No Prison Baby

"No baby of mine is going to be born in prison, sugar."

Christina gave her father a surprised look across the steel table, but then she thought, yeah, why wouldn't he think this baby was his? She looked down at the Christmas present he'd brought her. It would be Christmas in two days. He apologized for the gift, saying he couldn't bring anything better into the prison.

A cardboard rectangle with pink and green marshmallow peeps stuck to it. He—or, most likely, her mother—had wrapped it in Christmas paper, but that was torn at one end of the package. The peeps had been pulled out and bit had been snipped off each one. Christina wondered if the guards had been brave enough to do the tasting themselves. She sure hoped they hadn't had one of the dogs eat off the peeps. Sugar would kill a dog.

Of course the sugar wasn't good for her in her condition either. Her mother would have known that, so maybe her dad had done the selection and wrapping after all. Such a cheesy present, but it still made her wanting to cry, she was so starved for Christmas and any trappings at all of the season.

She almost instinctively reached for her father's big, hairy-knuckled hand as it rested on the table top, but the clearing of a throat from behind her made her snatch it back. She'd almost forgotten she was in prison, which was hard to do, especially at Christmas time. Her affection for her big teddy bear of a father was overwhelming. Of course others saw him as a wolf instead. She'd gotten a lot of razzing from the other inmates since she'd come into the prison about what she'd been letting her father do. If they only knew how much farther beyond that that it went. She'd always thought it just was natural, just what her close Sicilian family did. She'd never given a thought to denying her father—or not enjoying him, big puffy ox that he was.

"We should just let it ride, Daddy. I won't be keeping the—"

"We sure as hell will be keeping the baby," Rocco growled, causing Christina to shrink away from the table and the guards to look over at them—more in fear than in anger, Christina thought. Even here in the Edna Mahon Correctional Facility for Women, near Clinton, New Jersey, the Fabbro family, with Rocco at the helm, had a reputation and bark that was noticed.

"Uncle Enzo has it all arranged. You'll be out of here before New Year's."

"I don't know, Daddy."

"You'll just have to give it out a couple of times, sugar. But you're already knocked up, so—"

"It's a prison, Daddy. Nobody gets out of a place like this."

"Tupec Shakur's aunt did?"

"Tupec Shakur? The rapper?"

"Yep. It's what gave us the idea. Heard it on the news with this relations with Cuba thing. She was busted out of here in 1979 by the Black Panther Party and given political asylum in Cuba. If she can do it, so can you. And Uncle Enzo's come up with a great plan."

"They'll just grab me and put me back in here."

"Not in Enzo's plan. You'll have to be his live-in maid, though. He's got you fixed up to become a Guatemalan. We'll hide you in plain sight. My baby will be called his—that was the hardest part for me to swallow; his wife doesn't seem to give a shit as long as he keeps the money coming—and you'll be right there with it."

"You sure about this idea of Uncle Enzo's?" Not that she could talk to her father about it, but being Uncle Enzo's live-in maid, even if only pretend, was not what she considered to be a good idea. Under the same roof with Enzo—whose wife flitted all over the world and left him home to harvest the money tree? She always felt safe and comforted in her daddy's arms. Not so much when she slept with Uncle Enzo. He was a taker.

"It sure as hell will be better than the plan you had when you tried to lift those dresses. What were you thinking? Didn't I teach you not to lift anything that put you in the felony theft zone?"

"I read the tags, Daddy. It wasn't more than $800 worth. That was well short of $1,000."

"That's the amount for New York, sugar. You lifted the dresses in New Jersey. The amount here is down at $250."

"Yeah, that's what I found out when they arrested me. Sorry. Guess I didn't check close enough." She was taking it on herself. It hadn't been her faulty research. She had questioned it at the time, but her partner-in-crime had been so emphatic about it. In fact, before she'd gotten sent here, Rocco had practically tried to beat out of her who had been in this with her. She'd just said that it was another woman and that she didn't want to implicate her—that she'd gotten away and Christina was sure she'd get her share when she got out.

