Author's note: All sexual activity portrayed in this story is between legal consenting adults. This is entirely a work of fiction, with no intended resemblance to any actual persons or places or events.
Coventry Correctional
Gwen sat in her car for much longer than she usually did before work. She'd spent the entire previous night debating about which makeup to wear or whether to wear any at all. That morning, she obsessed over her reflection in the rearview mirror. After countless minutes touching up her blush, reapplying her favorite pink lipstick, getting her mascara and eyeliner and eyeshadow just right, Gwen had to accept that she was stalling. The appointed time was coming up, and overdoing her makeup wouldn't help anything.
Gwen took another moment to put her hand over the cupholder, quietly drawing strength for what was coming. Then she gathered up her paper bag from the passenger seat, got out of the car, and walked toward the employee entrance of Coventry Correctional Facility.
The protesters could be heard loud and clear on the other side of the grounds. She willed herself to ignore them. At the gate was Lewis Tennyson, a tall and wiry man in uniform as a correctional officer.
Gwen raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, Lou. Where's the warden? He should be here for this."
Tennyson shook his head. "He didn't want anything to do with this. Nobody did, really."
"Deniability?"
Tennyson nodded. "Yeah."
Gwen sighed, disappointed but not surprised. At a gesture from Gwen, Tennyson led the way inside.
The first stop was to the property clerk. For everyone's safety - most especially her own - Gwen agreed to have all her personal items logged and locked up, like she was any other visitor. As such, she had everything stowed away in a paper bag for the clerk to sort with his mechanical efficiency.
"One set of keys. One wallet, with ID belonging to Gwen Buckner. One set of dog tags, printed for Gwen Buckner. One iPhone, white."
The clerk paused a while at the next item. "One sealed envelope, addressed to Warden Mercer."
All eyes turned to Gwen, who simply replied. "Just lock it up."
The clerk shrugged and continued. "One purple t-shirt. One pair white cotton panties. One pair blue denim jeans. Do you have anything else to declare?"
"No," she lied. So the clerk gave her a property voucher and waved her through to a small windowless room with Tennyson.
"All right, Gwen, you know the drill."
They both did, and Gwen knew this was coming. She came to the prison in nothing but a grey bathrobe, black lacy panties, and a matching bra to make the strip search easier. Pity she couldn't wear her heels, but she found some flats that came off quick and easy.
Gwen disrobed completely, setting everything on a nearby table, then stood naked in the corner with her hands behind her head. She made no attempt at covering up her toned and muscular body, and Tennyson didn't stare, but pawed through her clothing with dispassionate efficiency.
Tennyson didn't expect to actually find anything, but did indeed find a suspicious lump in the pockets of her bathrobe. Gwen could do nothing. She couldn't ask him to put it back or pretend he didn't see anything. Technically, she shouldn't have had it. Though technically, he shouldn't be letting her do this at all.
With only a shared glance of conviction, Gwen implored him not to take it away, because the both of them knew that this was one time when this one rule needed breaking. Tennyson gave an imperceptible nod of agreement and replaced the contraband. Over his shoulder, he heard Gwen release a sigh of relief.
Tennyson took out a compact flashlight and turned to Gwen. "Okay, open." Gwen opened her mouth for Tennyson's flashlight.
"Toss your hair." Gwen kept her blonde hair cropped short, but she tousled it as best she could.
"Spread your toes." He looked between her toes and inspected the soles of her feet, taking dim notice of the bright pink polish on her newly pedicured nails.
"Squat and cough." Gwen squatted and coughed three times.
"Bend over and spread." Gwen bent at the waist and reached back to spread her cheeks while Tennyson pointed the flashlight at the taint between her smoothly shaven legs.
"You're good." Though routine, a strip search was still the ultimate humiliation and Gwen had played the perfect inmate like a champ. She put her underthings and shoes back on, then covered herself with the robe.
"We'll have to go out there," Tennyson reminded her. She almost wished he hadn't. As with all prisons, Coventry was so massively overcrowded that there were no private spaces or deserted corridors. Everyone would see Gwen dressed like this, and secrets spread so quickly that everyone would know by now what she was doing.
She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get everything back in place without the benefit of a mirror. "How do I look?" she asked him.
Tennyson looked her over and gave her a smile. "You look good, Gwen." He meant to sound gentle and reassuring, and she gave him a grateful smile for the effort.
Gwen took a breath to collect herself, then gave a nod to Tennyson. "Let's go," she said, and walked into the prison corridor with her head held high.
The response was nothing new to Gwen, but there was more of it than usual. She walked through a cacophony of catcalls, wolf whistles, and lewd propositions in English, Spanish, and crude parodies of French. The inmates stared at her, wagged their tongues at her, mimed blowjobs at her, tugged their crotches in her direction, did everything they could to get her attention or any kind of reaction. She did her best to ignore the depraved masses, letting Tennyson and the other guards handle the inmates. Though many of the officers gave her withering looks as well. Those were harder to brush off.
