Captive Audience

by Chloe Cole

  Captive Audience

  By

  Chloe Cole

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Captive Audience

  Copyright© 2010 Chloe Cole

  ISBN: 978-1-60088-585-3

  Cover Artist: Sable Grey

  Editor: Lynne Anderson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Cobblestone Press, LLC

  www.cobblestone-press.com

  Dedication

  To my husband, who stands behind me and cheers me on in everything I do (no matter how crazy it is). I love you more than words can say.

  Chapter One

  Michaela Grace stood in front of her bedroom mirror, wincing as she squashed her size 36D breasts into a size 34C minimizing bra. The bra, in the not-quite-white shade of cottage cheese, was a hideous contraption. She guessed it was about as comfortable as could be expected, given that its primary function was to flatten a woman’s breasts into an unflattering uniboob.

  She stepped into a tiny pair of lacy black bikini underwear. Sexy panties were her one indulgence. No one would know, but the small rebellion made her feel a little better, like there was some part of her that was still pretty, even if no one could see it. She quickly pulled on her dark blue shirt and buttoned it, then yanked on the matching navy pants, intentionally purchased two sizes too large. To complete the uniform, she pushed the standard-issue navy blue hat over her long, dark tresses, making sure every tendril was tucked in tight.

  She methodically strapped on her belt, slipped her baton in its holder, and jogged down the stairs, checking her pocket for her badge on the way. Grabbing her keys and slipping into her no-nonsense, thick-soled shoes, she headed out the door.

  Mickey made the fifteen-minute drive, then pulled into a parking space at the Chester County Prison. She checked herself in the rearview mirror one last time, slid on her outdated horn-rimmed nonprescription glasses, and headed inside the large gray building. As she made her way to Block C, she gave a nod and a wave to several of her predominantly male coworkers, who barely spared her a glance. She stepped into the control room as Sergeant Manny Guererra stepped out.

  “Hey Sarge.”

  “Hey yourself, Mick, how’s it going?” he replied with an easy grin.

  “Pretty good. How were the kids today?” she asked, referring to the inmates they supervised. They didn’t usually have too much trouble with the prisoners at Chester County. Most of them were there for parole violations or misdemeanors and were serving short sentences.

  “Quiet, not a lot of action. Hopefully they’ll behave for you tonight. Got one new guy in 742, here for assault. Bar fight. Big fella, but hasn’t given me any trouble so far.” With that, he reached over and handed her the keys to the block. He signed out for the day and she signed in, effectively beginning her eight-hour shift.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be good,” Manny said with a wink and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

  She really liked Manny. He was one of those genuinely nice guys, and he was pushing to have her promoted to sergeant when the next spot opened up.

  Mickey’s father had been a police officer for thirty years before retiring. She hoped to follow in his footsteps by earning a coveted position in the homicide unit. For the time being, she was working as a corrections officer at night and going to grad school during the day to get her master’s in criminal justice. The degree, along with her experience at the prison and, hopefully, her promotion to sergeant, would go a long way toward securing her the career she had always wanted.

  She took a seat, glancing at the cameras. Everything was as it should be. All the inmates were snug in their cells reading, writing letters, or napping. She glanced at the corner camera that gave her a view of cell 742. The new prisoner was on his bunk, lying down with his hands folded behind his head. As she watched, he began to do sit-ups. She pressed a button, zooming in on the image.

  Wow. He was gorgeous. Dark skin, broad shoulders, thighs like the trunks of a tree. She zoomed even closer, biting her lip. He was hard all over, his face tense, and Mickey sat spellbound as he continued doing sit-ups for five full minutes. Her stomach hurt just watching him. His abs must be like stone, she mused.

  The inmate abruptly stopped, sat up, unbuttoned his shirt, and tossed it on the bed. Mickey’s heart began to beat a little faster as she saw his bare chest and arms. If he had looked hot with his shirt on, he was on fire with it off. A light sheen of sweat covered his swarthy skin. Finely-sculpted muscles cut vertical lines down both sides of his stomach, disappearing into the light blue cotton pants slung precariously low on his hips. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.

  He stood, turning to face the bed. Mickey whistled under her breath as she took in the view of his naked back. Yummy. Wide shoulders tapered down to a lean waist and a taut, juicy ass. Mickey’s face burned. She took in a shuddering breath and tried to calm herself. She wasn’t that person anymore–the naughty girl who harbored sick thoughts and dark desires. She was on a different path now, one that led to intellectual fulfillment and stability. Her rampant but unrequited sex drive had done nothing but cause her grief.

  Mickey had been something of a late bloomer. Over the course of one summer her breasts had emerged large and in charge, her coltish legs became shapely, and her softly rounded cheeks took on a leaner edge. Her mother, Kitty, had been horrified. In a panic, she had grabbed Mickey’s mane of sable hair and chopped it off with one sawing cut, all the while grumbling under her breath about vanity and boys wanting only “one thing”. However, to Kitty’s dismay, the cut did nothing to detract from Mickey’s loveliness and acted as a frame for her heart-shaped face. Determined to keep her daughter safe from advances, Kitty threw out all of Mickey’s clothing and coerced the girl into wearing the frumpiest clothes she could find, insisting that she hide her breasts and downplay her assets.

