The unlovely buildings of the Benton Correctional Facility squatted on the edge of the desert and within its electrified borders there dwelt a combustible mix of a thousand men.
All of them had been found guilty of offences meriting serious time.
It was no holiday camp.
The governor of Benton, John Reynolds, lived in a secluded house in an affluent area twenty miles away. The grounds of the house were extensive and the governor was talking to his wife Marcia over lunch one weekend about the difficulty of maintaining them. How Styles (their regular gardener) was doing a great job when he came each week but was knocking on in age now for the more strenuous of the activities required to keep everything in good order.
"Those half-rotting trees for example," the governor pointed out.
Marcia nodded vaguely. She was only half listening.
"We really have to get rid of them," the governor said.
"I know, John, I know."
"Hey, how about we put it on the program?"
"What do you mean?"
"The RUN program, honey. You know."
RUN - 'Release Unless Negative' – was a scheme which allowed the freeing before standard minimum term of those prisoners who had shown consistently excellent conduct during their time inside and who posed zero threat to society.
But there were strings.
Inmates accepted onto the program were licensed for day release on certain designated afternoons over a period of six months to do various bits and pieces in the vicinity. Only if they passed muster with this would they receive a positive overall assessment and be allowed full and final exit from BC.
A negative meant back to square one with no second chances.
So possible to fail, yes, but it was unusual nevertheless. A guy 'on the run' (how this status was colloquially referred to) was highly motivated not to mess up and the tasks required, benefit-the-community things like sweeping the streets, helping out in the communal parks and such, weren't exactly rocket science.
It was, all in all, a scheme which worked well. Governor Reynolds had instigated it approximately three years ago and he was proud of his baby.
"I know what it is, John."
Marcia's tone was playfully affectionate, recognizing this hobby horse of her husband's, recalling the countless times he'd held forth on the subject. Although exactly how the program operated, she wasn't sure, since whenever he went into the finer detail of it she tended to switch off.
The governor smiled at her fondly. Marcia was his second wife. He'd been married to her for six months and he absolutely doted on her.
Marcia was decades younger than him and she was very beautiful. She was out of his league – a fact that he was delighted to admit to all and sundry - and not a day passed by when he didn't thank his heavenly stars that she was with him and seemed content to stay that way.
Did Marcia exploit her husband's adoration a teeny bit sometimes?
Sure she did. She twisted him around her little finger.
But he didn't mind. He got plenty in return. His lovely young wife ran the house and their social life superbly well, and she did certain other things superbly well too. That John Reynolds looked forward to going to bed each night, for example, was something of an understatement. The governor was a happy man.
"Ok, so we have one of the guys come by and do a few hours out there. We get a great looking exterior, he gets another small step to freedom ... Neat, huh?"
Marcia could see that her husband was pleased with himself.
"Sure, hun, good idea."
"Course, it will mean having him here," said the governor.
The governor regarded his wife carefully as he said this. Despite his power and status, the fact that his word was iron law around BC, he'd never do anything of significance involving house and home without her approval.
Marcia's mental wheels were spinning.
She loved John and was happy enough being married to him; however there was only so much shopping and socialising with girlfriends, going to the gym or the country club, that a person could do and she'd been getting rather bored with life lately.
The more she mused about one of the prisoners coming to work at the house the more she liked the prospect. Certain 'possibilities' sprang to mind.
"But just for a few hours, right?" she said.
"Yes, darling. Just be for one afternoon. Weekday afternoons is when we schedule the outside activities."
"And he'd be supervised by one of the guards?"
"No need for that. Point is to demonstrate that they can be trusted."
"But can't they just up and run?"
"Never happens. Like I've told you before, Marcia, they're tagged. Get caught in no time. Besides, why run when you'll soon be out anyway if you play your cards right?"
"Guess that's incentive enough to behave themselves," Marcia acknowledged.
The governor nodded vigorously.
"Believe me, it is. You know how it works, sweetheart ... any trouble whatsoever and they're busted back and looking at a full stretch."
