put on a show and make it nasty

by Anonymous

Chapter 2: two

Summary:

“My good boy, did just what I said. You did so good, telling me what you wanted.” You praise him again, your tone remaining sweet and low the entire time, not wanting Andrew to think for even a second that you were mocking him. When all you hear on the other end is his heavy, uneven breathing, you decide to cut him some slack. “You wanna watch me play with my tits this weekend?” You ask around a little smirk, slightly twisting in your desk chair as you hear Andrew suck in an unsteady, shocked breath. You’ve never been more grateful to have a private office at work than you are right now.

“Yeah.” Andrew breathes out, already sounding tortured. “Yes, I want—please.”

Notes:

Hi everyone, so sorry for lying about when this chapter would be posted.
This might come across as starting a little slower than ch1, but I promise it is filthy as well lol(esp one section in particular). I just added some more emotional depth to this chapter than exists in ch1

“I’m sorry if I was too…much with you yesterday.” Andrew tells you hesitantly over the phone the next day, since you’re unable to make visiting hours during the weekdays while you work. You freeze with your cell phone in your hand, eyes wide as you try to make sense of what that means, before Andrew continues. “I…I just really liked it, and I’m sorry if I got carried away, if I took it too far for you.”

“No, Andrew.” You reassure him immediately, shaking your head even though you know he can’t see you. You abandon the work you were only fooling yourself into thinking you were focusing on, staring at your desk with wide eyes as you rush to offer him more reassurances, talk him off this ledge he placed himself on. “No, I liked it too. You know I liked it, baby.” 

“I…I know, I just…”

You furrow your eyebrows, suddenly so very fucking confused. Andrew was fine when you left him yesterday, was smiling and pink around the edges and soft with you as you continued on the rest of your visit like you didn’t do what you just did, like you didn’t just masturbate in the prison because Andrew demanded you touch yourself for him, demanded you put on a show for him because you belonged to him. He liked it, you know he liked it, you saw him fall apart through the window with every noise and movement you made, so where is all this second guessing coming from? “Andrew, why— what’s going on?” 

Andrew sighs shakily through the phone, and all you want to do is leap through the stupid fucking phone and take him in your arms, tuck his face into your neck and keep him safe for the rest of his life, keep him safe and warm and loved and protected in your arms, in your home, in your body. You could do it. You could do such a good job of keeping him safe, if he let you this time. 

“I don’t feel good in here. I don’t feel good in…in my body.” 

Your heart stops as soon as you process Andrew’s words. You clutch the phone tighter against your ear as you stop breathing, stop thinking, stop feeling, your entire body shutting down at his admission. A rushing, overpowering noise fills your head as you fold that admission into your mind, as you take his pain and try to do something with it other than cry and scream. You stare blankly at your desk as you feel your face crumble, your lips slightly quivering as Andrew continues to break your heart with his honesty, his pain. 

“You make me feel good. You make me feel good in my body, and I– I couldn’t help it yesterday. I couldn’t stop.” He whispers, clearly ashamed, as if he had anything to be ashamed about, as if it was shameful to demand and chase something that made you feel good when you didn’t, when you didn’t even have the simple comfort of feeling good in your own body. “I just wanted to feel good. I just wanted my— my body to feel good again, and you always make me feel good. You always fix it for me.” 

It’s not sexual, not entirely, you know that. When he says he doesn’t feel good in his body, that all he wants is for his body to feel good again and that you make his body feel good, he’s not talking about how you make him feel good with sex. Not specifically, not exclusively.

He doesn’t feel comfortable in his own body right now. His body is not his own anymore, if it ever was to begin with, forced to conform to every aspect of the prison against his will. He doesn’t feel safe in his own body, at risk of violence and violation and degradation every day, doesn’t feel safe to just exist as a body, in a place like this. He doesn’t feel loved in his body anymore, doesn’t have your gentle touches to take his mind off things, doesn’t have your soothing kisses to calm his breathing, doesn’t have your warmth to bring him even closer to you. 

You aren’t there to remind him that his body is for more than violence, that his body is not just a weapon molded for violence and brutality, that he can use his body for whatever makes him feel good, not just what he’s been groomed into thinking is good for him, for his family. You aren’t there to remind him that his body is gentle, caring, sweet, aren’t there to show him that his body brings you pleasure, takes care of you, makes you feel safe in return. 

His body is no longer cared for, protected, safe, loved. His body and his mind are fractured, and he can’t find piece in either one. Until you offered it to him again, unexpectedly. His body is not his own anymore, and he jumped on the chance to make it feel like it was his own again, to bask in the feeling your body gave his when you touched yourself, when you moaned his name, when you were moving and talking like you were having sex with him. You make him feel safe in his body, always make sure he’s comfortable and wanting when you have sex, always make sure he’s enjoying himself, always make sure to touch him as gently and lovingly as possible, and he just needed the reminder, needed to remember what feelings your body brought out in his own when he was so starved for comfort and love now. 

“Andrew.” You quietly sigh, not meaning to let his name escape your lips, just so— so overwhelmed, so sad and heartbroken by the reality of what is happening to him, what very little you can do to stop it from happening. 

You know something happened to him in here, know something is still happening to him, know that the horrors of what he experienced and continues to experience are worse than you could ever truly fathom. You know he used to come to your visits in such a daze that you were scared he was having a medical emergency, so dulled and sedated that all you could do was beg him for any kind of reaction, plead with his lifeless eyes as you tried to figure out what was going on with him, scream as he was eventually dragged away by a CO and demand they help him. That happens sometimes, still, but not nearly as often as it used to, so it’s either largely stopped or he’s gotten better at hiding it from you. 

He won’t tell you what happened, what’s currently happening to him, what never stopped happening to him after he started his sentence. He won’t tell you about any of it. He won’t tell you who is doing it to him, won’t tell you why it’s happening to him, won’t let you help him with whatever it is, won’t let you within ten feet of whatever goes on beyond the visiting booths. He won’t tell you why he’s sometimes so out of it, why he has bruises and cuts poorly healing on his body, why he falls further from himself with every day that passes. He won’t tell you anything, and you fucking hate it, but you understand. 

“Baby, that’s– that’s okay.” You regroup, sniffing once before continuing. You needed to be quick, you didn’t have much time left with him, didn’t want to waste it debating with yourself over your wording or what exactly to say to him. “That’s not something that you should feel bad about. Of course you wanted to feel good again, how could I ever think that was too much?”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to—”

You love him. You really, really love him, but if he thought for one second that he forced you to fuck yourself yesterday, that the only reason you did it was for him, you might scream. He couldn’t want anything safely, trained to second guess it or himself, built to see anything outside of instruction and demand as something that would only be ripped away from him, and it broke your heart every time. “Andrew, I really liked it, okay? I liked it and if you wanted, I would do it again with you.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” You laugh a little, wondering if there was ever going to be a day when Andrew felt safe enough to want something, when he didn’t expect the worst from people, from situations, from his own expectations and desires. “Or did you miss the part where I fucked myself until I was bouncing on and humping the bench in the visiting room? Did you not hear me whining and moaning and begging like a slut the entire time? Did you miss when I forced an orgasm because you told me to and when I licked the come off my fingers?” 

Sometimes you just had to be direct, especially when you only had minutes to make your point over the phone. 

“Fuck, alright.” Andrew said, and you could just picture his expression right now, could picture the way his eyes would go wide and his mouth would drop open a little, the way he would clench his fists until he knew what to do with himself next. “Alright, we can— we can do it again.”

“No, say that you want it.” You demand, working on this with him too. He has such a hard time expressing any of his wants, even simply saying that he wanted something required it be reworded and reframed to be something other than a personal desire, suddenly something everyone wanted or something the two of you wanted together. He’s never been allowed to want anything safely, comfortably, reliably, always worried it was going to be ripped out from under him or he’d be ordered to get rid of it himself. You were trying to make him understand that he didn’t have to worry about that with you, didn’t have to worry about being denied anything he wanted or having things he wanted taken away by you, that you weren’t going to mold him into a starved, dutiful creature for your own convenience. 

“Tell me that you want to watch me play with my pussy in the prison like a whore who can’t stand to have her wet and needy hole empty for even an hour. Tell me that you want to watch me touch myself and see me come while I visit, ‘cause you like it too.”

He’d never call you a whore, but you know he secretly likes when you talk like that, when you get mean and messy toward yourself, when it’s part of a game and can be easily abandoned outside of sex. Sometimes he could reciprocate, be bossy and domineering in return to your self-degradation, and sometimes he couldn’t. Sometimes he needed you to be gentle, to soothe him, to boss him around and take charge, to set the tone and pace when all he wanted was to feel good and safe with you. You loved it either way. 

“Okay.” He breathes out, in that endearing, heart and pussy clenching way he somehow manages. “Okay, I— I wanna watch you touch your pussy when you visit me. I— I liked it when you came for me, I want…I want to see it again. Please.” 

That went much better than you expected. “Good boy.” You coo over the phone, drinking in Andrew’s pathetic whimper at your praise, can’t help but picture him screwing his eyes shut as he whined and begged for you to call him that again, to give him other things to do so he could keep being good for you. Begging you to call him a good boy as he roughly fucked you in a headlock for the first time, whining and panting in your ear the entire time, needing to know he was doing a good job for you, as if your soaking cunt milking his cock every time he stuffed you full and squeezed your neck wasn’t sign enough. 

“My good boy, did just what I said. You did so good, telling me what you wanted.” You praise him again, your tone remaining sweet and low the entire time, not wanting Andrew to think for even a second that you were mocking him, and when all you hear on the other end is his heavy, uneven breathing, you decide to cut him some slack. “You wanna watch me play with my tits this weekend?” You ask around a little smirk, slightly twisting in your desk chair as you hear Andrew suck in an unsteady, shocked breath. You’ve never been more grateful to have a private office at work than you are right now. 

“Yeah.” Andrew breathes out, already sounding tortured. “Yes, I want—please.”

