Punch Drunk: Black Alpha Male Dominates Submissive White Couple

by Felicity Fleming

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  Bonus Story!

  Bareback Behind Bars

  By

  Felicity Fleming

  Chapter One

  There are few uglier places in the world than Kingston Correctional Facility – a stark and imposing penitentiary about three hour’s drive north of New York City.

  Towering stone walls and chain link fences surround a square compound built during the 18th century. Only the worst of the worst are locked up there – rapists, murderers, serial killers and drug dealers.

  Some of the prisoners locked up there refer to the place as “the closest thing to Hell in New York State.” (Which might have been true, as long as you weren’t counting Poughkeepsie.)

  Whatever your opinion, one thing everybody agreed on: It was not the sort of place you’d want to wind up voluntarily.

  But that’s precisely how SUNY graduate student Ellie ended up there, one cold and bleak Monday morning in February.

  * * *

  Ellie Romanova shuddered involuntarily, as she rolled her beaten-up Ford Escort through the electrified gates of Kingston Correctional Facility.

  She had to pause at the first security booth, while a guard with a Remington shotgun checked her car over and peered in the trunk. Then he scanned her ID, and called ahead to the next security booth, on the inner chain link perimeter.

  “You’re cleared to proceed, ma’am,” the guard told her – before adding: “Be careful.”

  Ellie passed through the second security booth after a similar check, and finally got permission to roll down the gravel driveway and park in the warden’s compound, on the south side of the towering prison compound.

  Governor Voorhees was waiting for her there, along with two stocky prison guards clutching Remington shotguns. The stepped right up to her car door before she’d even cut the engine, and the Governor swung it open.

  “Ms. Romanova?” He offered her a calloused hand, and Ellie took it – letting him help her out of her beaten-up car. “How was you drive up?”

  “Long!” Ellie stretched her arms out, and crinked her back. She was a tiny slip of a thing – 105lbs soaking wet, and barely 5’1”. “It took me four hours to get here from Brooklyn.”

  The Governor grunted.

  “We’ve got some coffee for you inside,” his big hand touched the small of Ellie’s back. “Now please hurry up inside – where they can’t see you.”

  Ellie grabbed her book bag and laptop, and allowed herself to be guided at a rapid pace towards the menacing walls of the prison.

  “W-why so fast?” she asked, as she was hurried along.

  “The prisoners here are the worst of the worst,” the Governor grumbled, looking up at the towering walls nervously. “Most of them have life sentences. A few of them haven’t set foot outside in twenty years.” He then looked down at the tiny, pretty student. “You’re the first woman many of them would have seen for years.”

  And as he said that, Ellie heard catcalls and hollers from the prison walls. She looked up – at dozens of tiny windows, all looking down on the compound courtyard.

  She saw faces in every one of them – peering down at her hungrily.

  “Hey, baby!” called one prisoner.

  “Check out that sweet, sweet piece of ass, boys!” called another.

  There were other cries, whoops and hollers – most of them Ellie couldn’t even understand. But she caught the gist of them – obscene, sexually degrading and menacing. As she walked towards the door marked “Governor’s Office” she felt like a piece of prime rib being paraded past a kennel full of hungry Rottweilers.

  “Are you okay, ma’am,” the Governor looked down, and saw that the tiny girl was trembling.

  Ellie narrowed her lips and looked up at him. She snorted defiantly.

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “I’m fine. Let’s just keep going.”

  And trying to swallow down her nervousness, she followed the Governor inside his office.

  Chapter Two

  The Governor’s office was as bleak and foreboding as the rest of the prison – but he’d at least made some efforts to make it more welcoming. A wood burning stove crackled in the corner, and pictures of his wife and kids stood on his cracked and creaking desk.

  “Come in, Ms. Romanova,” the Governor ushered her inside. “Take a seat. We’ve got some coffee made, if you want some.”

  Ellie scurried into his office and the Governor gave one of the two guards a nod. They shut the door behind her.

  “Sit down,” he suggested, and eased his own bulk into the rickety chair on the other side of the desk. It creaked as he sat down.

  Clutching her bag to her chest, Ellie chose one of the chairs opposite him and sat down.

  For a moment, there was silence. Then the governor leaned forward, and rested his chin on one hand.

  “So – remind me again of why you’re here, Ms. Romanova.”

  Ellie snorted.

  She was used to this sort of reaction from men in authority, but it still didn’t mean she had to like it.

  “I’m writing my dissertation on the psychological impact of long-term incarceration on non-violent offenders,” she explained. “I’ve been working on the hypothesis that years confined in a dangerous and oppressive environment makes non-violent offenders - – like the ones I’ve arranged to interview – more likely to experience recidivism than rehabilitation; and that our whole prison system needs to be reevaluated and reformed as a result.”

  The governor stared at her – this tiny, 105lb student with the long, sandy blonde hair and hipster glasses balanced on the end of her cute, button nose.

  “You know that’s bullshit, right?”

  Ellie snorted.

