Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na:
Odsłuch ebooka (TTS) dostępny w abonamencie „ebooki+audiobooki bez limitu” w aplikacji Legimi na:
Women Loving Prisoners
A 3 Book Series
Copyright 2016 by Night Watch Publishing All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This story contains sexually explicit content and is intended for readers over 18 years of age. By downloading this document you acknowledge that you are over 18 years of age. All fictitious characters who are engaged in sexual acts in this book are likewise over 18 years of age, whether explicitly stated or not.
Join my mailing list to receive my monthly newsletter and get promotional new release offers!
Sylvia Redmond’s Website
I was exhausted. My body was weak from a prolonged sexual excitement that I had never experienced before. Part of me wanted to tell him to stop but I could do little more than moan. He had been making love to me for hours and wasn’t showing signs of slowing down. The only thing keeping me from passing out from exhaustion was the fact that he was still bringing me to orgasm despite my fatigue.
I was on top of him now, because that is where he had placed me last. I was only able to stay upright by leaning forward and placing my hands on his muscled torso. His rippled midsection was one of the few places on his upper body that didn’t have any kind of tattoo ink on it. I thought momentarily how ink might have blurred the chiseled lines of definition in the muscles there. It served him well to leave that skin a blank canvas. He started to touch me between my legs and I gasped with what little energy I had left.
I had stopped moving up and down on him and had slowed to a gentle grind. I was trying to ration what little energy I had left, and I knew if I started moving faster I risked having another orgasm. He didn’t speak but I could sense that he needed the tempo to be faster. I suppose after ten years without a female’s touch he wasn’t longing for a gentle embrace. Still, I would have thought the last couple of hours would have been enough tempo to last him a lifetime.
He reached up and put his arms around me and flipped me onto my back like I was a rag doll. I certainly didn’t have the energy left in me to provide either help or resistance. But I was not the smallest girl either and would have expected at least a grunt from him from the effort. The noise he made when he moved me was not from exertion however. The noise he made told me I was going to be in this for a little while longer once he got me onto my back where he wanted me.
I looked at him as he pinned me down and I ran my hands back up his chest. I felt the scar on his right side nestled between his muscles. I had not asked him where it came from but it had the telltale, rigid signature of a knife wound. There was only one fading scar though, and I imagined whoever swung that knife had probably paid the price for not making the first blow lethal.
In my delirium my mind started to drift. I thought about how a month ago I was as celibate as an orthodox nun. Long divorced and struggling to keep my head above water, dating had been the last thing on my mind. If someone had told me then that in a few short weeks a man like Michael would be making my toes curl I would have thought they were crazy. I choose to help men like this in order to rehabilitate then. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would fall in love with one.
I felt him touch me in that spot again and I felt a jolt go through my body. I snapped back out of my haze and realized he was looking right at me. He must have realized I was slipping away and he started tugging at that spot again which was driving me out of my mind. My back arched involuntarily and I heard myself moaning. I didn’t think I had any orgasms left in my body but I felt myself starting to shake. The last thing I remembered was seeing him smile as he started to pick up the pace again. I felt like he was driving into me with ten years’ worth of pent up energy as I felt myself start to shake and my body started to grip him...
“The rent is late” he said, stating the painfully obvious.
I was standing in the doorway to my apartment looking at my scumbag of a landlord. He had at least knocked on the door this time. Usually, depending on how far I was behind on the rent, he would just let himself in. I was careful to alter my showering schedule around the end of the month, because I swore he seemed to pick the times he knew I would be in the shower to drop by to pick up the rent.
“I know Frank, I’m sorry. I will have it by the end of the week, I swear” I replied to him. I tried to close the door because I knew what was next but I was too late. He had already stepped partially in and had lowered his hand to my arm. My skin bristled at his touch and I swore I could smell two day old Pabst blue ribbon on his nasty breath.
“You know there are other ways we could work this out Kate” he said with the subtly of a broken jackhammer.
I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. Actually my preference would have been to kick him as hard as I could in the balls. But he had the upper hand in this monthly power game and he knew it.
“I’ll have it by the end of the week, I promise” I told him again. I managed to squirm from his greasy clutch and close the door. I stood there for a second to let the nauseous feeling pass before I finished getting ready for work.
It hadn’t always been like this. There was a point in my life where things were actually great. There was also a part of my life where things sucked unbelievably. I felt like I was on the upward swing from the “sucking unbelievably” part and getting myself back together. If dealing with a scumbag like my landlord was the worst of it, then things were probably getting better. Dealing with my landlord on his worst day was still better than dealing with my ex-husband Phillip at the end of our marriage.
I had gotten married to Phillip when I was twenty two and right out of college. He was five years old than I was, which at that age made him seem like the older distinguished gentleman. Looking back now I realize he was never anything close to a gentleman, but at least the first few years of our marriage had been happy.