That was good enough for you. 

~~~

You stride into the visiting room the next day with a bounce in your step and a nervous tingle spreading throughout your limbs that lands heavily in your cunt. It’s an intoxicating, obscene, vulgar feeling, and you can’t get enough of it. 

“Hi.” Andrew breathes as soon as you sit down across from him, eyes sticking and devouring over your body, at what you’re wearing for him. It isn’t overly scandalous, still testing the waters, still finding your comfort zone with this, but it’s definitely revealing, sexy, provocative. It’s definitely enough to have a few strange eyes wandering, leering at your body as you walked toward Andrew, watching the sway of your hips and bounce of your tits as you made your way to him in a lacey corset that tied closed in the front, a ribbon lacing the front together and tying into a bow between your tits. The cups of the corset were too small, couldn’t contain the size of your tits and covered just above your nipples, the lacy edges occasionally shifting and flashing a peek of your nipple to the room, showing off your pretty tits and hard nipples for anyone who bothered to look your way, for anyone who bothered to look close enough and see that the lace of the corset wasn’t actually lined. 

You might as well have been naked. You might as well be naked, for all the corset is actually covering your chest, for all that the corset is containing and supporting your tits, for all that the corset is covering your nipples and keeping them soft and unexposed. You kept your eyes to yourself as you made your way through prison security, kept your head down and shoulders hunched to hide yourself, but it didn’t make a difference. Everyone could see your tits through the thin, light lace, everyone could see that your nipples were already hard and sensitive where they rubbed against the lace, everyone knew why you were wearing the corset and what you were going to do with it. 

Everyone knew that you were going to whore yourself out for Andrew as soon as you sat down, knew that you were going to play with your tits and pinch your nipples until you couldn’t help but grind your pussy against the bench, knew you were going to unlace your corset and play with yourself for him, knew that you were going to play with your tits for Andrew until you were mewling and whining with sensitivity, your poor nipples puffy and aching from how you tortured your body for him. 

They knew that you might push your bare tits up against the visiting window as you rubbed your clit, fogging up the window with your moans and body heat, begging into the phone as you humped your fingers and rubbed your nipples against the window, desperate for any kind of touch. They knew that you might suck on your fingers until they were dripping with your spit and tug on your nipples after, pinching and pulling and rubbing with your spit slick fingers so that you moaned louder, so that every pinch and pull felt dirtier, sloppier, messier. They knew you might duck your head down and shove your tit into your own mouth, sucking and kissing on your nipples while you whined against your skin, pointing your tongue and running a teasing circle around your nipple as you cried, feeling humiliated, degraded, used and then thrown back into the parking lot once he was done with you. They’ve seen all of it before from other whores and sluts, so why would you be any different?

They knew that you were going to debase yourself to unknown degrees once you sat down with Andrew. They knew what you were going to act like a dirty whore as soon as they saw your top, as soon as they saw your sloppy tits spilling out of the corset, as soon as they saw that your nipples were already teased and hard, as soon as they saw how easy it would be to undo the pretty bow sitting in between your tits and slip the corset off your body. They knew you liked feeling like a slut put on display for Andrew, showing off your body for Andrew, debasing yourself for his pleasure, knew you liked the thrill that settled tight in your pussy when you thought about squeezing your tits together and pushing them against the window until you were crying and dripping onto your fingers. They knew you liked it messy and sloppy and dirty, knew that the soft fat of your tits wouldn’t stay that soft and clean for long once you started touching yourself, knew you were just as desperate to get a hand on your tits as everyone else was to see you toy with your body. 

You made sure to lace up the corset as tightly as possible before you left the house, made sure that your tits sat so high and pretty for Andrew, made sure that you were flashing your pushed together tits as you leaned against the visiting counter more than you needed to, made sure that the skimpy waistband of the matching lace thong you bought was hiked high on your hips, clearly showing above the waistband of your pants as you squirmed on the bench. 

“Hi, baby.” You smile at him, forgetting for a moment that you’re about to grope and squeeze your tits until you come, forgetting that you’re going to tease him so much that he’ll be the one begging by the end of it. You were just so happy to see his face, to finally get your time with him, to hear his voice as clearly as you’re able to, considering. 

“How was your week?” He asks you seriously, like he too forgot about your plans once he saw your face, once he got the opportunity for a real conversation with you. 

But you don’t forget for long, aren’t distracted by his sweet smile and gentle voice for long. “It was so frustrating, baby.” You pout, sliding one of your hands across your collarbones, the edges of your fingers grazing your pushed-up tits as you start to touch yourself. You watch Andrew fight with himself to keep looking you in the eye, to keep respectful eye-contact as you tell him about your week, and then fail almost immediately as his eyes dip to your tits again. 

You smirk to yourself as you continue, knowing Andrew couldn’t see it, because he was focused on the way your let your hand drift further down your chest, your manicured nails dipping underneath the top of the corset now, grabbing and tugging at what you could reach, squeezing your tits until you whimpered and left marks on your skin from how rough you were being. “I’ve been so upset this week, you wouldn’t believe it.” 

“What happened?” Andrew asks distantly, voice rough and distracted, but still there, still listening to you even as he licks his lips and eyes you like you’re his next meal. God, you love him so much.

You fondle yourself a little more before you answer him, grabbing your tit from underneath the cup of the corset, pressing your palm into your nipple and lifting your tit, meanly kneading the fat and exhaling heavily as you push and squeeze your tit around. Andrew watches you raptly, his eyes boring into your chest as you play with yourself, toy with your body mean and rough for him, as your exhales start to sound more breathy and needy the longer you grope yourself for him. 

“There were a few cold nights in a row and all the flowers I planted in our garden died.” You cry, as if you were actually close to tears because your flowers died, because the budding flowers were drooping when you checked on them this morning. You force a pout onto your lips, slowly slipping your hand out of the corset with a tiny whine and righting the cup so it covered your nipple again, but just barely. Andrew makes a low, disappointed noise when you stop touching yourself, but he quickly gets over the loss when you lay your thumb on top of the cup of the corset, rubbing tight and fast circles against your nipple over the lace, pinching your nipple between your thumb and index finger when you grow too desperate for your own teasing. 

“I was so sad, Andrew.” You whine, arching your tits into your fingers on your nipple, using the lace stuck between your fingers as you pinch your nipple to tease yourself a little more, to make your hips jump and your lips part around a needy whimper. Andrew could see everything you were doing to your nipple, through the thin and see-through lace, could see how tightly you were pinching your nipple, how hard you were tugging and pulling on it as you moaned, how puffy and tight your nipple was getting, starting to push through the tiny gaps in the lace. 

“I just wanna take my mind of it now, yeah?” You say, trailing your hand off your nipple to the ribbon tying your corset together, tracing the bow that sits between your tits and the crosswork of ribbon going down your torso. After drawing Andrew’s attention to the ribbon, after exhausting how long you could tease him into thinking that now was when you were going to open up the corset, you flatten your hand and rub a wide palm against both of your tits, rubbing horizontally across your nipples and letting your tits naturally recoil, bounce back into their place as the lace rubs your nipples raw and peaked. 

The deep groan Andrew lets out is motivation enough to jump forward a little, to move this along faster than you intended. You were running out of patience too, the tightening and pulsing of your pussy with each teasing touch and grope putting you on edge. “Just wanna take my mind off of it all. Will you help me, Andrew?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll help you.” Andrew promises, shifting in his seat on the other side of the window, scooching up the bench and moving as close as he could to the glass. His eyes bore into your tits, sending another rush of heat toward your cunt. “Whatever you want, I swear.” Andrew pants, licking his lips as you tangle your fingers teasingly in the ribbon hanging down your torso, pretending like you were going to tug on it any second now and bare your tits for him to moan over, to whine and beg for as you touched yourself without the corset acting as a barrier. 

“My good boy, always so sweet to me.” You tease him, smirking when he moans and lets his eyes fully close, his hand jerking against the counter as he loses his composure so quickly. You’re not done though, not by a long shot. “I knew you’d say yes, knew you’d want to help me. You’d do anything to be good for me, yeah?”

“I wanna be good, I do.” Andrew agrees, opening his eyes and nodding wildly, eyes blazing as he watches you continue to play with the ribbon hanging over your chest, tangling and twisting it in your fingers, occasionally making the gesture to tug on the ribbon and undo the corset, but never actually tugging with any real force. “Please, let me good for you.” 

Your cunt pulses, hot and tight as Andrew unknowingly riles you up with his sweet begging, but you stick to your script, stick to your plan to draw this out a little more. You go back to groping your tits over the corset, digging your nails into your fat as you push your tits around your chest and breathe a little heavier, looking at Andrew with your doe eyes as you taunt him just a little more. “I got all dressed up for you, what do you say?”

“Thank you.” Andrew groans, deep and raspy from his chest, his free hand clenching and flexing on the counter in front of him. 

“I think you can do better than that, baby.” You drop your hand from your chest as if in disappointment, letting it fall heavily into your lap as you pretend that Andrew’s throaty gratitude was nowhere near enough for you. “I’m about to touch myself for you, gonna show you my tits and play with them until I’m coming in front of all these people, so I think I deserve a little more than that, yeah?”

“Thank you, I love it, I swear, thank you.” Andrew moans, shifting in his seat, scooching forward as if trying to get closer to you until he realizes he can’t. Your heart sinks at the sight, at the reminder of the wall between the two of you and the phone sending your voice to his, but Andrew doesn’t seem to let it distract him, his cheeks flushing as he continues to thank you and beg you. “You’re so–so good to me, thank you, my perfect girl, let me see you, please.”

You break underneath his begging, his sincerity. You don’t make a show of it this time as you grab the ribbon and tug your corset open, undoing the bow between your tits and the crosswork of ribbon across your torso with a rough tug, digging your hand into the corset roughly as you undo the ribbon holding the top together. “Good boy, thank you.” You breathe out, picking your chin up as you run your hand up your stomach and to your chest, under the open corset this time, your hand rubbing at your bare tits underneath the lace that now hung lose around your body. You couldn’t take the corset off entirely, couldn’t not be wearing a shirt during your visit, but you could get away with an open corset, could get away with your tits falling out and bouncing through the split lace as it hung loosely from your shoulders. 

“Thank you.” Andrew groans mindlessly, staring at your revealed chest and torso, at every inch of soft and smooth skin you reveal for him. “So pretty.” Andrew tells you as you play with your bare tits for him, using one hand to hold and push your tits together, a display of your cleavage for him to devour, pinching one of your nipples that sits underneath your fingertips until you couldn’t stop the whine building in your throat from leaving your mouth. Andrew watched you with a gaping mouth, staring at you like you were a wonder he wasn’t worthy of setting his sights upon. 

“‘S all for you. Pretty just for you, baby.” You promise as you let go of your tits and focus on teasing your nipple now, chest starting to heave as you rub your thumb over your nipple until it turned puffy and tight, peaking underneath your finger until you could pinch and tug at it easily, until you were whining steadily underneath the pain and soreness you were inflicting on yourself and not giving yourself a break. You abuse your nipple meanly, roughly, pulling at yourself until you were crying out with every other breath, hips rocking up into nothing as you stared into Andrew’s eyes and toyed with yourself for his pleasure, as you pinched and rubbed your nipple raw and sore just so he could feel good today. 

You don’t show yourself any mercy as you switch to your other nipple, inflicting the same kind of torture on yourself until you were near tears, rubbing and pinching and tugging until you were mewling Andrew’s name nonsensically, your chest heaving and hips jumping underneath every mean pinch and rough tug to your nipples, every brutal touch you inflicted upon yourself until your nipples were puffy and peaking and raw for Andrew to clearly see. 

“Hurts, baby. So sore already.” You moan weakly, but you don’t make any effort to stop touching yourself, to stop pulling at your nipples and squeezing your tits. Andrew groans loudly through the phone, deep and vibrating as he watches you abuse yourself because he asked, because you love him, because you want him to watch you get off for his pleasure. You graze your fingernail against your puffy nipple, your torso twitching at the new sensation, and repeat the motion a few more times when Andrew licks his lips at the sight, circling your nipple with your fingernail until you grew to like it too much, until you were considering shoving your hand down your pants already. 

On a particularly mean pinch you deliver to yourself, you make sure Andrew is keeping eye-contact with you so he can see the way you jerk underneath your hand, the way your hips buck up from the bench, see the way your mouth parts around a long, needy whine as you hold your nipple too tightly between your fingers and tug, keeping your nipple pulled taut as you mewl in pain and the tingling tightness in your cunt nearly becomes too much to bear, too much to ignore. “Feels so good, feels—fuck, feels good, Andrew.”

“Yeah?” Andrew pants, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles are turning white, a pretty flush steadily staining his face and down his neck, his eyes burning and devouring across your body as you tug at your nipples and flash your tits and whine for him. “Want you to feel good, want—want you to come. Want it to be good for you too.” 

“It is.” You release your nipple from the tight pinch you had it in and instead go back to rubbing, soothing over it gently with your thumb. You straighten out your spine from where you had started to curl in on yourself in pleasure, arching your back and pushing your tits forward for Andrew to see, the open halves of the corset falling further away from your chest and exposing more of your tits to the room. A deep, low groan that sounds like it was punched out of Andrew fills your ears, and you resist the temptation to close your eyes and imagine you heard that noise directly from mouth and not through a phone. “Feels so good, baby, touching myself for you, playing with my tits for you. Wish you could feel how wet I am, fuck—fucking soaked just from touching myself for you.”

Another tortured moan is pulled from Andrew’s throat, this one impossibly deeper than the previous one. Fuck, he really liked this, liked it so much he was turning red and strangling the phone in his grip as he pressed himself as close as he possibly could to the glass window. You liked it too, weren’t lying about how wet you were, how you were soaking your panties already, barely resisting the urge to hump your cunt into the bench or start rubbing at your clit right now. You liked to touch yourself for Andrew, liked a little rough pulling and pinching on your nipples, liked when your cunt pulsed and fluttered around the bite of pain when you kept toying with yourself after the point of sensitivity, liked putting on a show for Andrew so everyone could see how well you took care of him, how well you whored your body out just so your boyfriend could feel good. 

You give your nipples a break and go back to kneading and squeezing the fat of your tits, making sure to keep your spine straight and back arched as you touched yourself, knocking the edges of the corset out of the way of your chest so that Andrew could have a largely unrestricted view of your chest, tits heavy and full as they hung from your chest and slightly bounced with your movements. Your nipples stung as your palm pressed against them as you groped your chest, raw and sensitive to any kind of touch after you were relentless earlier, your mouth falling open around a mewl as you rubbed your palm roughly into your nipple and squeezed your fingers into your tit, the fat of your tit bulging around the space of your fingers.

“You sensitive?” Andrew breathes through the phone, and you barely have enough mental capacity to remember you need to respond to him with something other than a wild nod. 

“Yeah, fuck, ‘s sensitive.” You whine, your cunt pulsing for Andrew’s voice asking if you were sensitive, at how you had all the power to stop touching your tits but you weren’t, because Andrew liked to watch you play with your tits, liked when your nipples were puffy and tight for him to look at while your tits bounced underneath him as he fucked you or bounced in his face as you rode him. You aren’t really thinking as you open your mouth and start babbling, mind starting to fracture as your body wars with itself over the pleasure of pushing yourself too far and the pain of touching your oversentitive body. “Wish—wish you could suck on my tits. Fuck, I want—want you to suck and kiss my tits until they aren’t sore anymore, ‘till they’re soft and wet from your mouth and you can’t stop even as I beg you for more.”

You blink to yourself after you realize what you’ve said. It isn’t that Andrew doesn’t like that or that he’s never done that to you—he loves for you to shove your tit into his mouth and have him suck and kiss your nipple until you peaked against his tongue, loves to suck on your tits until you’re bruised and whining and pushing your cunt against any part of him that you can reach, loves to suck and bite and kiss all over your tits until he was drooling and humping the bed. It’s just—he loves it so much, loves the warm weight of your tit in his mouth, and you don’t want to taunt hum unfairly with the image of it, don’t want to beg him for something neither of you can actually deliver on. 

Andrew doesn’t seem to have any such reservations, thankfully. He moans loudly, surely catching the attention of a few people, as he lets his forehead fall against the window pane, his skin molding against the glass with the force of it. A flash of relief sits pleasantly in your chest at the sight, with the confirmation that you didn’t push him too far or in a way that wasn’t fun, and go back to gripping and squeezing your tits, rough with your touches to the point where you leave little crescent marks where your nails bit into your skin. 

“Yeah, baby, you wanna suck on my tits? Get me in your mouth until I’m all puffy and sensitive, kiss and lick my nipples until I’m begging you to come, give me love bites until everyone knows I’m yours?” You ask him again, squirming in your seat as the imagine riles you up too, as you feel another pulse of slick coat your panties and stick to your cunt. You want it too, probably just as desperately as Andrew wants it, and you can’t stop yourself from running your mouth a little more, from going back to tugging and pinching on your nipples as you share more of your filthy fantasies. 

“You could fuck my tits too, get me all covered in your spit and drool all over me—fuck my tits so good after that, so wet for you when I push my tits together and make it tight for you, squeezing your cock so good with my tits—”

“Fuck.” Andrew groans, interrupting you, but it’s for the best, really, because you break off your sentence with a desperate whine anyways, caught up in your own fantasy as you tug at your nipple hard enough for it to hurt. Andrew picks his gaze up as you continue to make needy, desperate noises for him, staring at you from under his eyebrows as you pull on your nipples and bite your lip through your mewling moans, chest heaving underneath your hand as you finally reach your breaking point. 

“You could fuck my tits and my mouth at the same time.” You gasp, the idea falling into your mind as your mouth hangs open through a particularly desperate moan. Andrew continues to stare at you like he’s never seen a creature like you before, like he’s amazed by the filth you can come up with, like he never wants to let you go, ever. “Could fuck my tits while I—I keep my mouth open, keep my tongue out for you so I could suck your cock too—-I’d be whining and begging you so much, it wouldn’t be hard to— to keep my mouth open for you to use, stuff me full of your cock to keep me quiet so you could just use me, use my tits and then shove your cock in my mouth when I started begging for you—”

Your moaning fantasy suddenly turns into desperate whines, needy, single syllable, high-pitched noises, nothing more than vibrations sent through your pressed together lips but somehow still sounding so dirty, so obscene and vulgar, that you can only think to pair it with the wet sound of your fingers inside your cunt now. You take your hand off your tit as you get your knees underneath you on the bench, your heels pressing into your ass as you arch your back and lean toward the window, your torso pushed toward Andrew and your tits hanging and bouncing in front of the window as you shove your hand down your pants. 

“Wanna do that when you come home.” You beg as you stuff yourself with two fingers immediately, teasing your clit with your thumb as you roll your hips into your hand, making your tits bounce for Andrew to ogle through the window. Andrew looks like he’s been robbed of all of his thoughts at your sudden change in position, this sudden attachment to your filthy fantasy that started as you just running your mouth, his mouth hanging open and his eyes locked on your tits bouncing practically in his face. “Want—want you to fuck my tits and my mouth at the same time, fuck—fuck my cunt first and get your cock dripping before you use my tits, before you fuck my face. Want you to hold my mouth open and force my tongue out when you do, just taking me, using me, please—”

“I will. We will—we’ll do that.” Andrew promises, putting one of his hands against the window. You can’t reciprocate his touch without taking your hand out of your cunt or putting the phone down, both inconceivable ideas to you at the moment, so you just nod, eyes burning as your cunt tightens around your fingers and soaks you further at his promise. You rock your hips more forcefully into your hand as your cunt pulses with promise of an orgasm, your tits swinging with how hard you’re riding your fingers, bouncing as if you were riding Andrew’s cock and whining for another orgasm, your cunt soaking and aching for more than just your two fingers as you massage your clit underneath your thumb. 

“Gonna suck your cock while you fuck my tits.” You promise too, distracting yourself with the fantasy when you start to get distracted by the idea of taking Andrew’s cock. “Gonna—gonna lick you so sweet when your cock brushes my tongue, gonna try and suck you when I have your cock in my mouth, gonna—gonna beg you to fuck my face as you use my tits like a cunt, telling me to keep them tight around you or else you’ll stop, using my tits and my mouth ‘till I was crying and gagging around you and still begging for more, still begging even with my mouth stuffed and my tits being used—”

“Jesus.” Andrew moans, eyes wild and hungry as he devours your every word and your every move. “You really want that? Want me to— to use you like that?”

“Yes.” You mewl, nodding your head wildly as you curling your fingers inside your hole and fucking yourself roughly, pushing yourself toward your orgasm as you whine and moan, as your cunt drips down your fingers and the wet, obscene sounds of your cunt ring loudly in your ears. You feel the pit in your cunt tighten and pulse as you let your gaze drop down to your body, as you watch your bare tits bounce in front of the window and see your wrist working furiously in you pants and your thighs spread wide on the bench, as you think about the show you’re putting on for Andrew, as you feel so dirty knowing that other people are watching too, watching you show off for Andrew and make him feel good, watching your body and knowing that you’re so easy for Andrew. 

A dirty whore, with your tits bouncing in the air for anyone to see, for anyone to get off too. A needy slut with her hands down her pants and her ass hiked into the air as she got herself off on her own fingers and it still wasn’t enough. A filthy, needy thing that’s no better than her needy pussy, desperate enough for something to fill her that she’d use her own fingers while a room full of people watched her whine and moan for it. A desperate slut, shamelessly begging for her boyfriend to fuck her tits and her mouth at the same time, begging to be used until she was crying around a cock, until she was nothing more than a pretty pair of tits covered in his spit and come. 

“Gonna come.” You gasp, arching your back deeper as you roll your hips harder into the stretch of your fingers, into the mean press of your thumb on your clit. Your cunt flutters around your fingers, wanting a cock, wanting to pull Andrew’s cock deeper into your hole, wanting to squeeze and clench around Andrew’s cock so he could fill your hole with his come, soak you even deeper than your own come could, claim you and leave you dripping obscenely with his come. You whine as your eyes fall closed, bouncing on your hand as you fuck your fingers out of rhythm with your hips, falling on your fingers as you fuck them into your cunt, the wet sounds of your cunt hitting your ears obscenely. “Gonna come for you, Andrew, please, I‘m so close—”

“C’mon, give it to me.” Andrew’s voice rumbles deep in your ear, and with your eyes closed, you imagine that you’re in your own bed, Andrew right beside you, begging you to come on your fingers for him, imagine that you’re fucking yourself to tease him, to make him wait for your cunt, because Andrew was teasing you by making you wait. You imagine he’s right next to you, seconds from touching you himself, seconds from pinning you on your back and throwing your legs over his shoulders and stuffing you full of his cock you were close to begging for. “Please, sweetheart, wanna see you come, wanna see you feel good.”

You feel your orgasm flow through you like a snap, a tension in your body suddenly breaking as you come around your fingers, grinding your hips as you continued to fuck yourself and rub at your clit, drawing out your orgasm as your thighs tremble and your cunt clenches around your fingers. You know you’re being too loud, know you’re rocking back onto your fingers too rough, know your bouncing your body so hard your tits are swinging out of the undone corset, know everyone is staring at you as you fuck yourself stupid on your fingers and it feels—it feels dirty, filthy, wrong, but it also makes your cunt pulse in a way nothing else does, makes you come so hard you have to catch your breath when you imagine everyone watching you come for Andrew, for Andrew’s pleasure. 

You soak around your fingers, come sticking and cloying as you slowly slide your fingers out of your cunt with a little whimper, falling back onto your heels as you take your fingers inside your mouth, sucking your fingers clean of your come. It was more efficient than anything, but you knew Andrew liked it, remembered the way Andrew had to close his eyes the last time you did this for him. 

“Love you.” Andrew breathes out, and you finally have a free hand to push against the window, finally have a free hand to mirror his own on the window pane, gently smiling as you press your hand against the glass and imagine you can feel the warmth of his skin through it. “I love you, thank you.”

~~~

You don’t fuck yourself every time you visit him, of course. You do continue to have visits where you dress like a sane person and keep your hands solely on the phone or the window, where you don’t bounce on your fingers until you’re mewling and coming all over yourself, where you aren’t overcome by a desperate, slutty horniness and lose all sense of yourself as you rub your clit raw and cry for Andrew the entire time. 

Today is one of those days, a day where you didn’t plan to make yourself come during the visit, and thank God for that. After you get through security and tell the CO who you’re here to visit, they check their records to give you a direction to follow to the appropriate visiting room, as if you haven’t been coming here for two years, as if you couldn’t navigate this awful place with your eyes and ears stuffed. 

“Follow me.” The CO says, brisk and slightly rude, and you barely resist rolling your eyes as he leads you away from the security screening and to the hallway you take to the visiting room. On autopilot, desperate to start your time with Andrew, you turn to take a left down the hallway, the left you’ve taken every weekend for two years, until the CO sucks his teeth at you and you realize you’re not following him anymore. “This way, c’mon.” The CO demands, gesturing impatiently for you to turn and go down the right side of the hallway, a corner you’ve never been down before. 

“No, I—I visit from the room over here.” You try to explain, shaking your head as you glance down the left side of the hallway again. You figured there was more than one visiting room, there had to be, but for two years you were always in the room down the left side of the hall, so why would that randomly change today? Why was the CO bringing you to a different room? Why did he think Andrew was in a different room today? “My boyfriend is always in this room.” You try again, a hint of your sudden anxiety bleeding into your words as you start to worry about Andrew. 

“Well, he’s not today.” The CO is clearly losing losing what little patience he had with you to begin with, getting annoyed that you’re not listening to him right away, like he’s probably become accustomed to in his line of work. You silently seethe for a moment, pissing yourself off with that thought, before you force yourself to exhale heavily and relax. You can’t get mad at the CO, because that would be more trouble than it was worth, because that would have severe repercussions for Andrew and inconvenient ones for you. 

You turn and follow the CO down the right side of the hallway, every step you take cautious as you can’t help but look around nervously. You’ve never been on this side of the prison, you have no idea what’s down here or what you’re being led to, and while you can handle yourself, while Andrew taught you very well how to take care of yourself when he wasn’t around, you were scared. There was only so much you could do against someone who had the clear upper hand, who had the element of surprise and a loaded gun to back it up. There was only so much worrying about Andrew you could stand before you had to act. 

“Can you just tell me what’s going on? Is—is my boyfriend okay? Is he hurt?” You take a few hasty steps to catch up more closely with the CO, letting your voice reveal how desperate you were for even a tiny piece of information, for even a shred of understanding of what was going on here. There is always the sizeable worry you carry in the back of your mind that when you show up for your visit, Andrew will be in the infirmary, recovering from a beating or stabbing or worse, that he won’t be recovering and he’ll be—

You can’t think about that right now. If he was, if he— if Andrew got hurt, surely the prison would have notified you somehow. Surely someone would have called you to let you know, at the very least, that something happened to him and how he was recovering. Someone would have called you, you have to believe. Andrew had to be fine, because there was no other option for him, for you. He was fine. He was okay, he was safe, he was unharmed. 

Fear roiled in your stomach as you were led deeper into the prison, to a locked, secure door you had never seen before. Your hands shook as the CO ignored your questions, as he didn’t even spare you a second glance when you were clearly scared and confused and desperate for information. Your eye the door warily, as if any second now it might slide open and reveal your worst nightmare, when the CO suddenly steps to the side and uses the intercom to announce your arrival. 

You stand in silence with the guard for a beat, stomach unsettled and in knots, your hands still shaking and heart thudding against your chest, white noise building in your ears with every second you’re made to wait, more questions on the tip of your tongue because you just need to know what’s happening—

The door finally buzzes open, and when it slides open wide enough to reveal what you were brought to, why today was different from the last two years, you nearly burst into tears before you even lay eyes on Andrew. Relieved, happy tears, because what you’re looking at might be the best thing thats happened for the two of you since Andrew got sentenced and locked up. This might be the greatest relief you could have ever hoped for, with Andrew in a place like this. 

It’s an open visitation room. Instead of talking to Andrew through a shitty window and even shittier phone, you can now talk to him without any barriers. You can talk to him without a phone, without a window blocking you, without a thick concrete wall keeping you separated. In the open visitation room, you can sit next to Andrew at a shared table, you don’t need to use a phone for him to hear you, you can see him without a blurry window blocking him. You might even be able to touch him. You might be able to give him a hug, might be able to wrap your arms around him and tuck his face into your neck, might be able to hold him and touch him with the utmost love and care he’s been starved of for the past two years. 

