Prison Snatch

by Cairo

She took dick like a pro, sucked dick like a porn-star, and knew how to make a man’s toes curl. Never denying her man pleasure—any time, any place, anywhere. But that was always with one man.

  But, now, since being incarcerated, her libido—and fantasies—was at an all-time high. All she wanted to do was fuck. Ride a dick. Suck a dick. She wanted it. Dick, dick, dick . . . and more dick; her whole body ached for it.

  Officer Rawlings had unlocked Pandora’s box, but it was Officer Flores who’d flung it open. And now she was ready to click on her ho-meter and turn up. She was ready to bite into more of the proverbial forbidden fruit and sink her teeth into its meat.

  “You gonna be my lil’ prison whore.”

  The thought made her pussy quiver.

  Heaven glanced over at her flat-screen perched up on one of the tiny desks in her cell, catching the tail end of Little Women: Atlanta. She let out a disgusted grunt seeing Mama Bear. Lying ass. She gave Heaven a headache with all of her delusions.

  “Mmph. Miscarriage my ass. But you didn’t go for a D & C? Trick, your ass was never pregnant,” Heaven heard her saying.

  What a damn liar. And that Ms. Juicy . . . mmph. Heaven just couldn’t with her ass, either. Not. At. All. Trifling-ass bitches come in all sizes, she thought, shaking her head as she reached for her remote and changed the channel to the WE network. The previews for Cutting It in the ATL flashed on the screen, and Heaven rolled her eyes.

  God. What was this world coming to? Ratchet TV was everywhere. Seemed like Atlanta was a breeding ground for ghetto-ass reality shows.

  Disgusted, she turned off her television, then rose from her bunk and turned on the radio to 93.3. She glanced at the time, and found herself wishing it were eight o’clock already. It was Thursday. And tonight was the radio station’s segment of Creepin’ ‘n’ Freakin’ After Dark, and she’d get to listen to the deep, rich baritone voice of her fantasy man.

  She chuckled to herself. Sabina would slice her throat if she knew she, too, lusted over the mouthwatering Marcel. Mm, yes. Lord, have mercy. She’d go to hell in a gasoline-soaked hand basket for a night with him. Marcel, Marcel, Marcel . . . dammit. What was that sexy man’s last name?

  She couldn’t recall. But she remembered all the rumors. And rumor had it he had a huge dick, and was a freak. That he and his wife were swingers of sorts. Heaven could only imagine what kind of heat the two of them created in the sheets.

  God. What a tragedy. Heaven closed her eyes and shook her head at the memory of hearing the murder of his wife unfolding as it’d aired live on the radio. God, that whole experience shook her to her core. She’d screamed in horror, then burst out in tears when she’d heard the gunshots ring out along with millions of listeners.

  Freedom had come rushing down into their living room when she’d let out a piercing scream. He looked at her crazily when she’d told him the cause of her distress. He thought her hysterics were a bit over the top for someone she’d never met, or known. But, in her mind, she had known him. And loved him.

  She sighed, and reached for the book she’d received in the mail the other day from Amazon. The Real Mrs. Price by J.D. Mason. God, she was so behind in her reading. Seemed like she’d gotten a lot more books read when she’d been in lockup. Maybe she should—

  She shuddered at the thought.

  On second thought, no thank you.

  She would rather—

  Sabina rushed into the cell. “Ohmygod! You’re not going to believe this.”

  Heaven gave her a confused look. “What?”

  “Did you hear about Struthers?”

  Heaven’s face was expressionless. “No, what about him? Who has he fucked over now?”

  “Girl, no one. I heard he is out on leave. And he won’t be coming back.”

  Heaven feigned surprise. “Whaaat? I definitely didn’t hear anything about that. When did this happen?”

  Sabina shrugged, shaking her head. “I have no idea. They were talking about it down in the day space.”

  “Well, good riddance,” Heaven said, raising her hand in a mock toast. “And lots of bad luck.”

  Sabina gave her a look.

  “What?”

  Sabina shook her head. “Nothing. Anyway. Let—”

  “Hey, sweet pussycat,” a voice said, cutting Sabina off.

  The two women looked over toward the door, and Heaven smiled at the wiry, thin woman standing there with a big toothy grin. “Hey, Miss Janie. How are you?”

  “Hey, Miss Janie,” Sabina chimed in.

