FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Charles stands before many people, dressed nicely, just like he would for any other meeting. Next to him, his long-time friend supports him by standing tall, her eyes focused ahead.

She told him, “Today, you will make the most important deal in your career.”

The stern older gentleman sits high on the podium, his fingers laced, his judgmental gaze piercing behind his thick glasses. “So, for the crimes you are accused of, how do you plea?”

Charles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trembling.

“Guilty, your honor.”

A sharp gasp cuts through the crowd, and as the officers escort him past the court, Charles glances over toward the source of the sound.

His beautiful wife, Alda, stands as he passes by with her hand extended. He could recognize her châtain hair and those sorrowful eyes—brown with specks of green. He smiles at her and nods. “I’ll… I’ll be okay,” he says to her.

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you are!” she says, reaching out to him, but the officers yank him away, taking him from his home, his business, and his loving wife.

* * *

The bars slam shut, and the business suit is swapped with a prisoner’s uniform, and his name is replaced with a number. Orientation was quick, but the whole air was oppressive and heavy, and when he finally sat on his bunk, his cellmate poked his head out.

“So, buddy, what are you in for?” says the thin, tattooed man.

Charles laughs ruefully, gripping his pant legs. “Of all things… sexual assault.”

His cellmate whistles. “Whoa, you must be hardcore, huh, buddy?”

“I’m innocent!” Charles’s hands quiver, “But the evidence was stacked against me! It must have been the work of some malefactor against me wanting to take my business!”

His cellie sighs. “Man, you’re not going to survive in here if you’re gonna be so soft like that. You gotta harden up, or you’ll be someone’s bitch by the end of the week.”

Charles blinks and then leaps up, grabbing the edge of his cellmate’s bed. “I can’t—I need to survive in here! I can help you on the outside if you help me on the inside!”

His cellmate chuckles. “That so? Yeah, I think I can help. Enjoy your first day. We’ll meet the boss tomorrow.”

“T… The boss?”

* * *

Charles had to wait all night. His sleep was restless and filled with thoughts of his excellent and beautiful Alda. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and sighed. “Anything to live so I can see her again,” he said.”

When the time finally comes, Charles’s cellmate takes him to the yard, where a few people are working out in the gym area. So many strong people are tattooed up and have scars and muscles. Never before did Charles feel so inadequate and doughy as he rubbed his arm. But with each person they pass, he wonders how bad the boss must be.

They leave the weights behind. Beyond them is a set of bleachers. Sitting on the bleachers is a large man, broad and tall, with muscles evident even under his uniform. He reads through a book with glasses scuffed up and blurry but glances up with piercing black eyes as he sees the two approaching.

Charles gulps in the man’s shadow, but his cellmate steps up and motions to Charles.

“Fresh meat for you, Oh Mister James.”

“That so?” Mister James asks, marking his book with an earmark and putting his glasses in his pocket. He stands up, walking off of the bleachers, and Charles steps back when he realizes that the man is still towering over him even on even footing,

“And you’re the big bad businessman who got a little too handsy with his secretary.”

Charles chirps up, “I was set up.”

“Sure we were, and so was I,” Mister James says. “When that pig beat my brother to death, and I took it out on the fucker who got him, I was framed too.” He drapes his large arm over Charles’s shoulder, pulling him in close. “I’m a lifer with no chance of parole but all the chance to stimulate my mind. What the fuck do you think you can give me that will be worth my time protecting you?”

“Please, Mister James, I can do anything. I could give you lawyers or connections on the outside or something.”

Mister James tuts and pushes Charles away. “You don’t get it, White Bread. There are ways things work around here, and it’s different from the outside. Best find something to give me, or else you ain’t livin’ to see your business again.”

Charles falls at James’s feet. “Please, Mister James! I’ll do anything! I have to survive my stint in prison so I can see my wife again!”

James whistles. “Wife, huh? What kind of woman a whitebread stuffed shirt like you get, huh? Tell me about her.”

Charles gulps. “U-uh, oh-well, she’s a Project Manager, and she’s from France.”

James spins around, hands on his hips, running a hand through his tightly curled hair. “Numbers, Whitebread, numbers! Height, weight, Measurements.”