You shove past the CO without another word, rushing into the room and scanning all of the tables for Andrew, breathing heavily and looking around wildly for him in the sea of men with short hair and the same clothes. You find him at a table that’s lining the wall of the room, close to where a CO is standing to watch over the rest of the room, his tense back facing you, his spine and neck a painfully straight line as he sits with his hands folded in front of him. Your heart breaks at the sight, at how scared he is, how unsure he is with himself and the new room, as if he still couldn’t believe that this was real, that you were going to show up here any moment and be able to visit him without any barriers. 

You quickly make your way across the room, nearly running to him, and before you can even spare a second to think about if you were actually allowed to touch him, you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Andrew startles violently at your touch, entire body jerking underneath your careful touch, and you finally let your eyes well with tears as he slowly turns to face you with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

“Oh, God.” You whisper, unable to resist anymore, unable to keep your hands to yourself now that Andrew was right in front of you, his body right before yours without a wall in between the two of you, and blink through your falling tears as you reach desperately for his shoulders and haul him standing, furiously wrapping your arms around him and pressing your fingertips into his back far too forcefully, holding him tight enough to bruise. You tug his body as close to yours as you possibly can, luxuriating in the feel of his chest pressed against yours and his back underneath your hands and your head tucked into his shoulder. 

Andrew collapses into you in pure relief, desperation vibrating through every inch of his body as he clings to you in return, clenching his hands around your waist and lower back as he struggles to settle into the reality that this is happening, that he was touching you and holding you for the first time in two years. He tucks his head into your neck as he trembles in your hug, and you close your eyes around a breathless sob as Andrew exhales shakily against your neck, trying to bury himself impossibly deep into your skin, trying to crawl into the safety of your body now that he could. His hands claw at your body underneath your t-shirt, fingers digging into the give of your waist and the stretch of your lower back, his nose pressing forcefully against your neck as he tries to hide inside your body, his legs nearly tangling with yours as you pull him close and he tries to get even closer. 

“Andrew.” You gasp, sliding one of your hands up his back and into his hair, pressing your finger pads tightly against the back of his skull until he collapses further into your body, until you feel the warm sting of his tears against your neck. Your heart beats against your chest in an exhilarating, panful rhythm, happy beyond measure that you can visit Andrew like this but crumbling beneath all of the pain Andrew is finally releasing into your hold. “Oh—oh my God, Andrew, baby. I love you, I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Andrew croaks out, his voice hoarse and trembling, shaking in line with the seemingly endless tremors wracking through his body. More tears fall from your eyes when you recognize the pain in his voice, the fracturing happening in his mind and body as he’s finally held in your hands again, as he’s finally touched with love and affection for the first time in two years. Two long years without him, and how you’re both trying to crawl into each other’s skin and ease the wretched pain that’s built up over those years, ease the weight that’s fallen upon both of you without the other around. 

You pull back from Andrew slightly, just enough to pull his face out of your neck, swallowing thickly at the pitiful, wounded noise Andrew lets out when you separate your bodies a little bit. You let your hands travel to either side of his face, holding his cheeks in your palms and letting your thumbs rest against his cheekbones, the rest of your fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his head. You offer him a trembling, disbelieving smile of your own once you can see his face again, eyes swimming with your tears as you try to wrap your mind around this moment yourself. You can’t believe you’re touching him. You can’t believe you’re holding him, comforting him with something other than your voice, can’t believe you’re feeling the warmth and texture of his skin underneath your hands after two years. 

“I love you. I missed you.” You breathe out, rubbing your thumbs gently against his cheekbones as his eyes flutter closed, as if in pain. You can see his chin tremble for a moment, can see the thick swallow he forces down his throat and the stuttering inhale he pushes into his lungs, before his chin steadies again, before he isn’t at immediate risk of crying anymore. He doesn’t want to publicly cry in the prison, and you can understand that. You can’t really care about anything other than the fact that he’s here, in your hands, standing right in front of you. “I—I can’t believe this is really happening, I can’t believe I get to touch you, oh—”

You break off with a sharp gasp, causing Andrew to open his eyes in response to your sudden noise. You don’t think about the practicality of it, don’t think about what you’re probably allowed to do and prohibited from doing while visiting, don’t think about any repercussions or consequences as you tighten your grip on Andrew’s face and pull him toward you, as if to kiss him. Andrew’s eyes flash in surprise even as his lips part for you, as if it’s a reflex burned into his nervous system at this point, his pretty mouth opening for you so sweet as you get on your toes and tug his face toward yours for a kiss, your pulse hammering in your ears when he’s close enough to breathe against your face, until the sharp sound of a whistle blows next to you and breaks the spell. 

“No kissing.” A CO breaks the spell, staring at you and Andrew until you drop your hands from his face and take a step back from him. Andrew complies immediately, locking up his body when the CO blows the whistle and tells him to separate from you, but you’re much less forgiving about the order, glaring at the CO the entire time Andrew shutters himself away from you and locks away his carefully drawn out emotions. You miss the moment you were sharing immediately, not even necessarily the taunting promise of a kiss, but just holding him, feeling him breathe against your neck, squeezing him tight enough to release any tension he was hanging onto. 

“It’s okay. It’s alright, sit.” You tell Andrew, gesturing to the table he was sitting at before, and after a quick glance around the room, you surmise that you probably can’t sit on the same bench around the table as Andrew, but you could sit on the bench next to him, each of you could sit at the very edge of two separate benches at the same table and get away with it. You sit like that, inches separating you and Andrew this afternoon, your knees occasionally bumping against one another as the two of you take a beat to just look at each other, to try and accept the fact that this is really happening, that you’re in the same room without any barriers today. 

“So, um, what the hell is going on?” You ask around a wet laugh, voice getting choked up as your eyes well with tears again, a wobbling smile forcing its way onto your face as Andrew’s face breaks around a careful smile too. 

~~~

Now that you knew open visits were a possibility, were a reality for the rest of his sentence, you do some research. You dive into corners of the internet you never even knew existed, would have been happy to go the rest of your life never knowing existed, devour Reddit threads and seedy Twitter accounts for ideas and inspiration on how to fuck yourself when you visit Andrew, tricks and tips to be discreet as you touch yourself in a more open room. Luckily, and perhaps strangely, there were many people seeking the same information you were, many people who were discussing online how to fuck themselves for their boyfriends and husbands while they visit them, many people sharing their own stories and tips and ideas for you to steal and transform however you needed to best suit you and Andrew. 

You had planned to just touch yourself like everybody else did in the visiting room with the phones, wear your slutty outfits and finger yourself until you came, but now that you could physically share the same space as Andrew without a wall in between the two of you, now that you could touch him for whatever few seconds you had, you had a lot more possibilities to play with. 

~~~

“Hi, baby.” You whisper against Andrew’s ear as soon as you walk up to him, throwing your arm around the back of his neck and keeping his head tucked tight against your shoulder. Andrew accepts your hug immediately, sliding himself as close to your body as he possibly could and pressing his palms tightly into your lower back. “I missed you.” You press a quick kiss to the shell of his ear as you keep whispering to him, smirking to yourself as a shiver travels down Andrew’s spine when you kiss him. 

“Missed you too.” Andrew rumbles against your ear too, hands flexing against your lower back, and you wait, wait through precious seconds you don’t have until Andrew builds up the courage to ask you, “Kiss me again? Please?”

You swallow back a groan as you press another secret kiss to his ear, to his temple, to his neck, your lip gloss sticky and shiny on his skin, leaving a mark that someone would have to really look for to notice on him. You tighten your arm around his neck as you press another lingering kiss to his neck, making sure that your lips stick and pull away slowly from his skin due to your lip gloss, delighting in the shiver that racks through his body again. You hold back every urge that is surging through your body right now to give him a love bite, to sink your teeth into his skin and not let go until you leave a mark on him, keep a strangling grip on your self control so you don’t pull his head out of your neck and kiss him on the mouth, sweet and devouring, leaving a mess of lip gloss all over his mouth until it was clear that he was yours, that you had claimed him as yours.

You couldn’t do any of that, of course, so you gratefully settle for pressing tiny, secret kisses onto his neck, tucking your face against his and breathing him in, holding him tighter as he lets out little whimpers and tremors when your lips touch his skin. You would figure out a way to give him more of your kisses, eventually, whether from your own mind or from some scouring on a seedy blog, maybe paying off someone to distract the COs for a minute so you could kiss Andrew to your hearts content, for as long as you were able, until you were forced to pull back from him. Four years was a long time to think about things like that, a long time to come up with ideas and figure out what works in Folsom. 

Pulling your mind away from that dark spiral, from that depressing train of thought, you get yourself back on track for what you actually planned to do today. You feel the fizzle of anticipation build low in your belly before you even do anything, before Andrew can even suspect anything, a pulsing kind of tingle spreading throughout your cunt as you think about what you’re about to do, what you’re about to give Andrew. You came up with his idea yourself, so you’re especially proud of it, especially eager to see how it will play out, especially eager to see how Andrew responds to it. 

“I came on these three times before I drove over here.” You whisper against the shell of Andrew’s ear as you reach into your sleeve and discretely slip a pair of soaked panties into the waistband of his pants, throwing your arm back around his neck in the next second. No one sees you do it, no one even suspects anything, because you and Andrew are practiced at things like that. Andrew made sure you were just as good as him, should the skill ever be needed. You doubt he ever imagined you would use it to slide a pair of come soaked panties into the waistband of his pants, ensuring that the wet crotch pressed against his bare stomach as you did so, but needs must. 

A deep shiver travels through Andrew’s body at either your admission, how closely you’re speaking to his ear, or at the sudden wetness against his stomach. Maybe all three. You feel the tremble wrack through his body as you hold him, as you rub a firm hand against his too-short hair and with your other hand, using only the heel of your palm and keeping your fingertips raised, rub your panties into his belly, trying to rub your slick and come into his skin as best you could through his clothing. “Feel it, baby? Feel my come on you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Andrew pants into your ear, his hands spasming on your lower back as his hips twitch against yours, into the pressure you’re applying low on his stomach. He isn’t hard, but you didn’t think he would be. He clearly likes it, is enjoying himself immensely right now, and that’s enough for you, it’s perfect for you. It’s everything to you right now. “I—I feel it, I want it, it feels so good.” Andrew groans, his voice low and deep, vibrating through you as he speaks so close to you. 

“You have it, Andrew. It’s all yours, remember?” You continue sweetly, smirking to yourself as you hear a repressed moan choke off in Andrew’s throat, as you feel the vibrations rumble through his chest and against yours. This is going so much better than you ever thought it would, and you thought about this moment a whole fucking lot this week. “Every time I come, it’s all for you—I was only thinking about you when I was touching myself.”

“They’re so wet, so—fucking soaked on me.” If Andrew was speaking above a hoarse whisper, you think his voice would have come out as a whine, as a pathetic and desperate whine you would have loved to hear, would have loved to coo over until he was really whining for you. His desperate, tortured groaning was pretty good too, though. “How— how are they still so wet?”

“I got a hotel close by.” You tell him, dragging your nails over the back of his skull and delighting in the way Andrew grunts into your ear. You don’t do that often, a rare indulgence you allow yourself instead of driving the too many hours to visit him each weekend, but for this to work, for your panties to still be wet and warm by the time you saw Andrew, you had to be close to the prison. 

You had to get a hotel room, so you could give yourself three orgasms with your panties on and ensure that they would still be dripping by the time you saw him, that your panties would have your come and scent and warmth still clinging to them as you rubbed them into Andrew’s skin and taunted him with the feel of it all. You had to be sure that they would stay slicked and dripping and scented and wet by the time you got here, after you wiped the crotch of the panties against your hole every time after you came, after you shoved the panties deep into your aching hole one last time and rubbed the rough lace against your clit as you came all over them for Andrew. 

“It’s so close they didn’t even have time to dry. Isn’t that lucky?” You ask rhetorically, because it wasn’t luck, not when you searched for the closest hotel to the prison that still looked safe as soon as you decided to do this with him. It wasn’t luck, because you made yourself come three times so you could guarantee that your panties would still be wet when you gave them to him. It wasn’t luck, because you wouldn’t rely on something as finicky as luck with this, with Andrew. 

“Alright, separate.” A CO says behind Andrew, letting you know that your time to hug Andrew was through. You restrain yourself and don’t glare at the CO as you slowly pull back, don’t want to draw any extra attention to the two of you or give the guards any more reasons to observe the two of you more closely than they should. You aren’t done with Andrew yet, and you would hate for this moment to be ruined because you couldn’t control your face or obvious hatred for the COs here. 

“I touched myself again in the car too, just before coming in here.” You continue against his ear as you pull back from the hug, and using the hand that was on his stomach, quickly swipe your sticky fingers against his lips as he takes his head out of your neck. Your fingers that are sticky from your come, your fingers that are giving Andrew a taste of you for the first time in two years. You made sure not to touch anything with those fingers as you walked into the prison or held Andrew, made sure to shove your fingers deep into your sopping cunt and coat them before leaving your car, made sure that Andrew would actually have something to taste when you touched him right now. 

Andrew stares at you like he’s never seen anything like you before, eyes wide as your hands falls back to your side and you stand before him as he processes your words. You watch it happen in real time, watch his eyes blink around the recognition of what you just said and did, watch a flush start to build high on his cheeks, watch his mouth open and close until he can find the right words to express himself to you. “Oh, God.” Andrew groans, eyes fluttering closed and looking pained, immediately licking his lips, licking any residual taste or texture he was able to get after you rubbed your come against his mouth. His eyes fly open once he was finished licking his lips, once he licked every last drop and taste of your come from his lips, eyes crazed as he stares down at you and takes a halting step closer to you, remembering himself at the last second. 

“Please, I need more. Again, please—” Andrew begs, his voice rising enough to draw attention, and you sooth him before a CO can catch onto what you’re doing, what you’re talking about. 

“Okay, it’s okay. Relax, I’ll give you more.” You whisper, brushing your fingers against his as you sit down at the table, gesturing for Andrew to follow along with you as you tangle your fingertips against his and rub any lingering come from your fingers onto his. You watch as Andrew immediately brings his hand to his mouth, pressing his fingers against his lips and underneath his nose, smearing any come you might have transferred onto his hand against his lips, fucking sniffing his fingertips like he could smell your cunt well enough from a brush of your fingers. 

Andrew licks his lips again, licking any taste of you he can get, his tongue edging against his fingertips to try and get a stronger taste of you, and he must find one, because when the tip of his tongue runs along his fingertips he moans again, hanging his head low and hiding his face as he continues to lick over his fingers, the line of his shoulders tight and strained, like he’s holding himself back, like he’s fighting with himself to not shove his fingers in his mouth and suck them clean. You stare at him, mouth hanging open in shock and awe, watching Andrew desperately lick and sniff at his fingers for even the barest taste of your come, of your cunt, watch as Andrew acts like a needy, desperate thing for you during your visiting hour. It’s intoxicating, addicting, unbelievably attractive to watch your boyfriend resort to licking his fingers for a little taste of your come. 

“I’ll give you more before I leave.” You whisper, voice rough as you watch Andrew fall apart after getting a taste of you once again, squirming in your seat as Andrew’s desperation drives a hot pulse straight through your cunt. You were always going to touch yourself before you left and give him more of your come, were always going to swipe your fingers in your sopping cunt and rub your come covered fingers against his mouth during your goodbye hug, but you felt like he needed to hear that now, felt like it would be cruel to leave him wondering when his next taste of you would ben when he was practically falling apart right now. “I’ll give you another taste when I say goodbye, I promise.” 

“Thank you.” Andrew groans, head still hanging low, shoulders trembling underneath the tense line of his neck. He sets his hands, now licked clean, down on the table in front of him, his fingers flexing and clenching around nothing as he fights to get control of himself again, as he fights to come back from the moment he tasted your come and never fully recovered. “Need—I need it, thank you. Need to taste you again.”

“You will, baby.” You promise him, trying to keep your thoughts from spirling toward him tasting you when he comes home, sitting on his face when he’s home and riding him for hours, humping his face until he’s dripping in your come and every brush of his tongue on your pussy has you whimpering from oversensitivity. He’ll get another taste of your cunt in an hour and not in four years, and that’s what you should be focusing on. 

“Are my panties still wet for you?” You ask Andrew, getting the two of you back on track, back on the original plan you had designed for him today. Andrew startles, like he had somehow forgotten that a pair of your soaked panties was stuck in his waistband, like he was so undone by a little taste of your pussy he forgot that you had given him a pair of your panties just before that. You scooch closer to him, knees bumping into his legs as you sit at the edge of your bench and face Andrew as he keeps his legs underneath the table, probably for the best. This also needed to be discreet, and it probably wouldn’t be if Andrew was facing you with his legs spread while you touched your panties inside his pants. 

“You still feel me on you?” You look around the room quickly, subtly, waiting for a moment when there weren’t any eyes on you, and when you had your opportunity, you slide your hand into Andrew’s lap and press your palm onto the panties you can feel through the waistband of his pants, rubbing the wet crotch into his skin again. Andrew’s hips jump underneath your touch as he looks at you with wild, pained eyes, desperate and ragged as his nostrils flare and his eyes burn as you rub your come into his skin, as you toy with the panties through the waistband. 

You don’t touch his cock, don’t know if it would be appreciated yet, but you know the panties are brushing and rubbing against his cock, know the dry parts of the panties are hanging down by his dick while the wet crotch is pressed against his belly, hopefully getting sticky and wet with your come, hopefully dripping down his belly and onto his cock. You know he likes this, even when you aren’t touching his cock, know he’s feeling really fucking good just from you rubbing your come soaked panties into his skin and teasing him about it, and that’s enough for you. 

“I have my hotel room all weekend. D’ya know that that means?” You don’t give him the opportunity or time to try and guess what answer you’re looking for, just continue speaking between one breath and the next. “It means that tomorrow, we get to do this all over again, baby.” You keep your tone taunting when you speak, clearly teasing as you press the meat of your palm more forcefully against his belly, until you can definitely feel your panties gush against his skin, some of the come that had fully soaked into the lace flooding outward with the pressure, a real wave of wetness layering and sticking on top of Andrew’s skin. 

Andrew’s hips jumps underneath your hand, a sudden and violent buck that has you withdrawing your hand in surprise, in an attempt to not get caught in case that drew attention to the two of you. You hook your ankle around his instead, just in case he feels rejected or punished by you taking your hand off his body after he reacted, and resort to swiping your foot up and down his calf for the moment while the moment settles. “You want that?”

“Uh huh.” Andrew whines, nodding his head quickly, just in case you missed his pleading confirmation that he liked how you were teasing him. You bite your lower lip as you watch him flush and squirm in his seat, force your hips to stay still and your hands to stay of your cunt for now, force yourself to ignore the pulsing and clenching of your cunt for Andrew’s fast descent into desperation and neediness. If you fucked yourself stupid right now, you think Andrew might fall to deep, might travel too far from the reality of this place, and you didn’t want to leave him like that, didn’t want to bring him to that place in the prison. It wouldn’t be fair, with how limited you are to take care of him in here.