Marcia was looking settled and satisfied now.
"Ok, so great."
"So I'll go ahead and fix that up, darling girl, will I?"
Marcia smiled serenely across the table and nodded her consent.
The following Friday, Governor Reynolds came home with a file.
After he'd showered and changed, he presented it to his wife along with her usual pre-dinner campari soda.
"You're looking great, honey," he told her.
Marcia smiled up from the sofa. She was wearing sprayed-on jeans and a bright pink tee-shirt. She knew exactly how delicious she looked.
"Oh, what's this?" she said, taking the file.
Her husband fixed himself a large scotch on the rocks and joined her on the couch.
"Take a look," he suggested.
Marcia flipped quickly through the file. It contained half a dozen pages, each of which gave brief detail on a particular BC inmate: name, a head photo, age, what he was in for, time served and time still remaining.
"What exactly am I looking at?"
The governor swirled his drink and took a generous mouthful before replying.
"What you're looking at, sweetheart, are the candidates."
"The guys who are eligible to come and work at the house. That thing we talked about, remember?"
"Oh my god, yes!"
Marcia did remember. It hadn't been mentioned since first mooted and she'd thought that perhaps the idea had been dropped. She was glad that it hadn't.
"Ok, so those are the candidates," the governor repeated.
"I see. Right."
Marcia resumed her study of the file, this time with more focus.
"I've screened out all the murderers and rapists."
"Thank goodness for that!"
The governor chuckled and sipped at his scotch.
"So, of those, who do you think?"
Marcia's eyes widened.
"I get to choose?"
The governor smiled indulgently at her.
"If my wife is agreeing to be on the same premises as one of these guys then at least she ought to have some input on which one."
"Well if you put it that way," grinned Marcia.
She put her glass down so she could really concentrate on the 'candidates'.
"Ok, him," she announced after a few minutes of silent appraisal. She removed a single sheet from the file and passed it over.
"Yeah, he seems fine to me."
Marcia tossed the file down and looked expectantly at her husband. She'd selected the youngest (he was thirty three) and most physically attractive of the men on offer and she was a little anxious about his reaction.
But she needn't have worried.
"Yes. Vickers is an ok guy."
"That's good to hear, hun."
"Plus he got on RUN pretty early and he's more than halfway through it, which means if he's negative he has five years to do instead of just a couple more months, which means..."
"Which means he's gonna be doing a spectacular job when he comes here!" Marcia interrupted gleefully.
"You got it, sweetheart. He'll be super keen to impress."
"We'll have the best looking place in the county!"
The governor laughed at that and got up to refresh his drink.
When he rejoined her on the sofa, Marcia snuggled in close and she kissed him long and softly on the lips. Her hand crawled up his thigh and into his lap.
"I think something is stirring!" she giggled.
The governor was panting slightly and his own hands had started to roam.
"C'mon, baby, let's go to bed," he grunted.
Marcia wriggled away, laughing.
"Dinner will be ready soon," she teased.
"Rosa will be ecstatic hearing that."
Rosa was their cook and housemaid. A robust Mexican woman of indeterminate age who'd been with them since just after they married, Rosa lived in and was therefore always on duty. The only exception to this was the one day each week when she went to visit her son, a longish trip which had her leaving the house early in the morning and not returning until late the same evening.
The governor grinned and gathered himself.
"Anyway, look, we should finish arranging this," Marcia said.
"The thing with Vickers?"
"How is it gonna work exactly?"
The governor nodded, businesslike now, and laid it out for her.
"Ok, so he'll be driven here after lunch by one of the guards, dropped off at two say ... then he'll be picked up again later at about five ... three hours should be enough for what we need doing."
"Doesn't the poor thing get a drinks break?" Marcia said, raising an elegant eyebrow at her husband.
"It's not meant to be a picnic, darling."
"I know, hun, but still ... hot work out there ... guy's gonna need something cold to keep him going."
