by Cairo
The time was six a.m.
Ugh.
She was exhausted.
Shortly after her call ended with CO Rawlings in the wee-hours of the morning, she’d drifted into what had started out as a peaceful slumber until she’d started dreaming of her first love.
Desmond.
Dez for short.
He’d been her first boyfriend, and her first love.
Tall, hard-bodied, dark-chocolate—everything fairytales and dreams were made of. The moment she’d laid eyes on him and his crooked grin, she’d become enamored. And he had wanted to have the young beauty, before anyone else sank their dick in her. And he’d snatched her up. Quick.
It’d been her freshman year, second semester, at UConn—the University of Connecticut. She was seventeen. Naïve. A virgin. And happy to be from under the overprotective thumbs of her brothers and father.
He was nineteen. Hood. Promiscuous. And obsessed with stacking money.
It had taken him almost a year, before she’d given up her virginity—his meaty, curved dick, stretching her tender cunt. He’d fucked her until tears burst from her eyes, until her burning pussy erupted in pleasure.
Afterward, he asked her how it felt. “Painfully good,” she said, and he kissed her, then rolled her on top of him and showed her how to ride him, the curve of his dick hitting parts of her soul she never knew existed. She rode him—looking him in his dark-brown eyes, him instructing her how to change the rhythm, slowing down and speeding up; her ass clapping, her pussy coating his shaft until he slid in and out of her body with inexplicable ease and pleasure.
They kept at it—fucking, until she was skilled at it. Until her cunt became his personal sheath. He became her dark knight in shining jewelry. She—his arm candy, his sweet piece of ass. And, together, they’d been a beautiful couple. But, barely two years into the relationship, he began putting his hands on her. Mushing her in the head at first. Then came the snatching her up. Followed by open-handed slaps.
If another guy looked at her, he’d have a problem. If she looked over in some random guy’s direction too long, he’d have a problem. If she wasn’t accessible to him when he wanted her to be, he had a problem.
Suddenly, she’d found herself sucked into his world of danger, hiding her new life from her family, her grades failing, risking her freedom and her safety. All for love.
It’d taken her almost four years—and three STDs later, just shy of her graduation, to realize that the Hartford-bred thug was no good for her.
His drug dealing and weed smoking, she had been able to overlook. After all, he’d pamper her, buy her whatever she wanted; basically gave her the world. But the guns and his happy-handed attempts at controlling her, and all the other bitches in his life that she’d had to fight, had taken a toll on her. She couldn’t put up with it any longer.
He’d been a liar, a cheater, and a damn woman beater.
She’d fought back—always. And stabbed him once. Suddenly, things between them had gotten better, filled with almost six months of bliss. And then he slipped back into the streets and his old womanizing ways.
The only thing consistent was, him fucking her good. He was insatiable. No matter who else he’d give his dick to, he never had enough of her.
But she’d had enough of him.
So, with her college degree in hand—and three trunks stuffed with designer clothes and expensive handbags and heels—she climbed in the backseat of her father’s Benz and cried her eyes out, leaving him and her broken heart behind.
Never looking back.
She’d left Connecticut nothing like the way she’d come. She’d arrived as an inexperienced girl from the suburbs, but left as a woman with a love for the hood.
And a voracious sex drive.
Heaven shook her head. She felt sudden disgust, plus anger at herself that she’d awaken with her panties wet.
Why, after all these years had he come into her conscience?
That had been a lifetime ago, the two of them. She hadn’t thought of Desmond in years. But somehow he’d found a way to rob her—of what had started out as the ending of a very bliss-filled night, planting himself inside her head.
And then came the images of Freedom. Though he had never laid hands on her or given her an STD, he’d always reminded her, in many ways, of her first love.
Desmond and Freedom had a lot in common.
Hustlers. Liars. Cheaters.
And damn good fucks.
Consequently, they’d both made a fool of her time and time again until she’d reached a breaking point. One, she’d finally walked away from. The other, she’d shot.
She bit back a grunt.