  Miss Janie rolled her eyes at Sabina, but then smiled at Heaven. “Oh, I’m fine, pussycat.”

  Sabina caught Heaven’s gaze, and shrugged. Sabina had no clue as to why Miss Janie didn’t like her. But she didn’t.

  Miss Janie was a sixty-two-year-old woman who’d been at Croydon Hill since it’d opened back in 1990. Damn near twenty-six years ago. Heaven couldn’t imagine being incarcerated that long. Hell. Ten years was torture enough. And here Miss Janie had another twenty-nine years to do before she was eligible for parole. She was going to die here. And, sadly, that realization pained Heaven. But Miss Janie, always with a smile on her face, didn’t fret about that. She felt blessed all the same. And had found peace with her journey.

  She’d murdered her husband. Stabbed him in his sleep, sawed off his dick, then burned the house down with him in it. She was twenty, almost twenty-one, when she’d committed what police called a heinous crime.

  And what had she’d done with her husband’s phallus?

  Well, she’d mailed it to the married whore he’d been fucking, right before she fled the state. She’d been on the run for almost fifteen years before the authorities finally caught up with her down in Louisiana, living under an alias (Bertha Jarvis) with a new life, new husband, and three young children.

  Heaven didn’t know her that well, but the older woman was always friendly to her whenever she made her way up to the third tier. And, somehow, she’d decided that her nickname for Heaven would be Pussycat. “ ’Cause you cute as a kitten,” she’d told her once, “and slick and crafty as a cat.”

  Heaven had almost felt offended at first, but then she’d realized it was meant as a compliment. So whenever the older woman called her that, she simply smiled. The only time she journeyed this high up from the first floor was when she had to go around and collect on a debt. When it came to her money, Miss Janie didn’t care about being out of place. And the COs didn’t bother about writing her up, or redirecting her. As far as they were concerned, she was harmless.

  Sabina grabbed her MP3 player. “Well, let me get out of here.”

  Miss Janie grunted, then waited for Sabina to leave the cell. “That nasty gal right there will screw anything with two legs. E’ery time I look at her, it reminds me of an ole nasty streetwalker. And why I murdered my first husband.”

  Heaven gave her a questioning stare. “Oh.”

  Miss Janie waved her on. “Anyway, I thought I was gonna have to beat that lil’ bitch’s ass six cells down.”

  Heaven blinked. “Who, Miss Janie?”

  “That lil’ wild child, Clit-something-or another. Ole hot-in-the-ass heifer.”

  Heaven laughed. “Miss Janie, what Clitina do to get you all riled up?”

  “Cheating on the Spades table, last night. Chile, I was about to reach over and slap the piss, the spit, and the snot outta her, then snatch out her tonsils. That ole black ashy ragamuffin better ask somebody. Then she got the nerve to hop up and call me an old bitch. I thought I was gonna have to pin my wig down real good and show her what this old bitch can do. Two—no three—things you don’t mess over. Bingo, a game of Spades, and my damn wig.”

  Heaven couldn’t stop laughing. “Ohmygod, Miss Janie. You are so hilarious.” She wiped tears from her eyes from laughing so hard. “Well, did y’all win?”

  “Mmph. You know we did. Me ‘n’ Ethel tore they young asses up.” Ethel was her bunkie and gambling buddy—an older white woman who was also incarcerated
for murdering her husband. She’d run him down in his tractor-trailer.

  She and Miss Janie had been cellmates for the last ten years, and best friends ever since. They were the Lucy and Ethel of Croydon Hill. And two of the most feisty, fiery women in the entire prison known for their gambling and cell-brewed “prison hooch.”

  “Chile, I had to come up here—Ooh, them damn stairs real bad on my knees—and remind that heifer that payday was Friday. And the bitch better have my money, or interest would accrue by the day.” She puckered her lips and bucked her eyes, putting a hand up on her hip. “What she think, these old hands can’t go in her mouth? Let her not have my coins come payday and see what these hands do.” She reached up and snatched her wig off. “Just like that. I’ma snatch her scalp off.”

  Heaven hollered. “Oh no, Miss Janie. We can’t have you snatching off scalps. How much does she owe you?”

  She readjusted her wig back on top of her head, tucking under her two long pigtails. “Let’s see. This week and last week . . .” She pursed her lips, counting in her head. “That ho owes me sixty dollars.”