  “My paper very strongly suggests that…”

  The Governor ignored her, and continued:

  “The guys locked up in here? This is where they belong. Even the “non-violent” gangbangers you’re talking about. They’re here amongst the rapists, and murderers, and the scum of society – and they have the potential to be as bad as any of them. If those dirtbags weren’t in here, they’d be out on the streets – and pretty little girls like you wouldn’t be safe at night.”

  Ellie narrowed her eyes. ‘Pretty little girl’ indeed!

  But the governor wasn’t done yet:

  “I’m not sure what strings you pulled to get permission to interview my inmates, but I can’t tell you I don’t like it.” He indicated the doorway. “You saw how they were when they saw you walking in here. They’re animals, ma’am.”

  He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer.

  “They can smell pussy, and most of them haven’t had a taste in years. You being here is risky.”

  Ellie narrowed her eyes: “I can look after myself, thank you very much. They’re non-violent offenders – not the rapists and murderers in the rest of this prison. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about,” the governor growled. “While you’re here, parading that tight little ass of yours around in that short skirt, my wardens and I have to be on high alert to look out for you.”

  He pointed an accusing finger at her:

  “You make our lives more dangerous by being here.”

  Ellie bristled with indignation, but she swallowed down her pride. She’d received the same reaction many times before in her career. It was just a typical misogynistic reflex from impotent old men ground in the patriarchy.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Ellie snapped back. “The sooner we can get the interviews done, the sooner I can be out of your hair.”

  The Governor n
odded.

  “Won’t be soon enough,” he growled, “but let’s see what we can do.”

  Chapter Three

  The prison chapel was chosen as the most suitable venue for Ellie’s interviews. The pews were pushed back, and a circle of chairs was set up – making it look like an alcoholics anonymous meeting more than an in-depth, psychological evaluation.

  “Will this do?” the warden asked.

  “I suppose I can rough it,” Ellie nodded, as she set up her laptop and tape recorder on a table in the corner, and settled down on one of the seats.

  Even the two guards assigned to look after her were giving Ellie looks that made her uncomfortable.

  She supposed a short plaid skirt and white blouse wasn’t the smartest choice of outfit for these studies. She thought it made her look professional. Her boyfriend, before she’d left their Williamsburg apartment that morning, told her it made her look like a Catholic schoolgirl.

  But as a pretty, petite girl in New York City, she was used to the hungry leers of men. She ignored them.

  Governor Voorhees joined them to give the location a final once-over.

  “I don’t like it,” he grimaced, peering around the circle of chairs and the two guards standing at the door, clutching their shotguns.

  Ellie put her hands on her slander hips.

  “What don’t you like, Governor?”

  “This whole setup,” he growled. “You’re comfortable with me letting six inmates sit in here with you?” He narrowed his eyes. “Alone?”

  Ellie rolled her eyes.

  “They’re non-violent offenders,” she snarled back. “And I won’t be alone. Your two guards are going to be right there.” She looked the two young men up and down appreciatively – trying to make them feel as objectified as they’d made her feel. “They look tough enough.”

  The Governor frowned.

  “And you’re not even letting us chain them up? Handcuffs, at the very least.”

  Ellie span on her heel.

  Even though she was a tiny, petite young woman, she had enough presence to make the grizzled Governor take a step back.

  “I’m here to interview the prisoners, and to get honest answers from them,” she snarled. “How likely do you think that it if they’re chained in here like animals?”

  “But they are animals,” the Governor warned.

  Ellie rolled her eyes.

  “Nonsense. They’re human beings. I think you’ll find they’ll be a lot less dangerous if you start treating them like human beings.”

  The Governor narrowed his eyes.

  “Selling drugs on the streets? Running with gangbangers?” he warned. “You lose your right to be treated like a human being after doing stuff like that.”

  But Ellie wasn’t bothered.

  “Just bring them in. I’m a big girl,” the irony being that she was tiny. “I can look after myself.”

  The Governor shook his head.

  “On your own head be it,” he warned. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And with that, he span on his heel and marched towards the door – ordering the two guards to “Go get the sons of bitches.”

  They nodded.

  A moment later they were gone – leaving Ellie all alone in the dark chapel.

  Chapter Four

  Ten minutes later, the prisoners were led in.

  The two guards led them, one at the front and one at the back. The prisoners were all chained at the wrists and ankles – and chains at their ankles connected to the person behind them; making them a kind of human centipede.

  Ellie stood on the other side of the room as they entered, and watched with curiosity (and not a little nervousness.)

  Boy, they looked mean.

  She opened up the manila folder and read the files on each of them.

  All six were locked up here in one of the toughest and most brutal prisons in America – but they were all classified as “non-violent” offenders – very different to the rapists, serial killers and murderers locked up elsewhere in the jail.

  There was Mike Trojan at the front – a huge, hulking black guy arrested drug dealing. Behind him was pale and menacing Vladimir Nobotsky – a Russian immigrant who smuggled heroin into New York City hidden inside cheaply made matryoshka dolls. Raymond Slater was next – a nondescript man described by the newspapers as “The Real Walter White.” He’d been busted running an enormous meth lab from his farm in upstate New York.

