Caution: This Erotic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Spanking, Rough, Humiliation, .
Desc: Erotic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Freelance writer meets incarcerated ball of fire.
23 June 2015 (Tallahassee Women's Detention Center)
My name is Jeffrey (Jeff for short) Jones. I am a freelance writer for a Miami newspaper and have arrangements for short pieces in several other Florida big cities on an open-ended contract that doesn't pay very much unless my stories get "buzz" from the other media. I have been doing the golf tournament and the car-racing gigs lately because I know a lot about both activities and my name is recognized by the general public.
I started doing an expose of the penal system in the southern states just to generate some interesting content for readers of that sort of charged atmosphere where twisted sex is a part of the normal routine. I wrote my articles with a great deal of caution because it was not wise to piss off any of the big-wig government types who set the budgets and dish out the correctional part of the justice system. There had been an increase in the number of spectacular escapes recently and the general public was beginning to wonder exactly where their tax dollars were being spent. I started with a historical look at the mistakes of the past and it made good copy and was easy to write with just a small amount of investment in research time.
One of the things that I noticed right away was that when female prisoners escaped from custody, there was little hoopla and the media tended to consider it more a nuisance rather than a threat to society. Even when the female offenders were charged with some serious crimes unless some victim or group made a big stink about it, the jailbreak seldom got any notice at all.
Florida seemed to be a place where the escapes were most prevalent and I wondered if it had to do with the climate or the system which was a bit more liberal than in the other southern states. As part of my research, I got to interview a number of the prisoners and the female guards in the system to determine the cause for the increase in escapes. I can't use real names here because it would endanger the guard's records and call attention to prisoner's relatives who would rather remain well out of the limelight.
The case that intrigued me the most was of course the unusual case of Cuba Malloy who is still at large and listed as the only female on the State's top ten most wanted list.
Cuba Malloy was trouble starting at a very early age. I can't go into the details of her youthful offenses because of legal restrictions in several different areas. Suffice it to say that at eighteen years of age, the young Cuba was already on the road to perdition with hardly a glance over her pretty shoulder.
I met Cuba at the Tallahassee Woman's House of Detention on one of those humid summer days when there was not a breeze to be had in the midst of the sweltering palms. The endless barbed wire seemed to stretch in every direction like some crazy artist's design of modern living. Even the mindless critters in the everglades knew enough not to venture anywhere near it because the softest touch would be certain to result in the flowing of crimson red blood and shredded skin.
The inmates shuffled everywhere they went as if their movements were choreographed in some theater of the absurd by a mentally disturbed artist with an eye for stirring unease.
I noticed that the prisoners were mostly younger females and I surmised it was probably because the older ones had already been released or learned their lesson not to be caught. Further south the mix tended to be more darker than up here in the panhandle but I expect it was because the beach visitor crowd who got in trouble were more representative of the other northern states and the young white females got in trouble a lot faster when they were let loose with hardly any clothes and lots of horny males to push them into excess.
Cuba was actually originally from the Miami Beach area and she constantly pined about her beloved "South Beach" and her many friends none of whom took the time to even send her a postcard.
When she sat down across from me at the wooden picnic table in the "yard" I noticed she had a Technicolor shiner than made her look a bit hawkish like some pirate girl ready to steal your wallet. It made me a bit uneasy and in a certain sense lacking in sufficient roughness to control her urges whatever they might be. I passed her a cigarette because she made a point of it and she took two putting one behind her pretty ear like a piece of golden treasure for later consumption.
It was hard to tell much about the inmate's physical attributes because of the shapeless jumpsuit but her short-cropped hair was attractive in a sort of boyish way that defied gender identification. I started to focus on her heart-shaped lips that looked inviting even without any lipstick in evidence.
I lit her cigarette and she cupped my hand with both of hers making it feel like my fingers were roaming inside her private parts and she was smothering them with her sexy folds.
"I hear you are interviewing us about prison conditions and will release a report to improve things inside the system. All I can tell you is that everything in here sucks and they need to let us all go because it is all a big waste of time."