Charles gulped… “I… I don’t.”

James looks over his shoulder, “You said you’d do anything.”

Charles lowers his head, gripping the dirt. “Sh… she’s 175 cm… 63 kilos.”

“How about her tits?”

Charles sniffles at that. “32 C.”

“Damn…” James says, stroking his goatee. “Maybe we can do something after all.” He snaps his fingers, and another inn mate pulls a phone from his pocket, tossing it to James. “Alright, Whitebread. Here’s how it’s gonna go. You’re going to call your hot-ass French white bitch, and you’re going to tell her that if she wants you to have a cushy time living in the Penn, she’s going to have to pay.”

“P… Pay?” Charles says, his eyes watering.

“Sure,” James says, his smile wide. “She’s gonna have to pay me with her tits and her ass and her whole body.” He holds out the phone to Charles, and he nods. “You did say you’d do anything. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Charles reels at the words he hears. His voice caught in his throat. He can’t respond right away to the intimidating leader of the prison population.

“What’s the matter, Whitebread?” James asks, shaking the phone in front of Charles’s face. “It ain’t no big deal. Just tell her that I want to see the goods.”

“Suh-see?” Charles blinks, his mind snapping back to reality.

“Sure,” James says, his smile bright. “What the fuck else can I do in here, huh? A few sexy pics ain’t gonna hurt no one.”

“Muh… maybe you’re right,” Charles says, so he takes the phone, gulping, and puts in his wife’s number.

Alda’s life would never be the same. Everyone at the office looked at her with pity or suspicion. Was she a victim? Was she complicit in her husband’s crimes? No matter how much she would assure anyone, it was not enough to remove the lingering doubt from the gazes of her co-workers and employees.

“Take the time you need to figure things out,” says her boss. “You’re the best Project Manager we have here, and this is an unprecedented time for the company. And I’m sure for you.”

Unprecedented indeed. Now, Alda’s a prisoner in her own home, projects finished, with nothing to do. Nowhere is safe from the gossiping mouths and the judgmental eyes of the public, so she sits home, stir-crazy even though it hasn’t been long since the sentencing.

That’s when her phone buzzes—an unknown number messaged her, but the message she received makes her freeze.

“Dandelon: It’s me. I got a phone. Please let me know if you got this.”

Alda’s heart leaps in her chest when she reads those words. Only one person in the world calls her that. Quickly, she curls up on the couch, typing madly away.

“Charlie. What are you doing? You get a phone call already. This is dangerous!”

“I know, I know. But things are bad here. I have to do things to survive—make deals and form alliances.”

“Making deals got you targeted in the first place!”

“Well, I’m not happy about it either, but they’re very persuasive here and, well, I need your help.”

She sighs, wiping her mouth with her hand, blowing hot air as she contemplates things. “What kind of help?”

* * *

She can’t believe what she’s doing. Lying on her bed, naked, quivering. Alda takes a deep breath and holds the phone high in the air. She lies there with her hips twisted, her whole body shaking. With this picture, he won’t see her face, but he’ll see her tits resting upon her chest and the hint of the curve of her ass. With a click, the camera shutters, and the message is sent.

She brings her pillow up against her chest and watches the ellipses bounce on the screen. An eternity later, she gets a response.

“Damn, that’s fine. Charles was a fool to cheat on that.”

Her heart drops, tightening her grip on the pillow, a lump forming on her throat, her whole body shaking. Who is this man that he’d put them both through this…?

* * *

Charles’s shoulders slump, and he lowers his head and puts his hands on them. Tears well up in his eyes, but he knows better than to say anything or show weakness in front of these animals.

“Very good, very good,” James says, patting him on the back. “My man, Whitebread, he delivers!”

James’s lackeys snicker and chortle.

“It’s about damn time someone ‘round here knew to give me what I want. Whitebread, you’ll get to sit at our table, and no one, and I mean no one, will mess with ya.”

James places his hand on top of Charles’s skull, squeezing just so much to snap Charles out of his despair. “And you know why no one will mess with ya?”

Charles swallows, his eyes locking on James. “Wuh-why is that, Mr. James?”