  And the scary part? With his moustache and haircut, he looked as friendly and unthreatening as somebody’s dad.

  Then came brothers Malik and Zion Gooding – drug dealers, gangbangers and thugs. And finally, bringing in the rear, was the Andre “The Giant” Johnson – a towering seven-feet tall man with bulging muscles. He was an enforcer in a Newark street gang – but many believed him to be mentally retarded; and the five pounds of crack cocaine they’d found in his backpack when they arrested him was commonly thought to have been hidden there by his brother.

  Whether that was true or not, Ellie didn’t care. She was just here to study them.

  “Good morning, gentleman,” Ellie smiled, as she stepped forward and announced herself.

  The six men turned to her, chains clanking.

  “Dayum,” Zion grinned, flashing crooked teeth.

  “Hey, baby,” Malik added, rubbing his crotch. “You here for a conjugal visit?”

  “Shaddap!” One of the guards stepped over and threatened to whack Malik with the butt of his shotgun, sending the skinny black man cowering back in fear – until Ellie barked: “No!”

  She stepped forward, and pushed the guard away.

  “It’s fine,” she spat, “he’s just posturing.” Ellie turned to Malik with a wry smile – peering up at the tall black man as he straightened up. “You’re just making sure I know who’s boss, right?”

  Malik narrowed his eyes.

  “You what, girl?”

  Ellie snorted, and then ignored him.

  “Unchain them, please,” she ordered. And then, addressing the six prisoners, she said: “Please take a seat and we’ll begin.”

  Vladimir, the menacing Russian, snorted: “Why you not take seat, pretty girl? On my face!” And then he snorted with laughter, as if he’d come up with the funniest joke ever.

  Ellie snarled: “Please sit down!”

  Laughing, the six men took their seats – staring at Ellie like she was a delicious piece of meat.

  One by one, the guards went around each of the prisoners and unchained them at the wrist and ankle. The six men laughed, rubbing their wrists. Mike Trojan even did a fake lunge at one of the two guards, and laughed uproariously when he staggered back in surprise.

  “Ha, you piece of chickenshit,” Mike sneered.

  The guard raised the butt of his shotgun.

  “Just give me an excuse, fucker,” he snapped at the convict. “I’ll bust your head open like a watermelon.”

  Mike narrowed his eyes.

  “You’re a brave guy when you’ve got that gun. I wonder how brave you’d be without it.”

  The guard sneered: “Try me.”

  Ellie cleared her throat. When that didn’t work, she yelled out: “Please! Gentlemen!”

  The guard and the convict grumbled at each other, but backed off.

  “If we could begin, please,” Ellie insisted. “We’ve only got a couple of hours before I have to leave.”

  The two guards looked at the tiny slip of a girl and shrugged.

  “We’ll be by the door,” one told her.

  “Yeah,” the other nodded. “You have even a hint of trouble, we’ll be here to bust some heads.”

  Ellie shook her head.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” she sighed, “but there’ll be no head-busting today.”

  And then Mike Trojan grunted: “Yeah – but maybe some nut-busting!” And the six prisoners bust into raucous laughter.

  Ellie shoot her head. It was going to be a long morning.

  Chapter Five


  Eventually, Ellie managed to get the six convicts settled down, and seated in silence in a semi-circle around her.

  She flipped open her notebook and switched on her tape-recorder.

  “So, gentlemen,” she began. “My name is Ellie Romanova. I’m a research student at the State University of New York. I’m writing a dissertation on how the prison experience for non-violent offenders encourages recidivism…”

  “Recida-what, now?” Zion interrupted.

  “Re-offending,” Raymond Slater sneered. “Read a book once in a while.

  Ellie bravely continued: “…and I’d like to ask you all some questions, and stimulate some discussion.”

  “Girl, you’re stimulating something of mine,” Malik interrupted. “But it ain’t my discussion, if you know what I mean.” He grabbed his crotch provocatively.

  Ellie blushed.

  “C’mon, people,” Mike Trojan hissed – and he was so mean-looking and intimidating that all the prisoners immediately fell silent. “Let the poor bitch do her job.”

  Ellie’s cheeks turned pink at being called a ‘bitch’, but she appreciated the support.

  “So, maybe we should just start with some basics. When did you all first get incarcerated?”

  The men looked at each other, as if wondering who was going to speak first. Eventually, it was Zion who spoke up.

  Leaning back in his chair, and spreading his legs wide, the skinny black kid barked: “Yo, I’ve been in and out of jail since I was fifteen, girl.”

  “Him and me both,” Malik nodded. “And the first few times? Shiiiit, we didn’t do nothing wrong.”

  “The cops are racist, man. They picked me up for ‘loitering’.”

  “The first time with me, I wasn’t doing nothing wrong. I was just cruising in the back of my homeboy’s car, and when they arrested him they pulled me in to for ‘resisting arrest.’” Malik shook his head. “I mean, how can you be ‘resisting arrest’ when you ain’t done nothing they can arrest you for?”