Prison Powerplay

The true story goes something like this: I am a lawyer, he is my client. He is in prison and I go to see him. We sit across a small table; the seats remind me of preschool and we are far too large to take up such a small space. I have to ask a guard if I can hug him.

The guard, disgusted, says, "Yes, if you'd want to."

I am wearing a suit that covers up everything but the bones of my collarbone, delicate and dainty, revealing my sexiness. If the eyes are not trained to see that, you see a lean woman with a classic suit. Dark colors, pants, flat shoes. Mostly business except for the smile.

He is brought out, he is not handcuffed. We hug, it is awkward, many of the other men in the room imagine what it would be like to hug me. My feminine energy is palpable and tasty; the other women are much larger than I and are wearing polyester.

I have a ballpoint pen tucked behind my ear. There are papers on the table and we look at them, talk about them. There is talk of cases past, of numbers, days left, parole plans. It is all a facade. My body is divided; multitasking. I am talking and I sound believable. You'd want me to be your lawyer if you heard me. I will defend you. But in my heart, there is a dance party, pounding, swirling, one leg off the ground, being tossed and turned and dipped. And in my panties, a river.

In my fantasy, I ask the guard matter-of-factly, "Can I fuck him now?"

In my fantasy, the guard has brought him out of a cage with his prison clothes on. He is in handcuffs. It is just the three of us. The room I am in is bare and concrete. There is a table in the middle, it is metal and col. I sit in a chair.

In my fantasy, I am wearing heels, navy rubber ones with a pointy stiletto and a thin strap around my ankles. I am wearing fishnet thigh highs and a short skirt, navy blue. I am wearing a low-cut tank top, a necklace made of metal. My lips are moist with gloss and the wetness in my mouth.

In my fantasy, the guard brings him in front of me. He is in between me and the table. We look each other in the eyes. The guard tells him not to move. The guard inserts the key in the handcuffs and turns it. Click. It is the only sound.

The handcuffs are off and he stands with his hands at his side. The guard tells him to strip. He looks at me as he takes off his jumpsuit. He hands it to the guard. He takes off his socks.

I look at his feet and legs. His skin is white; most of it is covered with the blue and black ink of tattoos. There are skulls and crosses, roses and scrolls. There are birds and flames and words. They start on the top of his feet, move up his calves. I take him in. I have never seen so much of him. My face does not betray my excitement. I am still, my eyes running over his body. He takes off his shorts and then his t-shirt in rapid succession.

He is naked standing in front of me. His white skin resumes, his upper thighs and pelvis and hips and penis are bare, no ink. Soft and smooth, untouched by the pen, untouched by a woman for two years. I look at his cock, then back at his eyes, then back at his cock. Just this micromovement of my eyes and he gets slightly hard, the blood has gone there and he bulges. I see his heartbeat in the shaft.

His chest is an art piece. The story of his life, his passions, his fears, his obstacles. There is no open space on his chest or his neck or his arms. There are gemstones, there are colors, there is abstraction and definition. I cannot tell where one ends and one begins. Part of me wants the guard to strip him farther, take off the tattoos, reveal him to me raw and untouched. Beat him until his skin bleeds. This place makes me feel brutal and violent and although I ache to do nothing more than hold him and kiss him, I feel angry that he has been covered and touched by the hands of the artists that own his body.

In my fantasy, the guard searches him, bends him over and tells him to spread it. He does, willingly. Even this touching, part of a daily routine, turns him on in front of me and I see him get harder, knowing I am watching. He is bent over for this procedure and I see his spine folding down, towards the ground, his black hair almost touching the floor. He is over six feet tall and muscular, carpenter, the sinewy back revealing years of using the muscles to weld and build. Although that has all been taken away from him in here, he is still tight and wiry.

I am getting antsy. My nipples have perked up; it is cold in the room and I am tingling with the heat of seeing his naked body. He stands back up and the guard takes him to the table and lays him down. I see his backside flinch as his ass touches the cold metal and his shoulder blades. He takes a deep breath and sinks into it and gives his ankles and wrists over willingly to the guard who straps him into place.

"All mine?" I inquire knowingly.

I know the guard will leave. I know he has told me this is private. I know that he will be watching with the others. I know that they will hear us.

I stand up, my heels click the floor as I walk; the sound of an adult woman. I stand at his feet and touch them with my hands, warming them. I ground down, feeling my own energy in this place. I go there to show him that I worship him, that although he is strapped down and unable to move, I am all his.

I walk up to his head and stroke his forehead and his hair. He is so soft in my hands. Years in this place and he has become a new man, connected to God, he has found peace amongst the bare walls. He finds the sky and the birds and the water. He has found the pen and the books. He has found his way out of this hell even while still locked in it. He is completely open to me after years of our correspondence. In my fantasy, I kiss his forehead and then his lips. They are warm and inviting and he keeps my mouth there as he puts his tongue inside it. It is the first time we have touched like this and it overwhelms me completely. At the same time my pussy becomes wet, my eyes do too.