“Shit, well, it’s because you’ve got the hookup for me, and as long as the hookup comes when I ask for it, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Charles tries to smile, but the words are so deliberate and threatening. He only nods and turns his head own, but when James urges him over to sit down on the bleachers, he moves with a haze, becoming a good-little-lackey, for the fear of the shiv is far too much.”

* * *

Meanwhile, at home, Alda lets the shower run over her body. Trembling breaths rush over her as she leans against the wall, clutching at her heart. Visions flash in her mind of a time in her life she thought was long gone. But perhaps she will never escape having to do whatever it takes to keep what she loves safe.

That’s what she has to keep in her mind. It’s to keep him safe. A little showing off her body is not so bad, is it?”

* * *

Charles lies in his bed, staring up at the bunk above him. There is only darkness in his vision and despair in his heart. Is this what it means to survive?

He slides his hand to his chest, sighing. It’s only for a little while, after all. And they can forget this bleak chapter of their lives once he's out of prison.

But it is only the first week of his incarceration. He’ll have no idea what’s coming for him later.

Later comes sooner than perhaps Charles had wanted, for only a few days had passed before his new boss called for him. This time, James is lifting iron, his body huge, his massive muscles grossly large, and the sweat off his body sending a wafting muskiness through the air. It’s enough to almost make Charles faint, but his cellmate, Nayson, as he came to know, was there to keep him standing up.

Between sets, James sits up, toweling himself off and whistling. “You know, Whitebread,” he begins, dabbing his forehead. “You got yourself a catch. I mean, you really got yourself a catch. Not only is that bitch of yours tasty, but she’s tasteful in how she poses herself.”

Charles keeps his eyes turned away and down to the floor. “Thank you, Mr. James,” he mutters, hoping that’s what his prison boss wanted. He takes his employee behavior from the playbook he saw from low-level interns and kids doing summer jobs running coffee.

“No, thank you,” James responds, taking a deep breath. “But there’s still a problem.”

Charles glances up, his heart sinking at the same time. “Wuh-what sort of problem, Mr. James?”

“I can’t get a good look at all the goods your wife’s got, man. You should know a man needs visuals to get off. The imagination can only go so far, after all.” He shrugs, looking around to his entourage. “I mean, really, if imagination’s all we need to jerk off, I’m sure all of us would be doin’ it all the time, am I right?”

The group around James chortles and cackles.

“So, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to message your wife again and get me some pictures, pronto.” He reaches into his pocket, producing his phone. “You hear me?”

Charles stares at the device momentarily, a chill forcing its way up his throat, but he nods and snags the phone. “Yes, boss.”

“That’s a good piece of White Bread,” the man says, returning to his set. “And you’d better make sure she sends me something now. Candid shit is much better than planned shots.”

A few days and that unexpected request are all that Alda needs to try to push herself. Getting back to work was the first possibility. At the office, she could keep herself from mulling over the awkward humiliation that was that request.

Though she tries to get back into the swing of things, the judgmental eyes and the whispers still get to her. She remains at her desk, scrolling through her email and social media feed, blocking all references to her dear Charles’s case.

When her phone buzzes, she takes it as a break from this horror, but as she looks at the opening lines, she can’t help but emit a despairing squawk from the back of her throat.

“Dandelion,” the text began. “He wants more.” This initial note includes instructions on what she can do and what Mister James wants. She squirms in her seat, bringing her knees together and glancing around. Everyone outside her little glass-walled office was busy talking to each other or with their heads down at work.

“He wants a video this time.”

Glancing occasionally to check for stray glances, she spreads her legs slightly. Cursing herself but also thankful for wearing a sleek business suit and skirt today, she lowers the phone down between her legs, pulling up the skirt, revealing her underwear.

Gulping, she prepares herself and whispers. “Hey there, Mister James,” she speaks, her whisper more of embarrassment and fear than it is of trying to be sexy. She hooks her finger at her underwear, sliding it aside, showing off before him her shaved pussy. “This is my way of saying thank you for keeping my Charlie safe.”

A knock on the door sends her leaping up and staring, mortified. The one knocking looks over some papers. This gives Alda enough time to prepare herself, pushing her skirt flat, but her underwear is disheveled. “Cuh-come in!”

