For those of you who have requested a follow up on my original story about Patrick, Rachel, Snake and Jerry here it is. Chapters 1- 12 can be found in Novels and Novella's or just click on my name, Shandal, and go to my complete list of stories..
If you are of a sensitive nature please be aware that there are in this multi part story some graphic scenes of romantic sex between male and female lovers, some non consensual sex, male on male violence, oral sex, and scenes of male masturbation.
There is also a daring prison escape, so please read on and join the many characters that make up this romantic crime thriller and find out what happened next.
*
Patrick lay on the top bunk in his cell inside Wandsworth Prison, the sound of his cell mates snoring reverberating through the dark and enclosed space. He lay on his back, the hard mattress that had supported hundreds, if not thousands of male bodies over the years lumpy and uncomfortable. He closed his eyes and tried to lose himself, as he had done every night since his capture eight months ago, in fantasies of Rachel and himself.
Fantasies where they were in the Florida Keys, swimming together, the warm silky water bathing his skin, the droplets running down her neck to collect in the small hollow at the base of her throat. In his mind he imagined licking them off her as their two bodies entwined suspended in the water. His hand ran down his body as he lay in the bed, the noise of the snoring from below him fading as he fell deeper into his fantasy and the pictures his imagination were painting.
Moving his right hand into the his briefs he felt his semi hard penis as his mind played out the scene, Rachel's skin glistening in the sun, the feel of the water against his skin, the feel of her body as it pressed against his, the smell of her mingling with the salty smell of the sea, and their sweat.
His fingers and thumb wrapped around his now hard cock about halfway up the shaft and slid the skin up and down, making his body arch restlessly, and his breath catch in his throat as he stifled the groan, not wanting to awaken his cell mate. Speeding his hand up and varying the motion and the pressure of his fingers he let his mind float away, picturing her nails scrapping across his hard and aching nipples. Moving his left hand up to his own chest as his right hand jerked away at his now rock hard rod, he raked his nails across one hard nub peaking on his chest before pinching it, and then running it on down his body to join his right hand to cup his balls and manipulate them.
His body hummed, his penis felt good as he wanked himself, the spunk in his sacs getting ready to draw up into his prick for release.
Feeling the snoring body in the lower bunk turn over, the metal framed structure rattling, Patrick held his breath, holding himself still, and he waited for Ritchie to settle down and then re-start up his steady wheezing indicating he was fast asleep.
Bringing up one hand he spit into the palm, lubricating it before returning it to rub his glans and then forming a loose fist he moved his hand up and down building himself with momentum back up towards release.
When he came he shot the white thick fluid onto his belly, and reaching with his hand he grabbed the tissue he had placed under the thin pillow below his head earlier, and wiped up his cum, before throwing the balled up mess towards the open toilet in the corner of the small cell, missing it by about three inches so that it lay in a clump on the bare stone floor.
Shit he would have to remember to get up before Ritchie tomorrow and pick it up and flush it away.
Turning over onto his side he lay, dried eyes staring into the darkness, like he had every night since he was banged up, and pretended he was holding the woman he loved in his arms, before he drifted off into a restless sleep.
*
Rachel drove home from work through the very woods that only eight months before she had driven home through that fateful night. Her heart beat hard and fast, just as it did every night on her way home as she approached the traffic lights at the cross roads. Checking for the twentieth time that evening that her doors were locked she held her breath praying that the lights would remain green.
As they turned orange she put her foot on the accelerator and sped up, shooting across the road just as the light turned red. Never again would she be able to sit at those lights waiting for them to allow her to go. She always timed her forward movement of her car so that she wouldn't have to stop.
She knew it was stupid. Patrick was in prison and no one else was likely to kidnap her. But psychologically she was scared of those lights and stopping at them.
Her thoughts went onto Patrick, and that last time she had seen him in the courtroom as she gave her testimony. She had kept much of what happed from the police, preferring to keep the sexual part to herself. In her mind she justified it as not letting Patrick be charged with rape, but in those rare moments, in bed by herself at night, she admitted that she didn't tell them because they were special to her.