  Soon everyone forgot that Mickey had ever been something special and they went back to their own lives. But while she could tame her looks, she just couldn’t tame her curiosity. Since her mother would barely let her leave the house, and having a boyfriend was totally out of the question, she learned about sex on the Internet. She was fascinated–no, enthralled–and when looking without touching became unbearable, she was driven to fumbling, guilt-ridden masturbation. She could never quite shut out her mother’s constant reminders that “good” girls didn’t do that sort of thing.

  And good girls certainly didn’t stare at bad boys exercising half-naked.

  With a soft sigh of regret, she turned resolutely away from the camera aimed at 742 and its delectable inhabitant, and started on some paperwork for a transfer that was taking place the next day, passing the hour until chow time.

  When five o’clock came, she met up with her section partner, Rich Sarguchi, who worked the other side of Block C. While women were allowed to work in the men’s block, the warden always made sure that if there was a woman on one end of the block, there was a man on the other. Mickey didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed by the double standard, so she chose to ignore it.

  Once the dinner bell rang, she and Rich would go to each cell and open the doors for the prisoners. Together, they would walk their wards in a line to the cafeteria and watch over them while they ate. Then, they would take them to recreation room for some TV or computer time.

  As Rich walked down one side the bloc
k, Mickey went down the other, approaching cell 742. Her stomach gave a little leap. She reached out with the keys and peered in.

  “Hey there…Thompson,” she called, reading his name off her clipboard. “My name is Officer Grace. Come on out and get something to eat.”

  “Sure thing, Officer Grace,” a deep voice drawled from the farthest corner of the small room. He stood and moved into full view. Her breath caught in her throat as she got a load of him in the flesh. He was huge, well over six feet tall, she figured. She kept her gaze steadfastly on his face to avoid drooling. As he looked down at her, his eyes narrowed, seeming to take in her ill-fitting uniform, traveling from her cap to her sensible shoes. He looked puzzled for a moment before his warm hazel gaze settled on her face. After staring at her lips a little too long, he flashed a sardonic smile that disappeared as quickly as it had come.

  “I like your uniform, Officer,” he said, his expression grave.

  “Thanks, Thompson,” she replied, an angry rush of heat rising in her cheeks. “I like yours too. Prison blue is your color. Now, enough with the small talk. Let’s head to chow, shall we?”

  She turned on her heel and walked to the next cell, leaving Sarguchi to take the rear of the line. She could swear she felt Jake Thompson’s heated gaze burning into her back as she walked away, and cursed herself for wishing that her pants fit better.

  Chapter Two

  Jake Thompson watched the retreating Officer Grace with rapt attention. What the fuck was that woman playing at? Clearly, she had a smoking body under that ridiculous uniform. Why try to hide it? And her face, those lips. His pants started feeling a little tight when he saw those lips. Juicy and full, the top one just slightly fuller than the bottom. He wondered what they would feel like…

  Clearing his throat, he tried to divert his thoughts. He couldn’t very well walk around with a giant hard-on in these thin pants. He tried to think about the prison food and not what Officer Grace’s ass might look like under those baggy slacks.

  When he turned the corner and headed into the cafeteria, she was standing to the side of the door as the rest of the prisoners filed in. He walked past, trying to catch her eye, but she avoided his gaze.

  Jake chuckled to himself as he got in line for chow. He’d dreaded the thought of having to be here for thirty days. Even though around town folks jokingly referred to this place as the “Chester County Hotel”, it was still prison. He couldn’t ride his horses, work on the farm, or hang with his friends and family for the next long while. To top it off, he didn’t like to be idle and he didn’t like feeling trapped. But now…well, all of a sudden things had just gotten a little more interesting. If he had to be here, he might as well make the best of it. And damn if Officer Grace didn’t look like the best of it from where he was standing.

  * * * * *

  The evening passed without incident, and Mickey did her level best to avoid Jake Thompson. He made her feel achy inside and she needed to stay as far from him as possible.

  At ten o’clock, it was lights out. She went from cell to cell, making sure everything was secure. When she reached the door to 742, she gave it a little jiggle. Jake’s raspy voice snaked through the bars in response.

  “Sweet dreams, Officer Grace. I’ll be thinking of you.”

  She detected the hint of a smile in his voice and it took all of her willpower not to smile back.

  “Sure you will, Thompson. See you tomorrow,” she replied lightly and moved on.

  Mickey finished her rounds and headed back to the control room. She turned on the computer and opened up the inmate information database. She typed in Jake’s name and was inexplicably relieved to see that he had no priors and was in jail for a bar fight. Not a career criminal by any stretch. Probably just a guy caught up in a bad situation. Logging out, she sat back and sipped on a cup of coffee to get her through the last two hours of her shift.

  Against her will, her gaze was drawn to the monitor on 742. In the dim light of the cell, she could see Jake Thompson lying flat on his back, one arm bent behind his head. His shirt was open, exposing his stomach and chest. She stared, dry-mouthed. His right hand rested on his stomach and seemed to be moving almost imperceptibly downward. Zooming the camera in closer, she held her breath as his hand crept lower and lower to settle on the front of his pants.