  Heaven blinked. Sixty dollars? What the hell was she gambling for, when she had no money coming in?

  Heaven stood to her feet and walked over to her locker, counting out sixty dollars’ worth of goods. Ten iced honey buns, four three-pack pecan swirls, and one can of Maxwell House coffee. Twelve ramen noodles were a dollar. No, wait. She put those back. She reached for a jar of chunky peanut butter, which was worth five dollars. Two cans of chicken breasts equaled to five dollars. She tossed in two bags of Snyder’s jalapeño pretzels. And since candy bars were a dollar a pop, she doled out fifteen Milky Way bars. And, lastly, she grabbed cans of mackerel—Croydon Hill’s most wanted form of currency. Eight cans of mackerel were tossed in the bag.

  “Here you go, Miss Janie.” Heaven handed her the bag. Everything in it was more than enough to cover Clitina’s gambling debt.

  Miss Janie smiled, looking at the bag. “Chile, you got yourself a regular ole prison Seven-Eleven up in here, don’tcha? I appreciate you wanting to handle that gal’s debt, but that ain’t teaching her nothing. She needs to know how to pay up or get beat up. You hear what I’m saying, Pussycat?”

  Heaven nodded. “I hear you, Miss Janie. But it’s okay. It’s an investment.”

  She grunted. “Ummph. In what, trash?”

  Heaven shook her head. “Miss Janie, one woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure.”

  Miss Janie waved her on. “Chile, I don’t know ’bout all that. Mmph. That ho’s treasure chest ain’t filled with nothing but shit. Now let me go take my old ass back on down the way. It’s always good seeing you, Pussycat.”

  As she turned to leave, Heaven called her back. “Hey, Miss Janie?”

  “Yes, baby?”

  “I know you’ve been here for a long time, so I wanted to ask you”—she lowered her voice, stepping up to her—“if you knew an Officer Flores?”

  She blinked. Narrowed her eyes. “Who, that light-skinned-ed fella?”

  Heaven nodded.

  “Pussycat. Yeah I know him. He’s one of the Classification officers. Mm-hmm. Ooh, that’s one pretty man.” She fanned herself. “He fine, ain’t he?”

  Heaven shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess.”

  “Mm-hmm. What you guessing for? Even I can see he fine. Long, tall drink of sexiness; I don’t think he wears drawers to work.”

  Heat crept up through Heaven’s belly as the memory of how his dick had felt as she stroked him over his pants. She giggled. “Miss Janie, you a mess.”

  “Uh-huh. Don’t go snooping where the sun don’t shine, Pussycat. Now what you asking ’bout him for?”

  “Curious, that’s all.”

  She narrowed her eyes, studying Heaven. “Well, don’t be getting too curious. He one of the candy men.”

  Heaven gave her a questioning look. “A what?”

  Miss Janie crooked a finger and beckoned for Heaven to come closer. Heaven leaned in, then Miss Janie whispered conspiratorially, “He the dope man.”

  Heaven blinked, then opened her mouth to—

  Miss Janie put a hand up, and stopped her. “Not another word on that.”

  And then she was gone.

  FORTY-TWO

  Get Ready . . .

  “You owe me,” Heaven informed Clitina as they walked around the outdoor track. The weather was gorgeous. Warm, but breezy. Low humidity. Heaven couldn’t resist coming out to the yard to let the sun shine down on her. Oh joy! This was what her life had become. From Central Park carriage rides to getting excited about sunshine in a prison yard.

  Still, it was a nice change of pace from being cooped up in her cell. The stale air was slowly starting to eat away at her lungs. So fresh air was a welcomed break. But she’d be on guard. Ready and alert. Her blade was in her bra, in case anything jumped off. Never sleep on a bitch. Never get too comfortable.

  That’s what she’d learned here.

  Clitina gave her a sidelong glance. “Why you pay that old bitch, anyway, when I ain’t ask you to?”

  Heaven shot her a look. “Did you have her money to pay her?”

  Clitina snorted. “Who said I was gonna pay her ass?”

  “Well, boo, that old bitch, as you call her, was going to beat your ass real good if you hadn’t settled your debts with her. So, thank you works better.”

  She huffed. “That old, country bitch don’t want it with these hands. I’d beat the wrinkles off her ass. I don’t care nothin’ ’bout her killin’ her husband or how many years she been locked up with her ole saggy-ass titties. I’m from the hood, boo. I’d beat her dentures loose.”