You continue teasing him, still keeping your hands to yourself, even if the itch to touch him is stronger than ever, even if your fingers are twitching with the restraint of holding yourself back. You still needed a little more time between Andrew’s hips bucking and when you could safely touch him again, could still feel trailing eyes on your bodies as you teased Andrew about everything you were going to do to him tomorrow, but you were free to taunt him with your voice, with the foot rubbing up and down his leg. 

“I can soak another pair of panties for you tomorrow and rub them into your skin until my come is dripping down your belly and onto your cock, ‘till your cock is wet like you just finished fucking me raw.” You promise, biting your lip through your smile when Andrew shudders at your promise. “Get you covered in my come until you smell like my pussy and nothin’ else. I’ll rub my panties into your skin until you smell like you were fucking me so good, like I was crying and creaming all over your cock for hours, like you kept forcing my hole to come and squirt and soak you, my come dripping sticky and warm around your cock, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Andrew gasps, body tensing and relaxing in a desperate, anguished pattern as he’s forced to sit there and do nothing, nothing but sit with your panties on his skin and your filthy voice infiltrating his ears. “Yeah, please— please, I want it again.” 

The eyes have officially left you, and good thing too, because you feel your self-restraint snap as Andrew begs for this again tomorrow, snaps as you reach your hand into his lap again and play with the panties until you could feel them gush against his belly again, rubbing the dripping crotch into his skin to get him sticky and wet, to leave a real shine of come on his skin that will remain even when he takes the panties out later. “It feels like I got myself off by rubbing my cunt all over your belly, yeah? Marked you with my come and my smell so that everyone knows you’re mine, baby.” 

“Yours, yeah.” Andrew vows, before the rest of your words seem to catch up with his mind. His stomach twitches beneath your hand, his hips jerking again but far gentler this time, his body unraveling as you decide to shift the panties against his skin instead of massaging them into his skin, edging the crotch of the panties closer to his cock as you stare him down for any signal that he doesn’t want that. When all you receive from Andrew is a little, helpless moan and a twitch of his hips, you decide he has no problem with the change. “Feels—feels so good, I can feel you on me. Can feel your come on me, so—so wet on me, I love it.”

“Know you love it, baby.” You reassure him as you take your hand out of his lap. You left the panties in the borderline between low on his belly and his cock, just for now, just until you can have another extended moment without any eyes on you. You’re starting to figure out the circling pattern the COs do as they monitor the room, so you think you should be able to touch him again soon. “Know you love it when I come on you and soak you, when you make me come so much that it sticks to your cock, yeah? Fuck me so good I just can’t help myself, can’t help it when we’re both dripping with my come by the end of it.”

“Fuck.” Andrew groans, his forehead falling into his palms, his breathing growing rough and fast-paced, his body starting to squirm with every one of your words. You wish you could touch him for real, for any real length of time and measure of contact, wish you could pull him into your body so he could squirm on you, so you could hold him close as you whispered these filthy things into his ear and he couldn’t help but buck his hips into your body, couldn’t help himself as his body twitched against yours and not the empty air of the prison. 

“You gonna stuff your face in my panties later?” You ask sweetly, still keeping your volume low, but your tone wildly inappropriate for the content of your sentence. You tilt your head and smile innocently at Andrew as he flushes all over, turns so red you’re briefly worried about him, as his chest starts to heave with his rough breathing. You slide your foot higher up his leg, edging around his thigh, and hold every muscle in your body still as Andrew whimpers behind his closed lips, his eyes squeezed closed like your words are physically hurting him. “Gonna suck my panties clean just to get another little taste of me? Gonna shove your nose in them and smell me whenever you want?”

“Yes, yeah, please.” Andrew moans, and while you both don’t know if that’s actually true, if Andrew will have the space or time to play with your panties outside of this moment, if he will even want to risk keeping them after your hour is up, it’s fun to pretend. It’s fun to imagine, for the both of you, that he might keep your panties so he can play with them later. “Please, I want it. Can– can I?”

“Of course you can. My good boy can have anything he wants.” You don’t know exactly what he’s begging for, but you’ve never been one to deny him anything. Your words must land like electric shocks to Andrew, his entire body twitching while you tease him with your voice, while you make promises you want more than anything to keep for him. Your own body is reacting to your words, to Andrew’s visceral reactions to your teasing, but you’re fighting to keep it contained, fighting to hide every time your hips jump when your cunt throbs at Andrew’s pathetic noises, fighting to keep your fingers out of your already wet pussy before it’s time. 

“Gonna pretend it’s the real thing at night? Fall asleep with your nose shoved in my come stained panties and humping your mattress, just can’t help yourself when you get a little taste of me? Maybe wrap my panties around your cock later, yeah? Grip your cock tight enough to pretend it’s my pussy squeezing around you like I would, using my wet panties like they were my cunt, dripping and soaking on you just like I would?”

Andrew’s head thunks onto the table as he moans deeply, and you smirk to yourself at how perfectly you unraveled him. You reduced Andrew to a twitching, whimpering mess, you made him fall apart with just your voice, you had him begging to shove his face in your panties to taste you a little more. You, reducing Pope Cody to a begging, moaning mess, and you loved him all the more for it. 

You give him a break for a while, for most of your visit. You let him ask you questions about your week and your job and your garden without touching him or taunting him, you answer his questions without teasing him or talking about your panties that are still in his pants. You leave it alone for a while, don’t want to spend the entire hour teasing him or rubbing at him, don’t want to spend the one hour you get with him go by without talking about anything real. Your body settles under your normal conversation, and you can tell Andrew settles too, that the tension that you had coiled so tightly inside him had loosened, had settled into something looser and more relaxed. 

He relaxes under your gentle conversation, until you turn the conversation back to teasing him. “You still want another taste of me?” You ask him, already knowing the answer, but needing to be sure, just in case. Your visiting time was almost up, and if you wanted to touch yourself and come without fear of running out of time, you needed to start now. 

“Yes.” Andrew snaps to attention like you barked an order at him, eyes devouring over your body as you trail one of your hands underneath the table and into your lap. “Yes, please. I want it.”

“Gonna give it to you.” You promise as you slide your hand into the waistband of your pants, inhaling sharply as you start to rub slow, gentle circles around your clit, your cunt fluttering in relief underneath the attention you were finally giving it. You were already wet, panties sticking to your cunt since Andrew started moaning as he licked his own fingers clean of your come, so it takes nearly nothing to get your hole soaking before you’ve even slipped a single finger inside yourself. “Already so wet, gonna be dripping off my fingers when I give it to you.”

“Please.” Andrew whispers, his voice hoarse as you finally slip a finger inside your cunt, mouth falling open around a breathy gasp as you fill yourself, but still not nearly enough. You keep at it for a while, rubbing at your clit and gently curling your finger inside yourself, teasing for as long as you could stand, ensuring that your hole would be dripping around your fingers by the time you had to leave Andrew, that your fingers would be covered in your slick and your come as you swiped them against Andrew’s lips again. 

“Can you hear how wet I am for you?” You ask as you slip a second finger inside yourself, rolling your cunt into the press of your fingers as you bite your lower lip to try and contain the moans you want to let loose, the whimpers you want to let brush past your lips as you apply more pressure to your clit. Your question is half genuine, half teasing. You are a little curious if Andrew can hear your pussy now that you’re visiting him without any barriers or dependent on a phone to hear each other, but you also know that the potential to hear you fuck yourself would turn him on, that even the thought of being able to actually hear you after so long without would drive him a little wild. 

“A—a little.” Andrew admits, biting his lip as he drops his eyes to where your hand disappears into your lap, nostrils flaring as he likely strains a little more to hear your fingers moving inside your cunt. “A little bit, sound so good.” Andrew repeats, and you close your eyes as you start to fuck yourself harder, trying to make as much noise as possible from your wet cunt for Andrew to hear, to take pleasure in, your fingers squelching inside your pussy as you hump your hand and bring yourself closer to your orgasm. 

You make yourself come like that, rubbing tight circles on your clit as you fuck your fingers into your cunt until your hips were brutally rocking into the pressure, your come soaking and sticking to your fingers as you moan as quietly as you can manage. You keep your fingers in your cunt until a CO tells you that your hour is up, keep yourself stuffed full and rocking into the tight pressure on your G-spot, make yourself oversensitive and overstimulated to the point where you were whimpering pathetically behind your closed lips, your hips twitching into your fingers uncontrollably, continuing to drip and soak around your fingers for Andrew. He can only watch you with glazed eyes as you torture yourself, as you keep yourself turned on and teased just for him, as you keep playing with your pussy just so you stay wet for him, just so your fingers will be covered in your come and slick when you take them out of your cunt. 

“C’mon, gimme a hug.” You tell him, sliding your fingers out of your cunt with a little mewl that also has Andrew groaning, your fingers glistening and sticky with your come. You keep your wet hand curled close to your chest, stuck between your two bodies when Andrew wraps you in a hug and rests his temple on your shoulder, his face turned toward your hidden hand. You wrap your free hand around the back of his skull, rubbing your fingertips into his short hair as you slide your come covered fingers against his desperate mouth, tucked nicely near your collarbone for easy access, smearing your come across his lips and his tongue when it peeks out of his mouth to kitten lick your fingertips. 

“Fuck, baby.” You exhale, your fingers scrabbling against the back of his head as Andrew moans at the taste of you, the feel of your fingers running through his hair. You let Andrew lick at your fingers for a second longer, let him torture the both of you with his gentle licks and kisses against your fingers, slowly cleaning your come off your skin, before you can’t help yourself but to shove your fingers into his mouth, dragging your come covered fingers against his tongue. 

Andrew moans immediately, curling his tongue around your fingers and swallowing, suction tight and warm around your fingers as he sucks the come off your fingers, as he drags every last drop of your come off your fingers and into his mouth, onto his tongue. He must be getting such a strong taste of you right now, so much more than when you smeared your come across his lips, so much more than the gentle licks he was allowing himself at first. His tongue must be covered in your come like he just ate you out, your taste clinging to every inch of his mouth and tongue and lips, coating his mouth until all he could taste was you, your come, your pleasure that was all for him to enjoy. 

“D’you wanna keep my panties? Tell me now, c’mon.” You demand, your voice hoarse as Andrew continues to suck on your fingers, digging your fingers into his scalp to get him to focus on your words. You were aware of your time running out right now, when Andrew couldn’t be.

“Please.” Andrew begs around your fingers, garbled and needy, bucking his hips into yours, probably unconsciously. Andrew sucks on your fingers again, hollowing out his cheeks with the force of it, his tongue pressing tight against your fingers as he works your fingers for all they’re worth right now. You barely resist moaning at the feeling, his warm and wet mouth so fucking tight around your fingers, at the knowledge that Andrew was sucking on your fingers because he was so desperate for a taste of you, a piece of you to taste long after you’re gone. 

You eventually drag your fingers out of his mouth, slowly drag the weight of your fingers off his tongue and briefly hook them behind his bottom teeth as he whines at the loss, needy and desperate for your fingers even when your come must be long gone from them by now. You wrap both of your hands around him now, uncaring that one of your hands is covered in his spit, throwing your other arm around his shoulders and pulling him tight into your body, not leaving an inch of space between the two of you as Andrew pants into your neck, his breath warm and quick against your skin. 

“I love you.” You mumble into his ear, squeezing him tighter him as a shiver that travels down his spine. “Love you so much, you did so good for me. I can’t wait to do this with you again tomorrow.” 