Why couldn’t she have walked away from Freedom’s ass as well? If she had, she wouldn’t be here. She’d be on the other side of this wall, living her damn life.
Fucking men!
Bottom line, her choices in them had always been fucking horrible.
Heaven finally opened her eyes. Bright sunshine flooded the cell. She groaned and shut her eyes again. A curtain. No, no. Blackout curtain. That’s what that tiny cell window needed.
Heaven groaned again, catching a glimpse of all of Sabina’s cosmetics scattered out across the desk. An open jar of Noxema. Hair spray. Styling gel. Tweezers. Emery board. Enough makeup to stock a cosmetics counter. Brushes. Pencils. Liquid eyeliner. Mascara. Bronzer. Eyelash curler. Eye shadow. Lipsticks.
“Good mornin’,” Sabina muttered, hovering over the sink brushing her teeth.
Heaven sniffed and threw back the sheet. “Morning.” Rubbing her eyes, she stood and staggered to the toilet to relieve herself, sliding the privacy sheet around the toilet.
She’d had to learn how to coexist with Sabina in such close proximity. Basic things like using the toilet came with some understanding. Growing up, she’d always had her own bathroom. So she’d never had to share one with other females, until now. Pissing was fine. Taking a shit—while your cellmate was still in the cell—was a no-no, unless you were locked in. Then it required complimentary flushes.
Heaven lined the steel commode with several layers of toilet paper, then slid her panties down over her hips and sat.
She heard Sabina rinsing her mouth, then spitting in the sink. “Bad dreams?” Sabina asked once she stepped away from the sink.
Heaven wiped herself, flushed, then pulled her panties up and slid back the sheet. “Huh?” she asked, washing her hands at the sink.
“You were tossing and groaning in your sleep, like around four thirty this morning. Dreams?”
Heaven grunted, looking over at Sabina as she swept her hair up into a ponytail. “Try nightmare.”
“Care to share?”
Heaven shrugged slightly. “Not really. It’s too early to rehash.”
“Oh. That bad, huh?”
“Men aren’t shit,” she stated, wrapping her body into her robe, then peeling out of her panties. She neatly folded them, before slipping the lacy undergarment inside a small plastic Ziploc bag. She slid the zipper closed, sealing in her scent. She wanted CO Rawlings to get a burst of her essence the moment he unsealed the bag.
Sabina eyed her, wondering why the hell she was once again sealing her panties in a plastic baggie. But she let it go. She grunted. “Mmph. Ain’t that the truth. Most of us behind bars are here because of a man in some form or fashion. Then abandoned and left to survive on our own while he’s out there doing God knows what with some replacement bitch. Does that make us fools?”
Heaven gave her a somber look. “Yes. And dumb as hell.”
TWENTY
Exchange . . .
“Lewis,” Heaven heard over the housing unit’s PA system. “Report to the podium.”
She lowered her radio and frowned, wondering what she was being called down to the COs’ desk for. She had no appointments. She wasn’t enrolled in any of the prison’s educational or vocational programs, although, for a fleeting moment, she’d considered signing up for the cosmetology program. B
ut then decided she wanted no parts of running her hands in any of these bitches’ heads.
Besides, she was already a cosmetologist. She’d gotten her license four years ago when she’d decided working for corporate America wasn’t for her. She’d walked off a very lucrative job with Merrill Lynch after six years of employment, and never looked back.
Before Merrill Lynch, she’d spent three years on Wall Street. And that nearly drove her to self-medicate. The fast-paced, erratic, mostly male-dominated, hustle and bustle of the stock exchange wore her nerves thin. So, before she found herself locked in a bathroom stall doing lines of coke on a mirror, she gracefully bowed out.
Hell, work wasn’t for her.
Life wasn’t lived to suffer. It was lived to enjoy.
Sure she liked having her own money, but she didn’t want to have to work for it. Not if it required her to be aggravated. Truth was, she liked having a man whose money she could spend more than having to work for it; hence, her attraction to ballers and top-level drug dealers.