"Ok, so Rosa can take him out some iced water. Or lemonade or something if there's any going. Hey, you maybe know this already, but no beer. Alcohol is totally verboten. Just water or lemonade, Marcia, ok?"
Marcia rolled her eyes.
"I'll be sure to tell Rosa that," she said, deadpan.
"Like if he asks her for a six pack of bud ... or a vodka martini over ice with an olive ... I'll make it clear that that's just not on the agenda."
"Ok ok," said the governor, raising his hands.
Marcia smirked happily at him.
"So, when?" she asked.
"Next week is what I'm thinking. Sooner the better right?"
"But what day?"
The governor paused to think for a moment.
"Should we say he comes Tuesday, same day as Styles? ... That way Styles can tell the guy what to do and he can supervise while he's doing it."
Marcia shook her head.
"Not such a great idea, darling."
"Oh? ... Why not?"
"Well, you know Styles. He'll get kinda flustered about having someone else around out there. No, honey, that's not going to work too well."
The governor was about to argue the point but thought better of it.
"Maybe you're right. But weekends are out, and Mondays we don't do any program stuff, so if Tuesday is no good that only leaves three days open ... what about Friday afternoon?"
Marcia shook her head again.
"I have my mother coming over then and you know how she likes to yabber to all and sundry. Wouldn't want your guy exposed to that, hun, would we?"
The governor cracked a sardonic grin.
"Not if we want him to get any work done," he said.
"Which we do," said Marcia.
The governor gave up gracefully.
"Ok, sweetie, you tell me. What day is best for you?"
"Wednesday," Marcia announced firmly.
"Yes. Wednesday. I'll go through things with Styles the day before so I'll be able to tell Vickers what we want doing. I'll supervise him a bit too. You know, make sure he's doing stuff right."
"But Wednesday is Rosa's day off, sweetie, have you forgotten that? It'll be just you in the house."
"I know, hun, but it can't be helped. Look, it'll be totally fine. Be better if Rosa was here, sure, but I can handle it. Honestly darling I don't mind. Thursday is the only alternative and that's no good because I have my tennis lesson."
"Thought you had that on Mondays," protested the governor.
"Fact I'm sure you do ... like last Monday you told me all about..."
Marcia held her hand up.
"I've changed it, darling."
"Mondays are becoming a real bore at the club, hardly anyone around, so starting next week I've switched to Thursdays."
(She made a mental note to call the club at the first opportunity and move her lesson to Thursday.)
"Ok, but that shouldn't matter," the governor persisted.
"I'd have thought it does matter."
"You don't have to hang around the whole time if Rosa is here. You just need to be at the house to meet and greet the guy, and then at the end so you can sign off on his form to confirm everything went ok, and in between you can go and do whatever ... I'd do it myself if I didn't have to be on site all day."
Marcia drained her drink and took her time before dealing with this.
"My lesson is at one thirty."
"Can't you move it?"
"Not really. They're pretty blocked on Thursdays. Hard enough getting that slot in the first place."
"See the problem now, darling?"
"Mmm," said the governor reluctantly.
"So that leaves Wednesday."
Marcia had a triumphant gleam in her eye.
"I suppose it does. And it leaves my darling wife completely on her own all afternoon with one of my convicts."
"Who isn't the violent sort, right?"
"No ... true ... he isn't."
"And who is going to behave impeccably and do a fantastic job out there and not give me a moment's trouble ... on account of the fact that if he hacks me off in any way I put it on his appraisal, and I tell you all about it, and he gets failed and has to spend another five years in jail instead of getting out well before Christmas when it's already now middle of August ... do I have that a hundred per cent correct?"
"You do," admitted the governor.
His wife could be very persuasive.
"Ok sweetheart, if you're happy with that I guess I am too."
(He wasn't, frankly, but had decided to let it go.)
Marcia grinned smugly.
She leaned into her husband, intent on another smooch, but they were interrupted by Rosa entering the room and announcing that dinner was served.
At precisely two o'clock on Wednesday afternoon the car pulled up to the house.