"So, what do I have to do, Daddy?" she asked, resigned to not being part of the decision-making process of this family.

"You don't need to do anything but wait for someone to come for you—there will be three of them. You just need to open your legs for them and they'll take you all the way to Enzo's car. You can open your legs for a few men to keep our baby from being born in a prison, can't you, sweetie?"

You don't know how many I've had to open my legs to to get by, Daddy, Christina thought—and more than half of them with Fabbro as a last name. But what she said was, "If that's what you want me to do, Daddy."

"We'll spring you toward the end of next week. The place is short staffed between Christmas and New Year's. It's gotta be this next week. No baby of mine is gonna be born in no prison."

"Is the whole family in on this, Daddy?"

"Just the ones who have to know."

"You and Uncle Enzo . . . and . . .?"

"Only the ones who need to know, sugar."

"What about Marco?"

"No one's seen your brother around since before you were arrested. We figure he's off pulling something off on his own. Never seems to want to share with any of the rest of us."

That's just what you think. Christina certainly didn't say this. She just let it trundle through her mind as the visit wound down.

* * * *

The cell guard came for her in the early afternoon of December 30th. Her cellmate was called out of the cell by the big, black guard the prisoners knew as Rube. He gave Christina a wink as he led her roommate away, saying the prison psychologist was conducting spot interviews and it would be Christina's turn next. The wink, though, let her know that Uncle Enzo's plan was about to be put into operation.

Although she was nervous as hell about this whole escape plan, Christina was glad that Rube was one of the three she'd have to accommodate. She'd had some dreams about Rube and what she wouldn't mind doing with him.

Rube was back in just a few minutes. Five minutes after that, Christina, naked, was on her back on the lower bunk in the cell, and Rube was standing between her legs, which were hooked on his hips, and he was taking his time entering her as she tried to help get on with it by clutching his plump buttocks with her hands and trying to pull him inside her. While he fucking her as he squeezed her tits with his hands, but it ended all too fast. He kept muttering about not having much time.

"Been thinkin' of this all week," he mutter.

Christina had been thinking of it too, but not in quite the same way Rube had. For some strange reason, she was feeling guilty about giving it outside the family. "Just don't hurt the baby," she murmured. "My family would kill me."

"Nice lay. Get dressed and act like you've been read or something," Rube said after he was done. "Your cellmate won't know nothin' about when you dropped out of the system. Three of us are shuttling you around so the system won't know when you dropped out either. And we each are takin' a bite to make sure none of the three gives the others up. Nice bite, though."

When Rube returned with the cellmate and motioned Christina to go with him, she was ready to do so.

The next stop was, in fact, with Dr. Franks, the prison psychologist. Christina had also done some fantasizing about the young doctor. He'd shown a lot of interest in her family background when he'd interviewed her, and she noticed that he was hard in the crotch as she talked about her dad and her Uncle Enzo.

Dr. Franks took his time with her, in contrast to Rube, who couldn't get himself off with her fast enough, like he was afraid someone would walk in on them. Dr. Franks had no such issues. He had a nice big office with a nice big desk and a lock on his office door. Christina had her ankles on his shoulders and her back on the top of his desk while he was playing in her folds with his fingers and his tongue. And then he had his knees on the top of the desk on either side of her hips as she raised herself on her elbows and sucked his cock. He fucked her bent over the desk with a hand palming her slightly distended belly and asking her with nearly each stroke if she thought it was hurting the baby—and how he compared with her father and her uncle.

Christina told him whatever she thought he wanted to hear. This wasn't going to be a long-term relationship—unless, of course, she was captured and flung right back into this prison, in which case she now knew of two friends she had who would trade some of what she'd want for some of what they had shown they wanted.

