Chapter 9

He was right. I wasn't needed as an enforcer too often. Like all rumours, the story of my decimation of the three hard-cases sent to kill me was totally exaggerated. Most of the things that were supposed to have happened were complete fabrications, made to sound more and more ridiculous every time they were passed on. The two injured men were transferred to other nicks as soon as they were fit enough, so no-one was able to contradict the story apart from myself. And as Billy had suggested, it was in our interest to keep up the myth. Also at his suggestion, I took to training in the exercise yard when it was full of other lags. That of course put my expertise on full view and helped perpetuate the idea that I was a killing machine.

Much further into my sentence, the first Lethal Weapon film would come out in the cinemas and I would be saddled with the nickname of 'Riggs' after the Mel Gibson character. It was a name that stuck with me for the rest of my stay in jail, passed on through generations of new prisoners as they came and went. A nickname that would feature much, much later in my life.

It turned out that the three men who attacked me were acting at the request of the drug gang that Karl Simpson had belonged to. Happily, once they found out I was working for Billy, they made no further attempt to end my stay on earth, and I was more or less untroubled for the next few years. Working for Billy turned out to have many benefits. I was left alone by the screws. I was avoided at all costs by the other lags apart from Archie, and my food in the canteen always seemed to be better and more plentiful than anything my fellow prisoners received. - I also had an unlimited supply of soft toilet paper, something that was actually used as currency by some of the lesser lags.

I did have the same problem as all other long-stay prison inmates though. - SEX!. If you didn't have the inclination to make use of the many available 'fairies' you were left to your own devices to relieve the tension as Archie used to put it whenever I caught him having a quick wank in the bunk beneath mine. Billy used to laugh at my refusal to visit one of the bum-boys, calling me a homophobic wuss for not availing myself any of the willing receptacles. However, what he did do was to make it possible for me, as he so delicately put it, to get rid of the dirty water from my loins that used to accumulate when I hadn't relieved myself for a while. He would take the piss out of me whenever I was in a bad mood, laughing at me and calling me a frustrated old woman whenever he caught me being an irritable cunt. Thankfully he had ways and means.

The only female in the prison was the Governor's secretary; a plain, chunky woman in her fifties who the lags only ever saw if they were summoned to the old man's office. She wasn't unattractive, just plain and dull in a matronly way. What she was however, was a sex-mad horny, but frustrated, old bitch who's husband hadn't fucked her properly for years and who loved to plumb the depths of society to fulfil her naughty carnal desires. - She was also on Billy's payroll. Her soft, sexy body was provided for sexual relief to anyone Billy deemed fit and she fucking loved it...

Christine was made available to me at least once a month once I started working for Billy. I would be summoned to the Governor's office on some pretext or other, only to find that he was out golfing or whatever and instead, find her naked and in whatever position she happened to fancy that day. She loved sex. She liked it rough. She liked it hard. In any hole you fancied. She would take all you could give and still beg for more. She would probably still have enjoyed it without the payment, but as she told me one day, getting paid to fuck was her ultimate dirty fantasy so she was only too happy to help out 'her boys' - as she called us who had access to her body. Pregnancy wasn't a problem, - she was past all that, Aids hadn't been invented yet. Consequently she would go home after one of her working days with all her holes full of cum and take great delight in sitting down for dinner with her cuckold of a husband and feeling other men's spunk squishing around in her knickers and running down her thick thighs.

Lags come and go all the time in prison. Sentences finish. New convicts arrive. Always a constant turnaround, even more so than 'real' life'. Eventually, it was time for my mate Archie to leave. We parted with the promise from him that he would keep in touch, and that if I ever needed anything he was there for me. I had no other friends by then. My family lived too far away to make regular visits so Archie had been my rock. The only person I could really talk to. I had come to rely on him in a way I used to with my sisters, so when he eventually was released, he left a huge void in my life.

He kept good on his promise. I received letters from him at least once a week. He would tell me what he was up to, - within reason anyway as we both knew our letters were read by the screws before we got them.- I missed him a lot.

My father died a couple of years after I had been locked up, taken by a surprise heart attack. It really was a surprise. He had always been a fit, strong bloke, but the stress of his only son being locked up for 20 years took its toll on him. My mother then died within 12 months of dad, - of a broken heart my sister always said, - leaving me with just my much-older siblings. My nieces and nephew didn't really want to know about me. They blamed me wholly for the loss of their beloved grandparents, - something I totally understood, I blamed myself too.

By the time I was released, - 20 years to the day after I had first been incarcerated, - one of my sisters had passed away too and the other had simply stopped keeping in touch. Her return letters to me had gradually dried up until I eventually had no idea what had happened to her. I was a single man. In my late forties with no usable skills; No family to speak of; No place I could still call home; I was fucked...

That's when Archie showed what a true friend he really was. He met me at the prison gates and took me to a really, really posh hotel where we were met by two of the most gorgeous, dirty-minded hookers a man could ever wish for. It wouldn't have mattered to me at that time if the two of them had been ancient old hags with no teeth and saggy tits, but fucking hell!. - They really were gorgeous.

Jenny and Annie were completely different physically. One was tall and slim, with long legs that went on forever; a tiny pair of beautifully upturned breasts that were topped by long and ridiculously hard dark-brown nipples; and a face that belonged on a magazine cover. She may well have been a natural blonde, it's difficult to tell when there isn't a hair on her body apart from her long, flowing locks. The other one was much shorter and thicker-set, with a soft, voluptuous body that included a gigantic pair of billowing tits and a well padded, rounded backside that just begged to be spanked. Definitely raven-haired, with a thick, luxuriant black bush prominent between her powerful thighs, she had a lovely, natural face with hardly a touch of make-up and a smile that lit up the room. I couldn't tell you now who was who, it was such a long time ago and the pair of them did tend to merge in my subconscious during the two days we were together. What I can say though, is that unquestionably they were both absolutely stunningly beautiful in their different ways, - and they shagged me to a standstill...

They were only the fourth and fifth women it had been my good fortune to have sex with, and were far and away the most desirable and sexual ladies I had met in my life. They took everything I had to offer and still demanded more, draining me of all the bodily fluids built up over my years of sexual neglect. I was still extremely fit back then, my exercise regime in prison ensuring I was a lean, muscular well-built man. I got the impression the two girls enjoyed themselves almost as much as I did, and I still look back fondly on those two, marvellously exhausting days and nights we spent together. Fucking relentlessly; eating wonderful food; drinking good champagne. All from room-service. All paid for by Archie.

Eventually I ran out of steam, - and everything else needed to continue fucking my two wonderful companions, and with my wholehearted appreciation and affection they finally left me, giggling away together like two mischievous schoolgirls as they walked arm in arm down the hotel corridor.

Over dinner in the hotel restaurant with Archie that night, - I was dressed in the expensive suit and shoes my mate had supplied me with, - I finally got around to asking him where all the money was coming from. I queried as to whether he had returned to his criminal ways despite him assuring me when he was released that he would never again give the authorities the opportunity to lock him up.