"Quite a place," said Jack Vickers.
"Yeah," grunted the guard, killing the engine. He took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his breast pocket.
"Still don't understand why we can't wear shades," said Jack.
The guard didn't respond.
"Why is that, Jennings? ... Why can't we wear shades when we're out doing this stuff? ... Scared we'll look too cool?"
Jennings wasn't in the mood for conversation.
The two men sat in silence for a minute or so.
"So, we gonna get moving?" asked Jack.
"Boss said to wait here. The wife will come out and tell you what you're doing."
Shortly afterwards the front door opened and Marcia emerged.
"Ok," muttered Jennings and both he and Jack got out of the car.
"Hi," said Marcia, offering her hand first to the guard.
"It's Jennings, isn't it?"
"Hey, Mrs Reynolds."
Marcia turned to Jack.
"And you must be Vickers."
"Yes, Maam," said Jack.
He doffed his baseball cap and they shook hands.
Jack was surprised. He'd expected the governor's wife to be bland and middle-aged (rather like her husband) but here he was looking at a woman who was younger than he was.
She was a looker too. A classy, well proportioned brunette. The appeal was downplayed by the hair tied back and the absence of makeup, by the baggy slacks and even baggier top she was wearing, but it was undeniably there.
Marcia by contrast wasn't at all surprised. Vickers was just like his photo. No Brad Pitt or anything, but definitely more than ok, and despite the standard prison issue garb she could tell that he had an excellent physique.
Not bad at all, thought Marcia. She congratulated herself on her selection.
She told Jennings that she was fine, that she'd see him back there at five o'clock, and he nodded and got back into the car.
The guard drove off, leaving Marcia and the prisoner stood together on the driveway.
"So ... Jack ... you ready to get started?" she said, smiling brightly.
"Sure thing, Maam."
"Gosh, all this 'Maam' business ... wouldn't you rather call me Marcia?"
"They said to call you Maam."
"Because I'm the governor's wife?"
Marcia stifled a giggle.
"Ok, I suppose I can get used to it. Let's go out back and I'll show you what's what."
She moved off around the side of the house and Jack followed, fighting to not imagine what her body looked like under the rather unflattering outfit she had on.
Such thoughts came naturally to a man who'd been forcibly incarcerated in an all-male environment for what seemed like an eternity but they were thoughts which did him no favours, especially when they featured the wife of the governor, and thus if at all possible were to be suppressed.
And was it possible?
Just about, if he used his favourite technique, which was to think about what he'd order for dinner the first night he got out of BC.
Still, this Marcia Reynolds was a babe and Jack was kind of relieved that she was dressed down the way she was.
They'd reached the back of the house and were looking out over the grounds.
"That's the main thing," said Marcia, pointing at a row of unkempt and sickly looking trees running up one side of the main lawn.
"We need them cut down and then chopped up for collection. You think you can do that?"
Jack nodded. The job would be more onerous than he'd been hoping but he reckoned he could manage it in the time.
His spirits drooped slightly, however, when Marcia showed him the axe propped against the trunk of one of the trees.
"You don't have an electric one?" he asked, careful to keep any hint of complaint out of his voice.
"A power saw. That'd get through it easier."
"I'm afraid not, no."
Marcia bent to lift the heavy implement and had to put it down after a few seconds.
"Won't this do? It feels pretty powerful to me."
"Guess it is too," said Jack, taking it off her and hefting it himself before placing it on the ground in front of him.
"I'll leave you to it then," Marcia said.
"I'll pop out later to see how you're doing."
"Oh just one thing."
"It's pretty hot out here. I suggest you lose the overalls."
Jack was unsure how to respond to this.
"Ok?" said Marcia.
"Um, I don't have that much on underneath."
"Don't worry, sugar, I won't mind."
"Ok, Maam ... thanks," mumbled Jack.
He was thrown by the suggestive remark and he didn't really know what he was thanking her for.
Marcia remained standing there, looking at him.
"So go on then ... your overalls."
