and gave Sasha what she wanted -- her bright, happy grin. Sasha's mouth twitched in response, giving her a tight-lipped but definite mirror response in return. She stared openly for several seconds, straight at Stef's pretty lips and model-perfect teeth. It was easy to tell: Sasha's pupils were dilated already. A good sign.

"You know," Stef beamed, "I'd really love to see you with shorter hair...."

Now, after only thirty seven days, Sasha was well on her way to becoming everything Stef wanted her to be. She changed her washing and shaving habits. She joined a gym and worked out for an hour before coming in every day. Her hair was a high, spiky flat top, tipped in shocking cobalt blue. Her ears were each pierced in three places. And Stef's name was already inked in thick elegant script just above the top of Sasha's bushy pubic hairline, stretching nearly from hip to hip and almost as high as the woman's ticklish furry belly button.

They'd even fallen into a nice, neat little schedule. Sasha serviced her at least twice a day -- at the beginning and end of her shift -- and Stef had to admit that the woman was a natural-born cunt worshiper. Soon she would learn how to use her fingers properly, then it would be on to Stef's sweet dark pucker, and then... then.... Well, it would be nice to unlock each new level, wouldn't it? A delicious way to serve her time.

"Sweet Sasha," Stef chirped, pulling the interview room phone away from her face for a moment, "Crawl home."

The guard immediately came to life, dropped to her hands and knees, and shuffled over to kneel in front of Stef's plain white tennis shoes. The prisoner stood and allowed Sasha to gently pull down the prison-issue gray scrub bottoms, revealing Stef's extremely non-prison-issue bright pink tight transparent thong. With her pants around her ankles, Stef spread her knees wide and settled back into the cheap plastic interview room chair. She sighed happily as Sasha's mouth engulfed her wet panty-sheathed mons, sucking and slurping at the juices already drenching the thin gusset.

Glancing at the camera in the corner of the room, up high near the ceiling, Stef couldn't help but giggle a little. She wondered just how far the guards in the monitoring station had gotten. Frankie, the hassled woman who'd come in earlier, trying to interrupt Beverly's delightful impromptu strip tease, always settled down so easily. Depending on who else was assigned that duty today, the older guard was either being brutally fisted at the moment or else getting fucked by a large black cock right up her ass.

Either way, Frankie was taking it. Because that was what Frankie lived for, deep in her secret horny heart. She was a penetration junkie. A size queen. An anal whore. And a lot of fun when she had the overnight shift, especially.

Stef scooted her butt a little farther forward in the chair and whispered, "That's it, my Sweet Sasha... now taste it properly."

Sasha pulled her face away for a moment and yanked Stef's panties to the side, fully revealing her mistress's gorgeous fat outer lips and delicate, delicious inners, slick with juice, and so pink, so hot. With a long, low groan, the guard slid her tongue deep up inside the prisoner's seeping hole. Slurping. Sucking. Mewling like the little lesbian kitten that she'd easily become.

Stef sighed and lay her head back, closing her eyes. It was annoying, but she still had to keep the phone up to her head, near her mouth. She sent regular, steady, encouraging words across the line to Beverly, who was still panting and making a mess of herself with that four hundred dollar shoe.

Every now and then she had to say, "Look at me, Beverly," and make sure to establish strong, clear eye contact with her mother-in-law as she kept up at least a minute or more of soft, smooth instructions to the older woman.

Every now and then she had to switch hands, when her arm got tired of holding the stupid heavy plastic antique -- but she needed a hand on it so she could tap-scratch, ever-so-lightly, maintaining that slow steady heartbeat inside Beverly's ear, thumping its way deep inside her brain, a special beat not quite natural, just a tiny bit off, uniquely, exactly Stef's special rhythm. She knew that sound would soon cause her ex-mother-in-law to feel a special sweet tingle, if she wasn't already. Stef whispered to Beverly to let it flow over her, to relax and enjoy it, and open her mind.

"Mmmm, yes..." Stef moaned, squirming against Sasha's face, almost forgetting herself as the guard finally closed her lips around the prisoner's engorged clit and gave it a flick with the tip of her stiff tongue.