* * *

James finishes his set, huffing and puffing as he snatches up his water and guzzles it like a hungry monster.

Nayson nods and hands him the phone. “Hey, boss. You got yourself a file—big one, too.”

“Oooh, you don’t say?” James whistles. He rubs his bulbous nose and takes the phone, squinting and lifting the thing up high in the air. “Damn, is your bitch at work?” He says. “Now, that’s what I call service!”

He presses play, his smile widening with each second. When she speaks and says, “Thank you,” that’s when Charles buries his face in his hands.

“Damn, man, that voice of hers. What is that?” James snaps his fingers. “What what… ah yeah! France. Fuckin’ French bitch. Now that’s some oo la la. Hot DAMN!” He tosses the phone to the bench and claps his hands. “That’s tight, man, tight! I thought all them French hoes go au natural, but she keeps herself smooth.” He licks his lips. “Keeps from having to pick out nasty ass pubes from your teeth, huh?”

Charles’s shoulders slump.

“If you aren’t gonna look at me, at least listen,” James says. “Girl like that keeps care of herself for one of two reasons: One’s she’s got a real problem with her physical appearance. Now, that’s not cool. Everyone should love their body one way or another, except that pig I killed. That was a fugly motherfucker, and that’s coming from me.”

“Wuh… what’s the second alternative?” Charles asks, sheepishly ascertaining his boss’s motives through a furtive glance.

“Well, shit, Whitebread. You should know. She’s keeping herself ready for a lover. Either someone she’s got on the outside now that you’re in here… or when she comes over for a conjugal visit.”

“I uh… I didn’t get those in my sentencing.

Sucking his teeth, James shakes his head. “That’s too bad.” He walks over to the doorway, slamming his palm against the portal. “Yo, guard!”

The guard pokes his head to the window, quirking an eyebrow.

“Mister James wants Mrs. Alda Carlson to have visitor’s rights.”

Charles beams at that. “Oh, Mister James! You’re too kind. I thank you so, so much!” He claps his hands together almost as if in prayer.

Leaning against the doorway, James shakes his head. “Poor, Poor White Bread, you’re thanking me way the fuck too early.”

Charles felt a sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what James had in mind when the prison king told him that it was way too early to celebrate. He spent the rest of his day and evening staring into space, a strange sort of despair hovering over his form. After all, he had made a deal with the devil, and he knew that something terrible was on the horizon, but what?

What could Charles give James the right to see his wife in prison?

The courier arrives, tossing packages to the inmates throughout the block. He stops by a neighboring cell and chuckles as he hands a parcel to the inmate within. “Yeah, you were right. Prime French slut just showed up today.”

Charles’s ears perk up. He pushes himself to a seated position, staring out the bars.

The courier arrives, tossing a package onto his lap. “Good morning to you, Mr. Whitebread.”

Charles gasps, grabbing the package and staring down at the label.

As he feared, the label was “Whitebread.”

“I don’t,” he gulps, his hands trembling. “I don’t understand.

“Noon,” the courier says. “Then you will. But make sure you open it first.”

Charles rips the paper open, finding a tablet with an impressive 4K HDR screen within the package. He frowns as he examines the device and the provided instructions.

“Open the video app at noon, Whitebread - James.”

Even more, waiting makes the prisoner sick. He curls up in the corner, hearing the wafting rumors of some European whore walking about the prison. He tries to close his mind off to such suggestions, but that leaves him in a near catatonic state, curled in a fetal position, wrapping the tablet around him.

“Hey, Whitebread,” his cellmate says. “It’s about that time, isn’t it?”

Gulping, Charles activates the app. He’s greeted with a camera feed of a white room, and sitting in that room is James, legs spread, leaning forward.

The door opens, and from the other side steps a beautiful châtain figure, stepping into the room with the highest of heels, her sway impeccable, as if she’s used to walking in such luxury. Though that’s the only thing elegant about her look. Her makeup rests heavily upon her face, obscuring her natural beauty. Her breasts hardly stay inside the overtight straps that are ridiculous to call a top. Her skirt is so tiny that it would expose anything if she bent even a little bit. The only thing covering her womanhood is a thong, the straps of which poke up from the skirt, wrapping her immaculate waist.

