Chapter 13: Twisted Bonds

The dull fluorescent light flickered on, casting a sickly pallor over the grotesque tableau. Jaime’s hand moved mechanically, a tender, reluctant rhythm up and down Reggie’s thick shaft, her other hand stroking his heavy testicles with a gentleness born of exhaustion. Shame coiled in her gut, a bitter serpent entwined with disgust and a perverse, unwelcome arousal she couldn’t purge. His semen’s taste—salty, potent—was etched into her memory, a ritual she performed too often. He claimed to love her, but each swallow crushed her heart with guilt, her betrayal of Steve a leaden weight. Yet, day by day, her resistance dulled, her tongue adapting to his flavor, her body finding a twisted solace in the act as she lay beside this Black youth—her captor, her cellmate.

Reggie groaned, a low rumble of satisfaction, and Jaime sighed, resigned to his morning lust. “Oh ... that feel real nice, baby,” he rasped. She loathed the submission it carved into her, the way it made her feel used, yet her tongue swirled over his glans, a traitor’s dance stoking her own dampness. She’d never been this wet, this often, with Steve—something was wrong, warped within her. Shame surged as she lapped up his creamy release, a preferable surrender to quell his relentless erections, her eagerness a sick comfort she despised.

The scene twisted darker, a grotesque spiral. Over a month of repeated rapes and isolation had bent her will, forcing a reluctant acceptance of Reggie’s presence. Locked together, alone, their shared age and nationality wove a fragile thread—she began to see him as a kindred spirit, a mirror to her loneliness. Leaning into his strong embrace, she murmured, “You came more this time. Always so much though, especially mornings ... maybe ‘cause you’re young.” Her tone wavered, a hesitant tolerance seeping through. “Men peak sexually around twenty ... is that what you said?”

“Yeah, that right. I be twenty, and it felt amazin’, baby. Now you lay back—I wanna taste your sweet pussy again,” he growled, insatiable.

She’d hoped the blowjob would sate him longer, but Reggie’s hunger gnawed ceaselessly. Closing her eyes, biting her fist, she sank onto the bed, weary from battling him and Torres. His tongue parted her thighs, and a spark of pleasure—guilt-laced—flickered through her. “Oh ... ah ... nah ... shouldn’t,” she murmured, fingers combing his braids, wanting to shove him off yet tethered by fear. Steve’s image flashed—weeks apart, his safety her fragile hope—but Reggie’s thumb peeled back her clitoral hood, and her mind drowned in sensation, Steve fading.

“Ah ... ooh...” she moaned, pelvis swaying to his rhythm, lost in a tide she couldn’t stem. Twice daily, Torres intruded—breakfast trays and humiliating probes: “Is she still making you hard? How wet does she get? How many times does she cum?” Then the shower, Reggie’s shadow beside her, her prison stark in the steam. Solitude filled the day, their voices a hollow echo, until Torres returned with dinner, digging deeper into their intimacies. Night cloaked them in touch and sound, the tiny bed their world—each day a blur of new positions Reggie forced, her warped comfort growing in his presence.

After hardening her clit, Reggie shifted behind her, lifting her leg into his arm’s crook, spooning her with practiced ease. She guided his shaft into her slickness, a familiar shame. “I wish we’d stop,” she moaned. “No birth control—you don’t pull out sometimes. Please, this time, okay?”

“Your pussy feel so good, it be hard, baby,” he rasped, straining against his own urge.

Her hand caressed his testicles, a plea in her touch. “I know it’s hard—try, please, before you ejaculate.” Stroking him, she asked, “Ah ... ooh ... Why are you here? You never said why Torres arrested you.”

“Some marijuana,” he grunted.

“Uh ... ah ... how much?”

“You always so wet for me—know you startin’ to like me. Just 8 grams,” he said, thrusts deepening.

“Ooh ... uh ... How do you get so hard all the time? Don’t get why he’d arrest you for something so ... ah ... trivial.”

“He corrupt. Ah ... feel good like that, baby. Somethin’ ain’t right ‘bout him...”

“How long ... oh ... have you been here?”

Her pussy clenched around him, a traitor’s grip. “You cumin’ for me? Feel it milkin’ my Black bone,” he growled.

“Ah ... oh ... I’m cumin’ ... uh ... shouldn’t ... with you,” she gasped, shame flooding her climax.

“It feel good, don’t it? Love makin’ you cum ... Arrested two days ‘fore you got here. I’m ‘bout to cum too,” he rasped.

“Okay ... pull out now,” she pleaded, breathless.

Her fingers urged him on, stroking his silky scrotum, contradicting her words. He stayed buried, unloading inside her. “Oh ... my pussy ... you’re cumin’ in me,” she groaned, revulsion surging. “Ah ... love you, baby. Can’t hold back—know you don’t want me pullin’ out while you cumin’. Keep playin’ with my balls.”

“Don’t say you love me,” she cried, fondling him despite her protest, her body exploding against her will. “I hate this—you make me ... I want Steve, my real husband,” she sobbed, yearning to escape his lie.

“You in jail with me, baby,” he growled, withdrawing his wet cock, leaving another load inside. Her fingers traced the leaking semen, pleasure pulsing against her despair. “Stop cumin’ in me ... you’ll get me pregnant,” she gasped.

“Ain’t happened yet—stop worryin’,” he sneered, arm coiling around her waist, pulling her naked form close, hand kneading her breasts, shivers rippling through her.

“How many women you violated like me?” she demanded.

“Violated? Baby, you mean loved,” he purred.

“Don’t spin this romantic—you’re sick,” she snapped.

“Don’t be mad—I can’t help it, you so tight ‘round my cock. Not many women, though,” he said, sarcasm lacing his tone.

“That’s not what Torres said. Why do you do this?” she pleaded, trembling.

“You believe him now?” he smirked, mocking.

“I don’t know what to believe—but I know what you’ve done to me. Why?” she pressed, anger quaking. “You’re disgusting.” She clutched the sheet, desperate to cover herself. “Let me dress.”

“I’ll be hard again soon—gonna love you more,” he leered.

“Please, enough for now—I don’t want more today. Why can’t we just be friends?” she begged.

“We are friends, baby. But men got needs—so do women. How wet you get says we meetin’ each other’s. A year without pussy, then you show up—think I’d resist?” he sneered. “You more naive than you look.”

His words sliced, exposing her vulnerability. Releasing her, he watched as she rose, sheet slipping to reveal her curves. “Have it your way, baby—but the Captain prob’ly watchin’, whackin’ off. I’ll strip you again soon.”

Wiping his semen with some toilet tissue, Jaime dressed—thong, bra, uniform—huddling in the corner, his cum still seeping, soaking her panties. “Why you alone there? Don’t wanna be close?” he asked.

“I don’t want you to love me,” she trembled.

“You so beautiful—perfect body, gorgeous pussy. Can’t resist—damn, you keep makin’ me hard. No other bitch done that,” he leered.

“Please, stop—I don’t like it...” she sobbed, his gaze twisting her gut.

“I know you say that, but your pussy soakin’, clenchin’ me when I fuck you,” he chuckled.

“I don’t like it—doesn’t mean anything,” she cried, denying the orgasms his size wrenched from her, a conflict she couldn’t reconcile.