She loved being pampered. Loved being spoiled. And loved knowing her man was able to offer her the finer things in life.
Was there anything wrong with that?
No, no—absolutely not.
Anyway.
She’d been invited to enroll in one of the prison’s Home Economics programs, but she’d graciously declined. She wasn’t interested in taking up crocheting, like Sabina, or culinary art. Making sweaters and scarves or baking cupcakes was not what she aspired for her life.
She didn’t want to be in prison. But this was her reality. And the reality was, if this was where she had to be, then she was fine right where she was.
In her cell, watching television, reading a book, listening to her music, and minding her own damn business. She didn’t need rehabilitation therapy. And, she damn sure wasn’t interested in working. Free—no, slave—labor was not what she was signing up for. They could all lick her—
The CO called her name again, this time with a tone filled with annoyance.
Heaven rolled her eyes. Bitch, I heard you the first time.
“Hey, Lewis,” an inmate named Greta said, standing at her cell in a white T-shirt and pair of sweats and shower shoes. Her blonde-dyed locks brushed over her shoulders. “Harris calling for you.”
Heaven nodded. “Thanks, girl. I heard her.”
“She wilding today, so you know.”
Heaven shook her head. “What else is new. That ho needs a dick in her life.”
Greta smirked. “Don’t we all.” She leaned her body into Heaven’s cell, and lowered her voice. “I know this is TMI, but I’d kill for a long, thick dildo right now. I’m so tired of these fucking prison-made dildos.” Some women made their dildos (if they were lucky enough to be in a pottery class) out of melted-down bars of soap that they’d mold into the shapes of a dick. Others simply used Maxi-pads wrapped and taped around toothbrushes, then covered in a plastic glove. And if an inmate were fortunate enough to get her hand on a tubular vegetable, like a cucumber, or banana, she’d wrap it in gauze, slide it inside a glove and then use that too.
Greta shrugged. “I’m a horny bitch right about now.”
Heaven laughed, surprised at her candor. “Well, girl, if I ever get my hands on one, I’ll be sure to keep you in mind.”
“Girrrrrl,” she drawled. “You could rent it out by the hour.”
“You think?”
“Mmmhmm.” She nodded. “I’d happily pay.”
“And I’d happily do business with you. Anything for a horny, repressed soul.”
The two women laughed.
“Lewis!” blared over the PA for the third time.
“Uh-oh. She’s getting restless,” Greta remarked.
Heaven sucked her teeth. “Let me go see what this damn CO wants, before she starts her shit.”
Greta nodded knowingly. “Good luck with that,” she said before walking off.
Heaven shook her head, and smiled. She’d had minimal interaction with Greta, but from what little conversations they’d had over the last few months, Heaven liked the attractive, brown-skinned woman. She stayed out the way and minded her business.
Heaven slipped her feet into her clogs, then stood from her bunk. She had gotten comfortable. Jumper off, she was lounging in a sports bra and a pair of gym shorts (no panties, of course) that she’d altered into short-shorts.
All she wanted to do was chill.
Now this shit.
She locked her locker, then meandered out of her cell and down the tier. When she reached the podium, the CO rolled her eyes.
“You know I was about to write your ass up, right?”
Heaven gave the chunky-faced CO an incredulous look. “For what?”
“For taking your slow-ass time.” She slung a pass at her. “Now go take your ass down to classroom C.”
Heaven frowned. “Classroom C, for what?” She had a mind to refuse, but thought otherwise. A refusal could result in a write-up of some sort. And this CO obviously wanted Heaven to give her a reason to do just that.
Officer Harris huffed. “Lewis, get the fuck on; standing here asking me some dumb-ass question, like I’m some damn psychic. Do you see a crystal ball anywhere over here, huh? How the hell I know why they called you down there. Just go, so I can get back to my damn crossword puzzle.”
Heaven snatched the pass from off the podium, then spun on her heel.