Andrew groans into your shoulder, already desperate to do this with you all over again tomorrow. 

~~~

You force yourself to stop fussing with the hem of your skirt and the neckline of your top as you finally walk into the visiting room. It would ruin the effect of your outfit and general demeanor if you looked uncomfortable or nervous in your truly obscene outfit you prepared for Andrew today, would ruin this whole thing before it even started. 

Andrew wastes no time standing up when he sees you walk in, when he sees how much skin you’re showing today, wastes no time meeting you halfway as you walk toward him, and good thing too. Your panties had started to ride up your ass as you walked toward him, and you really didn’t have the luxury of coverage to be playing with today, didn’t want to show Andrew any peeks of your ass too soon and ruin it for later. A lot of planning and strategizing goes into these visits, and you hate when the mental timeline you created gets fucked up, when you have to go off the script you loosely outlined in your head when Andrew says something devastating or you get too horny to keep your patience.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Andrew asks you, voice dangerously even and low, even as his eyes burn into your skin, as his pointed gaze feels like a physical touch sweeping over your thighs and hips and tits. 

“You don’t like it?” You pout, pretending to be hurt by your presumption, swiping a hand across your skirt and down your waist and hips, brazenly move your hands to your tits afterwards and give them a good squeeze over the barely there fabric. It feels so fucking good already, a simple knead and grope of your tits already getting you excited, your hands itching to reach underneath your top and tug at your nipples, but you resist. You remain patient. Andrew’s eyes follow your hands raptly, looking like he’s seconds away from ripping your hands off your body and replacing them with his own, groping and kneading and taking until he finally had his fill of you. After two years, you imagine it would be…satisfying, for the both of you. “I bought it just for you. I thought you would like it.”

“I do—I do like it.” Andrew allows, squeezing his eyes closed for a beat before he forces them open again. When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted with the sight of you still pouting up at him, but you’ve closed the small distance between the two of you, so you’re forced to stare up at him underneath your lashes and he’s lost but to drop his gaze down to your chest, tits practically spilling out of your top for him to drool over. “You just— you look like…” Andrew trails off, lost for words as he continues to stare at you in shock. 

You have the words for him. You look like a dirty, desperate slut for him today. You look like you got dressed with the sole intention of getting fucked as soon as you walked out the door, look like you got dressed so someone could bend you over the nearest flat surface immediately after laying eyes on you. You look like someone paid you to whore yourself out at the prison, look like you were dressed specifically for the pleasure all of the depraved eyes leering on your ass cheeks that are falling out of your skirt, look like you are just desperately waiting for someone to grab a handful of your ass or sneak a hand underneath your skirt and squeeze your cunt or rip the scrap of fabric that you’re calling a top off of you and suck on your tits in the middle of the visiting room. You look like you’re begging to be ruined, look like a needy pair of tits and a weeping cunt and nothing more, look like a woman with a fat ass spilling out of her skirt that’s just begging to be spanked red and groped with rough hands and spread selfishly until everyone had their fill of her. 

You look like your only purpose it to be a hot body and a warm cunt for the taking. You look like you were created to be a very promising tease before being happily reduced to a tight hole, like you were let loose from a whorehouse and are in desperate need of a cock to set you right again, desperately need to be filled and stuffed with a fat cock on a visiting table as soon as possible to satisfy the everpresent ache in your hole you’re presenting for the entire room. You look like you’re ready for anything anybody wants to give you, take from you, make you give to them; look like you’re asking for nothing more than for someone to march over to you, rip your panties off your cunt, and shove you on their cock as they spank you for flashing your ass and being a naughty, shameful tease. 

You look like a slut, a whore, an easy hole to ruin and claim that drooled for a thick cock and begged for relief at the same time, your tits bouncing freely with every purposeful step you take, your panty covered cunt peeking out of the front of your skirt with every long stride, your exposed ass cheeks jiggling as you walk across a room full of people who are not known for their restraint or decorum. 

You’re wearing a black microskirt, a piece of fabric that couldn’t even be called a mini skirt, the hem of the skirt slightly ruffled and structured so it exposed your ass even more than the length normally would. The entire bottom curve and shape of your ass was showing underneath where the hem of the skirt sat, the ass of your panties also on display underneath the skirt, a large flash of lacy red to whoever decided to look at your ass for even a second. Your ass was just…out, for anyone to see, for anyone to stare at as you walked and your cheeks moved, bounced, jiggled when you walked a little too fast. 

The front of the skirt covered your cunt, but just barely, a peek of red lace showing every time you took a step or shifted on your feet. The skirt was only long enough to cover your cunt, the hem basically sitting stiffly around the middle of your ass, everything below that point part of the show, part of what you wanted to show off for Andrew today. Nobody else mattered, even if they were there, even if you were conscious of them looking at your body, they didn’t matter. It was all for Andrew to see, to want, to take, to make you give however he needed today. It was all for Andrew, and he knew that. 

The skirt was serving as more of a decoration than anything else, a teasing piece of fabric that only made your outfit feel dirtier, only made you feel sluttier as you pretended that your ass wasn’t hanging out, but everyone else knew it was. Everyone else could see your ass and panties freely, so what was the point of the skirt? What was the point of pretending that you weren’t as good as naked if the goal wasn’t to pretend, to tease, to rile everyone up and feel the weight of a roomful of greedy eyes on your body as they imagined finally ripping the skirt off and exposing you fully? You feel obscene, even though you picked this outfit out independently, knew what you would look like before leaving the house, feel like a needy slut desperate for attention, desperate for people to watch your ass move and your cunt peek out, desperate for everyone to know the lengths you would go to to make Andrew feel good, go so far as walking around with your bare ass bouncing behind you just to make him feel good. 

Your top is also skimpy, tiny, a top a whore would wear since it provided quick, easy access to the tits, was easy to push to the side or rip off so anyone could get their hands on your tits as fast as possible, so anyone could grope you and tease you, make you beg and whine and arch into their hands as they went right for your tits, easy, easy to suck and tug and pinch and grab you until you were red and squirming and spent. 

You had on a backless halter top with a deep cowlneck, the neck open and draping all the way to your stomach, the cut out on your chest even more severe and sweeping, basically leaving bare your entire tit, the edges of your nipples not even fully covered by the fabric, the threat of your tits falling out of the top very real, very demeaning, very exciting. You mindlessly wanted it to happen, half expected it to since the thin strips of fabric on either side of your chest didn’t give your tits much security, half wanted your tit to pop out so Andrew could see you truly bare.  You would be slow to put it back in your top, would squeeze your tit and pinch your nipple while you pretended you were righting yourself, would moan pathetically as Andrew watched you play with your tits and torture yourself and wished it was him instead. 

You’re not wearing a bra or any kind of tape, and it’s very obvious. Your tits sit free and pretty underneath the deep cowlneck, your peaked nipples pressing obviously against the fabric, your tits bouncing every time you take a step, every time you shift on your feet and purposefully land a little harder than necessary, just to make your tits jiggle, just to make Andrew suck in a desperate breath at the sight, just to watch the way his hands clench into fists and his throat works around a rough swallow. 

You can’t believe they let you in the building like this. You can’t believe you’ve made it to Andrew safely looking like this, can’t believe your reckless fashion choices have paid off this handsomely now that you were in front of Andrew and he couldn't even form words at the sight of you. You pretend you don’t notice, pretend your outfit and Andrew’s reaction aren’t having any effect on you, aren’t making you soak through your panties already to know that you were flashing everyone in the room, to know that everyone thought you were a whore for Andrew to enjoy, to know that Andrew was so taken by your outfit and your body he couldn’t speak for minutes. 

“I brought pictures from my work trip to Chicago, remember? Sit, lemme show them to you.” You smile sweetly at him, like nothing was different from any normal day you visit him, the days you aren’t whoring yourself out for him to make him feel good, the days you dress and act normally. Andrew nods slow and dazed, eyes raking up your legs again, eyes falling on where your cunt sits, the sliver of red lace making him lick his lips as he stares at you and can barely keep his composure. 

You gesture for him to follow you back to the table, purposefully striding ahead of him so he could finally see your ass as you walk, finally see all the bare skin and pretty panties and demeaning outfit you chose for him, chose to make him feel good, chose to let him know that you were his to claim and his only. You hear his sudden inhale from behind you, hear his walking stutter to a stop when you start to sway your hips a little more, when you land your feet harder than necessary to make your ass jiggle and bounce as you walk for him. You feel powerful, you feel sexy, you feel dirty and debased and used, but it feels good, gets your hole so wet and aching you would think you’d already been fucked a few times, makes your cunt tingle in a way only Andrew could force out of you. 

You smirk to yourself as you hear Andrew’s steps rush to catch up to you, when he suddenly grabs your shoulder and spins you around for your allotted initial hug, backing your ass up against the table and wrapping his arms low on your back, keeping them there for a beat before he slides them down to your ass, grabbing you and kneading your fat, pushing and pulling at your ass as he disguises his groping with a hug. 

“Oh, fuck.” You whimper into his shoulder, digging your forehead into his shoulder and gripping his shirt at the sides of his torso as he continues to play with your ass cheeks, as he slides his wide palms and thick fingers down and around your cheeks, as he grabs a handful of the underside of your ass and tugs, shoving your body into his and digging his fingertips and raking his nails into your skin, kneading and rubbing at your ass cheeks and just— just playing with you, just feeling your ass underneath his hands, feeling the give and strength of your ass, feeling the way you tremble beneath his hands as he touches you like this for the first time in years. 

As he touches you to make you horny, as he touches you to get you wet, as he touches you outside of a hug and it’s fine, it’s not drawing any attention to the two of you, it’s hidden well as Andrew gropes your ass and turns you into a whining, blubbering mess in his hands as you want to cry out for more but knowing you can’t, knowing there can be no more. But he’s touching you, he’s touching you again, and it’s good, it’s so fucking good, so so good and you need him—

He’s being so rough and mean about it too, rough and brutal and unforgiving as he grabs a handful of your ass cheek and squeezes, rocks you against his body as he uses you like a slutty, eager stress toy, gripping you with every ounce of hard-earned strength he possessed in his hands, toying with you expertly in his big hands that can hold so much of you, that could grab and squeeze and grope so much of your ass until you were mewling into his shoulder, fighting the urge to knock out his knee so you could grind against his thigh and come right here, right now. He was only being so rough, so mean, so demanding in his touches because he knew that’s what you liked on your ass, was being so cruel to your body because you’ve begged him for it countless times, knew how you liked to be touched and was giving it to you that way, prioritizing your pleasure over his when he’s been starved—

 “Andrew—” You mewl again when he grabs either side of the panties covering your ass and tugs, forcing the panties to ride even higher into your ass and expose more of your body for him, lace scraping against your ass and—and the crotch of the panties digging into your cunt, just in the back, pressure so much and too much, the sudden friction against your cunt leaving you weeping, obscene and deranged noises escaping your mouth as you drool onto Andrew’s shoulder. You want too much right now, want only the impossible, want so much you can’t help but tilt your hips further back and try and grind into the pressure Andrew was forcing onto your cunt, try and hump the tight pull of the panties over your cunt and fail miserably. 

You want him to rip the panties with his bare hands, want him to go deranged and mean and rip the lace in half, leaving you open and available for him to play with even more, want him to take the ruined panties and shove them in your mouth as he throws you back against the table and takes his rightful claim of your cunt again, want him to kiss you over the panties in your mouth and laugh at you as you cry beneath him and moan weakly around the panties, as you drool obscenely as your lips are stretched wide around the sticky lace, as you arch and twitch and squirm beneath Andrew as he stuffs you full with cock and grinds into your hole until you were screaming around the panties, as he continued to fuck and use and destroy your hole until you could do nothing but sob around the panties and clench around his cock when he told you to. 

When he decides he’s done rubbing you raw with your panties, bored of toying with you in that way and needing another quickly, he pinches your ass cheeks, takes a big chunk of fat between his fingers on either side and pinches, when he keeps holding your skin and prolonging the pain that goes right to your cunt, drawing out the pleasure as you hide hitching sobs into his body that you hope he can hear and think about later. “Pl–please, Andrew, oh, oh—”

Andrew lets go of his brutal pinches, smooths a wide palm over one sore cheek while the other slips underneath your ass, fingers cupped and pointed, his hand clearly headed right for your cunt as you cry out into his shirt again. “Please, need it, baby, please—” You whimper pathetically, digging your nails into Andrew’s side as you arch your back and spread your legs to make it easier for him to reach your cunt, to press against your hole for however long he can manage. Your ass digs back into the table as you get one light brush of his fingers against your hole, one little touch that has you moaning and immediately trying to hump his hand, before Andrew is abruptly pulling back, sliding his hands around your waist to stabilize you as a CO tells the two of you the time has run out on your hug. 

“I’m sorry.” Andrew gasps out immediately, face as red as your panties as he apologizes for God only knows, staring at you with wide eyes as his chest heaves with his uneven breathing and his hands shake as he apologizes for—for grabbing your ass? For touching you for the first time in years? For giving you a new memory to touch yourself to in bed? “I—I should have touched you there first, but I—I saw you walking and your ass moving, and I couldn’t help it, I had to feel you—”

“It’s okay. Andrew, it’s okay, relax.” You tell him, your voice breathless and cracking, not back at it’s normal pitch from your whining and moaning into Andrew’s shoulder. You try to fix this as you also try to remember how to breathe, as you try to resist the urge to turn your head and see how red your ass was, if there were any fading marks in the shape of Andrew’s hands or fingers. There probably were marks, he was toying with you so hard and ruthlessly, pinching you so rough you nearly started to tear up, groping your ass like it was just a toy for him to play with, pretty and fat and warm by design just for him to use however he wanted—

“Really.” You pant, reaching out to touch him but remembering you’re not allowed anymore, you’re not allowed to touch him until the end of your visit when you can give him another hug. You take your hand back to your body as Andrew pouts at your retreating fingers, impossibly cute when he has no right to be. “I liked it. You know I liked it, know I always like when you pinch and grab my ass.”

“‘S not your pussy, though.” Andrew mumbles, looking down at your feet as he continues to pout. You blink at him, starting to understand better now, starting to understand why he was so upset. He wanted to really touch your cunt and missed his chance. He wanted to feel your weeping and begging hole through your panties, and he spent too much time playing with your ass and missed his chance. He wished you got to feel his fingers against your cunt, against your hole, wished you got to feel his hand play with your cunt rather than your ass when he had the chance to give it to you. He feels like he let you down, like he disappointed you in this, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Don’t torture yourself over this. I liked it.” You tell him again, dipping your chin until he’s forced to make and keep eye contact with you, raising your eyebrows at him when you get him in your sights and nodding preemptively at your words. “I would have come if you kept grabbing my ass and I would have come if you touched my cunt. It all felt so good to me, felt—felt so good to have you touch me again.” You breathe, relaxing a little bit when Andrew smiles shyly at you, then lets his shy smile break a little into a dirty grin as he must think about it that way too, as he must realize, through his guilt, that he touched you. That he grabbed your ass and brushed your cunt and nothing bad happened to him, he wasn’t dragged away from you and you weren’t banned from visiting the prison. He touched you and was seconds away from making you hump against his thigh in the visiting room, and he was still in the visiting room with you, he was still allowed to finish his visit with you, and he felt good. You could tell, easily. 

Okay. Okay. Back to your plan, back to what you came her to originally do. “Sit, baby. Lemme show you the pictures I have.” You tell him gently, smiling at him to relax him a little more, only feeling a little bad when Andrew looks genuinely excited to look at your work trip pictures with you. You make sure he’s standing to the side of you as you do this, just about to sit down at the table, before you fumble taking the printed work trip pictures out of your purse and drop them all over the floor, making sure you let them go in a way that ensured that they scattered across a distance and didn’t just fall into a single pile. 

“Shit, sorry, baby—hang on.” You mumble, faux embarrassed and apologetic as you get on your hands and knees to pick up the pictures you accidentally dropped. You drop to your knees first, slowly, staring up at Andrew as you sink toward the floor and gaze up at him with doe eyes, spreading your knees wide as you get your heels underneath your ass. Andrew stares down at you the entire time, hands clenched into fists at his side as his nostrils flare at your display, as the ruffley hem of your skirt sits on top of your thighs and doesn’t pool around them, as Andrew is allowed a direct view of your cunt with the way you’re spreading your knees so wide and leaning backwards, so open that your hole preemptively pulses around a surge of anticipatory wetness for Andrew’s cock. 

You hope he can see you cunt clench and pulse and flutter through the panties, hope he can see your hole move through the fabric and imagine it milking his cock. You hope he can see how needy you are for him, how desperate you always are for his cock, how badly you want him after two years of being unable to sloppily ride his cock or be fucked into the mattress underneath his body weight or be stuffed full and taken from behind. You hope he can tell how much you’re enjoying this, hope he can see your slick soaking through the panties, hope he can see the dark spot just underneath your hole that shows how much you like this, how you’re doing this just as much for yourself as you are for Andrew. You hope he can see all of you and still want more. 

You transition to your hands and knees after that, twist around so your ass was facing Andrew, after he’s had plenty of time to look at you on your knees for him, after he’s had his fill of your lace covered cunt and your tits pushed outwards for him to stare down at. You get your hands underneath you, swiping at the pictures you dropped like an idiot, mostly shoving them around the floor instead of actually gathering them, as you arch your back and lower your shoulders just slightly, keeping your ass held high so Andrew could get the full view of your lacy panties underneath your skirt, so he could see your entire ass as you hiked it in the air and spread your knees again, truly on display for him now. 

You stay like that for a while, pretending to collect your dropped pictures as you rock your ass backwards against empty air, as you feel your panties continue to ride up your ass and expose even more of your skin, as your skirt stays as stiff as you knew it would so nothing falls back in the way of your ass, so Andrew is given an unobstructed view of your ass grinding against nothing, so desperate and slutty and needy that you’d throw yourself on the floor and hike your ass in the air for nothing. His little slut, throwing yourself at his feet and arching your back for him, presenting your ass and cunt for him to devour, demean, ignore, use, showing yourself for him and the entire room, debasing yourself just so that he might feel good when he thinks about this between your visits. His prison whore, presenting yourself to be mounted in the open visitation room, silently begging as you bounced your ass against nothing, crying out with everything but your words for Andrew to slip his cock inside you and use you like you were so clearly asking for, for him to claim you and mark you as his dirty whore who just couldn’t wait to have her hole filled. 

Your cunt feels heavy in between your legs too, felt tight and tingly and wet, so fucking wet, and you knew Andrew was getting a good view of your cunt too, knew it was squished thick and tight in this position, a heady, sopping slit of space for him to stare at as you rocked your ass into the empty air and slipped a shaking hand between your legs, pretending to grapple for a picture that fell between your legs, dropping your shoulder and arching your back even more as you ran a gentle finger down your cunt a few times, whining as you bucked your hips into the teasing pressure and gushed around nothing as you could feel Andrew staring at where you touched yourself. You ran your fingertip around where you knew your hole was under the fabric, exaggerating your little gasps and moans as you touched yourself, as you made sure to roll your hips smooth enough that your ass jiggled with the motion, purposefully transitioning your little moans into high-pitched whimpers.  

You take your finger off your hole eventually, letting Andrew hear the weak, whiny noise from your throat at the loss, and knew it was time to get off the floor when your knee creaked as you tried to rock your ass back into the air again. You start gasping and panting again as you stretch to actually collect your fallen pictures and pile them together, quietly whining as you arch your back more and spread your knees wider under the pretense of needing to reach farther for a fallen picture, pretending to bite back whimpers when your cunt barely brushes the floor from how deeply you were contorting your body, as if you were so desperate and sloppy and needy for a cock that you would debase yourself by rubbing your cunt against the floor just to feel something. You were putting on a show for him, getting loud like desperate whore, because Andrew liked to hear you, and you were making sure he heard every noise you knew how to make. 

Once you gather all of your pictures in your hands, you forcefully arch your back one last time and slide back to sitting on your knees, pushing your ass up and out as you let out a little whimpering sound, as if it caused some kind of ache in you to contort your body that way and fall back on your heels. You give Andrew a moment to look at you in that position, on your knees and facing away from him with your back arched, your ass shoved upwards and surely completely bare with how fucked up your panties have gotten in all the touching and moving, as if you were wearing a thong for him and shoving your ass around, slutting yourself out for him even more disgustingly. 

Your eyes fall closed around a pitiful, deep moan at the thought, fucking disgusting how wet you got when you hiked your ass in the air for nothing in return, disgusting and shameful to bounce your ass and spread your legs on the floor, just so your boyfriend could look at you a little. Disgusting to want more, even after all of that, to wish you had taken it farther, a little thrill running through your cunt as you imagined what would have happened if you shoved a few fingers in your cunt from the back—

You finally get your feet underneath you, keeping your legs straight and ass bent as you fully stood up before turning around to finally face Andrew. Jesus, he’s so—he’s fucking wrecked, hanging on by a thread as he stares down at you with burning eyes, nostrils flaring and chest heaving as he stares at you from underneath his eyebrows, his gaze dark and murderous and hungry. 

You want to throw him down on the floor and ride him until he was crying, sit on his cock with your ass facing him, bounce on his cock so hard and fast your ass jiggled in his face while you spread your cheeks yourself, while you dug your fingernails into your ass and spread yourself wide so Andrew could see you make a mess of his cock while you bounced your ass for him. You want him to eat you out from the back and lick at your hole until he couldn’t keep up and your come was dripping down his chin, you want him to finally lose his composure and hump your ass until his come was pooling on your back. You just want him, anyway that you could have him, anyway that he would like to have you, always wet and ready for him when you were together. 

“You’re so red, baby. You feeling okay?” You gently tap his flushed cheek after a quick glance around you to make sure it was safe, condescending as you tilt your head at him and blink at him with doe eyes, sweet and caring as if you didn’t just get on the floor and stick your ass in the air for him to stare at. You watch Andrew swallow a few times, throat sticking and dry as he tries to compose himself, as he opens his mouth and closes it without saying anything, all words apparently lost to him right now. You give him a firmer direction to respond to, sensing he might be unable to handle your teasing anymore. “Sit down, baby. It’s alright.”

Andrew sits down at the table as if on autopilot, eyes on you the entire time as you sit on the seat next to him. You keep your legs spread as you sit down, flashing Andrew your soaked panties whenever he looked down at your lap, smiling sweetly at him as if nothing is amiss as you get ready to show him the pictures you brought. You’re so fucking turned on, want nothing more than to shove your fingers inside your sopping cunt and fuck yourself until you’re squealing around an orgasm, but you have a plan, a plan you can’t get distracted from, a plan you’re particularly proud of. 

“Wanna spank you so fucking bad.” Andrew surprises you by suddenly saying, his breathy admission making you freeze as he stares at you severely underneath his eyebrows and takes you apart without any effort, as he looks at you like he wants to consume you, take a bite out of you for his own pleasure and leave you to fend for yourself afterwards. His body was a shaking, straight line, every limb and muscle held in tight control as he sat on the bench directly next to yours, like it was taking everything inside of him to stop himself from grabbing you and slapping your ass sore. “Wanna slap your ass until you’re red for days, until you’re crying and humping this table ‘cause I won’t let you go.”

“Oh, fuck me.” You moan, rocking your hips against the bench once before you stop yourself. This still wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t what you designed to happen today, but Andrew’s mouth was taking you elsewhere, was diverting your mental path until humping the bench while Andrew told you how badly he wanted to slap your ass raw sounded like a better idea than what you had carefully planned for him. “Andrew—”

“You’d take it so good right now, I know you would.” Andrew tells you, eyes moving from your face to your cunt, to where you can’t help it as you reflexively try and grind your clit against the bench, as you rock your hips downward and press forward, as Andrew turns your hole desperate and aching and you lose all of your senses as you try and get some relief. “Haven’t had my hand on your ass in two years, I—I know you’d take it so good. I’d…I wouldn’t go slow, just start hitting you so hard your ass bounced and shook, so hard you started begging and crying for me right away, so hard you would walk out of here with my handprint as a bruise on your ass— walking out of here mine, red and limping and bruised, my handprint on your ass and your mouth crying my name so everyone knew you were mine.”

“Andrew, oh— oh God—” You whine, giving up on not rocking your hips into the bench, giving up on not chasing your pleasure right now, not while Andrew was talking about spanking you so furiously he bruised you with his handprint, bragging about spanking your ass so well that everyone you walked past would know that you belonged to him, that you were his to spank and play with and turn into a sobbing, needy mess, his needy and desperate body to claim forever. 

Andrew doesn’t care to listen to you moan and whine for him, doesn’t care to do anything anymore but detail this fantasy he has of spanking you red and dumb in the visiting room because you got on your hands and knees and hiked your ass in the air like a desperate whore, ready for anything. Andrew doesn't want to spank you as punishment, nothing like that, he wants to do it because you like it, because it gets you so disgustingly wet when he slaps your ass, your hole aching as you milk his cock when he spanks you raw and then lets his hips brutally land against your sore ass when he takes you from behind, unforgiving as his hip bones hit your sensitive skin and mark you further. 

“I wouldn’t stop when you started to bruise, even when you were begging me for a break. I’d— I’d grab your ass and squeeze you, knead your bruised skin and dig my nails in until you tried to get away from it, dig my fingers into your skin to make it hurt more for you. Play with your fat ass for as long as I wanted to no matter how much you cried or begged, no matter how much you wanted me to spank you again or fuck my cock into you— I’d just keep playing with you, teasing you, keep grabbing and squeezing and pinching your ass until I decided I wanted to hit you again. ‘Till I decided you waited long enough for my hand.” 

“Would you let me come?” You whined, as if this scenario was actually happening, as if it had even half a chance of happening, as if your sanity hinged on whether or not Andrew would make you come while he spanked you until you bruised and sobbed. “If— if you spanked me here, would you let me come after?” 

“I wouldn’t focus on it. Not for a while.” Andrew admits, a crooked grin peeking through his lips as you cover your mouth through a mewling whine and forcefully jerk your hips down. “I’d let you grind your clit on the table while I spanked you though, let you chafe and swell and hurt as you tried to make yourself come that way. I’d shove your cunt against the table later, once I was done with you, once I knew you were so sore and aching you’d take anything—rock your clit against the table with handfuls of your bruised ass, fucking crying the entire time as I dug my fingers in and made you take it, made you come on a table—“

“Okay, okay.” You gasp, sliding one of your hands underneath your skirt and roughly shoving aside the crotch of your panties, keeping your needy mewl as quiet as you possibly could as you shove two fingers inside your hole and rub your clit with your thumb without any buildup. You ride your fingers so hard the hem of your skirt starts to bounce around your body, fucking yourself until you were panting and whining around your own hand still covering your mouth as Andrew stared you down with burning, hungry eyes, eyes that couldn’t decide if they should stay focused on your stuffed cunt or your face as you moaned for him. 

“Gonna—gonna come, you got me so wet, fucking dripping down my fingers just from a little touch and your voice.” You promise him, curling your fingers inside of yourself with more pressure, rubbing your thumb on your clit in tighter, meaner circles, biting around your knuckles as you bring yourself right to the edge of your orgasm. Desperate, gasping whines build behind the hand covering your mouth as you rock against your fingers, the tight tugging sensation building in your cunt suddenty going taut as you watch Andrew’s eyes flutter shut next to you, face falling in clear pleasure like he was getting touched too. “I’m—it’s for you, Andrew, coming and it’s all for you, all ‘cause of you.”

You don’t accomplish anything in your visit except whoring out your body for Andrew to play with. You leave the prison disappointed in yourself for letting yourself get distracted by Andrew and for abandoning your plans, but still come-dumb enough to think that it didn’t really matter what you guys did together, it all ended so fucking good for you. You walk out of the prison on shaky legs, your cunt feeling particularly raw as you walk in your short skirt and ruined panties, every brush of the lace like a spark right against your hole and a reminder of an unfinished promise. 

 As soon as you get home though, as soon as you get in your bed, you rip off your panties and stuff three fingers into your aching cunt, whining and panting through the dirty, obscene sound of your fingers fucking into your sopping hole, humping into your hand as you use your other hand to tug harshly at your nipples, rolling them between your fingers until they were hard and sore, ignoring the pain as you dug your nails into the peak like Andrew liked to do when he fucked you. He said it made you soak and milk his cock as if you were coming, said if he could make your cunt feel like it was coming around him the entire time he fucked you, he would. He would, and he did. 

You imagined it were Andrew’s fingers inside you rather than your own, imagined it was Andrew’s big and strong hands mauling your nipples and tits, imagined Andrew tossing you onto your bed after teasing him in your skirt all day, imagined Andrew losing control and laying you out on the floor of the visiting room and just taking you, claiming you in your whore outfit, showing everyone that no matter how much they looked at you, no matter what they imagined they could do to you as you spread your legs in the visiting room, they would never have you like Andrew did. 

You imagine wearing this outfit for Andrew after he gets released, sitting in his lap and rubbing your weeping cunt over his cock, humping his cock so hard that your tits bounced in his face and your ass rolled with your hips, teasing yourself until Andrew had enough and bent you over whatever was closest, pressing down on your lower back so hard it hurt as he tugged your ass into the air and stuffed you full with one rough thrust. You imagined him using your cunt for his own pleasure as he brutally fucked you, as he fucked you so hard your ass bounced against his hips with every selfish thrust, as he kicked your legs wider and spread your ass open to get a better view of your hole creaming on his cock, come coating and sticking to him as he just kept taking you without any regard for your poor cunt, as he ignored your begging and mewling and cries of it being too much, as he ignored your clit as it was fucked and rubbed raw against whatever unforgiving surface you were bent over. 

You imagine wearing this outfit for him without panties, imagine walking out in this skirt and having your cunt and ass exposed for him, imagined pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary as Andrew whined for you to please let him have your cunt, as he followed you around like a pathetic puppy and begged to touch you and lick you and fuck you, as you slapped his hand away every time he tried to grab your ass or cup your cunt and smiled every time he whimpered in tortured pain, as you later let him suck on your clit and lick your hole and finger you until you were coming all over him and telling him to go, now that you had used him for his purpose. 

You imagine torturing him like this all day, imagine sitting across from him and spreading your legs so your hole was gaping and pulsing in his face, demanding Andrew make you come whenever you felt like it and then ignoring him again as he begged to fuck you. You would use use him for his fingers and mouth until you were satisfied, pretending to be indifferent to the fat tears falling down his cheeks, to the desperate and needy begging he couldn’t control anymore, to the way he would eventually have no choice but to hump the couch for his orgasm when you had him on his stomach, face buried in your pussy with a hand painfully tight in his hair, choking him in your cunt as he cried and begged around his ruined orgasm. 

You imagine laying across his lap, pussy spread wide over his hips and ass facing up, legs bent and folded behind his hips and back, your torso arched and stretched in a line on top his legs, your face buried in his knees as he spanked you fucking hard in this skirt. You imagine grinding your cunt against his cock with every smack, rolling your hips away from his stinging hand and into the thick of his cock just underneath you, sobbing into Andrew’s legs as your body was unable to decide if it wanted to surrender to the delicious pain of the spanking or the aching relief your hole felt every time you rolled against his cock. You imagine Andrew would get sick of that eventually, would hike your hips off his cock and shove your face deeper into his legs, suffocating you between his legs as he held your hips up in the air, held your ass in his face as he swatted at you relentlessly, as he fulfilled his promise to smack and spank you until you bruised with his handprint, to knead at your bruised and raw skin until you were sobbing, until you could be paraded around as his sweet, pretty ass to abuse, hitting your ass and manhandling your body and controlling every aspect of your pleasure until you couldn’t breathe from how overwhelmed you were. 

In real life, in reality, with three of your own fingers shoved into your drooling cunt and fucking your hole roughly, you spread your knees as wide as possible and take your hand off your tit, bringing your hand down on your clit with a sharp smack, coming around a sob as you arch off the bed and clench around your fingers so hard it hurts. You mewl and sob through the pain, sharp little pants leaving your mouth as you raise your hand to smack your cunt again, closing your eyes at the last second and imagine that it’s Andrew’s hand hitting your poor, abused cunt, Andrew’s hand hitting your clit over and over before you begged him to kiss it better, Andrew’s hand swatting at your hole as you twist away from his hand, as you buck your hips into every slap, as you eventually learn to keep your hips still as he slaps your sopping, desperate hole so you could better hear the nasty, wet sound of Andrew’s hand landing on your cunt. 