Afterward Dr. Franks kissed her on the lips and said he almost regretted she was leaving, because she was a fascinating study. "Your family is so fucked up," he said, although he made it sound like an achievement rather than a disadvantage. "I'd like to study you all. Tell me, which one of them is the father of this child? Have all the men in the family fucked you?"

Christina wouldn't answer his questions, though, by the time Rube had returned to take her on to her final stop in the prison. Dr. Franks wrote a telephone number on a slip of paper and tucked it in Christina cleavage—her prison uniform not having any pockets—as she was leaving, with the comment, "Call me any time day or night. I won't give you away."

In a corridor off the steamy basement laundry facility, the administrator of the laundry fucked her, standing, against the wall, with Christina facing the vomit-green-painted cinder block wall and jutting her hips out into the corridor. Rube stood at the opening to the corridor to make sure no one stumbled upon the action.

In the end, the escape was as simple as could be. Rube stood at the guard shack at the prison gate and jawed about the pro football playoff games with the short-staffed gate guards as the civilian laundry crew—doing laundry having been protested as inhuman treatment to the point that the prison contracted the service out—filed out of the gate and to their cars in the staff parking lot. Christina was just one of the laundry workers that day. She pretty closely resembled a regular civilian worker who had been convinced to take the day off with the facility administrator marking her as present and using a duplicate badge to help Christina stroll past the only half-aware gate guards.

* * * *

"Any trouble?" Uncle Enzo asked as Christina opened the door to the Lincoln Town Car and slid into the passenger seat.

"You mean other than having to service three men in the last hour?" Christina asked. She only meant that. She regretted not having had longer with Rube, and Dr. Franks was nicer to her than any man had been for years. The laundry facility administrator had no appeal for her—but two out of three wasn't back. It was as good as she experienced from inside the family.

"Now don't be like that, pet," Enzo said. "We hadda get you out. No baby of mine is gonna be born in prison. And we had to have a way to implicate those three dudes so they wouldn't give us up."

Such regard for a Fabbro baby, Christina thought bitterly. I guess that's as long as there's a chance it's a boy baby, she thought. No big deal if she, Christina, was in the slammer. Daddy's baby—or Uncle Enzo's—deserved better. She wondered how long the two of them would go with each thinking the baby was his. Not that both couldn't think that. They both could count and think of good reasons it was theirs.

"So, are we going to Trenton now—to your house?" she asked. "How does Maria feel about this, by the way?"

"Maria's good with it. I increased her allowance. And she doesn't mind claiming a baby as hers as long as she doesn't have to carry it or get her ass back into shape after delivering it. And she's always been fond of you."

I wonder how anyone could tell who Aunt Maria was fond of, Christina thought. The woman was gone half the time, hopped up the whole time she was here, and could out freeze a block of ice.

"And, yes, we're going to Trenton. Gonna work you up as Hispanic before taking you home, and we got a little business before that. Want to show you how happy we are to have you outta that prison—won't make you wait for what you like."

The business he had to do before taken her to the makeover artists was the same as his concept of making her happy.

"Maria's at the house, pet," he said when he'd driven into one of the Fabbro's secret warehouses in Trenton's warehouse district and shut the garage door behind the Lincoln. "I can't wait to be with you. And I know who must have had trouble holding yourself ever since you saw me waitin' for you in the pickup car. Let's go into the backseat and I've give you what you've been missin' out on in that prison."

Enzo sat in the middle of the plush backseat of the Lincoln, with Christina sitting on his dick and in his lap. He gripped her waist between his two big mitts and pulled her up and down on his cock, not bothering with a condom, because, in his own words, he'd already "gotten her good."

"We're gonna have a great time with you livin' in the house," he said in a hoarse voice as he was pulling her on and off his cock. "We're gonna make lots of Fabbro babies. You're gonna love being a momma."

Christina didn't contradict him. She did worry, though, just how this would set with her daddy. Did Daddy really know how half-brained his little brother was?