“I know one damn thing,” the CO barked. “Snatch another pass off my shit, and see what I do.”
Heaven ignored her rant, and kept walking. She was learning. Some of the COs were more fucked up than most of the inmates. And that bitch was one of them.
Shortly, there was a click of the door and Heaven opened it, walking off the housing unit. She glanced up at one of the cameras as she headed down the hall toward the educational department, wondering which COs were manning the control center, zooming in on her.
She’d heard how there’d been a CO who got off on zooming the cameras in on certain inmates in housing units, while playing with his dick.
If she were in the mood to go back to solitary, she’d peel out of her jumper and give whoever was inside the control center something to look at.
Instead, she tossed her hair and threw an extra shake, or two, in her hips, causing her ass to sway harder, faster. Oh how she loved thongs. The thin strip of material made her feel so sexy; so, so very naughty.
Heaven nearly bumped into an inmate with skin the color of cinnamon as she turned the corner. The inmate’s short dark hair was slicked up with gel into a tiny ball on top of her head like a little rabbit’s tail.
She reminded Heaven of a crack head.
Startled, she jumped backward. “Oh, excuse me.”
The inmate looked her up and down, then slyly slipped her a tiny piece of paper. “Here,” she muttered, before winding the corner and heading in the opposite direction.
Heaven blinked, but kept walking, gripping the note tightly in her hand. When she’d reached one of the camera’s blind spots, she quickly opened the crumpled paper.
She immediately recognized the handwriting.
CLASSROOM B. NOT C. WAIT IN CLOSET.
Heaven crumpled the note, and smiled, her cunt clenching with every step.
TWENTY-ONE
Nothing in the Middle . . .
Almost immediately, Officer Rawlings eased up behind her. And . . . mmm, it instantly felt good—too good—to feel the heat of his body pressed up against her. She quickly turned her body to face him before she ended up grinding her ass up into his crotch.
“Damn, baby,” he said low and deep, casting a wicked grin at her as she faced him. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she said softly. Well, her pussy missed him. Same difference, wasn’t it?
“I need some pussy, baby.”
“Is pussy all I am to you?” Her mouth curved into a sexy grin of her own before she slid her tongue over her lips. She loved the
thrill of flirting. Loved the thrill of fucking . . . him. And fucking him was good. But she needed to know she had him wrapped around her finger. She needed him to prove his devotion to her, to show her just how far he would go for her, before she gave him any more of her warm, gushy cunt.
“Nah, that’s not all you are to me.”
“Oh? Then what am I?”
He wasn’t one to often get serious with women. And he’d never been the sentimental, mushy type, but she was so fucking beautiful that his balls ached. He had it bad for her. And the less time he spent with her, the more consumed he became with her. She was his first thought in the morning, and the last thought on his mind before he closed his eyes at night.
Masturbation had become his new best friend since he’d given up fucking the horny bitches who eagerly threw him pussy. And God knew how much he loved being balls deep inside some wet pussy. But he’d given up all that—the late-night booty calls and trolling the strip clubs for sex.
The only thing on his mind was, her. And his thoughts of her last night—on his night off, had given him a hard-on he’d carried through the whole night, making it nearly impossible for him to sleep. Sex on the brain made for a hard dick. And it made for a very restless night. Still, it brought out every lustful fantasy he’d ever thought of, and even some he hadn’t.
All he wanted to do was taste her, smell her, caress her with his tongue and hands, then fuck her deep. He could still hear her soft cries of ecstasy from the last time he’d been inside her, bringing her to orgasm, and every night, he replayed—while he sniffed her panties—having her back pressed up against the wall of her cell and her legs hitched up over his hips as his dick entered her body, losing himself in her wet, silky heat.
Yeah, she was definitely more than good pussy to him. She was what his fantasies had been made up of for the majority of his life.
She was everything he had ever imagined.
He wasn’t desperate. He was deliberate. And he knew what he wanted.
She was whom he wanted to build a life with.
He wanted to take care of her.
And he’d wait for her, for as long as it took.
