Conjugal Captive

This is an explicit fantasy of older-female-on-younger-male rape, perpetrated by two inmates in the depths of a women's prison during a riot.

Clint was 23 years old; lean, blond, and good-looking; an apprentice plumber recently out of trade school. He had skill and potential and earned an apprenticeship with the city's top plumbing contractor. His firm was hired for the most unique and difficult projects all over town, and Clint loved the work and the experience he was gaining. One day, he went with two senior plumbers to Thimore Penitentiary, a maximum-security women's prison, to replace aging water and drain lines in the basement of the facility.

Clint figured this would be just another job until the three plumbers arrived at Thimore. The high grey stone walls topped with concertina wire gave all of them a chill. Once inside the gate, they had to surrender their phones and wallets and keys for safekeeping. Then three guards, all of them tall and broad-shouldered women with no-nonsense attitudes, led the plumbers into the depths of the prison, through checkpoints and heavy metal doors and along sterile tan corridors. Clint could not help but notice that nearly all of the guards and other prison staff they encountered along the way were women.

They never passed near any cellblocks nor directly encountered any prisoners, but one point they passed a long window to an outdoor exercise area. About a dozen female inmates, in grey-and-white striped prison clothing, were shooting hoops, lifting weights, and pounding on heavy bags. Every one of the inmates stopped what they were doing to gawk at the three plumbers passing by. Some whistled, some blew kisses, and some called out. It was clear that most of their attention was directed at Clint. He felt both intimidated and thrilled at the same time.

The guards hustled the plumbers past the window and eventually led them into a steamy basement corridor where their tools and the replacement piping had already been delivered. The corridor smelled of rust and mold. The plumbers got to work disconnecting and removing the old pipes and replacing them, as the guards stood by. The work was strenuous in the tight, dank place, but the plumbers were fast and efficient.

Their work was all but complete when hell was suddenly unleashed just above them.

There was a loud bang that shook the walls, the shriek of multiple sirens and alarms--and then came angry shouts and cries, which grew louder and more numerous every second. It sounded like a riot. It had to be a riot!

The plumbers stopped working and glanced nervously at the ceiling, which was vibrating with the ruckus of footfalls and blows and things being smashed. It sounded like it was all happening directly above them, although they had to be several levels down in the building. But the guards seemed surprisingly calm, talking softly on their radios and nodding to each other.

"Stay calm," one of them said. "We have to leave here but we will get you out safely."

Clint picked up a big wrench, but a guard immediately took it away.

"I'm sorry sir, you can't carry that. Don't worry. We have weapons and we will keep you safe."

With two guards in front and the third in the rear, the three plumbers were led back along the basement corridor, the way they had come in, as the fearsome noises of the prison riot continued unabated above them.

Then--without warning--there was a loud whooshing sound, and a roiling white cloud burst into the corridor in front of them. Before they could react, it had rolled over them. Tear gas!

There was immediate agony in the gas--intensely burning eye pain and a cascade of tears incapacitated Clint. His throat contracted and he couldn't speak. He dropped to his hands and knees on the cold concrete floor. He heard his coworkers grunting and cussing, and one of the guards was shouting "Keep going, keep going!" But how could they? They were all blinded and disoriented.

As quickly as it had come, the cloud of tear gas passed on by, and moments later the air in the corridor had cleared. But it gave Clint's eyes no relief and he kept them tightly closed against the pain.

"Help!" he croaked, still down on all fours. "Somebody help me!"

Then somebody did--reaching down to take Clint by the arm and help him to his feet.

"C'mon. This way."

It was a female voice. Clint thought it was one of the guards. She said nothing more, but grabbed a firm hold of the young apprentice's right bicep and began hustling him along the corridor. Still blinded and in pain, he let himself be guided forward.

Along the way they made several sharp turns into side passages, many more than Clint remembered from coming in. Maybe they had to do that in order to avoid the riot that was still roaring upstairs. But somehow it felt as if he was being led even lower down into the depths of the prison complex. He hoped they were going to the prison infirmary so he could get his eyes treated.

Instead, they arrived a quiet, damp room that smelled of old stale sweat and liniment, like a gym or a locker room. There were other women there; Clint could hear them speaking softly amongst themselves.

Something didn't seem right, but then his mystery guide said, "Let's fix them poor eyes o' yours, kid. Come over here with me."

She led Clint to some kind of wooden bench, and with gentle pressure on his shoulders got him to lie down on it, on his back. Then a cool, wet cloth was pressed over his eyes--giving him instant relief.