At last, Tennyson had escorted Gwen to solitary confinement. They stopped at the door of one particular cell.
"Last chance to back out, Gwen. After this, every inmate, prison guard, and cop in the state will know you as a—"
"Did you hear them out there?" she pointed out. "It's too late for that."
Tennyson looked between her and the door. "You know you're going in there alone, unarmed, and literally naked, right?"
"He's clean?"
"Strip-searched. Twice."
"You got the tape?"
Tennyson reached into his breast pocket and handed her a voice recorder. After another deep steadying breath, she gestured for Tennyson to open the door.
The grim gray cell was the size of a parking space, barely wide or long enough for a concrete bed, an unmovable stool, and a combination toilet/sink. On the bed sat a black man in his late 30s, known throughout nationwide headlines as Tommy Pine. He was freshly showered and clean-shaven for the big day, his white inmate uniform bleached to a crisp shine. And he was handcuffed, to Gwen's visible frustration.
"He's cuffed," she hissed at Tennyson. "You know we went over this, I was very clear—"
"Gwen, please, for your safety—" he muttered back.
"He'll need his hands." Gwen's tone and glare made it clear she would not be deterred, so Tennyson shook his head and removed Tommy's handcuffs.
"They weren't supposed to cuff you," she assured Tommy. "Totally unnecessary, I apologize." Then she turned on the voice recorder and spoke.
"This is Gwen Buckner, correctional officer with the Coventry Correctional Facility. At the time of this recording on May 13
th
of 2023, I am of legal age, sound of mind and body, and free from any duress whatsoever. Sir, will you please state your name for the record?"
She pointed the recorder at Tommy, who leaned in as he spoke. "Tommy Pine. Is this for the execution?"
Gwen continued. "For the record, Mr. Pine, would you please repeat your stated wish for your final meal?"
Tommy hesitated, but leaned into the voice recorder. "Pussy," he said. "I told them a hundred times I want pussy for my last meal."
"So we're clear, you're prepared to waive your last meal privileges in exchange for sex?"
Tommy looked strangely confused, or maybe he was just surprised. Regardless, he gave a small uncertain nod, and said into the recorder "That's right."
Gwen was sure to talk clearly and directly into the recorder. "In keeping with Mr. Pine's final wishes, I consent to sexual contact with Mr. Pine through giving and receiving oral and manual stimulation of nipples and genitalia."
With her other hand, Gwen reached into her bathrobe pocket to pull out the packet of condoms with a small bottle of lube, placing them at the sink. "I also consent to vaginal intercourse on condition that the provided lubrication and prophylactics are used."
Looking directly at Tommy to make sure he understood every word, she continued. "I
do not
consent to giving or receiving any bites, scratches, hair-pulling, punching, or anything else that may be construed as assault."
Tommy raised his hand. "Uh... question, ma'am? I thought guard-on-inmate sex was supposed to count as statutory rape. Isn't this whole thing kind of assault?"
Gwen silenced him with a finger, gesturing they'll get to that. She continued, "There will be no roleplay, no raceplay, no bondage play of any kind. Mr. Pine, do you have any hard limits or anything you will not consent to?"
"Nothing with piss or shit, right?"
"I knew I forgot something. Anything else?"
Tommy shook his head. "No, ma'am, I think that's it."
Gwen kept talking into the voice recorder. "Any other kind of romantic or sexual contact will be subject to private negotiation between myself and Mr. Pine. There will be a hard time limit of one hour, at which point all contact will cease and Mr. Pine will be taken to his execution. We both have the right to withdraw our consent at any time, at which point all contact will be immediately terminated and Mr. Pine taken directly to his scheduled execution."
She turned to Tommy. "Mr. Pine, if you accept these terms, you will agree to hold myself, the Coventry Correctional staff, and all government authorities absolved of any rape or assault charges. You must accept of your own free will, sound of mind and body, free to withdraw your consent at any time."
"Until I'm dead," he pointed out.
"If you do not accept," Gwen continued, "and you do not provide an alternative choice for your final meal, you will waive your privilege to a final meal entirely. Do you understand these terms?"
After a disbelieving moment, Tommy leaned into the recorder. "I think so, yeah."
"And do you accept these terms?" she asked him.
He considered her a second and repeated "Yeah."
Gwen handed off the recorder to Tennyson, who spoke into the recorder. "Witnessing, this is Lewis Tennyson, correctional officer with the Coventry Correctional Facility. End recording." With that, Tennyson shut off the recorder and opened the cell door.
"You get one hour," warned Tennyson. "Starting now."
He shut the door behind him, leaving Gwen and Tommy alone in that tiny room with deafening silence between them. A blonde blue-eyed white woman left alone with a black death row convict a decade older and a half-foot taller than she was.
Finally, Tommy ventured to ask "So... what now?"
Gwen shrugged. "You asked for this. You tell me."