The flirty tone had disappeared, replaced by a crisp note of command.
"Take them off."
"You mean now?"
"Hey, what happened to the 'Maam'?" Marcia snapped.
WHAT THE FUCK?
Was she kidding around?
Jack decided he'd better proceed on the basis that she wasn't.
"I'm sorry, Maam," he said meekly.
"Because you don't want me to put 'rudeness' on your report, Jack, do you?"
Damn right he didn't. Something like that could easily spell a 'negative'. It didn't bear thinking about.
"Thought not," said Marcia.
"But taking these off ... you mean do it now, Maam?"
"Yes, sugar, right now."
Seemed that something was happening here - exactly what Jack wasn't certain but he sensed the potential for trouble.
Whatever, the important thing was not to antagonize the woman. He was close to getting out of BC – very close - and was determined to do nothing to compromise that. Sixty days until he was free, if he got through the rest of his RUN time ok, and he was damn well going to!
Jack stepped out of his garish orange prison overalls and stood in front of Marcia in just his boxers and tee-shirt, pair of sneakers and a cap. All he had on apart from that was his electronic ankle tag, secured such that the only way to remove it was to cut his foot off.
He felt a little stupid, all the more so because of the rather condescending way she was surveying him.
"Tell me Jack ... speaking of rudeness ... do you normally wear a hat in the presence of a lady?"
He got the message. The baseball cap joined the overalls on the ground next to him.
"Ok, now your shirt."
The glint in Marcia's eye was indicating nothing but grief for Jack if he didn't obey.
"There, that's MUCH better isn't it?"
Marcia gazed coolly, appraisingly, at the near-naked prisoner, savouring her power over him, enjoying a thrilling frisson of ownership.
This was a blast.
This was proving every bit as entertaining as she'd anticipated it would be - a "hunky slave for the afternoon!" was how her best friend Trish had put it when the two of them had giggled about it the other day.
The 'slave' was looking at the floor, reluctant to make eye contact.
Marcia thought about toying with him a while longer. It was tempting. But no, there was plenty of time. Would spoil the fun to rush things.
"Ok, chop chop!" she smirked and she turned and walked off into the house.
Jack put his discarded clothes in a neat pile off to the side. Then he cleared his mind and he picked up the axe and got stuck in hacking at the trees.
It was backbreaking work, cutting down each one and chopping it into manageable pieces of timber, but he forced himself to keep up the pace and he made good progress.
It was hellish hot though. He hadn't liked having to strip in front of Marcia Reynolds but he was glad to be down to his shorts. Even so he was starting to suffer in the heat. The sun was fierce and he could have done with his cap. Jesus, the sweat was dripping off him!
He couldn't help looking longingly at the swimming pool which shimmered invitingly just a few yards from where he toiled. God, what he wouldn't give to stop what he was doing and plunge into the cool blue water!
He badly needed a drink too. He was parched.
How long to go? ... Not sure, he had no watch, but he reckoned he'd been working for about an hour. Not much more than that, he hoped, because judging by the number of trees still in place he wasn't yet halfway through the full task.
Jack gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts.
He remembered that Marcia had said she'd be out to check on him. Ok, so let's make sure that when she did she could see that he was on schedule to finish by five o'clock!
At this point (and Jack's inner clock was good, it was just after three) Marcia did come out to check on him and she looked a little different to how she had before.
Her hair was down and she had some lipstick on, but that wasn't what was grabbing Jack's attention. The thing he noticed was that she'd changed out of the slacks and shapeless top into a red dress. The dress was short and skimpy and it clung to her stunning figure.
Jack swore under his breath when he saw this vision of female loveliness appear on the back terrace.
For Jack Vickers, as for many of the BC inmates, being deprived of sexual contact with women was the worst aspect of life inside, but the way that most of the others seemed to deal with it – nude pinups on the walls of their cells fuelling frequent masturbatory fantasies – didn't work for him.
Why torture yourself like that?