Cuba said this with a wide smile on her face letting me know she was being facetious and not seriously complaining about any ill treatment. I got the impression that if she got "ill treatment" from anyone, they would soon regret it because she was definitely a "pay-back is a mother-fucker" type of girl. She started playing footsie with me under the table almost immediately and I realized she didn't care who saw her and what they might have thought about her wanton need for sex. She slipped off one shoe and rubbed her toes just above my ankle sending a tingle up my spine that was admittedly sensual and arousing. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she needed it badly and that she would have had carnal relations with anyone with a decent hard-on. Still, I had a job to do so I mustered my concentration back on matters at hand and started to ask her the questions I had almost memorized and didn't need to read in order to ask them.
"Have you had any fights or incidents in the last thirty days?"
I was certain she would be answering in the positive since her shiner was still glorious in its multi-colored splendor.
She touched her eye with a sly grin and moved her toes up a little higher on my captured leg.
"It depends on what you would call a fight. I had a bit of a dust-up with that big black bitch over there in the corner glaring at us like she wants some more of me but I wouldn't call it a real fight since I had to break two of her fingers to get her to calm down. She has lots of friends so I have to keep my eyes open but I know she won't be coming after me until those fingers heal up and that is going to take a long time."
I looked over in the direction she was nodding and saw a huge black female probably in her early forties with braided hair and an attitude that would give a saint pause before approaching. I quickly looked away not wanting any sort of confrontation drawing attention to us. I went down the list of questions and she answered them all with what I thought was reasonable responses.
Most of the others in the yard eventually lost all interest in us and turned back to their own little worlds of momentary relief from the dreariness of incarceration. The female guard with big biceps was still keeping an eye on us and I wondered if she was more interested in Cuba or in me.
"Listen Mister, come on with me into the snack area and we can get drinks from the machine. I hope you got some singles because the crazy bitch in there hates to make change for any reason."
Since there was no other way around it, I followed Cuba's swaying hips still indecipherable under her prison garb into the porch-like area with drink and snack machines. There were so many signs about "Don't do this", and "Don't do that" it was impossible not to be amused by the rigid formality. Fortunately, I did have a supply of singles and Cuba made me buy drinks for some of her friends as well. They drifted off with their visitors and we were left with only the muscular female guard not far away.
Cuba grabbed hold of my hand and I was a little surprised that when I thought about it, she had a fairly small hand even for a girl.
"OK, Mister, if you gift this guard with a tenner, she will look the other way when we slide into that cleaning closet. She does it for all the girls and keeps her eyes open for any other guards heading in our direction. I can talk a lot faster in private and you can watch how quickly I open up when my itch is being scratched."
I was a little bit dubious about the whole thing not wanting to get into trouble and lose my job but I have to admit I really wanted to see what was under that shapeless uniform and pressed the correct denomination bill into Cuba's hand and watched her pass it covertly to the guard.
The smiling guard seemed to know exactly which key to select from the circle of dozens of keys on her belt and unlocked the shining brass knob without comment. She suddenly found the selection of goodies in the snack machine of great interest and Cuba pulled me into the dark cleaning closet filled with mops and brooms and assorted soaps and powders. There was a small table with some scattered snack wrappings and I assumed it was used as a little eating area for cleaners assigned to that job.
Cuba wasted no time and bent over the table telling me in a rushed and suddenly excited voice,
"Come on, Mister, get my trousers down and give it to me good. I need it bad and that's no lie."
The little bulb in the ceiling barely gave off enough light to see but it was impossible not to register the white gleaming flanks of the sweating girl moving her hips from side to side as if to entice me to get inside as quickly as possible. Sensing that time was of the essence, I merely spread her cheeks open and aimed straight for her recently shaved slit with some degree of focused concentration. We had immediate success and she exploded into a little bundle of quaking female flesh and appreciative gibberish writhing in ball of contained pleasure. I fought the urge to drain my juices too quickly because in all honesty it was far too erotic to end too fast.
"Hit me back there, Mister, please use your fist and punch my cheeks. Don't pull your punch because I really like it like that."
I thought it was a strange request but when one is buried to the hilt in pretty girl pussy, orders are orders and not to be dismissed as too kinky for following. I used her backside as a punching bag as I humped her thoroughly soaked pussy with wild abandon. I could tell she was enjoying it because she was making little purring sounds and moans that made me realize she was right on the verge of coming with a convulsive orgasm.
We slapped into each other for what seemed like an eternity and slowly stopped moving but still coupled like a single person. I figured it was a good way to get properly introduced to Cuba and I promised her I would be back the next Saturday to continue the interview.