Beverly paused, mid-thrust, and frowned down at the black-and-white checked Loubuiton savaging her pussy. She slurped saliva back into her mouth. Swallowed hard. Drew a sharp breath through her nose, glancing up at the woman on the other side of the plexiglass.

But she saw those eyes. Oh. Those eyes. Watching her. So deep and clear and blue. So beautiful.

Stef had recovered her wits, just in time.

Tap-scratch, tap-scratch, scratch-scratch-tap....

Tap-scratch, tap-scratch, scratch-scratch-tap....

Tap-scratch, tap-scratch, scratch-scratch-tap....

Beverly sighed. Smiled from a thousand miles away. Went back to fucking her shoe and drooling on herself.

And Stef returned to her instructions. The ones meant to complete the circuit she'd begun with Christina, her delectable ex-wife, Beverly's precious only daughter. She pushed down on Sasha's head, directing her away from her clit for a while, until she could be sure Beverly had fully absorbed her program.

When it was over, Stef watched as the older woman finally finished licking her Loubiton clean and put her shoes back on. Then she stepped into her fine gray skirt, sliding it up into place over her long bare legs and pantiless dripping snatch. Last, Beverly shrugged on her gorgeous tailored business blouse over her now braless, heavy tits. Stef motioned for the woman to pick the phone back up, which of course she did.

"Oh my, Momma Bev," Stef purred, "You'd look so much prettier with only the bottom two buttons fastened, don't you think? After you pinch on your nipples a little more?"

Beverly brightly agreed, nodding her head and making the necessary adjustment. The top half of the blouse split open seductively, exposing her cleavage all the way to the edges of her areolae, her skin still shiny with her semi-dried smeared saliva, her nipples jutting hard against the tight fabric.

Beverly slowly began to leave the interview room, with a contented, exhausted smile, at first unable to break eye contact with her ex-daughter-in-law when she got to the door. As the older woman hesitated with her hand on the doorknob, staring dreamily back at Stef, Frankie finally reappeared. The tall woman was visibly sweating, with her uniform shirt not fully re-tucked into one side of her wrinkled, stain-splattered trousers.

She did not look at Stef. In fact, there were tears in her eyes, and her cheap mascara had been smeared in streaks running back toward her ears, as if she'd tried with both hands to hastily scrape away her weeping by brute force before entering the room.

Stef nearly came at the sight. Sasha's tongue was still slurping around inside her vagina, of course, and it had her right on the wettest edge of a very strong orgasm.

It must be so embarrassing and so frustrating for Frankie, never remembering exactly how she came to be so sweaty and come-filled so often lately. So sore in the sweetest way. So messy and needing to sneak off and clean up so very, very often. Bernard, the big black guard who pounded her the most regularly, must have similar trouble figuring out how his thick cock could get so slimy and smelly all of a sudden, and why his balls were so moist and sensitive lately. Stef loved seeing Frankie's other mindless playmate, short fat Sharika, sniffing absently at her chubby hands while she walked on her rounds. Sometimes Stef would ask the guard to stop as she passed by her cell and stick her round arm through the bars, allowing the sexy investment banker a few sniffs of her own, and a chance to guess at whether the aroma was Frankie's pussy or asshole or both.

Frankie heaved a huge sigh, staring hard at the floor, then gently took Beverly by the elbow and guided her out of the interview room. As she turned, Stef could see the slightest dark wet evidence of an accident on the seat of the guard's rumpled pants. Perhaps she was still loose and leaking! Right there while trying to perform her boring stupid duties!!

"Oh..." Stef sighed. "That's nice...."

As the women left and the door closed behind them, Stef set the phone back on the hook and slid both hands up under her scrub tops, wiggling her fingers beneath her thin pink demi-cup bra, popping it loose so that it lay up above her needy breasts. Her fingers found her nipples. Rubbed and pinched. Her palms rotated over her stiff tender points, then squeezed whole handfuls of flesh.