“So glad you can join me,” James says, a predatory gleam in his eye.

The woman, no, Alda… Charles’s Alda looks down, gripping tightly to her purse.

“What’s the matter? Ain’t got nothing to say?”

“Let’s just get this over with,” she says, sighing.

“Where’s that fight you showed on the phone yesterday, baby, hm? That fire and determination? Gotta admit, that was hot, but this aura of defeat you got, well, that’s even hotter.

“And the way you fit into those clothes we got you, well,” he whistles, “It’s almost like you’re used to playing the part. You got yourself a secret past you haven’t told your husband?”

Alda winces at his insinuation, then speaks up. “We do this. He’s safe, and then I never have to see you again?”

“Only if I like what you deliver, and I only like the dirtiest of whores.” James says this, rubbing his thigh. “So, you understand the assignment, madame?”

He keeps his legs spread and sits back, his hands moving behind his head as he lounges. “If so, let’s get down to it.”

Alda bites her crimson-painted lips. She looks about herself, yanking a pillow from the bed. Dropping it to the floor, she uses it as cushioning as she sits on her knees before the prisoner.

The dutiful wife shakes as she places her hands on the gross prisoner’s knees, looking up at him with her green-flecked brown eyes, looking for pity or mercy.

But there is none to be had in the eyes of the King of the Prison. He just shrugs and chuckles through his crooked grin.

She works on his button and pulls his pants apart, pulling the leggings down and revealing that massive monster between his legs, throbbing and tall.

“That’s right, bitch. Bet you ain’t seen nothing this big since you said, “I do, ain’t that right?”

Alda closes her eyes, swallowing hard. She shakes her head, gripping the man’s thighs. “N-no, I have not.” She answers truthfully.

“Then I’m glad to provide that mouth of yours a wild ride it’s been craving.” He says, tapping the back of his head. “Now, go ahead, kiss your king’s cock.”

Alda pushes herself forward, her ample chest resting on his thighs as she leans in, pressing her pillowy lips upon the massive member’s tip. Her kiss is agonizingly slow, a loud smack rising up from between the two of them as she finishes the initial kiss. “Like… like that?” she asks.

“It’s good for now,” he says, grabbing her hair tightly and gripping her strands. “But it’s only the beginning. You’ll treat it like you’re in the desert and I’m the oasis. Then, and only then, your punk of a husband will ever see any of my protection, got it?”

She gasps, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Y-uh, yes.”

“Yes, what?” James growls.

“Yes, oh, prison king!” She responds.

“Good,” he says, thrusting her forward against the thing, pressing her nose against the length, rubbing her face against it. “Now, you may suck the king!”

Alda had never expected the message she received from the so-called king of the prison. It came to her attached with a picture of her husband, sleeping, curled up in his bunk, and on it came the threatening warning: He only sleeps this good because he, and you, do what the King says.”

The following message arrived, asking for more nudes, less tasteful this time, with her legs spread, squatting. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the camera.

The subsequent demand said that he wanted to see her mouth. She covered her face.

The next demanded that she show off her ass.

She capitulated, but the whole time she performed the cleaning ritual, she felt dirty, even after sending that image. But surely, this would be the end of it all.

“Next, we meet. Dress slutty.”

The message came with a time. Her heart raced as she saw a different image of her darling Charles sleeping. It couldn’t be helped. She would have to come in. She would have to serve the king.

And that’s how she got into James’s Cell, dressed like a whore with her mouth wrapped around the large shaft of the larger, older man.

Alda coughs, tears running down her eyes as she takes in that salty, bumpy thing, her mascara running as she stares upward, her lips forced down by the calloused hand on the back of her head, forced to kiss at his base, the head poking at the back of her throat.

Alda coughs, gagging on the large thing, spit falling on the sides of the shaft.

He finally lets go, allowing her to press her hands to his knees and pull away. The foamy mix of spit and precum sticks on his dick, bridging between the two of them and dripping down to the floor and onto her chest.