He had no such pictures and he didn't wank himself raw. Much better to avoid or sublimate all of that stuff, channel it elsewhere; it was something he'd been pretty good at doing over his years of imprisonment, at least until now.
I could do without this, Jack thought, his eyes lingering on the approaching Marcia Reynolds.
He tried desperately but unsuccessfully not to ogle as she sauntered barefoot across the grass towards him, shoulders back and chest out, wiggling her hips in the tight sexy dress.
Oh god. This was just not fair. He managed to carry on chopping but the momentum slackened considerably.
She came over to where he was working.
"Ok there, sugar?"
Jack put the axe down and faced her.
He struggled to keep his eyes on her face but it was impossible to stop them straying to other parts of her anatomy. Fuck, the woman looked like a wet dream!
She'd looked pretty damn cute before, but in this outfit she was a lethal weapon.
And the way she was standing there - the provocative pose, knee flexed, hands on hips, one hip thrown out, the sly pout on the lips - it was clear to Jack that she knew it.
She moved up close to Jack.
So close that he could reach out and touch her.
Marcia's mouth twitched in amusement: EXCEPT YOU CAN'T, CAN YOU? You can't lay a finger on me.
Behind her impenetrably dark, oversized sunglasses her gaze was coolly entertained as she studied Jack and the delightfully obvious impact she was having on him.
Was that something twitching inside his shorts?
Yes, she believed it was.
"You must be thirsty, poor thing," she said.
"Sure am, Maam."
Understatement of the century. Jack was gagging. He wanted a drink almost as much as he wanted to jump on this horny bitch and rip that little dress off her smoking hot body and fuck her senseless. That's how much he wanted a drink.
"Well good, because I've brought you one."
"Thank you, Maam!"
"Now where the hell is it?" muttered Marcia, one hand rummaging half-heartedly in the canvas bag she had slung over her shoulder. Eventually she gave up and she slipped the bag off and placed it on the ground in front of her.
She bent over to continue the search using both hands and this caused her spaghetti straps to slide over her bare shoulders. The neckline of her dress (quite tantalising to start with) was slowly but surely slipping lower and lower, revealing ever more of her spectacular cleavage.
Jack was really suffering now. Fucking little tease!
It soon got worse for him.
As she carried on foraging down there, the straps inched their way down her arms. They fell past the critical point and suddenly the dress came right away from her chest.
Jack's pulse quickened and his breathing almost stopped - Marcia was topless under the dress and he was being treated to an unencumbered view of a pair of exquisite nestling breasts.
Fuck, he could see everything, nipples and all!
"At last!" Marcia announced, pulling a can from the bag.
She looked up sharply and saw what she was hoping and expecting to see – a sexually starved BC prisoner staring yearningly down her top.
Jack looked away quickly, embarrassed at being caught in the act.
When he faced her again he found that she'd stood up but hadn't bothered to fix her straps, therefore the upper section of her dress was in a state of partial disarray; it was balancing precariously on the lower slopes of her firm jutting tits.
Her nipples were covered, but only just.
She was grinning at him, seemed to be enjoying the situation, although he couldn't totally read her expression because of her dark glasses.
Ok, thought Jack, so it was like that. Bitch was doing this deliberately.
Well, he couldn't do much about it. Not without getting into no end of trouble. The crucial thing was to not rise to her teasing. If he didn't rise to it she'd probably get bored and stop messing with him.
Except that a part of him was 'rising' to it - very much so.
The sight of Marcia's fabulous tits jiggling around naked inside her dress during her performance with the bag had given him a full erection – there was nothing on earth that could have prevented that happening – and the way she had the dress arranged now was doing absolutely nothing to help matters.
If anything it was worse being ALMOST able to see her nipples.
Jack glanced down and saw to his dismay that his shorts were tenting, a large boner sticking out and pushing urgently against the loose material.
It could have been worse. It was just as well he had no fly or he'd have popped out and been free-to-air.
Still, he was mortified. There was no chance of pretending that he was immune to Marcia's charms when it was so tangibly obvious that he wasn't. Fuck, he was even leaking slightly. There was a small wet patch showing through.