~~~

“You wanna know what I did once I got home after I wore that skirt for you?” You ask, your voice clearly teasing and taunting. 

“What’d you do?” Andrew asks you, his voice suddenly breathy, already expecting you to say something sexual. 

“I slapped by pussy and imagined it was your hand hitting my clit.” You tell him bluntly, leaving your sentence short so Andrew would have plenty of time to sit with the mental image you just provided him. 

Andrew starts stuttering immediately. “You—you—”

A shiver runs throughout your body as you remember doing it to yourself, as you remember how you spread your legs and forced your hips to stay still as you wailed on yourself, leaving you sore and puffy for days after. “Yeah. Smacked my hole so hard I came right away, soaked and squeezed around my fingers like it was your cock, baby.”

A harsh gasp rushes out of Andrew’s mouth over the phone and you smile to yourself. “You liked it—”

“Fucking loved it, Andrew.” You groan, shifting your hips in your desk chair, trying to debate with yourself the risks and rewards of getting off while at work. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “Made me feel so dirty, so needy and sloppy, just—-just a hole desperate for anything, so desperate that I could come from you hitting my cunt like I deserved it.”

“You want me to—to do that to you?” He suddenly sounds so unsure of himself and you hate it, so you change directions quickly. 

“Only if you want.” You reassure him gently, knowing he loathes the idea of hurting you in any way. “Thought about other things too. Thought about wearing the skirt for you once you come home so you could bend me over and stuff your cock in me from behind, thought about you spanking me the whole time you fucked me and just using me, using my hole so mean and rough until I was sobbing and couldn’t stop coming around your cock.”

“F—fuck, you’re filthy.” A thrill runs through you at that, going down your spine and right to your cunt, pulsing around nothing as you whine to yourself. “God, the things—the things you come up with drive me fucking crazy.”

“You don’t even know the half of it, baby.”

“Tell me.” Andrew suddenly begs, more desperate than you thought he would become. “Tell me, sweetheart, please.”

You take a second to think about it, trying to pick the things that he would like the best, the dirtiest and filthiest of your fantasies he doesn’t know about yet. “Did you know California still allows conjugal visits?” 

It’s cruel to taunt him with that, you know it is, and Andrew seems to agree, if the tortured, raw moan he lets out is any sign. He was loud even through the phone, so he must have really moaned in the prison, must have been loud enough to turn heads at the thought of getting you alone in a trailer on the prison grounds. Your cunt aches at the sound, the visceral and coarse moan you so rarely hear anymore, and can’t help yourself as you cup your hand over your cunt to press a few fingers against your hole, just for the pressure. “Yeah, you like that?”

“I want you so fucking bad.” Andrew whines, and that’s all the permission you need, really. 

“I’d get you in that trailer and I wouldn’t be able to help myself, baby. I’d shove you on your knees and make you lick me until my come was dripping down your chin, make you suck on my clit and eat me out for so long you couldn’t breathe. Use your mouth and hump your face until you were crying and begging to fuck me.” When Andrew just whines again, this time more desperate and pleading, you continue, running your mouth with every filthy thing that comes to mind, spewing out every fantasy that would fit in the conjugal visit scenario. “You could fuck me up against one of the windows in the trailer, show everyone how good your cock is for me, show everyone how well I take you—how desperate I am for your cock inside me. Could let everyone see how you fuck your needy girlfriend and how you take her cunt until she was crying, full of your come and still begging for more.”

There’s more you want to say, more fantasies and scenarios you want to throw his way, but you wait to see how he reacts to that one, wait and see how he reacts to the idea of letting other people see him fuck you before you continue. From the long whimper he lets escape him, clawing and dragging out of his throat, hitching and pained, you think he’s amendable to the idea, to the fantasy. You take it a little further, betting that he would like it more depraved, filthier and meaner. 

“Could finally show everyone how you fuck your whore girlfriend who visits you every weekend, take out all your frustrations on my cunt after I’ve teased you for so long. You could fuck me so mean until I was sobbing and whining that it hurts, come in my cunt so many times it was dripping down my legs before you let me come even once, spank my ass red and raw until I was screaming from the pain, screaming like a whore who didn’t know how to stay quiet when her hole was stuffed and her ass was getting hit. You could parade me around after, show me off as your needy hole that’s ready and aching for you whenever you want to use it.” 

“More, please.” Andrew moans, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was touching himself right now. “What else, what else, what else—”

Jesus, he really likes this. You shove your fingers against your hole with more force, humping your fingers against all of your sanity, feeling your hole move and soak underneath your fingers with how hard you’re riding your fingers already. You let your eyes flutter closed as you touch yourself and listen to Andrew whine and moan in your ear, as you imagine every degrading and humiliating way to get fucked in a trailer in the prison, how your body could be used and taken for Andrew’s pleasure while everyone watched you get fucked like the whore you were, fucked rough and sloppy and sore until Andrew slapped your ass and sent you on your way when he was done with you. 

“Could shove me up against one of the windows so everyone could see me beg for you, see my tits pressed against the window and my ass bouncing back on your cock, show everyone the way you take your filthy whore’s hole after she hikes her ass in the air in the visiting room and makes it bounce like she’s putting on a show. Show everyone what happens when I shove my ass in the air like a slut, could grope me and shove me around and hold me down on your cock while I cried and begged ‘cause I got too worked up, ‘cause you kept using my hole until I was sore and gaping—”

“Oh, God—-” Andrew groans, and what else are you supposed to do but continue when he moans for you like that, when he sounds like he’s falling apart at the seams as you go on about getting fucked like a dumb whore? What else are you supposed to do but keep going, when he sounds like he’s getting the fuck of his life just from you talking?