“Damn, girl. Been a while since I got a deep throat from someone. You’re something else, indeed.” He pets the back of her head. “Keep it up this good, and I may just give your husband the VIP treatment—make him my right-hand man and all that shit. He’ll be treated like a prince and shit.”

She coughs, wiping her throat, responding to him with hoarse breaths only.

“Aw, no need to be shy. Now, why don’t you worship these balls of mine,” he says, pushing his hips forward. His cock smushes up against her nose and up over her face, keeping herself from seeing anything but overwhelming her sense of smell with his musk and the fluids they made together.

She whimpers, holding onto his hips. She rolls her tongue out, pulling one of those large, sweaty balls into her mouth, wrapping it in her pillowy and crimson-colored lips. She forces her eyes shut as she sucks on the sack, her whole body shuddering, forcing herself not to wretch at what she has to do.

James groans, his cock twitching, his hand holding tighter to the back of her head. “Damn…” He huffs, letting out a low, bellowing groan. “You really are a whore. Does your husband know?”

He chuckles, “I guess he will know because we’re recording this whole thing.

Alda yelps, pulling back from the ball with a pop, pushing herself away, falling onto her back, and staring at the man with wide eyes. She wipes her lips, shaking her head. “N-no, I am not a whore!” she gasps.

James sits on the bed, resting his cheek upon his knuckles, his elbow upon his thigh. “Hah, coulda fooled me, what with how you look and how you suck dick like your life depends on it.”

“My husband’s life depends on it,” she says, spitting on the floor.

“How noble,” James says. He slaps his knees, picking himself back up. He walks over, squatting in front of her face and grabbing her by the hair. “If you insist you’re doing this for him, then you gotta try to have a little less fun, don’t you think?’

She blushes crimson at the accusation, but she doesn’t respond to him. She won’t give him the satisfaction or entertain the idea that he’s telling the truth. Either way, it’s not something she can process right now, and it’s not something Charles, who is watching this exchange after the fact, can hope to get the answer soon.

James grabs her hair and yanks, pulling her toward the bed. She has to follow him and fall onto her back, her head dangling off the side. From this angle, he can step up right in front of her face and demand her to “open your mouth, bitch.”

When she does, he has such easy access to her mouth and her throat that when he thrusts, he can fuck her face without fear of slamming into the back of her mouth. Instead, he clogs her airway, spreading her throat, showing off the bulge of his monster member as he slaps into her, the sounds that come out of the room coming out as slapping wetness and gurgling gasping.

It is a horrid sound, but it is such a sound coming out of Charles’s Alda. Neither of them knew they could produce such a thing. Alda never learned from her marital life that she could feel such roughness and experience such sensations.

“Don’t you go fallin’ in love now, James says, hand on her collar, pulling his cock back. It oozes onto her nose and cheeks. “After all, I have more fuckin’ ways to destroy you and your body.”

She groans.

“Next, you better have made for fuck sure you took care of that ass.”

“I… I took care of my ass!” Alda groans, lying on the floor, her chest and face against the ground, her hips high in the air. She quivers, closing her eyes.

James slaps Alda’s ass, giving her cheek a firm grip. “This is the position of a girl who knows how to handle a cock,” he says. “You ever let your husband fuck your ass?” He asks this, leaning in over her. He presses his middle finger up against her mouth. “Suck on this, bitch.”

She whimpers, turning her head away, but he frees his other hand to grab her head, twisting it to get to his hand. “I said, suck, bitch, or your man gets it!”

She barely opens her mouth, but that’s enough for James to shove his finger inside. “Make sure to get it nice and wet. You got it. We’re gonna need it.

Her tongue lashes around the length of the digit, lathering it up with the mixture of frothy fluids that she and James had just made, bouncing her head on it much like she did with his cock.

“That’s good,” he says, pulling his finger out, but he makes sure to hook it against her cheek so that when the finger exits, it makes a POP. This display, of course, makes the man laugh, chuckling like a giddy little kid. “Ah, it’s always fun to play you sluts like a god-damned musical instrument.”

Alda remains quiet, licking her lips and bearing the humiliation. However, her face is visible to Charles when she is turned. She sighs, keeping her hips pushed up, and then gritting her teeth when the digit she had just sucked off pushes itself into her asshole.