He really needed to reach down and adjust himself, kind of tuck and trap things off to the side of his shorts if he could, but doing that with her watching would be just TOO embarrassing and therefore he did the only thing he could think of, which was try and hide what was going on by resting his hands together and in front of his lap.
He also conjured up an alternative and dampening mental image to counter the highly arousing one in front of him.
So the way his grandmother's mouth looked with her dentures out battled doggedly against how Marcia's killer legs looked in the little short dress that she was almost wearing and that was damn near sliding off those luscious melons of hers.
It worked a little bit. His erection remained but it lost some of its pulsing heat and it stopped leaking.
Marcia had other ideas however.
She pressed the can of drink into her cleavage and began rolling it against her skin in front of the mesmerised Jack.
"Mmm, this feels good actually," she giggled.
"Shame to drink it," she said.
Jack was sorely conflicted. He wanted the cold drink, he really did, but he also wanted Marcia to keep rolling the can around in her cleavage.
The more she did that the more likely it was that her dress would finally get dislodged from her tits (it really was just clinging on for dear life now) and he'd be able to see the whole glorious upper package again.
It was stupid and futile to succumb to her teasing, he knew this, but his dick was starting to get the upper hand here; his dick was starting to talk way louder than his brains.
Marcia was thoroughly enjoying herself. Poor guy doesn't know where to look! ... and all that trying to cover his erection ... so funny!
Bet he's soooo thirsty too. Bet he wants this drink I've got here real bad.
She held the can out to Jack.
"Here you go, sugar."
Jack reached eagerly for the can with one hand, careful to keep the other as a fig leaf over his groin. Ok, so Marcia knew that he had a hard-on, but why give the tormenting bitch an easy sight of the proof?
In any case his erection was subsiding as he focused on how thirsty he was. Man, he needed this drink. His mouth was dry as dust.
He took the can from Marcia. It was ice cold. Oh yeah!
"Beer is allowed, I guess?" said Marcia, just as Jack was about to crack the can.
Jack's features fell. He examined the can properly for the first time.
There was nothing in this world (apart maybe from getting his hands on Marcia Reynolds) that he'd love more right now than a cold beer but no, it was definitively NOT allowed.
If Jennings smelt even a trace of it on his breath when he came to collect him, which was in less than two hours, then he'd be for the high jump. No way could he take the risk.
"Sorry Maam, no," Jack said, his voice croaking.
He was still holding the can, staring at it, almost crying with disappointment.
"No alcohol?" said Marcia, sounding surprised.
"Oh," she said, relishing the look on Jack's face.
"That's too bad," she said.
Marcia held out her hand.
"Better give it back to me then."
Jack sadly relinquished the cold can of Miller.
"Suppose I could go back in and get you some water," said Marcia, her tone suggesting that the prospect wasn't particularly welcome.
"No Maam, don't worry. Not a problem," lied Jack.
"You sure? ... You look pretty thirsty to me."
"No honestly, Maam. It's fine."
"Guess I can always drink it ... I'm thirsty too, come to think of it."
With that, Marcia pulled the tab on the beer. She'd been shaking the can around a little before she opened it and there was a fair amount of spray, which Marcia directed at Jack.
"Sorry," she giggled, and then she glugged most of the can in one go, drinking greedily and carelessly so that half the liquid escaped her mouth and spilt down her chin and onto her neck. Plenty of it ran further, trickling over and between her breasts and seeping on down inside her dress.
The unfortunate Jack Vickers, thirsty and horny as fuck, stood and watched this from a distance of around three feet.
His tongue was made even drier, the longing for a drink cruelly increased, by the sight of the cold beer going into Marcia's mouth; and his erection was at full mast again due to the sight of the beer NOT going into her mouth, by the liquid running slowly down into her cleavage and the top of her dress.
He still had his hands together in front of his groin in an increasingly pathetic attempt to shield the evidence of his arousal from Marcia.