  Heaven shook her head. This ignorant little bitch. She mentally scolded herself for that thought, no matter how true. It was obvious she was simply a product of her environment. Don’t judge her. Her mother is named after a dick, for Christ’s sake.

  So she said, “Being from the hood doesn’t make you the baddest or toughest bitch out in the streets. And definitely not in here.”

  Clitina huffed. “Miss Heaven, boom. Hit the floor with it. I’m one of the baddest. You better Google me. My rap sheet on fleek.”

  “And that rap sheet on fleek is gonna keep your ass in and out of prisons, hon, if you don’t learn to fall back from the streets and that kind of mentality. The streets and the hood, boo, mean you no good.”

  She frowned. “So I’m ’posed to leave the hood? Hit the floor with it. What, a bitch like me gonna do in the ’burbs besides boost in they stores? Yawn. Where they teaching that at? The streets is everything.”

  Heaven gave her a sad look. “And those same streets will turn their back on you. Look around you, Tina. Is this the life you want?”

  She shrugged. “It ain’t all that bad. Two of my girls in here ‘n’ I’m already cool with a few more bitches. And I ain’t gotta hear dumb-ass Dickalina telling me she gonna put me out unless I pay rent. Where they do that at? Bitch ain’t even payin’ full rent.”

  Clitina shook her head. “I mean, I miss my sister ‘n’ my girl, Day’Asia. But being in prison is almost like being on the streets. I just ain’t gotta pay no rent. And anything I want, I can get. If I wanna hang out on the block, I just come out to the yard. If I wanna kick back, I can chill in my cell, or down in the day space. If I wanna turn up ‘n’ have me a drink, I can turn up. If I wanna roll with my girls, they got that here, too. Pills. Dope. Weed. Whatever. You want it, they got it.” She shook her head again. “All I really need is some steady dingaling in my life ‘n’ I’m good.”

  Heaven gave her an incredulous look. She’d heard it all. “Bitch, there isn’t shit about being locked up anything like being at home. Nothing. This shit isn’t glamorous.” Heaven swept an arm around the yard. “Look around you. Do you see any dick—or dingaling, as you call it—anywhere out here? No. Unless you’re taking up riding a little-ass clit like it’s one, there is no dick out here for you.”

  Clitina waved her on dismissi
vely. “Miss Heaven, hit the floor with it. I ain’t talkin’ about no damn inmate. These bitches can’t do nothin’ for me. I see lots of dick out here—all in uniforms. At least one of ’em gotta want some cootie, or some sloppy top from an inmate from time to time . . .”

  This ho will need to have lots of stock in douche kits, Heaven thought as she took her in. She had a gorgeous shape, all boobs and lots of curves, Heaven admitted to herself. Still the stench from her pussy during their first encounter had scarred her. It still lingered in her senses, and came back to haunt her every now and again.

  “Anyway. I be seein’ how some of these COs be lookin’, like they ready to fuck. I know they be some horny-ass niggahs workin’ up in here. And you know it, too. Shit. Sometimes I just wanna get my throat wet.”

  Well, shit, she had a point—a very valid one. Hell, she was fucking one herself. And anticipated fucking another CO the next opportunity she got. Real soon.

  “But, anyway. I ain’t tryna get no sermon today, Miss Heaven,” she stated, cutting into Heaven’s thoughts. “So what I owe you now? Who you need me to slice?”

  Heaven gave her a look, an eyebrow rising. “I don’t want you slicing anyone for me . . . right now. But I’ll think of something.”

  Clitina spotted her hoodrat friends from 4 East as they made their way around the track again. “Okay. You do that. . . .”

  “Tiiiiiinaaaaa!” her friends yelled.

  She threw a hand up and waved over at them. “Anyway. All this walking around in circles is corny; ’specially when we ain’t smokin’. I’ll catch you later, Miss Heaven.”

  “Later, girl.”

  Clitina walked off, cutting across the grass, but then she stopped and called after Heaven. “Miss Heaven?”

  Heaven glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “Next time, don’t be bailin’ no body outta shit. I know how’ta handle a bitch on my own.” And then she trotted off toward her loud, rowdy friends, her ass bouncing in her teenie-weenie shorts.

  “Heeeeey, bitch!” they called out in unison.

  “We was wondering when you was gonna ditch that ho.”