Days Twenty-One to Twenty-Four
The days began to resemble one another, each as monotonous as the one before and the one to come. Slopping-out; breakfast; shaving inspection; using the bucket; lunch; dinner; shaving; lights-out: all these punctuated by short periods of daily exercise, and long periods of lying down, dozing, rubbing, filing my nails to the quick with the emery board and going almost insane with boredom.
It was true I was not going crazy with lust, as I had been the previous week. The 'top-up' orgasm with Prana in the Exercise Yard was enough to keep me going, possibly right through to the next Showers, although since I had no longer set myself any masochistic vows of chastity, I was quite relaxed about the possibility of rubbing-off as and when the need arose.
But other desires came to fill my waking hours. Despite what Rose had advised - don't think about what you can't have - my thoughts were drawn to my old life, which now seemed more like a past life, and I found myself longing for my old friends, for happy evenings spent in the town or the Students' Bar. I was homesick, too, and filled with longing for my mum and dad, who had always supported me, and who would be sitting unhappily now in the family home, with the cats, and the television - and an empty chair where I used to sit.
So whenever I could I dismissed these painful thoughts and tried to concentrate on my life in prison, which was all I had. I thought about Micky, though Rose was unable to enlighten me as to what she had done, and why or for how long she was here. I thought of the other prisoners and their different stories and habits. And above all I thought about Prana: and how desperately I longed to be with her.
In a strange way, I felt I had already done my time. If prison was supposed to teach a lesson, if the point of all this was to lead a person to self-knowledge and change - then I had learned that lesson, and made that change. I had discovered my true sexual orientation; I had found the person I wanted to be with. There was nothing more to be gained by my being here: I was ready now to leave.
Unfortunately the Law did not see things this way: I still had nearly two years to serve.
Two years of being locked up every day. Why?
Perhaps if I had been fifty years older I could have acquiesced in all this inactivity, this mind-numbing routine. But I was young and full of life and vitality, longing for fun and adventure and learning, longing to get out and explore the world. It was unnatural - it was a crime against nature - to be locked up in a cell.
So the time passed, day after night after day. Until it came to the day preceding Showers, when Raymond came in to inspect our shaves. Some of the Wardens poked and prodded, and made as much of a meal of it as they could. Raymond, as was her way, ran the back of her forefinger lightly against the grain of the hair growth, testing for uncut hair.
"Very good, as always Littlehayes," she said. "I think perhaps we spend some time together this afternoon. You like this?"
"Yes Sir" was all I could say.
"You'll be alright," said Rose, when Raymond had gone. "She won't do you any harm."
Shortly after lunch Raymond arrived, and Rose was despatched with Wilkes to sweep the corridor.
"So Littlehayes," said Raymond. "I look forward to this. You too?"
"Yes Sir."
"First I think we take off our clothes."
I was already semi-naked: it didn't take long to remove my shirt and bra. I watched as Raymond, who seemed far too tall for the tiny cell, divested herself of her uniform. She'd always seemed willowy to me, but, although she did not have Hardiman's body-building physique, now that she was naked I could see that there was power and strength her body too. I remembered the force with which she had laid the strap across Cradock's bottom; I remembered Rose referring to her as a nymphomaniac; and despite Rose's reassurances I was afraid. I was not afraid she would hurt me exactly: it was rather that, in her uniform I knew just what to expect from her. Naked, without her badge of office, she seemed to exude a power of a different kind: I felt I was in the presence of a woman of unknown lusts and passions, of a raw intensity that could overwhelm and annihilate me.
"You like my body?" Raymond asked. "Here: you feel."
She flexed her right arm and offered me her biceps. I squeezed them with my thumb and fingers: they were very firm.
"Now I think we lie on the bed," she said.
I lay down, and pressed myself as close to the wall as I could. Raymond lay beside me, wedging me in. Her face was almost touching my own. Close-up I could see the veins in her nose and cheeks, all the tiny blemishes in her skin: she looked older now than when seen at a distance, maybe thirty-five. Her straw-blond hair was splayed over my pillow; her eyes, which were very blue, held mine.
Then she kissed me: not just a token peck on my lips, but a long, forceful foray with her tongue which sought out and explored all the recesses of my mouth. I could feel her warm breath inside me, as her tongue slowly snaked its way over my teeth and behind my lips, into my cheeks and up into the roof of my mouth. I tensed against this, but my lack of response only served to provoke a more determined onslaught. She turned my head this way and that, pressed her mouth against mine at different angles, sucked and salivated and drew my lips between her teeth, nibbled at me, all the time probing away with her tongue.
At last she paused for breath: then put her mouth to my ear.
"I am very highly sexed person," she breathed. Then she sucked on my ear lobe, causing shivers to run over my thigh, and followed this by forcing her wet tongue into the hole of my ear.
My thigh was a mass of goose-flesh: it was hard to say whether this was pleasurable or not.
Then Raymond's big hands were all over me, passionately stroking and squeezing, swiftly finding their way down to my pussy. I tried to respond in kind, stroking her as best I could, but I was unsure what she wanted, and lacking her passionate drive I couldn't keep pace with her. Before I knew it, her fingers were inside me, forcing me open: still her mouth was working on me, sucking my nipples, sucking in almost the whole of my breast. I tried to reach between her legs, but she had rolled on top of me: she quickly straddled my right thigh, and began working her hot pussy against my flesh, round and round, side to side, humping me as though she was working out, pumping at me forcefully until I was helpless to do anything except cling to her shoulders: until, with a series of fierce grunts, she came.
She flopped down, half on me, half beside me. But any respite I'd hoped for was short-lived. Shaking her hair out of her eyes, she wriggled down head first to the bottom of the bed, scissored her legs wide, and, holding my feet, tried to slide back up towards me.
"Now we go pussy to pussy," she said.
Her feet were in my face: I took hold of them as our legs interlocked, and her hot shaven mound made contact with mine. It was the strangest sensation, the heat of another woman's private parts against mine. Gently at first Raymond began to move, trying to slide her pussy from side to side: but the position was awkward, the contact was grinding and unpleasant to me. I gave up thoughts of my own comfort, and let Raymond use me as she wanted, trying to go with her movements however uncomfortable to me. I looked down her long legs to where our pussies met: she seemed to find a rhythm, moving not too fiercely, our pussy-lips kissing sideways-on. The wetter she became the less friction marred her pleasure, though when she pulled on my legs and pressed herself firmly into me for a second grunting orgasm I was thoroughly relieved.
"Now you come," she said.
"It's all right Sir," I said: "I'm happy to pleasure you."
"No, you too must come," said Raymond firmly.
Inwardly I groaned. I was resigned to accepting Raymond's forced intimacies, but I did not feel aroused, and very much did not want to be obliged to come. Still, her words seemed to leave me no option, so I tried to work my pussy against hers. It was a very odd position, and difficult to get right: too much pressure and her mound simply pressed against me uncomfortably; too little and the contact with her lips was lost. But the pussy to pussy touch, when right, was stimulating, and once I'd got into the right rhythm intermittent shoots of pleasure coursed through my genitals. The trouble was, they were lost and soon as gained. I was beginning to get frustrated, struggling to stay even marginally aroused.
"It's too awkward Sir," I said.
"OK," said Raymond: "you come on my leg."
We adjusted positions, so that my arse was against her pussy, and my pussy against the inside of her thigh. This, at least, was comfortable: the soft fleshy warmth of her thigh a relief after the grating of her pubic bone. Still I didn't want to come. But I made an effort, focussing hard, willing myself into a state of arousal, and after what seemed an age I managed a small orgasm.