She needn't have bothered worrying about what her dad would think about having her under the same roof as Uncle Enzo. Everyone in the family knew that Enzo stopped at the same Sheetz gas station cum convenience store to get his evening snacks before going home to his guarded compound estate on the Delaware River north of Trenton. It was sort of a running family joke—that Enzo lived in a guarded compound so the family's enemies couldn't get to him, but he walked into the same busy gas station convenience store every evening at 5:00 p.m., just like clockwork.

Christina went in with him, saying she now needed some personal things, like a toothbrush and toothpaste, not to mention other unmentionables, since she'd come away from her cell without anything but the prison uniform on her back, which had been changed into a Tidy Maids uniform in the prison laundry.

She was standing in front of a shelf in the back corner of the store trying to decide which deodorant she wanted when her elbow was jostled and she heard, "Sssst, this way. He's looking the other way. Quickly."

The place was a mad house. New Year's Eve was the next day. And of course everyone had to have a full tank of gas and a supply of Sheetz nachos and cheese the day before New Year's Eve. Still, her brother, Marco, pulled her all the way around the back corner of convenience store and ranks of covered gas pumps to where his black Camaro was parked before he spoke.

"Sorry you went in, baby," he said, cupping Christina's cheek and pulling her close into him. "If I coulda changed places with you, I would have. You know that. But you were the one nabbed and there was no reason for us both to go down if we didn't have to."

"Yes, I understand," Christina said, clinging to him. Marco ranked right up there with her daddy in terms of comfort. He didn't have her daddy's brains, but he was a younger, more muscular version of Daddy. Christina had never had a problem going with him when he wagged his finger at her.

"You takin' good care of my baby?"

"Yes, of course, Marco," she answered, hoping he hadn't noticed she'd faltered a bit.

"So, you want to come with me or stay with Uncle Enzo."

"You know what I want, Marco. But the family has this plan."

"I got a plan too. You can be a new person. We're booked on a New Year's cruise from Bayonne to Bermuda—with the option of staying longer in Bermuda, but we've got plane reservations from Bermuda down to Mexico leaving the afternoon the ship docks at Kings Warf. We got the money from all that stash we liberated before you got nabbed, and I have a finger into the family's off-shore accounts. We'll be fine."

* * * *

Marco took his sister to a motel just outside Bayonne, which they reached after 8:00 p.m. They'd stopped at a McDonald's en route for dinner. They were barely in the motel room before he had them both stripped and he was laying on top of her on the bed, kissing her lips and neck, sucking on her tits, and pumping her deep with his cock, while she wrapped her legs around the small of his back, dug her nails into his shoulder blades, and luxuriated in the working of a hard-bodied, young, virile cock that knew every nook and cranny of her passage.

"Hope I'm not being too rough. I just missed you so much," he murmured the second time he entered her deep and started to pump. "Don't want to hurt the baby."

"It's fine. It's good. It's fucking great," she whispered back to him.

"The baby doing OK?"

"The baby's doing fine," she answered, even as she thought, stop fuckin' thinking about the baby and think about the woman you're fucking. How the hell she would know how the baby was doing? She'd never carried a baby before.

He suddenly stopped on a withdrawal, his body suspended over hers like he was doing pushups on her, and he looked into her eyes and gave her a serious look. "The baby is mine, ain't it?"

"Sure, the baby's yours," Christina answered.

"Good. Don't want no baby of mine born in a prison."

He thrust deep inside her again, and she threw her head back and babbled an "Oh fuck, yes!" as he resumed the pumping action.

Just before she was lost to panting and meeting his thrusts with counterthrusts, she exclaimed a "Fuck it!"

Her brother Marco didn't seem to notice, but to Christina it was a declaration to all of the men of the Fabbro family who had been fucking her at the time this baby was conceived. Who the fuck knows or cares which one of them is the father, she thought. And DNA checks wouldn't help a bit. It would be whoever she needed it to be at the time to have a Fabbro man protect her.