"That helps, don't it, sugar?" It was a different woman's voice. "Just don't ask what's in it!"

Clint reached to remove the cloth so that he could see what was happening, but the woman who had brought him there pulled his hand away.

"Leave that on there just a little longer--"

And then--WHOOMF!

Two large women sat down abruptly on Clint's chest and abdomen--straddling him and forcing the breath from his lungs! Startled, gasping, Clint was suddenly and tightly pinned to the bench beneath two large asses, and scissored between two pairs of powerful thighs--unable to move, let alone pull free!

The woman sitting on his chest leaned forward with a laugh and pressed a pair of enormous breasts, barely covered by a thin blouse or shirt, firmly into his face, while reaching out to take hold of his arms. Clint could smell her sweat and a trace of some kind of cheap cologne or body spray. He tried to yell out, but with his face pinned between the woman's ponderous boobs, his cries were muffled.

He felt other hands, surprisingly strong, taking hold of his wrists and ankles and pulling them down below the bench. He tried to resist, but before he fully understood what was happening, his arms and legs had been lashed to the legs of the bench with some kind of wire. He was now well and truly immobilized, bound securely to the bench at both ends of his body, with his arms restrained and his legs splayed.

The two women who had been sitting on him now rose, one of them still holding the cool wet cloth against his eyes.

"Thanks for the help," he heard one of them say.

"You've got an hour, hour-and-a-half max," replied a third person, another woman. Then Clint heard her leave the room, her footsteps fading away.

"What's going on? HELP! Somebody HELP me!" he yelled as he continued to struggle.

He tried to free his arms and legs, but the wire that bound him only cut more deeply into his skin. He was tied to a weightlifting bench: solid and strong and bolted firmly to the floor. He could not budge it. Neither could he lift himself off it; he could barely twist his body from side to side.

"HELP! HELP!" he shouted. His cries echoed around the room, but it was obvious that beyond there, they were completely drowned out by the noises of the riot directly above them.

"Nobody outside this room can hear ya, kid," said the woman who was holding the cloth over his eyes.

"But we can, and it's fucking annoying," said the other one. "So simmer down now--or we'll stuff something nasty in your mouth to shut you up!"

Confused and angry, with all his muscles tense, Clint forced himself to quiet down.

"That's it. No sense riling yerself up, kid. We're not gonna hurt ya if ya behave."

Then the wet cloth was lifted from his eyes and stuffed underneath his head. Clint's vision was still blurry, and the room was very dim, barely lit. He saw what looked like some gym equipment around the room, and now he could tell he had been tied to a weightlifting bench. There were two women standing alongside the bench, both wearing the grey-and-white striped prison garb.

They were inmates! Hands on their hips, they surveyed their captive.

"We caught ourselves a plumber, cellie. A young'un. Kinda skinny, ain't he?"

"I'd say he's more like wiry. And cute."

It was clear that Clint had been taken captive by two female criminals, convicted of who knew what? He couldn't see his captors' faces clearly in the faint light, but one was White and the other Black. Both had short-cropped hair. Though their prison clothes were baggy, Clint already knew they were both big-bodied and voluptuous women, as they'd both just been sitting on him, and one had just pressed her boobs into his face.

Their smoky voices hinted that they were quite a bit older than he was--in their forties at least, maybe even their fifties.

"What's happening to me?" Clint implored. "Is this because of the riot?"

"Not exactly, kid," replied the White inmate, "though we are takin' advantage of it."

"What do you mean--take advantage? Are you holding me hostage?"

"Maybe not for the reason you think, sugar," the Black inmate answered. "We brought you here to have a nice conjugal visit with us two jailbirds."

"What do you mean--wait--conjugal? Doesn't that mean sex?"

"He catches on fast," snickered the redhead.

"D'you suppose he's a virgin?" her cellmate wondered. "That'd be really hot."

"What? No!" Clint blurted, gobsmacked by what the women were saying. "And what do you mean? You're saying you wanna have sex with me? Both of you?"

"That's the idea, sugar."

"That's crazy! Right now? In here?"

"We ain't got nowhere else to go, kid."

Clint's fear grew. He'd been tied to the weightlifting bench with legs splayed and his crotch fully open. As he looked on in disbelief, the Black lady convict straddled the end of the bench by his bent knees and unbuckled his belt. Methodically, she pulled his work trousers and then his boxer briefs clear of his groin.

"Hey! What are you doing to me?"