“You—you could sit me on your cock and just play with my hole, could make me milk your cock without even fucking me, massage my clit so I had no choice but to come, force me to come around you whenever you wanted so that I just kept squeezing you—use my hole to make it clench around your cock until I was too sore and used up to do it myself. You would just use me like—like a fleshlight for hours, Andrew, force me on your cock and make me clench around you like a slut who wasn’t good for anything else, make me take your cock like I was a whore you paid for, taking your cock into my needy cunt and never letting you go, baby, never—”

~~~

You bring your pictures back with you on your next visit. It is a good idea, a good plan, you just couldn’t let yourself get distracted this time, couldn’t let yourself get knocked off course by Andrew’s hands on your body or his filthy fantasies that drive you wild. You read about this one online, read a woman’s story about how she brought a stack of innocent photos from her life into the prison, but slipped some not so innocent photos into the stack. The woman was very clear about the need to hide the explicit photos, though, very clear about how to tack the photos together discreetly so they didn’t get flagged when the COs flipped through them at security. 

You’ve hidden your explicit pictures in a stack of normal pictures from your work trip to Chicago, you in front of the tourist attractions and anything else that you saw that you thought Andrew might like to see. You show him a picture of you in front of the river at sunset, you posing silly in front of the Bean, you lit up underneath a vertical, neon sign displaying the word CHICAGO above a theater, you at a rooftop bar with the skyline lit up behind you. You show him pictures of Chicago without you featured in them, pictures of the architecture and the park and the lakefront beach, tour boats gliding down the rover framed by the cityscape, unknown buildings and locations that you just thought were pretty in the moment. 

Andrew drinks in the pictures eagerly. He sits on the edge of his seat as you flip through your photos, his eyes pointed on the pictures and his attention never straying, telling you that you look pretty in every picture that you’re in, asking you what you were doing when you took a particular picture, asking if you liked visiting that particular spot on your trip. You’re happy to give him a piece of your life, a deeper glimpse into your life outside of your visits, a piece of the world outside of the prison, even if it does tug on your heart a little bit. He should have been on the trip with you, snuck out of Oceanside for a few days and praying that his family didn’t need him for anything, he should have been experiencing the city with you and not through a stack of pictures on the weekend. He should be out of this place, experiencing life right alongside you and not through the little glimpses you’re allowed to give him in here. 

He was so clearly interested in your trip, in your pictures, in what you had to show him about your life, it nearly made you reconsider turning this moment dirty once you made it through all of your Chicago pictures. Nearly, but still. 

“Oh, here, I think you’ll like this one too.” You tell him, sliding him a picture of yourself across the table. Andrew takes it easily, eagerly, happy to be shown pictures from your work trip, happy to look at a picture you said he would like, happy to see you in your normal life again, and you would feel bad about it if you weren’t handing Andrew a picture of your sticky fingers playing with your pussy right after you came, spreading yourself open and dragging your thumb through your glistening, sticky cunt. 

“Wha…” Andrew trails off, staring at the picture with a gaping mouth, before he places it down on the table and quickly covers it with his hand. You bite your lower lip through your grin at his reaction, already anticipating this will go over well if he’s shocked silent from the first picture. “Is—did you mean to bring that one?”

“‘Course I did.” You reassure him, sliding the picture out from underneath his hand and adding it to the back of your pile, ignoring Andrew’s little pout of displeasure when you took the picture away. You have plenty more where that came from, plenty more pictures for him to gape and blink at in shock, plenty more pictures of your body for him to appreciate. “I have more, it’s okay.” You tell him, sliding him another picture that he snatches up eagerly, much to your pleasure. 

It’s a picture of you laying on your back in a lacy lingerie set, a lace bra that barely contained your tits and a lace thong that was mostly see through, through the pattern. The picture cut off your just underneath your chin, but it easily captured your full tits, your cunt showing through the lace panties, your arched back and your legs spread wide as you edged your fingertips underneath the top of the thong. You looked really fucking good in the picture, looked unbelievably sexy with your tits falling out of your bra as you arched your back and spread your thighs to edge the top of your cunt, and Andrew definitely thought so too. 

Andrew, who was turning a concerning shade of red with each second that passed and he continued to stare at the picture. He stared at the picture with wide eyes, nostrils flaring as he gripped the edge of the picture tightly, like he was scared you were going to take this one away without any warning too. You make a mental note to not take any more pictures away without asking first, without Andrew telling you he wanted to see another first. 

“I had someone take pictures of me. A professional, don’t worry.” You explain, quickly adding on the last bit when his head snapped up toward you, eyes wide at your admission. He slides the picture he’s currently looking at back over to you, and you quickly take it from him and swap it for another picture. “Thought of you the whole time. Got a little wet when she was taking my picture, thinking about you seeing them this weekend. Do you like it?”

“Yeah. Love it.” Andrew tells you, his voice nothing more than a scarce rasp as he scans the new picture. In this one, you were wearing Andrew’s black, oversized hoodie that you loved and only a pair of panties underneath, but the panties were covered by the hoodie pooling around your hips, so it looked like you were only wearing his hoodie as you spread your folded knees underneath you, coyly tugging the hem of the hoodie to cover your cunt as you stared at the camera with doe eyes. “Thank you.” Andrew says suddenly, like he’s remembering his manners. 

You smile at him and shake your head, not worrying about it. When Andrew gives no indication that he wants to give the picture back to you yet, a flicker of pride burns bright inside of you, knowing that he’s especially enjoying seeing you in his clothes, you in his hoodie that he knew you loved to steal. You knew he would like that, might even end up enjoying it more than you in the lingerie, his possessive streak striking hot inside his chest at the reminder that you’re his when he needs it most. 

“I asked and you’re allowed to keep five pictures after the visit. I can tack the naked pictures to the backs of the regular pictures of me so you can keep them, if you want.” You tell him, thumbing the stack of pictures in your hand as Andrew slowly hands you back the picture of you in his hoodie, like the loss of it already pained him. 

“Yeah, please.” Andrew breathes as you hand him a picture of you playing with your tits, your forearm underneath your tits pressing them together while your hand groped at the full size of your tit, your thumb edging across your nipple. You took that picture yourself, propped your phone up on your desk at home and touched yourself until you got a few respectable pictures for Andrew, before you thought to schedule a boudoir session and get some professional shots of yourself. The boudoir shots are obviously more polished and thought-out, but you can’t help but think there’s something about the amateur shots of your pussy and tits that are worth looking at too. “Wanna keep some of them.” 

“Okay. You want the hoodie one, yeah?” You confirm with him, smiling to yourself as Andrew nods absentmindedly in answer as he continues to stare at your tits and puffy nipples. You teased yourself before taking the picture, tugged and pinched at your nipples until they were puffy and darkened, knowing Andrew would notice that when he looked at the picture. You tack the hoodie picture to the back of the picture of you posing in front of the Bean in Chicago, knowing he liked that photo too when you showed it to him. 

You continue to show Andrew pictures from your boudoir session, biting your lip through your smiles and smirks as he seemed to collapse in on himself at each new picture, at each new position you posed yourself in, each new lingerie set you were wearing in the pictures. You show him a picture of your torso flattened to the bed and your ass hiked high in the air, the arch of your back severe as you held your ass in the air and crossed your ankles lightly, showing off the shape of your legs too. Another picture of you with your ass in the air, but this time with your hands clasped behind your back and your head resting on a pillow, turned to show off the way you were pretending to moan into the pillow like you were getting fucked. 

A picture of you in a see-through babydoll dress and a thong hiked high on your hips, the hem of the babydoll pooling around your thighs as you kneeled on the bed and had a few fingers pulling down the cups of the dress. A picture of you kneeling from behind, your arms extended behind you as you arched your back and propped your ass out, bare from your thong. A picture of you hanging over the edge of the bed, face contorted into another false look of pleasure as you fisted your tits with both hands and arched your back. A picture of you standing naked in the shower set-up the photographer had installed, the glass wall of the shower foggy and beaded with water as you stood behind it and coyly covered your tits with your arms, twisting your hips to hide your cunt but show off the curve of your ass. 

The woman you booked to take your pictures was very open-minded and comfortable with anything, thankfully. It had been a very productive use of your money and time to book with her, you quickly learned, and could not thank her enough for the pictures once you saw the final products. When Andrew was home, you would float the idea of doing a couples session with her, getting pictures of the two of you together in whatever way he was comfortable with. 

“Here, I think you’ll like this one a lot.” You tell Andrew as you slide him the last picture you have—you, laying on your front with your back arched, chest propped up by your arms resting on the bed, the string of your thong hooked into the heel of your high heels, your other foot in the air behind you as you tugged the string of your thong off your ass with your heel. You were wearing heels he had bought you, six inch heels with red soles, heels he liked to fuck you in, heels he begged you to keep on after a night out together. You should have worn them today, but that thought formed many hours too late. Maybe tomorrow. 

“Fuck me.” Andrew breathed out, skin flushing red again as he took in the picture. You watch him swipe his thumb over the curve of your ass in the photo, like it was an unconscious gesture he just had to complete, chest heaving a little bit as his fingers flex around the back of the photo as he holds it. His eyes bounce around the photo, devouring the image greedily, selfishly, drinking in every inch and detail you presented him with like he could never get enough of it. He really likes the picture, just like you knew he would. 

“Can you do this again for me when I come home?” Andrew asks you quickly, lifting his head long enough to look at you as he asks the question and dropping his gaze back onto the photo once the words were out of his mouth. 

“Of course, baby.” You agree right away, overcome with the fact that he even asked you for that. He asked you for something he wanted without any hesitation. He asked you for something he wanted and seemingly wasn’t worried about being rejected or reprimanded for expressing his desires. He asked you for something sexual and didn’t get hung up on it, didn’t get hung up on the fact that he hasn’t gotten hard in two and a half years, because he wanted you enough to outweigh those thoughts. “You like when I wear my heels for you, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Andrew agrees, eyes still burning as he stared at the same picture, desire simmering behind his expression that you were greedily taking in. You loved when he was shameless about what he wanted, what he wanted from you, when he didn’t hide what he wanted behind layers of grief or confusion or frustration like he had been trained to do. You loved when it was obvious what he wanted you, that he wanted every piece of you, wanted to consume and be consumed by you and it still wouldn’t be enough. You felt the same way about him. 

“I’ll pose for you just like that, then you can have me however you want.” You promise him, shifting in your seat as a low groan builds in Andrew’s throat at your taunting promise. “Could have me on my back with my legs wrapped around you, my heels bouncing on your back as you fuck me. Could push me onto my belly and hold me down, drag me back onto your cock until my legs were squirming and heels digging into you when I couldn’t keep still anymore.”

“Yes. Yes, I want—want all of it. Want to fuck you like that.”

“I’ll give it to you, let you fuck me any way you want when you’re home.” You promise him again, and just when you’re about to go on with a strong of other filthy things he could do to you at home, Andrew’s hands go a little slack around the photo he’s holding and his gaze goes distant, like your words somehow took him out of the moment. You give him a second to come back to himself, to bring his attention back to the photo and to your words, but when that doesn’t happen, you scooch forward and bump your foot against his underneath the table. “What’s wrong? What is it?” You ask him, your heart starting to beat a little harder against your chest when Andrew slowly drags his gaze to your face. 

“I can’t…” Andrew tries, his mouth pursing as he struggles to find the words. You give him all the time he needs, let him consider his thoughts and how he wants to phrase them for as long as he needs, but your anxiety feels like it’s eating you alive, worry gnawing at your stomach as you practically hold your breath as you wait for him to share what’s bothering him. “I can’t get hard.” He eventually whispers, his voice drowning in his sudden shame and embarrassment. “The—the whole time I’ve been here, I can’t…”

“I–I know that.” You tell him softly, bumping your foot against his again in extra reassurance even as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. Does he think you don’t know that, that you haven’t noticed that in the near year you’ve been doing this with him? Does he think that that bothers you, that you’re somehow mad or upset about the fact that he can’t get hard for you right now? Did you say something to make him think that you expected him to get hard right now, did you cross an unknown boundary and unknowingly push him too far? Where is this coming from? Why did he choose right now to explicitly tell you that? “I know that already, Andrew, it’s okay. I understand, it’s really okay, I promise.”

“Six years is a long time to not…” Andrew continues, handing you back your picture as he shakes his head at nothing. You take the picture blindly, slipping it into your stack of photos and placing them in your purse for now, not taking your wide, searching eyes off Andrew as you wait for him to keep talking. “When I come home, I might not be able to—”

Oh. Your chest deflates now that you understand him, now that you understand what he’s worrying about. You tilt your head at him with an imploring look, wide eyes and a gentle, soft smile peeking onto your face. You risk touching him and place your hand on top of his where it rests on the table, tangling your fingers with his and squeezing for a second, your breath stuttering out of your chest when Andrew quickly twists his hand around underneath yours to properly hold your hand. You take your hand back first, no matter how much it breaks your heart to lose his touch, but you know it isn’t allowed, it isn’t safe for him. 

“Andrew, I don’t care about that. I just want you home, however you are.” You tell him softly, letting him drop your eye contact for now when you know it gets too much for him. “When you come home, I’ll—I’m gonna be so fucking happy, I swear, I won’t care if you never get hard again. When you come home, all I’m going to care about is the fact that you’re home, with me, having a life in our house again, sleeping in our bed, waiting for me when I come home from work.”

You sniff once you’re done speaking, swallowing down the choking emotion building up in your throat at the sincerity in your own words. You can’t believe that he’s been worrying about that for any length of time, that he’s been letting that sit in his mind and rot for even a second. You run your mouth and tell him every filthy thing you think he might like to hear, but none of it matters next to Andrew’s comfort, his security in your relationship and your life. The only thing that really matters to you is that Andrew knows he’s important to you outside of sex, that he’s valued and wanted and desired outside of his ability to fuck you until your legs shook. He mattered to you, and sex was placed last on the list of things you truly needed from him to be happy, to build a happy life together. 

“I mean it, Andrew. I don’t care now, and I’m not gonna care when you come home.” You tell him again, your voice firm and unyielding this time as you wrap your foot around his ankle, tugging on him until Andrew nods his head in agreement. He picks his head up and looks at you again, eyes shining before he blinks away any evidence of tears that may or may not have been forming in his eyes. Your heart breaks at the sight, a pit sinking to the bottom of your chest and opening wide, every agonizing feeling you have about Andrew being locked up making a home right next to your heart. 

“I do want to.” He whispers, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly as he swallows around his admission.  

“I know.” You whisper back, offering him a little smile in consolation. You do know that. You do know that he probably would like to get hard at some point. You do know that if he could get hard, he would, obviously. You do know that he wants to show you in a more tangible way that he enjoys what you’ve been doing for him while he’s serving his sentence, but he can’t. And it’s all okay. 

“Do you want to look at the pictures again? You can still pick more to keep, or I could bring more next time.” You offer him gently, handing him back the pile of pictures to hold himself, giving Andrew control of which pictures he looked at and how quickly he flipped through them and which ones he lingered on. You imagine it might make him feel better, to have something else to focus on again. 

Andrew immediately flips to the picture of you standing in front of the Chicago river at sunset, smiling wide and happy, the skyline behind you and your skin shaded with the pretty colors of the sunset reflecting off the water. He sets that photo aside before singling out another, the one of you at the lakefront beach, you sitting with the water to your back, hair blowing all over the place as you laughed in surprise at the sudden burst of wind, hugging your knees to your chest as you curled inside your hoodie. He picked those two photos out immediately, just those pictures, none of the sexy pictures you took for him, just pictures of you…happy. Pictures of you living your normal life, pictures where you were smiling, pictures that you had your coworkers take just for him. 

He actively, purposefully picked the pictures where you were smiling and laughing to look at. The pictures he wanted to look at the most, when he had ultimate control of which pictures to put in front of himself, were ones where you were happy and doing a touristy activity, not the ones where you were half naked or the ones of your bare body. He just wanted to see you happy. He just wanted to see you in a normal setting, in your boring clothes you wear around your coworkers, in a life he was no longer completely privy to now that he was locked up. He just wanted to see you smile. He just wanted to see you. 

“You never told me anything about your work trip.” Andrew says lightly, like he isn’t actively filling you with enough love to drown in, enough love to wash away every agonizing feeling that had tried to overpower you before. “Did you have a good time? Is your boss giving you any more trouble?”

~~~

“Can we…can we, this weekend, please?” Andrew asks you over the phone, voice already so broken and defeated with his meager sentence that you sit up straight in your desk chair, icy fear and anxiety thrumming through your veins immediately. 

“Andrew, what happened?” You ask in a rush, panic clear in your voice. You try to rein it in, try not to let your fears and worries and dreaded thoughts come to life and affect Andrew through the phone, to set him off further when he was already so upset, but you couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but worry about him when there was still so much you didn’t know about what happened to him in there. You could only imagine the worst when he called you broken down and weak, when you visited him and he was dazed and subdued, when he had fading bruises on his face and arms. “Are you okay? Did something happen today?”

“Please, I just need you.” Andrew says instead of answering you, instead of putting any of your paralyzing fears to bed, instead releasing them to the wilds of your body, releasing your fears to gnaw at your heart and stomach and mind until you were nothing but a picked over remains, your worries carried off all around you. “I…I need to feel good again, please.” 

“Of course we can.” You tell him once you realize you’re not getting anything else out of him, once you realize he’s not going to tell you what happened to him to make him sound so broken. You can’t help him through anything with specificity, but you can give him this. You can promise him this, you can make him feel good this way, you can soothe and relax and heal him this way. You can bring him back to himself this way, with your words and your body and your love. “I’ll give you anything you want, baby, but you—you are good. You’re good, Andrew, I promise.”

When all you get is another broken noise in response, a low keening noise that brings tears to your eyes immediately upon hearing it, you bury your face in your free hand, squeezing your eyes closed as the sting of tears builds up behind your eyelids. If it’s the last thing you do, you’re going to hunt down every last one of those fucking bastards that are inside Folsom and make them pay, make them suffer, use every last thing you learned from Andrew to make them all wish you had killed them first. If it’s the last thing you do, you’re going to make them feel even a fraction of the pain they’ve caused Andrew, make them beg and cry and scream for relief that you will take great pleasure in denying them. 

“And it’s not about the sex, yeah?” You continue, sniffing once before composing yourself, for once glad that Andrew can’t see you right now, that he can’t see you falling apart over this too. You press your face into your hand with more force, trying to make your hand stop shaking, trying to get a handle on yourself before you do something stupid and dangerous at work. “You’re just good, Andrew, no matter what anyone else says, no—no matter what anyone does or makes you do, you’re good. You’re a good person, okay? You are good as a person, as yourself, no matter what you hear.”

“I'm not, I can’t be— No, I’m not—”

You refuse to listen to him tell you that he’s not a good person, that he isn’t worthy or deserving of your reassurances, that he can’t be a good person after all this time, after all he’s done, after he was groomed and manipulated to become someone who was constantly being told they were bad and crazy. Andrew’s family might be next on your list of people to hunt down and hurt, after the people at Folsom are taken care of. “I’ve known you for five years— I’ve loved you for five years, Andrew, and I know you’re a good person. I love you because you’re a good person, because you’re good, because your desire is to be good before anything else.”

There’s a long stretch of silence on the other end of the phone that scares the fuck out of you, that nearly has you begging for Andrew to say something, anything, even if it’s something else that breaks your heart, even if it’s something else that fills you with a boiling rage that you lock away. It’s not uncommon for Andrew to just go quiet, for him to stop talking and block everything out for the silence he’s giving himself, for him to decide that silence is the only way he can make it through a situation or the only way he can make sense of something happening around him, but it’s becoming more common since he’s been in prison. There are phone calls you have with him where thirteen of your fifteen minutes are taken up by Andrew’s silence, where the only sound available to you is his heavy breathing or the occasional hum as you fill the silence, as you babble about nothing so Andrew can hear your voice. You hate it, hate the heavy silences and the uncertainty it leaves you with, but you understand it. 

“You promise?” Andrew eventually whispers, his voice painfully hoarse and strained, a barely there noise that you have to focus on to understand as a question. “You really think that?”

You exhale heavily, premature relief coursing through you at the sound of Andrew’s voice through the phone. “I swear, Andrew. I swear it. You’re good—”

The line audibly clicks off, the sound on the other end of the call going dead, truly silent on the other end now, and you rip your phone away from your ear to check the connection, to try and figure out what the hell happened. Your phone is showing your call log now, the interface for the actual call with Andrew gone from your screen, and you hastily rip your eyes away to check the time, see that fifteen minutes had indeed passed and the call ended by itself, your allotted time with Andrew for the day done and gone.  

You can’t call him back. You get one fifteen minute call a day, initiated by Andrew, and will be denied the ability to speak to him again if you call the prison back. You’ve tried before, many times before, and you can never talk to him twice in one day. 