All rather pointless because (i) she could see enough anyway and (ii) he looked even funnier to Marcia with how he was trying to cover up.
"Mmm, that was good!" Marcia sighed, when she'd finished guzzling.
She held the can out to Jack.
"You absolutely sure you won't have any, sugar?"
Jack shook his head. His face was a picture.
Marcia moved the can closer, held it right to his parched lips.
"Not just a little sip?" she grinned, openly tormenting him now. Her eyes were shining with sadistic glee behind her shades.
Jack jerked his head away.
"No, Maam," he mumbled.
"Aw, it really is too bad. Silly rule if you ask me. I'll tell my husband I think it's silly."
Marcia waggled the can, assessing how much was left.
"Well, I can't finish it. Better get rid of it, hadn't we?"
She upended the can and slowly poured the remainder of the beer into the ground at her feet.
"Such a waste," she said, tossing the empty over towards where Jack's clothes were lying. It ended up on top of his overalls.
"Oh lord, just look at me," Marcia giggled, glancing down at the beer she'd spilled over herself.
Jack was doing exactly that – looking at her.
Christ, that dress! Just the force in his little finger would be enough to flick the damn thing off her tits. Her DAMP tits.
He didn't want to be so obviously lusting at her, he wished he had more willpower, but it was useless. He'd pretty much given up and was no longer fighting it.
The hot little bitch had him beat and there was nothing he could do about it.
She clearly wanted him drooling over her like a fucking idiot and that is exactly what she was gonna get. It was torture, sure it was, but the bottom line was that she was the governor's wife and she could do whatever the hell she wanted. She could totally fuck him up if he didn't play whatever game she wished to play.
And if he complained to anyone he'd never be believed and things would get fucked up even worse.
So he stood there looking blatantly and hungrily at Marcia, hands at his sides, no longer trying to cover the erection which raged inside his shorts.
Marcia loved the way that Jack was now looking at her and she loved what was going on in his pants, the palpable evidence of what she was doing to his starved and frustrated cock.
Such a scream. She was driving this poor bastard crazy!
"Ok Jack, let me tell you what I'd like you to do now," she said, her voice dripping with lazy superiority.
"I'd like you to take off your shorts."
Oh shit, thought Jack.
Where the fuck was she going with this?
"You know why?" Marcia grinned.
"Because I reckon you've gotten yourself all excited looking at me in this little dress, haven't you?"
Pointless to deny it given his condition.
"Well I wanna see just HOW excited."
"So take them off, sugar."
Jack stepped out of his shorts and stood before Marcia naked except for his sneakers. His erection was enormous. He looked and felt utterly ridiculous.
"Ooo, Mr Vickers!" giggled Marcia.
She licked her lips in ostentatious appreciation of the size and firmness of Jack's cock. It put her husband's to shame, she had to admit, and she felt a definite tingling in her tummy and moisture between her legs.
And his body – so yummy and hard and muscled!
For the first time the thought flitted across Marcia's wicked mind to do more than just torment Jack Vickers and once there the idea took root.
She was having a ball torturing him, hadn't had such fun in ages, but why not fuck him too?
Not right now, a little later, when she'd teased and tantalised the wretched guy to the edge of insanity, why not open up her legs and reap the benefit?
She imagined Jack finally losing control and simply HAVING to take her and to hell with the consequences. She imagined that big hard ravenous cock smashing in and out of her dripping pussy.
Mmm - yes please.
Jack was quite close to losing control now, in fact. He wanted to nail the tormenting little bitch. He wanted to show this woman, this Marcia Reynolds, that she couldn't just tease and humiliate him the way she was with no payback.
The only thing stopping him jumping her was the knowledge that it might – almost certainly would – land him in whole heap of trouble. At the very least it would surely mean the end of his prospect of early release.
This was enough to keep him in check. But only just. He was starting to hate the fucking woman!
On the surface he was docile and obedient, doing everything that Marcia ordered him to do, but inside he was boiling with anger and frustration and resentment.