And then, smiling at him but saying nothing--she took hold of his penis!

"Hey! What are you doing? C'mon! Quit that! Let go!"

Clint lurched and twisted on the bench, but couldn't stop what was happening.

"Just checkin' out the goods, sugar! Ain't gonna hurt you, long as you don't fight it."

Her hands were warm and surprisingly soft. She gently hefted his balls and lifted his cock up for the other inmate to examine.

"Hmm. What do you think, Whiskey?"

"Looks good, Payday," replied the redhead. "Course ya really can't be sure until ya get it hard."

"I'm on it!" replied the Black inmate, the one called Payday. She spat on her palms and began to stroke the length of Clint's manhood. The young man's eyes went wide and he couldn't help but gasp. It felt good! And though he was plenty upset and frightened, his cock responded on its own.

"Gettin' hard already, huh? Well that's youth for you!"

"Stop that, please!--Please stop! Let me go! The guards will be here any second--"

"No they won't," retorted Whiskey, the White lady inmate. "Not 'til we're finished. Who do ya think brought ya in here?"

"Just hope you're worth what we had to pay to arrange this visit," added Payday.

Whiskey unbuttoned and opened Clint's work shirt, then ran her hand admiringly over his taut, almost hairless young chest.

"You can't do this! I'm just a contractor! I'm not supposed to have any contact with inmates!"

Both of his captors laughed loudly at that.

"He's got a big mouth," said Payday. "But it's a pretty mouth."

"Uh-huh," replied Whiskey, who suddenly bent down and pressed her lips hard against Clint's lips in a sudden kiss. He couldn't stop her. She pushed her entire tongue into his mouth and wrestled his tongue for a moment. She tasted of tobacco.

"Yep, a real pretty mouth," she said with a laugh after she withdrew. "An' imma get right on it. If ya don't mind my goin' first that is."

"Be my guest," replied her cellmate.

"No! Don't do this! HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP M--"

His yelling was abruptly cut off when Whiskey spit a big slimy gob into his wide-open mouth, making him sputter and gag. He turned his head and tried to spit it out but was only partly successful.

"Warned ya," said the redhead matter-of-factly. "Yell again, it'll be somethin' much worse."

She unfastened her prison trousers and dropped them to the floor, followed by a pair of faded, loose-fitting prison panties. She kicked the clothes away and stretched one leg over top of the bench to position her naked crotch directly above the young man's face. Then she began to lazily finger her snatch while gazing wolfishly into Clint's now very alarmed eyes.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed. "This is crazy! You're both crazy bitches!"

"Hey! Watch that dirty mouth, kid!" retorted Whiskey with a laugh. "And we ain't crazy--we know exactly what we want an' we're gonna get it!"

"That's right," added Payday. "We've both been craving to get a cute guy's tongue up between our legs for way too long now!"

Clint strained against his bonds once again, just as futilely as before, but he couldn't take his eyes off Whiskey's fleshy pussy as it swelled up under her self-caress. Dense curly red pubes surrounded her labia like a wildfire, and ran back over her taint into the crack of her big ass. Her thighs were pale-skinned, freckled, and thick. They were adorned with darkly tinted, garish tattoos of what looked like intertwined dragons or snakes. Sweat gleamed on her skin.

"He's so young," Payday observed as she continued to rub Clint's cock, which was now fully and impressively erect, in spite of his distress. "I wonder if he even knows how to eat pussy right."

"I figger he should be good at clearin' out our pipes," replied Whiskey with a wink, and the two women laughed heartily again.

"This is rape!" Clint protested. "You're trying to rape me!"

"You could say that," said Payday archly. "Might as well try to enjoy it, sugar."

"You're both gonna get in so much trouble for this!"

"Don't count on that, kid," retorted Whiskey with a chuckle. "With all the shit that's goin' on up there right now, nobody's gonna give much of a fuck what happens in here."

"Look sugar, you can't stop us, so might as well lay back and let it happen," Payday said. "You might even enjoy it too."

"We ain't gonna hurt ya if ya cooperate," added Whiskey. "Get us both off, and we'll even take care of ya too. Bet this is your first threesome--am I right?"

Clint said nothing.

"But if ya don't do what we tell ya to," Whiskey continued in a more ominous tone, "or try something really stupid--like try to bite me while I'm ridin' yer face? Then we--will--hurt ya. Hurt ya bad.