What I didn’t realize was that Phillip had an addiction problem. Most people hear that and immediately think I’m saying that he was a drug addict, but that’s not necessarily what I mean. Phillip would compulsively go through periods where he could almost be clinically diagnosed as being addicted. For at least the first two years of our marriage his addiction was me, and I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. But you know what they say about “if it seems too good to be true...”
He slowly started drinking in the years after that so our marriage cooled considerably. I knew it wasn’t good but at the same time I figured that was the way married couples were. I thought I still loved him, and figured he still loved me. So the second addiction Phillip had since I had known him was with alcohol, although I still don’t believe he was ever an alcoholic.
I finished getting dressed and grabbed my car keys. Even with Frank dropping by to harass me about the rent being late I still had enough time to get to work. I was working as a teacher’s aide at a nearby elementary school. It had been the best job I was able to get after the divorce, but I still barely made enough to pay the rent. If I got a full time position I would probably get enough of an increase to move to a better apartment. Until then I would be under Frank’s disgusting, obnoxious thumb.
My thoughts returned to Phillip as I turned the ignition on my beat-up Honda. The alcohol thing probably lasted him two years, just as long as his obsession with me had lasted after we were married. The third addiction was worst. I was thrilled when I realized he was starting to quit the drinking, I was so proud of him. Then I found out that he was fucking half of Chicago. His third addiction during our marriage had been the other women. And once he started fucking around he wouldn’t stop.
I did what a lot of wives do. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t happening. I looked the other way. And then one day I confronted him about it. He tried denying it for the longest time. We fought bitterly about it, but it didn’t stop him. Sleeping with other women was just his new thing, and I didn’t want to stick around to see what came after that.
It was just starting to drizzle as I pulled my car into the school parking lot. Great – I had lunch duty, which meant I would likely be outside in the rain. Low man on the totem pole always gets the crappy assignments, even when you are not actually a man and you work at an elementary school.
Our divorce had been ugly, although I guess there is no such thing as an amicable divorce. It’s amazing how difficult a man can make it for you after he has slept with half the city. It’s a cliché but I feel like I gave him the best years of my life. I was a vivacious young woman when I married him, and when I think about the things I did in bed for him it makes me sick. I’ve been divorced for three years now, and I’m not sure I was ever ready to love another man.
“That place sounds so dangerous, are you sure you’re ok there” Karen was asking me.
We were on our lunch break in the teacher’s lounge. Karen had become my best friend and closest confidant since I had moved here. I had wanted to get away from Chicago, and decided New York was as good a place as any. I was teaching in a suburb of the city, since I was a city girl at heart and figured a big city was as good a place as any to disappear.
“It’s safe for crying out loud, it’s at a church. Who’s going to give you problems at a church Karen? God will strike them down” I said laughing.
I had been volunteering at the church in our local town. I had a degree in social work in addition to having a teaching certificate. I had volunteered to help with the local outreach program that worked with newly released inmates from the nearby state prison. Most of these guys were mandated to participate in social outreach programs as a condition of their parole. The church I worked with took the overflow from the bigger programs, so we usually only dealt with a handful of men.
Karen wasn’t necessarily concerned about me because of the men I was working with, and I knew that. The men I worked with had just been paroled and were trying desperately to stay out of trouble. The church, however, was on the seedier part of town. The reverend would tell you the church was there because that was where people needed God the most. Local residents would tell you it was because of the lack of police force and the spiraling drug problem. I was an optimist and hoped that the truth was somewhere in the middle.
“Besides, if it helps me get a full time job, I can’t afford not to go” I told her.
I would like to say I was doing the volunteer thing purely out of the goodness of my heart. The truth was a big part of me was doing it because I knew I had trust issues after being married to my asshole ex-husband. I knew working with men like this would help me regain my confidence.
The honest truth, though, was I was looking for any full time job that was going to help pay the bills. I was barely scraping by being a teacher’s aide. If volunteering in a social work program got me contacts to get a full time job, all the better. Any time I started to worry about my safety I just had to wonder how safe I was being behind on the rent with a scumbag like Frank lurking around the apartment.
“I just worry about you honey, that’s all” Karen said. And I knew she meant well. But she had a husband who didn’t cheat on her or drink, so she couldn’t know what I was feeling.
“I know you do hun, I’ll be careful” I reassured her.
“Ok. Well listen, maybe when you’re done with your Good Samaritan thing, you could come out with us. Mark’s friend Robert is available and he was asking about you. We thought maybe we could meet for a few drinks and...” Karen started.
“Karen” I waved her off. “I told you, I don’t need you to set me up. I appreciate the thought and all, I’m just not ready.”
“You should be ready honey, you’ve been divorced for three years now” she told me. “You need a man sweetheart. If I were you I’d be going crazy by now.”
She got up to get herself another cup of coffee and she patted me on the shoulder. I loved her and hated her at the same time. People kept telling me they knew what was best for me, and they refused to believe I just needed to be left alone.
“Thanks for thinking of me dear” I said to her, as I got up and started to put my jacket on. “I’ll think about it, but right now I need to go out in the rain for lunch duty.”