“Fuck.” You whisper, tears budding in your eyes again, vision swimming as you stare at your phone until the screen times out. “Fuck!” You repeat, tossing your phone aside and slamming your fist against your desk, beating your fist a few times as you let your tears finally fall, as you let your grief over everything take over for a few minutes and don’t trick yourself into thinking that you’ve got this all figured out for the both of you. 

~~~

This time, you don’t sexually accost him as soon as you get to the visiting room. 

As soon as the CO nods for you to walk through the door into the open visiting room, you rush to the table Andrew is already sitting at, nearly brought to tears when you see his back is ramrod straight and hands are linked neatly on top of the table. Andrew picks his head up slowly when he sees a body approaching him, and while he doesn’t relax just yet, his eyes soften, weaken, fill with a heartbreaking kind of relief that makes you want to kill every CO in this place ten times over. 

“Andrew.” You whisper, voice cracking as he finally stands up and you can touch him, as he pushes himself away from the table and meets you on unstable legs. “Andrew, baby.” You repeat nonsensically, wrapping your arms around him immediately, tucking his face into your neck and holding him tightly, rocking him a little bit as he grips you back just as tightly, desperately, his hands digging into your waist as he clings to you. 

“I love you.” You tell him, your voice vibrating against his temple, your lips pressed firm to his skin as you comfort him through whatever happened to him this week. “I’m here now. It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. I love you so much.” You tell him, rubbing up and down his back as Andrew tries to burrow deeper into your body the longer you hold him, the longer you whisper nonsense into his skin and press barely there kisses into his temple. You squeeze your eyes closed tightly as you hear him whimper into your neck, as you feel his chin quiver against your skin like he was holding back from crying, and you cling to him tighter in return, dig your fingers into his back so tightly you think he might bruise. 

“Missed you.” Andrew tells you, his voice hoarse and scratchy as he speaks for the first time. He sounds awful, truthfully, sounds like he screamed himself hoarse, like he was too worn down to speak more than two words at a time. You hold him tighter on instinct, pressing him impossibly closer to your body as he squeezes you in return. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You tell him again, would tell him a hundred more times if he needed, would tell him as many times as he needed until he felt settled and safe in his body again. 

When your allotted greeting time is up, you reluctantly release Andrew, sliding your hands slowly off his body as he unfurls himself from your hold, drawing his hands off your waist and removing his face from your neck, standing up to his full height as he sniffs once before stilling. You don’t bother asking him if he wants to talk about it because you know he won’t. He won’t talk about it or tell you any context for what might have set him off, so you just skip ahead to something that you hope will make him feel better. 

You secretly slip him a little remote control, small enough to discreetly fit in the size of your palm and definitely small enough to he hidden in Andrew’s palm. You watch him move the little remote in his palm, getting a feel for it without opening up his hand and drawing attention to the fact that he was holding something, and when you see his thumb glide across the face of the remote, when he feels the little buttons on the remote that he is more than familiar with, his eyes widen and snap toward yours. 

“It’s in my underwear.” You inform him, dropping your eyes from his as your face warms underneath your admission. You haven’t been nervous about this in a long time, haven’t felt the butterflies in your belly in almost a year, but they’re back now, for some reason. As if giving Andrew the remote control to the vibrator shoved in your panties was more intimate and vulnerable than anything you had done with him before today. “You can control it while we talk. If you want, or I can do it myself. Whatever you need right now.”

“I…I don’t know.” Andrew tells you shakily, each word hesitant in a way that was so unnatural for him that you immediately took over for him. 

“I’ll do it, but if you want it back just tell me, yeah?” You reassure him, gesturing with your fingers for him to discretely slip you back the remote. The weight and shape of the remote is more than familiar to the both of you, so the transfer goes smoothly, your combined skill at the movement aided by how many times the two of you have held the remote for the vibrator making it seamless. 

The vibrator itself was also very familiar to the two of you. It was designed and shaped to sit against your clit, a curved oval that shaped against your cunt perfectly, a large bump in the natural curve of the vibrator that rested right against your clit to pinpoint the intense vibrations. It had four speeds and seven different vibration patterns, was shockingly quiet when it was turned on, and rushed you to orgasm faster than any other toy you had. When you had shown Andrew the toy for the first time, when you held the vibrator against your clit at the highest setting and sobbed through your orgasm as your thighs shook and closed around your hand, he had begged to use the toy on you himself, had begged to control the remote and keep the toy pressed to your clit himself until you spread your legs for him again and released the remote from your fist. He fucked you like that, his cock stuffing you full and grinding into you achingly slow, the vibrator pressed right against your clit without repreive as you milked him and begged for mercy. 

You both sit down at the table, Andrew watching you closely as you sit with your legs spread wide, clicking the vibrator on to the first speed setting and first vibration pattern, a low, steady vibration that didn’t do much for you but still felt nice, felt good to warm up with. You nod at Andrew to tell him that you turned it on, that the vibrator was working against your clit now, folding your hands on top of the table and hiding the remote in the space between your two palms. 

“Remember when we stole that boat and took it out to the middle of the ocean and you fucked me on the deck?” You say, hips twitching once as you stare at Andrew innocently, as if you posed him a perfectly normal, sane question just after the two of you sat down. 

“Yeah— yeah, I remember.” Andrew answers shakily, unsure of where you’re taking this for now. You take in the blush high on his cheeks and the way his eyes dip down to your lap every other second and decide that there is no real benefit to teasing either of you, not today. You slip your thumb into the cover of your palms and turn the vibrator up to the third speed, still paired with the constant vibrating pattern, and let your eyes flutter closed in pleasure as you muffle a moan behind your closed lips, your hips bucking relentlessly into the vibrator at the sudden, intense change against your clit. 

“Remember— oh, remember how you forced me on my stomach and held me down by the back of my neck, how you shoved me into the boat and made me keep my ass in the air? How I whined when I couldn’t hold myself up anymore and you slapped my ass, f—fuck, kept hitting me until I remembered to keep my ass up and legs spread for you?”

He only slapped your ass because he knew you liked it. He was only rough and demanding and mean to you because he knew you liked it like that sometimes, knew you needed to lose control of yourself every now and then to get out of your own head. He was hesitant to hurt you at first, but after he saw how you reacted to the first gentle swat he laid on your thigh, he then had no problem slapping your ass until it was red and stinging, hitting you hard enough to make your ass recoil and bounce, kneading and squeezing your raw skin afterwards to make you whine for him. 

“Remember— remember when I just kept coming on your cock, kept— kept fucking soaking and creaming on you?” You continue, opening your eyes and staring into Andrew’s dark, hungry eyes, his pupils blown wide as he watches your lips part around quiet moans and your hips roll into the sensation of the vibrator on your clit. It already feels so fucking good, your cunt pulsing and fluttering around nothing, your pooling slick making it easier for you to shift the vibrator against your clit as you rock your hips down against your seat. “Came so much you were sliding in and out of me so good, sounded so fucking hot to hear you fuck all my come back into me, to—to hear my pussy sucking you in like that.”

“Yeah, I remember. Remember your come sticking to my cock when I kept fucking you.” Andrew breathes out, his hands twitching on the table as if he was stopping himself from reaching out for you. The restraint made you whine pathetically, even if it was understandable, suddenly wanting nothing more than for Andrew to get his hands on you as the vibrator works over your clit relentlessly, ruthlessly, the direct sensation on your clit making you lose your mind a little. “Why—why that time?”

“Was just thinking about it.” You tell him honestly, hanging your head and changing the pattern of the vibrator, the constant vibrations giving way to rapid, pulsing vibrations against your clit. You bite your knuckles as you whine, probably too loudly, your thighs squeezing closed around the vibrator and pressing it tight against your clit, the pressure making your whines turn needy and gasping, high-pitched as you pant through the sensation spreading throughout your cunt. You buck your hips into the feeling, riding it as best you can, trying to fuck your clit against the vibrator instead of just taking it, instead of just being forced to sit still while your clit is made puffy and oversensitive by your favorite toy, but it doesn’t feel liked you hoped it would. 

“Fuck, are you close already?” Andrew asks you, eyeing you closely as he licks his lips. 

“I—I dunno. Feels good, just feels so good, Andrew.” You tell him, sliding one of your hands into your lap, pressing hard against the vibrator over your pants, digging the meat of your palm where the vibrator is abusing your clit, finally fucking the toy against your pussy in time with the pulsing vibrations you set it at. “Oh, oh fuck—” You cry out as you feel your cunt flutter around nothing, looking for Andrew’s cock to milk around as you tease your clit, as you roll your cunt into a painfully empty space and ache for something to fill you. 

“So pretty.” Andrew breathes out, seeing something in you that he couldn’t resist telling you about. “Always so pretty for me. Love when you do this for me.” 

“Yeah, just for you.” You promise him around your whining, nodding stupidly as you hump your vibrator and soak your panties. It’s—it’s just so intense, pleasure forced right onto your clit without any reprieve, vibrations shooting right from your clit to your hole, pulsing and clenching around nothing as it tries to pull in a cock that isn’t coming. It would be torture, if it didn’t feel so good, if you weren’t already close to tears from overstimulation, if Andrew wasn’t so clearly enjoying the sight of you falling apart on your vibrator. “Just—just for you, fuck myself like this only for you. Only do this for you, no one else.”

“Yeah.” Andrew groans, fisting his hands on top of the table, digging his nails into his palms as you babble for him. “My girl, only for me. Getting off just for me.”

“Yes. Yours, Andrew, I swear, all yours.” You cry, the pit building in your cunt pulling tighter, the heavy weight in your cunt nearly enough to drown you, to pull you under and never let you go. Your chest heaves as you shove the vibrator against your clit again, rocking it against you as best you could through your pants, mewling as your hips jerk against the pressure and your cunt palpably soaks around nothing, your slick dripping onto your panties and sticking them to your cunt.

Tears bite at the corner of your eyes as you moan in pleasure, your mouth falling open as you hold your head up with the hand still clutching the remote, keeping your face turned toward Andrew so he could see you fall apart as you still use your other hand to force the vibrator harder against your clit. “Making such a mess for you.” You tell him around a needy gasp, your hips jumping when Andrew lets out a low, rumbling moan at your words. “I’m so—so wet, feels so good but ‘s just making me so sensitive. I need more, but I can’t—”

When you use your toy, you usually have a few fingers inside you at the same time, or Andrew’s cock fucking you full, or at the very least you’ll tease and tug at your nipples as you roll the vibrator against your clit. You’ve never used the vibrator without touching yourself in some other way, never had the vibrator stuffed in your underwear and buzzing against your clit without any real way to move it or touch yourself. You obviously can’t sit on Andrew’s cock right now, you can’t get a good angle to fuck yourself with your fingers as you sit down with the vibrator in your underwear, and you can’t really play with your tits through your bra. You should have planned this better, should have known that you would need more than just the vibrator, but you weren’t thinking beyond the fact that it was another way to discretely fuck yourself during the visit. 

“You need more?” Andrew asks you tentatively, glancing around the room as you nod into your hand, biting your lower lip hard as your clit aches against the vibrator, rubbed raw from the pulsing vibrations and the force with which you were shoving the toy against yourself. 

You don’t even know how it happens. One second you were humping the toy in your panties, and the next Andrew was slouching in his seat, a foot hooking behind your knee closest to him and tugging you down your seat as Andrew’s other leg was forcefully shoved between your thighs, his knee digging into your cunt and rubbing, forcing the vibrator harder against your clit than your hand ever could, grinding his knee against your pussy as you moan in surprise at the suddenness of it all. 

“Oh—fuck, oh, God, oh—” You mewl as you hump his knee, quickly taking advantage of the current situation while you had it. You buck your hips against the hard curve of his knee, surprised by the sensation and the fact that it was Andrew underneath your cunt to get off with any more finesse at first, just take and grind your pussy into his knee as he keeps the pressure there, as he presses the span of his knee against your cunt hard enough to almost hurt. Your cunt flutters at the new sensation, the fact that Andrew was shoving his knee against your pussy to get you off, that you were humping his knee because you just needed to come that desperately, stroking the flames building in your belly higher and higher. “Please, I‘m so close, please, want it—”

“I can feel you.” Andrew whispers, his voice raw and strained as you deliriously, desperately ride his knee and senselessly whine to yourself, your voice hitting your ears too loud, too rough, but you couldn’t care, couldn’t be bothered to control yourself as you fell apart on a part of Andrew’s body for the first time in nearly three years. It doesn’t matter that you’re being too loud, it doesn’t matter that you’re probably drawing unnecessary attention to yourself, it doesn’t matter that you’re bucking your pussy into Andrew’s knee like a desperate slut, because it all feels so fucking good. 

Andrew’s pupils are blown wide, a flush spreading high across his cheeks, his nostrils flaring as you ride his knee, as you rub your wet and warm cunt against his body, as you—as you ride him and he can feel you. He can feel you soaking through your panties, he can feel the vibrations that you’re getting off to, he can feel how warm your cunt is through your pants, he can feel how wet you are, all for him, just for him, all of this only for him. He can feel how needy you are for him, doesn’t have to rely on your words to know that anymore, can feel how much you like this, feel how turned on you get fucking yourself for him, feel just how much you like to debase yourself for him during your visits. 

“Fuck me.” You gasp as Andrew rocks his knee against your cunt in time with your grinding, staring at him with wide eyes as he starts to rock his knee into your pussy, hard, forceful, rough, his knee hitting the vibrator every time you roll your hips against him, his knee hitting your pussy every time you met his motions, the scratch of your sticky panties and pants against the fabric of Andrew’s own pants creating a tortuous friction against your cunt as you whine through the sensations. It all feels so good, so fucking good, the warmth in your belly pulling tighter, the tension in your cunt coiling stronger, your whining and moaning eclipsing any appreciative words you may be able to form as Andrew watches you lose it on his knee and looks like he wants to devour you. 

The movement of his knee continues to be mean and forceful, grinding against your soaking hole that can’t help but pulse and flutter around nothing, fucking you on his knee as you bounce with the force he’s hitting you with paired with how you’re desperately rolling your hips against him. It’s obscene, how much you ache from the mean force of Andrew’s knee, how your hole flutters around nothing as you let the vibrator abuse your overworked clit, as you hump his knee and whine for more like a slut.

Andrew’s hitting your cunt now like he’s fucking you rough and mean, like he would slam his cock into you after you begged for it to hurt, like he would pull you back onto his cock as you buried your face into your sheets and sobbed, like he would pull you down onto his cock when he got fed up with how slow you were riding him, like he would slap your pussy hard with his hand—

“Oh, Andrew, mmhm—” You slap your hand holding the remote against your mouth, trying to conceal your mewling moan as you finally come, as you soak through your pants and hopefully get Andrew’s pants damp too, as you come around the relentless buzzing of the vibrator and the forceful grinding of Andrew’s knee against your pussy. You slow the bucking of your hips against his knee as you come down from your orgasm, whimpering into your hand as the vibrator continues to buzz against your clit, as Andrew’s knee continues to rub against your fluttering cunt through the aftershocks. 

You click the vibrator off on the remote and gasp at the sudden cessation of the vibrations, your hips twitching reflexively as your body adjusts to the lack of sensation after being relentlessly teased with the pulsing, tight buzzing of the toy. You stay on Andrew’s knee, stay slouched in your seat to keep the pressure on your cunt, just because you wanted to, just because you could. 

Andrew gently but quickly pries your fingers off the remote and takes it into his own palm, hiding it from any nosy eyes on you. Your body tenses as you prepare for him to turn the vibrator on again right now, your thighs closing reflexively as you expect the vibrator to start pulsing against your sore clit again, a shudder working through your body at the thought of Andrew keeping the vibrator on for the rest of your visit and forcing you to come over and over, clit aching and puffy by the time you have to leave, your pants dark and soaked with your come after an hour of forced orgasms. 

“Wanna do it next time.” Andrew tells you. You groan in pleasure and let your head pool in your arms on top of the table, catching your breath as you feel a hot pulse run through your cunt now that you know Andrew will control the remote soon, will push you to an orgasm again after the intense assault you just gave your clit. You can’t wait. You might tell him to just do it now, turn the vibrator back on and turn you into a sobbing, begging mess as you come through the overstimulation and sharp, aching pleasure. You might tell him to keep it on for the entirety of your visit, let him use you to make himself feel good, let him keep you overstimulated just so he could see you cry and beg for relief and not mean it, just so he could feel good about how he was getting you off for himself. 

“How mad would you be if I got put in solitary for a week and you couldn’t talk to me all week or see me next weekend, maybe longer?” Andrew asks you quietly, eyeing you carefully. 

“Fucking pissed.” You spit out immediately, honestly, picking up your head and eyeing him with suspicion as you wonder where the hell that came from. Solitary was no joke, anyone with half a brain knew it was torture and inhumane, and you didn’t appreciate the lackadaisical mention of Andrew in a place like that, especially right now. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“Just wanna kiss you.” Andrew admits lowly, ducking his head and clenching and flexing his fingers around the remote, still restraining himself. Your breath catches in your throat at his reasoning, your heart stuttering and flipping in your chest, and you feel like an asshole for snapping at him like you did. “Wanna put you on the table and spread your legs around me, kiss you and shove the vibrator against your clit until you were crying and begging into my mouth.” 

Less sweet, but no less enticing. He knows you so well. 

“I would be mad if I couldn’t see you.” You tell him again, but you gentle your tone this time. “I’ll give you kisses when I say goodbye.” 

“Where?” Andrew asks eagerly, even though there are really only a handful of places you can kiss him when you hug him at the end of your visit. 

“Be a good boy and you’ll find out.” You promise him, your voice still embarrassingly breathless, grinning when Andrew lets out a tortured, pathetic whimper at your gentle taunt. 

~~~

You freeze in the middle of your stride as you step out of your car after you get home from work, clutching your purse to your chest in surprise but keeping your alarm silent for now. 

There was a man sitting on your front steps. 

There was a man sitting on your front steps, his head hanging between his legs as he hunched in on himself, his feet propped up on the steps below him and his arms hanging around the front of his legs. You look him over quickly, looking for weapons or anything else that could pose as a threat to you, but find his hands empty and the area around him free of weapons. But that doesn’t mean he’s harmless, doesn’t mean he isn’t hiding a weapon somewhere else. 

You close your car door loudly, hoping to startle the man enough to get him to look up without demanding it of him, reaching into your purse for the switchblade you keep in there at Andrew’s insistence just in case. The man didn’t look up at you when you pulled up to your house, but maybe he just didn’t hear your car yet, or maybe he was waiting to scare you in some way—

The man looks up at you once your car door slams shut, his head snapping out from between his legs at an inhuman speed, his eyes immediately wide and searching the area in front of him. Hazel eyes. Pained, beautiful, hopeful hazel eyes lock onto yours, his lips parting on a soft exhale as you feel all the tension and fear leave your body once you get lost in the familiar emotion haunting his gaze. 

“Oh my God.” You whisper, your breath rushing out of you in a shaky exhale, your entire body starting to tremble as you stare in complete disbelief at Andrew, who is currently sitting on your front steps, looking right at you. “Oh—oh my God. Andrew.” You gasp again, dropping your purse and keys onto the ground, running across your front yard and flying into his arms as he quickly stands on his feet to catch you, stumbling on his feet with the force that you ran into him with. 

“Andrew.” You repeat again, throwing your arms around the back of his neck and clinging to him tightly, Andrew holding you just as tightly around your lower back and pulling you into his body, lifting your feet off the ground as you hold each other, as you clutch at any piece of each other that you can reach, grasping at skin and clothes as you each struggle to hold each other as tightly as possible. “You’re—you’re here, what—”

“I know.” Andrew’s voice rumbles against your neck, his head tucked tightly against your skin, his nose smushed into your neck and his lips tangibly moving against your skin from how close he is to you. You feel his body shaking underneath your hands, feel the trembling of his shoulders and the way his hands are shaking against your lower back, and squeeze your eyes closed in response to the unfamiliar wave of pain and relief that washes through you at the same time. “I'm sorry, I didn’t know how else—”

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.” You tell him quickly, truly unable to care about anything except the fact that Andrew was home, that he was out of Folsom, that he was standing in front of you, whole and safe and in your hands for the rest of your lives. You grasp at his back again, fisting his shirt in your hands as you open your eyes again and stare over Andrew’s shoulder, stare at his back and your hands scrabbling to cling to him, the two of you standing in your front yard and finally free from the prison and COs and stifling visitation rules. 

“Oh, Andrew.” You sniff, pulling your head out of his shoulder as you slide your hands off his back and onto his face, pressing his cheeks in your palms and gripping the back of his head with your fingers, your thumb lining up peacefully on his cheekbones. You hold him tenderly, painfully soft and gentle as his expression shutters beneath your hands, as his face collapses in grief as you hold him without restrictions, as you hold him for as long as you fucking want, as you touch him without a dozen eyes on you poised to reprimand either of you for the smallest thing. 

“Baby.” You whisper, slowly tugging his face closer to yours, his eyes still closed and leaking silent tears, brushing your lips gently against his when you eventually pull him close enough. It couldn’t even really be called a kiss, just a dry drag of your lips against his as you both crack underneath the relief suddenly surrounding you, but it might be the best thing you’ve ever felt, might light up your mind and body more than any other kiss you’ve shared with Andrew in the past. Your breathes mixed in the small space between your mouths for a beat, neither one of you moving as you stood in the enormity of this moment, before Andrew quietly begged, “Please”, and nothing else mattered anymore except for the fact that you were kissing Andrew again. 

This was real. This wasn’t a beautiful dream you awoke from devastated, this wasn’t a pleasant hallucination you trapped yourself in, this wasn’t a daydream you got distracted by at work. This was real, because you could feel Andrew’s lips move gently against yours, you could feel his nose press into your cheek as he kissed you passionately, you could feel his tongue tentatively brush against your lips as he asked for permission to kiss you deeper. You could feel the little exhales he was letting out from his nose, could feel the way his hands shook against your lower back as he held you close, could feel the way his tears trailed down his cheek and pooled against your thumbs on his cheekbones.

You kiss him as if this one moment could ever make up for the three years that you both lost. You kiss him as if you could pour every ounce of love and devotion you have for him into him through your lips, through your tongue brushing against his, through the way you hum and moan in plain relief as you kiss him. You kept the kiss gentle, impossibly slow and gentle as you both wrestled with the relief you were feeling, the longing that was simmering underneath your skin at finally being allowed to kiss him again. Andrew sighs against your mouth, a little sound that catches in his throat before it can become anything real, and you can’t help but let out a little whimper in response, another little sound that couldn’t be quantified as anything real, but Andrew groans against your mouth like he understands, like he could hear that noise for the rest of his life and die happy. 

You reluctantly pull back from the kiss, Andrew following after you when you slowly pull your lips off of his, a pleading look filling his watery eyes as he trails after you, and you’re almost forced to kiss him again, to wipe that expression off of his face now that he was home and there was no real reason to tell him no, to deny him anymore. You don’t keep the pace of this kiss as slow as your first, opening your mouth underneath his as soon as his tongue swipes against your lips, don’t contain the reedy moan that builds in your chest when Andrew tightens his hands on the small of your back and tugs your chest against his, when you feel the hard plane and ridges of his torso underneath his thin t-shirt. Your fingers flex against the back of his skull, rubbing against his short hair, and when Andrew gasps into your mouth at the feeling, you take the opportunity to bite his lower lip and pull back in the moment of Andrew’s shock. 

Andrew lets you pull back this time, lets you go only so far to separate your faces so you could look at him again, and your heart nearly breaks as you take in Andrew’s wet eyes, his clumping eyelashes, his trembling chin and wobbly lower lip as you continue to hold his cheeks as he silently cries. You feel your own eyes well with tears as you smile softly at Andrew, wobbling but certain as you grip his face and take him in, as you swipe away his falling tears with your thumbs. Nothing could ever erase the pain either of you have felt over the past three years, but this was a good start. Holding him and comforting him was a good start, for now. 

“This—this is real? You’re actually out, you didn’t escape or anything?” You ask desperately, your voice frantic as you squeeze his face, as you swipe your thumbs across his cheekbones, as you rub the back of his head with the rest of your fingers. As you touch him freely, greedily, selfishly, touch him in all the ways you’ve been forbidden to for the past three years. 

Andrew huffs out a wet beat of laughter before he answers you. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. “This is real. I’m out, for good.” 

He’s home. He’s home. You could figure everything out later, because nothing else mattered anymore. 

Andrew was home.

 

 

Notes:

aaahhh ok, hope u guys enjoyed this!!!
If there is interest there is a (strong) chance I might come back and write a third chapter where I flesh out pope coming home and them fucking outside of the prison, but this took a lot out of me and I feel writers block approaching HARD right now so I'm marking complete for now

ALSO I created a writing blog that is still very much being developed, but I made a post about this fic if you wanted to reblog/share it <3

comments and kudos always appreciated 🩷
 

(I'm also working on another pope cody x reader fic that is definitely more in character lol so that is upcoming also! I will probably post it as another fic in a series attached to this fic, but they won't be connected at all. )

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed reading this!! Comments and kudos are so very appreciated!

Chapter 2 is coming as mentioned above and hopefully by tomorrow or Monday! Chapter 2 will feature an honest discussion of these Events in case anyone was wondering/needing to know that before continuing on

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of pope cody collection