"See Payday there? I know she looks real pretty an' sweet--an' I bet she's makin' yer willie feel good, ain't she? But y'should know--once she took a knife an' cut some guy's pecker clean off! An' just 'cause he wasn't takin' enough care of her needs!"

"And we do have our needs," added Payday.

"You're bluffing--OWW!" Payday gave his erect cock a sharp, painful twist! Not enough to do damage--but she had made the point that she could really hurt him if she chose.

"Shit! Oww! No! Please...please don't do this..." Clint begged his lust-crazed captors.

Whiskey just smiled, and spread her vulva open with her fingers, scant inches above the young man's face. She moaned softly as she separated her dangling outer labia, revealing the pink inner labia and the pee-hole and a sizable clit that was already swollen and poking out of its hood. Clint was no connoisseur of clitorises, but this one looked really big to him!

The older inmate's pussy glistened with lady-lube, and gave off a heavy odor: strongly musky with a hint of pee, mixed with the sharp tang of her sweaty crotch.

Clint coughed and grimaced as the raw scents of Whiskey's arousal wafted over him.

"I don't think he likes the way I smell down there," the redhead announced with a mock frown.

"Really? I don't know why not, it's just natural woman scent," teased Payday. "Maybe he doesn't go for the ladies?"

"Wouldn't matter whether he did or not," Whiskey continued, looking down into their captive's eyes. "Too bad, kid. In here we can't just freshen up for a date any time we want to. And you're kinda sweaty yourself, y'know."

She squatted, aiming her bushy crotch at the young man's horrified face.

"It's time for some contact with an inmate!" Payday said, laughing.

"That's right," added Whiskey. "Now lick my fuckin' pussy!"

Instead, Clint tried to turn his head to the side, but Whiskey grabbed it and forced his face back upright before sitting herself down on it.

"Please...no...MMMMFFH!"

The redheaded convict gave out a long, deep sigh as she pressed her ripe, hungry pussy into the young man's face. Her engorged outer labia spread out over his nose and mouth like butterfly wings, and her luxuriant fiery bush covered his eyes.

"Welcome to Thimore, sugar," Payday taunted, as she watched their captive's face completely disappear beneath her cellmate's wide, freckled ass.

Whiskey started rolling her hips back and forth, rubbing her groin against Clint's mouth and nose, back and forth from her clit to her taint, laying down a slick of pungent feminine ooze, and reveling in the pleasure it was giving her.

"Ohhh! Ohh YEAH! I needed this SO bad! C'mon kid--get yer tongue deeper in there!"

Payday gave Clint's balls a little squeeze--not enough to cause major pain, but definitely enough to spur him to dig his tongue into his rapist's swollen, slippery, stanky cunny!

"Yeah!" cried Whiskey. "That's it, kid! Push it in deep and slide it around!"

"Get it, girl!" Payday encouraged.

"Unnnnhhh!" The redhead groaned loudly as her vaginal walls rippled pleasurably around Clint's probing tongue. She let more of her ample weight onto his face to force her sopping pussy harder against it, then used her buttock and groin muscles to thrust her vulva into him again and again, moaning loudly with each stroke.

Desperate to avoid any more torture to his manhood, the young plumber tongued deep inside and all around his rapist's cooze. His face was engulfed in the steamy heat of the lady inmate's sweaty crotch, the smothering bulk of her fleshy middle-aged body, the stifling musk of her unwashed pussy and ass, the brackish taste of the slick fluids exuding from her love-box, and the rhythmic rubbing of her hairy mons against his tightly closed eyelids.

Clint fought to breathe--desperately inhaling a little sex-tainted air whenever Whiskey's wet folds momentarily slipped off his nose.

"Ohhh YEAH--good boy--that's it!" the redhead cried as she pumped her groin on Clint's face. "Fuck, I'm soooo wet and that tongue's goin' soooo deep in me!"

"Ha! Wait'll he finds out how much of a squirter you are!" said Payday with a sharp laugh. "Lick that pussy good, white boy! Make her cum hard so you can make me cum next!"

The syrupy sounds of face-fucking, Whiskey's cries of pleasure, Clint's muffled groans, and Payday's delighted laughter went on and on for many long minutes in the oppressive dungeon-like basement room, as the thunderous chaos of the prison riot continued, seemingly right above them.

As the two female felons abused him, Clint felt the anger and humiliation of having his face raped by Whiskey with her dirty pussy--but also the sweet heat building in his own groin, as Payday edged him skillfully: caressing him just enough to keep his cock fully hard, but nothing further.