  She sat forward, straining inexorably closer to the monitor as he wrapped his hand around the cotton-encased ridge and squeezed, his mouth falling open in a silent groan as he did so. She looked around guiltily then leaned in farther to slowly edge the volume up, not satisfied until she could hear his low, harsh breathing. Riveted, she stared as he deftly untied the drawstring to his pants, and pushed them downward. His cock sprang into view, hard, long, and thick. Mickey began to squirm in her chair as she imagined it inside her. A rush of heat pooled between her thighs and her pussy grew wet.

  His eyes drifted closed and he began to work himself slowly. His hand moved in long strokes from base to tip, stopping sporadically to squeeze the head. As his hand accelerated, so did Mickey’s heart rate as she watched, unable to look away. His body tensed as he began to pump his cock in earnest, fist moving faster and faster. His abs clenched, his jaw firmed, and he opened his eyes, turning to look directly into the camera.

  * * * * *

  As Jake lay on his back in his tiny cell, stroking his cock, he thought of Officer Grace. He imagined jerking off onto those luscious lips of hers, creamy beads of his cum on her chin, and then it hadn’t taken long. He knew it was unlikely, but he hoped against hope that she was watching him. He wondered if she was as turned on as he was. The thought that she could be looking at him right now, nipples hard, pussy throbbing, sent him over the edge. He convulsed, coming hard as he looked up at the camera, his mouth working wordlessly as he felt the hot juice spurt onto his clenched stomach.

  He released his cock and waited for his heart to stop pounding. Not ideal, jerking off like some teenager, but at least it had taken the edge off momentarily. Still, the minute he got the chance, he was going to find out what was going on under that woman’s uniform, even if it killed him. Given the circumstances, it would be a challenge. And Jake loved a challenge.

  Chapter Three

  Mickey went home that night and tossed and turned. She was mortified she’d invaded a prisoner’s privacy that way, and embarrassed by her reaction to what she had seen. She thought she’d put those cravings behind her. Clearly she was mistaken because her body pulsed with need as her mind replayed the scene as if on an endless loop: Jake stroking himself and then coming as he stared into the camera.

  As a sort of punishment, but also to prove to herself that she wasn’t depraved, she suffered the want, refusing to ease herself by masturbating. If watching a criminal jerking off drove her to that, then she really was a sick pervert just like her mother said, wasn’t she?

  She fully awoke at 4:00 a.m., exhausted and still wanting. Stubbornly, she stayed in bed, finally allowing herself to get up at 6:00 a.m. and go for a run. She ran five miles, took a cool shower, and then went to her classes for the day. The plan was to stay busy enough not to think about Jake Thompson.

  After school, she stopped home, quickly ate a grilled cheese sandwich, and headed to her bedroom to get ready for her shift. She tried to ignore the anticipation and excitement she felt at the thought of going to work that evening.

  As Mickey stripped off her street clothes, she looked down at her minimizing bra. Her hands stilled. She didn’t want to wear it today. It has nothing to do with Jake, she assured herself. The bra was just really uncomfortable. She slipped it off and dug through her dresser until she found a lacy peach bra that she hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw away, along with a matching pair of bikini panties. She slipped into the lingerie, blood thrumming, and put on the rest of her uniform, noting the way her shirt, rather than hanging about her body in a shapeless mass, now fit her unrestrained curves.

  At the last minute, on a whim, she pulled her hair
back in a loose, soft ponytail rather than stuffing it all under the cap. She grabbed her gear on her way to the front door. Almost as an afterthought, she went back for a tube of strawberry lip gloss and swiped it on before stuffing it into her pocket. Chilly out there. Wouldn’t want to get chapped lips.

  As Mickey entered the prison and headed toward her block, some of the guys looked at her for a long while as she walked by. She smiled and said hello as usual, but some of the reactions were anything but typical as a few men made feeble attempts at small talk. By the time she got to Block C, her face felt flushed. She walked in just as Manny was gathering his things.

  “Hey Manny,” she said with a smile.

  “Hey yourself, Mick…wow! You look great. Different. Where’s your glasses?”

  Her face heated even further as she murmured that she had forgotten them. She and Manny chatted as he finished packing up and they switched off for the day.

  Once Mickey was sure he had left, she went straight to the cameras to check on Jake. And the rest of the prisoners, she quickly amended. When she turned to his monitor, he was busy with his exercise routine, doing countless sit-ups, then push-ups.

  Purposefully turning away, she retrieved her statistics textbook from her pack. She attempted to do some homework, but found it impossible to concentrate as she tried to ignore the live feed from 742. After a while, Mickey gave up with a sigh and resorted to pushing papers around her desk and doodling, finally acknowledging that she was just killing time until chow when she could see Jake face-to-face.

  By the time five o’clock finally rolled around Mickey was jittery and on edge. She looked into her compact mirror, gave her ponytail a fluff, and added a fresh coat of strawberry gloss to her lips. Then she took a few deep breaths and headed out to the block.