“This better come out without any extra chocolate!” James says, pushing his finger inside, twisting it, and pumping. “Mmm yeah, white girl ass. There’s nothing quite like it.”

Alda pants, pawing at the ground before her, huffing and puffing as she feels that thing hungrily curl and pump and swirl, spreading her out, preparing her with its wettened state for the main event. “Ah… ha... Nghh…!”

“You ever do this with your husband, huh? You ever do anal?”

“N…. Nugh…. Noo…” she answers, shifting to make it less uncomfortable, no, more pleasurable.

“That right?” he says, chuckling, leaning in, his warm, sweaty body pressing against her back. His humid, growling breath is on her ear. “But this ain’t the first time you’ve had anal, is it?”

She gulps, sighing out in a growl. “N… nuuuh….”

He pulls his finger out, letting it appear in a POP again. “You ever tell your husband about your previous sexcapades?”

Tears well up in her eyes, and she sniffles, “n… nooooh…”

“Ah ha!” the Prison King shouts. “I knew it. The Cuck and the Slut. The whitest story for the whitest of white bread and his hot as fuck French wife.”

“Just… just do it,” Alda whines. “Get it over with.”

“Your first anal in a long time?” He asks, moving his hand up. He hooks it into her mouth, pulling at her lips and making her smile. “Look at that, nice and clean, ain’t it? You must have spent all morning douching yourself like a good slut. Must have felt great, didn’t it?”

“Eeeeeeeeeeh!?”

Meanwhile, Charles sits in his bed, his eyes widening, his mouth agape. His cellmate laughs. “Holy fuck, man, that’s incredible! How the hell didn’t you know your wife is such a slut?”

Charles swallows and pushes himself up, letting out a quick sound, but he stops, covering up his crotch with his pillow.

“Fuck dude, are you getting off to your wife getting fucked by someone else? Getting fucked by a criminal? Not as big of a criminal as you, but a criminal nonetheless.”

“I didn’t,” Charles begins. “It wasn’t…” he tries again. “I’m not…” he is defeated, keeping his head low. The screen’s glow reflects off his face as he watches, unable to tear his face away.

At this point, James has his cock right up in that stretched and primed hole, though he doesn’t push in quite yet. Instead, he holds it there, letting the sensitive skin at the entrance kiss his cock. He continues to play with her face, making her make all sorts of lewd and pig-like looks over toward the camera. “You see this, White Bread? You see how your wife lets me do whatever the fuck I want with her? I got you to thank for this!” He says. “You gave her to me, and because of that, I will take care of you. Your time here will be without pain, and on top of all that, you get yourself free porno of your wife to jerk off to. Won’t that be fun?”

Charles gasps, clutching at his chest. He tries to take deep, slow breaths. Even when he closes his eyes and tries to keep himself from seeing, feeling, and hearing a squeal from his wife or a groan from his Alda, it always brings him back to the moment. It always brings him back to seeing her contorted in so many slutty ways. She’s letting it all happen to her. Does that mean… does that mean she’s enjoying it?

He cannot know what is on her mind at this moment. Could he have ever known what was truly going through his wife’s heart?

“The main event’s coming up, White Bread. I think that’ll be the last time I talk directly to ya,” James says. “I’m gonna enjoy this fine piece of ass. I’m gonna cum in it as a courtesy to you. After all, I don’t want no kid. You wouldn’t be able to raise the little fuck anyway, so this ass is mine, and if you ever get out of here, don’t you ever fuckin’ think of sticking that tiny white dick of yours into my hole, MY ass, got it?”

Embarrassingly, Charles squeaks a “Got it!” to the video file.

Because of this, his cellmate breaks into raucous laughter, clutching his sides and kicking the air. “Hahahahaheeehohoeaaa!”

Those sounds, all the sounds, Charles will never, ever forget.

Charles’s heart drops. What could this mean that James has claimed his wife’s ass? He groans audibly, placing his hand over his mouth to try to stop himself, but it’s too late, and his cellmate looks over the edge, snickering wildly.