She had been shocked when he had been handed out a twenty year sentence with a chance to be paroled after ten years. Her heart had broken for him, the thought of him locked up, his freedom taken away ate at her, and she dreamt at night of his smile, his gentle teasing, his body moving inside hers and the short time they had spent together.
She never noticed the car that followed her each night, the men inside noting her movements, keeping tabs on her for their boss.
*
Jerry climbed over the balcony of the apartment, the sound of crickets chirping somewhere in the hot sticky Spanish night, and getting out his tools from his pocket he picked the lock of the double glass doors that led to the apartment of the couple who right this minute were partying down at the small club half a mile away.
From his past couple of day's observation they would be well away, getting pissed out of their minds for at least another four hours before they tottered down to the cab rank and made their way back here in the early hours of the morning.
Slipping through the doors he wandered around the apartment opening drawers, sizing up items, his latex gloved hands careful not to make too much mess. In the bedroom he picked up a gold chain with a gold crucifix on it and placed it in his pocket, then opened the bedside drawer, taking out the cash that lay in there but leaving the Travellers cheques. Counting it before putting it in his pocket, he shrugged. Only fifty Euro, not much, and he turned and walked over to the dressing table to find a couple of rings, one with a small diamond stone laying amongst the make up and perfume, the other a cheap dress ring. Picking up the one with the diamond and putting it with the rest of his haul in his pocket, he left the dress ring worth nothing, and left the flat the same way he had entered, careful not to be seen.
Climbing into his car which he had left in the apartment block car park across the road, parked deep in a shady area, he drove off making his way to the club and his job as security at Patrick's mate Danny's place, working the late shift.
*
Megan lay sleeping like a baby, her now healthy body sprawled across the bed in their apartment, her once mousy brown hair shining and with subtle streaks made from the sun, her skin a golden tan, and a happy smile on her face even in sleep.
On her finger was a ring that Jerry had bought for her, the small diamond twinkling in the night, proof of his love. He had placed it on her finger last week, asking her to marry him over a romantic dinner at their favourite beachside restaurant, and afterwards they had walked along hand in hand across the sand, shoes off and dangling from their fingers, the soft sand and gentle lapping water from the sea tickling their feet.
Over the past eight months she had made a home for the two of them, relaxing and gaining strength, but now she was keen to do some work to contribute to their income, so that she didn't feel as if she was living off of Jerry. Yesterday she had spoken to the owner of a small bar at the end of the road and asked him if he needed any bar staff. He had asked her if she had any experience and she had admitted that she hadn't but was keen to learn. Offering her a part time job behind the bar of two nights a week she had accepted and was due to start work tomorrow night.
The only problem was telling Jerry.
He seemed to want to keep her wrapped up in cotton wool, as if she was fragile. But she now felt so much better than when she arrived, and getting a job was the next step.
*
Snake looked down at the redheaded girl as she sat cowering on the bare mattress, the thin blanket pulled tight around her as she tried to cover her naked body that was covered in small bruises. Her once long hair was now cut short and ragged as if someone had taken a scissors to it and just hacked at it. Her eyes had dark smudges under them, and were red from crying.
He put the cup of water and bowl of soup on the small table next to the old iron framed bed that the mattress and the girl cowered on.
"You know the score bitch, you want to the food, you have to earn it. Get down on your knees and ask for it."
Slowly as if her body hurt she crawled off the bed and onto the bare wooden planked floor, the blanket still around her.
"Please......"
"Please what?"
"Please Mr Armstrong Sir......"
"What are you bitch?"
Tears rolling down her cheeks, she looked up at her tormentor and in a quiet voice replied, "I'm nothing......."
"That's right bitch, you're nothing.....nothing to no-one......a common slut.....even your uncle gave you up.......all you're good for is servicing my men. Ask to suck my cock bitch."