I pull away briefly and whisper, "I love you."

I look at him and he is rock hard and tears have come to his eyes as well. He has been told not to speak by the guard, that if he speaks, they will take him away. He puts his hand on his heart and I need no words to know how he feels.

In my fantasy, we are ravenous, hungry for each other, knowing our time is limited, we want it all at the same time. I take off my top and shove my breast into his mouth, holding it down as he squeezes and licks and sucks and bites. I choke him with my breast until I hear him gasp for air and remove it to see him wet and red and smiling.

We kiss again and I climb on top of the table, my pussy grinding down on his chest, ass facing him as I gently take his penis in my mouth. It is utterly delicious. It fills up my mouth and i take it all the way back down my throat, my thick saliva covering it and making it glisten and sopping wet. I fondle his balls, squeezing the skin, tugging at it gently.

With his cock deep in my throat, I know he can handle more pain on his balls and I squeeze them hard, slowly applying more and more pressure until I feel the head of his cock pulsing in the back of my throat and hear him wince.

I release the pressure a bit and look back, he smiles and i bury his smile with my pussy, grinding up against him, pressing down, my clit and lips dripping on him. His cock is out of mouth's reach now and so I take it with my hands, licking my palms and fingers and keeping him wet and slippery.

I am turned on with my palm rubbing the head of his cock and his lips on my clit. My mouth is yearing, desiring a fill and so I bend my head down, next to the wrist strap and take three of his fingers into my mouth. I bite down on them periodically, first lightly, then harder, then hardest until my teeth have left an indentation. When I hurt him, I know it, because his tongue gets harder and he shoves it up my pussy to let me know. My pussy is wet and each time he thrusts his tongue inside, it goes slightly deeper. We go on like this for a while and then his mouth and tongue get tired and I want to see his face and I want to fuck.

I sit upright and turn around, his mouth is wet, my pussy is wet, his cock is wet. He is shiny and bright and glowing and beautiful. I kiss him and slide onto him and then sit upright on him. I take off my skirt over my head. I lift up and down once, thrusting onto him and he shakes his head. I feel he is close to coming and isn't ready for the bliss to end.

I take the necklace off from around my neck. It is heavy and made of metal. I know if I hit him with it, it will move the energy out of his cock. I strike him on the chest. He closes both of his eyes at the same time and opens them again. I strike him in the same place again, harder. I see the skin ripple and the goosebumps appear. I see him wince.

I feel him get slightly softer inside me.

We pause. I kiss him.

I command him, "Fuck me as hard as it hurts."

He understands. I hit him with the metal. I use force. As soon as it strikes him, he thrusts into me. He gets harder. I strike him again on the other side of his chest, much harder than I had before and he thrusts farther into me. The inside of my pussy is full and he is hitting the back wall, a place deep inside of me that once open brings me tremendous pleasure.

His cock is hard and large. I put two hands on the necklace, arch my back and toss my neck back. I start rhythmically pounding him with the necklace, one side and then the other. Each time, he fucks me harder, shoves himself into me. I can barely take it and am so turned on. Each strike, another thrust. I can see he is pain, the skin is turning red and raw, his eyes are tearing, his fists clenched below the straps.

I can feel him close to coming as he fucks me, I am groaning and shrieking with each thrust. The sounds coming out of him are visceral, low, the sound of pain and of near-orgasm.

Pound pound pound, thrust thrust thrust, his cock is hitting the back of my pussy, getting deeper and deeper, pushing me higher and higher as I sink back down. His body is red his face red. I am sweating with the energy and the fucking. I hit him again, he lets out a loud yell and then I feel him come, his body trembling and shaking, thrusting into me, his head slightly back, his eyes closed, a groan of relief and release.

I come with him now, grinding down, orgasm from deep inside of me taking over. It is intense and I can feel it inside me, starting and ending at the deepest point of my cunt and at my clit at the same time, each point of him that touches me a new mini-orgasm. I feel it in my ass which is pushed down against his balls, in my tits which are bare to the cold, in my tongue which aches for his. I search him out, my wet mouth on his, my wet pussy relaxing around him.

I lay my head down against his neck, next to him, kiss the side of his face and put my soft lips where the metal had just been. He is red and he is raw and rabid. He is hurting and heartbeating and melting. He kisses me back, so sweetly and softly. His breath is returning to normal speed and his skin is responding well to my warm lips.

The true story: I get up from the table, gather my papers. I try to conceal what's in between my legs as we share a goodbye -- another brief hug. As I walk away, I put my hand on my necklace, turn back and smile. A bit of my pussy juice drips down my thigh.