“What’s the matter, Whitebread?” asks the cellie. “You thought this would be one and done? Nah, man, it’s been forever since James found himself a fine piece of ass. Your wife’s is his now. Best just be happy he didn’t claim her mouth as his alone, too.”

“Alda,” Charles whimpers, “I’m so sorry.”

“Finish watching the video,” says the cellmate. “Or she would have done all this for nothing. I’ll tell the boss you pussied out, and then all your protection is gone, right?”

Charles nods, returning to watching the video, biting his lip, and fighting the stirring within his body.

James looms over Alda, his large, bulky, fat, sweaty body pressing up against her hooker-dressed form. That fat, colossal cock presses itself to her asshole again, but this time with her butt lubed up with her own spit both from his finger and his cock. The head pushes itself in, filling her without the use of protection.

Alda squeezes her eyes shut, fighting against the feeling of being so overly full. She claws at the floor. Her tits and cheeks are cold against the nasty stuff, her back and ass warm from the weight and exertion of the man on top of her. The slime of his sweat rubs against her, allowing him to slip up and down over her as he pushes and enlarges the hole between her cheeks.

“Good… Daaammn…” he groans as he finally gets himself all the way in deep inside her. He holds onto the position for a bit, panting, nodding, chuckling. “Been so long… since I could find a slut to take me so good.” He laughs, rolling out his tongue and licking at her ear.

Alda shudders.

“Now, the real fun starts.

With that, he pulls back, and with much more force than his initial entry, he shoves himself, thrusting deep into her, slapping his hips against her body.

Alda gasps, her eyes widening. With another thrust, they roll back in her head. With another, her tongue rolls out of her mouth. With another, her gasps rise up to fill the room.

In his bed, Charles breathes quickly through his fingers, the sound of his wife’s gasps filling the room.

“Damn, if you’re not gonna crank it to that,” says his cellmate, “hope you don’t mind if I do.” He snickers at that.

Charles squirms uncomfortably, not wanting to acknowledge the boner between his legs.

James’s voice returns him to the moment. The big man growls into Alda’s ear as he continues humping her, filling her up, his balls slapping against her in loud wet plapping slaps. “You got anything, ngh, to say, ha, bitch?”

“C… Charles…!” she calls out, gasping.

Charles sobs.

“I… I love you… s… so much!” she gasps

“Uh-huh,” says James, wrapping his arms around Alda’s stomach. He fires up his thrusting, shoving harder and quicker into her, going, “plap, slap slap, plap!”

“Ah, I’m, oh, doing, gah, this, nmm, for, yu-aah, youu!”

James lifts her up, resting her now on his lap. This gives Charles not only a view of his wife’s body but of that big fat cock she’s bouncing her on, using his firm, large arms to lift and throw her down.

Her petite form cannot take that without showing off the bulge in her stomach, stretching her out, making her lean back against James, making her scream.

“That’s right, nf, White bread,” James says, kissing her neck. “Your wife is screaming for me. Hah, lucky for you, she still loves ya. How sweet. Now, bitch, work it to show how much you care!”

At that point, she lifts her arms, placing her hands on the back of her head. Her tits bounce, escaping from her small top. She rolls her body. Her eyes flutter, her mouth quirks into a smile. There’s nothing else to it but to admit that she’s actually enjoying herself at this.

How long did it take for her to realize?

Would Charles ever know?

All he can know is that she pushes her chest out and screams, reaching her orgasm, her anus quivering, her pussy squirting, spraying the camera.

James groans, too, and white ooze shoots out from under her, coating the floor and their thighs, making Charles realize that James had just finished inside his wife.

“Ha…. Da… damn…” James says, pulling out from her and letting her fall to the floor.

Alda lies there, catching her breath, shaking her head, looking at the camera with such love. “I… I’m sorry, Charles…” she coos. “But… I think… I think I’m starting… to…”

“Don’t matter,” says James, taking the camera.

“Now then, White bread. If you haven’t already, go ahead and go back to the beginning, and feel free to choke your chicken. Consider that an extra gift to ya.

“And relax, my man. You have my back. You gave me the best bitch in the prison. You’ll live like a prince, sitting at my side at the table. No one will ever fuck with you, and that’s because you’re Charles the Cuck, and the bull protects his cuck.”