She is waiting to see him. Her breath catches in her throat as she walks through the sterile prison halls. This isn't the main compound, where the prisoners are kept. This is a special building made specifically for...visitation. Conjugal visits are common place around the world but not in the United States. Only five states maintain the right of conjugal visitation, believing that prisoners were "unredeemable". She didn't really want to come. But she felt...regret. He wasn't the greatest husband in the world but she is all he has. She can't just leave him high and dry. She certainly isn't. It was hard staying loyal. She hadn't gotten dick in over two years. At this point, she was desperate. Even if it meant a one pump session, which she assumed hadn't improved from his time in jail.
She sits in the waiting room, waiting for the guard's to buzz her in. Their eyes were...uncomfortable. But she was used to that reaction from men. She wore the dress for her husband but the sundress highlights her...assets quite well. It's obviously something they noticed. Their eyes feast on her thick build, her large wobbling ass and bouncing tits barely contained within the dress itself.
She hears the buzzer then rushes through the doorway, slightly anxious to get to the safety of the conjugal room itself. She knows she wasn't a prisoner, but guards aren't exactly kind to black people and she isn't about to test their tolerance or resolve.
"Keep down the hall, then take a left. It will be in the first room on the right." She walks down the hall, keeping straight before heading right and walking into the first room.
The room is sparse. Only a few belongings, and a box on condoms and lube strewn ominously around. But more ominous is the sound of the door locking behind her. She knows this is a security precaution. Escape attempts had been tried before, so they keep the door locked for the entire three hour period. But no cameras. She had actually been at that protest. The right to privacy, free from exploitation. Yadda yadda. She puts on a smile and sways forward. It isn't a great situation but she might as well make the best of it. He's sitting on the bed, but it's dark so she can barely see him.
Until he gets up.
6 ft, 3 in. Rippling with toned muscles and spiraling inked tattoos. His chiseled jaw and intimidating stare rips right through her. She immediately realizes her mistake, rushing to the door.
"Hey! You gave me the wrong room! Let me out!" Her knocking goes on deaf ears. It dawns on her that the same measures that were meant to give partners privacy, had her trapped. "Motherfucker..."
"What's your name, lil' mama?"
"It's..." She knows she probably shouldn't say anything but, if they are going to be trapped in here for three hours, she might as well start things off on the right foot. "Esmeralda."
"So what are you doing here, Esmeralda? What's a fine ass looking woman like yourself doing in my domain?" Under normal circumstances, the idea of this teeny sterile room being referred to as a domain would be a joke. But he is dominating the space, pulling her in. In many ways, the statement seems completely accurate.
"I'm...I..was here for my husband."
"That explains the dress huh?" His eyes ravage her body savagely before piercing her with a look of pure...
Want.
She covers her tits, embarrassed both at the attention but also how her body was reacting to it. Within a minute, she's soaked. She feels like a teenager again. Her heartbeat races a mile a minute as she tries to figure out a way out of this. She pulls out her cellphone and begins dialing a number.
"Don't bother. This building kills cell reception. Security precautions and all that. You know how it is." He begins to clear sheets off his bed, folding them tightly before placing them on the table near the bed. "Sit."
"I don't think I should..."
"Sit..." Fear and interest drives her to move from her fearful bundled position near the corner by the door to the spot on the bed the mysterious prisoner had pointed out.
"So who's your husband? I know everyone here."
"And why's that?"
"See this." He points at a small DR branded deep on his forearm.
"Been on death row for five years now."
"But you haven't been...?"
"Well, I'm talking to you now, ain't I? Nah, they keep deliberating on my case. It's all political you know. The current administration is going for re-election, and his base is getting more progressive. Killing people in prisons is starting to look less and less like a good platform to run on. But on the other hand, they still gotta be 'tough on crime' so here I am." He sits next to her on the bed, his presence unnerving but not exactly unappealing. He has a kind of warmth about him despite the situation.
"So what did you do?"
"To get in here? I'm a killer. Killed five men to earn my spot."
"You don't seem like..."
"A thug?"
"Look, I've been around the block. You're no gangbanger." Her thoughts drift briefly to her husband before focusing sharply on how close he is to her.
"And how would you know that? Who's your husband?"
