When I woke up, I panicked, almost choked on the collar around my throat. The leather dug into my windpipe as I jerked on the cold cement floor, hurting my shoulders and arms.
My hands were cuffed behind my back, my naked body pressed to the floor sideways, as my legs, which were free, kicked wildly in a desperate attempt to get loose. I let out a feral scream, almost choking again on the thick leather around my neck.
I couldn't see anything in the darkness, could only hear my own heavy breathing in short, terrified spurts. When I managed to calm down a bit, the cold hit me. My body was covered in a sheen of sweat that felt like ice on my skin, making me shiver even more.
No matter how hard I tried to pry my hands from their bonds, the restraints held. I started to cry again, sobbing with my face flat against the unforgiving cement. That's when he came in.
I heard metal latches clanking and the cell door opened, an arc of bright, florescent light in its wake. I craned my head and scooted my body into a fetal position against the wall, as far as the collar biting into my neck would allow.
It was him. Prisoner 77366104. It all came back to me in a rush -- the hostage situation, the failed negotiation attempts, the escalating violence -- and I took a deep, stuttering breath, dizzy with the realization. The last thing I remembered was running into the mess hall, running as fast as I could, terrified of what would happen to me if any of those deranged psychopaths caught me.
He stepped inside, as I crouched in the corner, trying to make myself smaller, whimpering. He approached me slowly, bending down to grab the leather band. I could see now that it was tethered to one of the cell bars, and I felt it choke me as he pulled me closer.
"No!" I screamed, kicking at him wildly, desperate to protect myself however I could. He just pulled at the collar tighter, wrapping the band around his hand.
"Sssshh....the last thing you want," he said in a whisper, his raspy voice sending chills down my spine, "is to piss me off," and then he grabbed one of my ankles with his other hand, pinning my leg still.
His soft, quiet tone scared me even more, and I thought back to his intense, penetrating gaze the first time we met. It was in a cell similar to this one, only he was the one in shackles. I was sitting at my desk, reviewing his files when the guards brought him in. That's the first thing I noticed about him, his eyes bearing into me. Well, that and the tattoos on his arms peeking out of his orange jumpsuit, but tattoos were quite common here. His steady scrutiny was what set him apart.
After six years working as a public defender, in and out of prisons to meet with too many violent criminals to remember, it was rare for me to take notice. But something about him had struck a chord.
His case had been up for appeal, and he had really rattled me with his soft-spoken answers and astute observations. That was last week. The grey, fitted suit I wore over a silk, rose blouse with matching grey skirt that angled just below the knee was indicative of my station, while the orange jumpsuit was indicative of his.
Now he was stripped to the waist, his tattoos clearly visible on both shoulders, a smattering of hair on his stomach and chest. And I was completely naked and vulnerable to his burning gaze.
His quiet command had worked magic on me, calming my nerves inexplicably, as I found my breathing beginning to even and the adrenaline rushing out of my body.
I took another deep breath as he let go of my ankle and ran his hand through my short, dark, curly hair.
Good girl," he said, still whispering. "When I saw you last week, that suit framing your tight little body, I wanted to rip off your shirt. Did you know I could see these right through your armor?" he asked, running the palm of his hand over first one nipple, then the other. He kept his other hand holding the collar, crouching over me, tightening the leash as I tried to move away.
I should have been screaming, crying, doing whatever I could to get away from him, but his voice had me hypnotized. My nipples were so hard, hurting from the cold, and his hand rubbed back and forth, easing the pain at first, then making it more acute.
I had always been self-conscious about my nipples, which, perched on small, firm breasts, were perpetually at attention, regardless of whatever layers of protection the bra I was wearing afforded them. They had been a constant source of embarrassment throughout my adolescence and then in my professional life.
I whimpered as the pressure of his palm became more insistent and then he began to use his fingers, stretching my nipples between them, pulling at them.
"Please... no... what..." I pleaded, but his hand went from my breasts to cover my mouth, silencing me.
"Sshhh... now here's the situation, Lydia," I was startled by his use of my first name.
"I saved your life, so you owe me," he said, my breath hot on his hand, as he lowered his other hand, letting go of the collar, to run it up and down my hip, his touch barely a whisper, soft like his voice.
Then I remembered getting cornered by three other prisoners, one starting to tear my clothes off, before I hit my head in the struggle and lost consciousness.
"The prison riot?" I asked, looking up at him, big green eyes full of questions and fear.
"Still raging out there," he said, "which is why it is in your best interest to keep me happy. I killed three guys to get you out of there. Almost got stabbed by one, so you owe me, lady."
"Please," I said, "let me go. I'll put in a good word for you..."
He laughed. "You'll do more than that, Lydia. But that comes later. First you're going to stay here like a good girl and give me what I want. Otherwise, I might have to let you go. You don't want that, do you? I'm the only thing between you and a prison full of violent psychos who haven't had any woman, let alone a woman like you, in god knows how long."
"What do you want from me?" I asked, though I already knew.
"Hmmmm," he pretended to contemplate his options, his hands now running over my torso and upturned hip, more and more insistent. Then he laughed again, as each hand grabbed a leg just below the knee, propping me up against the wall. He knelt down in between my legs, my back and secured arms to the wall, using his knees and thighs to pry my legs open further.
"Well, first I want to fuck your tight little cunt. It's been a while since I had anything like this," he said, directing those dark blue eyes at my pussy, spread open to his burning gaze. I had never felt so exposed. The heat of his body felt good on my skin and I could feel my resistance fading.
"Once I've had my fill. I'm going to make you my little prison slut," he said, laughing at my sharp intake of breath. "Don't worry, Lydia, I know you'll like it. I'll make you like it."
"I know there's a dirty little slut inside that prissy exterior," his raspy voice was hot on my neck as he drew closer, taking a nip at my collarbone.
"I'm going to make you suck my cock until you've swallowed down every drop of my load, and then I'm going to make you suck it again. I'm going to shove my dick into every one of your tight little holes, until you're begging me, Lydia, begging me NOT to stop," his words were agitating me as much as his body, melting my resistance as I found myself opening my legs wider and arching my back in response.
"That's it, you little slut... see, it didn't take long, did it Lydia," he laughed, as he moved his hand down to my pussy, again using just his palm to lightly graze my exposed mound. I cried out again, involuntarily, not sure if it was a protest or a plea.
"Shhhh, Lydia, you don't want anybody to hear, do you, they might come in and I might not be able to convince them to go away. I don't want to have to share you," he whispered, rubbing hot circles on my pussy with his palm.
"Now I'm going to untie you," he said, "But you..."
"Yes, please, let me go, my arms hurt so much..."
"Did I say you could talk?" his tone suddenly changed, still soft, but tinged with authority and a hint of anger. "No, Lydia, I didn't. Now don't talk back, not unless you want me to show you what happens when you piss me off."
"I'm going to untie your arms, but you're going to be a good girl, you're going to do everything I tell you to do, or I'll have to tie you up again, and this time I won't be as nice," he put his hands on my shoulders to turn me around so he could get at my bonds.
