Speaker 1: I used to be the one holding the file, assistant
District Attorney Manhattan, the one asking the questions, the one
putting people away. Now I was the one with a number.
I can't fucking believe it. That was the first thought
that hit me as the cell door slammed shut behind
me with a noise that felt personal. Thirty days, thirty
goddamn days for what my lawyer, my former colleague, thank
you very much, called a minor ethical lapse, which translated
into normal human language, meant I'd leaned on a witness
a little too hard in a case I really really
wanted to win. No, biggie, I'd won right up until
the appeals court decided I'd been just a touch to persuasive.
So here I was orange jumpsuit, no makeup, hair tied
back like I was about to jog through Central Park
instead of this. I'm thin, blonde, and have perfect hair
and nails. Now I wouldn't look out of place in
a soup kitchen. I folded my arms and looked around
my cell as if it had personally offended me. I
don't belong here, I muttered from the bunk across from mine.
A woman with neck tattoos snorted. Yeah, nobody ever does,
she said with a laugh. I ignored her because I was
not like them, and I knew if they found out
who I was, I'd be in big trouble. I had
probably put away most of these bitches. I had to
keep my head down and my nose clean, be a
ghost for thirty days. Cry. I hoped I could do it.
This wasn't my world. I was a district attorney, assistant
district attorney technically, but still I had prosecuted people like this.
I knew the system. I understood how things worked, which
was exactly why this was so unbearable. The smells, the noise,
the casual way people just existed in here. And the staff.
God the staff, especially her warden or technically senior officer,
Marra Hayes. I noticed her on day one. She wasn't
what I expected. No stiff uniform energy, no bard authority.
She moved like she owned the place without needing to
prove it. Late thirties maybe early forties, dark hair pulled back,
strong jaw, sleeves rolled just enough to show ink on
her forearms. I looked like a mean bitch and eyes
that saw everything, including me, especially me. You look lost, counselor,
she said the first time we spoke, her voice low,
almost amused. I'm not a counselor, I snapped, I'm an attorney.
She grinned. Not in here, you're not Jesus. That's stung
more than it should have. I shouldn't even be here,
I said. She leaned against the bars, casual, like we
were chatting over coffee instead of steel, and yet she said,
here you are. I hated her immediately, or at least
that's what I told myself. By day three, I had
filed two formal complaints, corrected a corrections officer on procedure,
and refused to eat anything labeled meat product. My idea
of being incognito was out the door. I just couldn't
stop being me. By day five, I realized no one cared.
By day seven, I realized Mara Hayes definitely cared, but
not in the way I wanted. You Always this tightly wound,
she asked one afternoon, as I stood in the corridor,
arms crossed, watching everything like I was building a case.
I have standards, I said. She stepped closer, aggressively closer, Yeah,
she said, eyes flicking over me. I can see that
there was something in her tone I didn't like or
didn't understand. Is there a reason you're hovering, I asked,
just checking on my inmates. I'm not your inmate. That
made her smile slow, dangerous. Everyone in here is my inmate.
I opened my mouth to fire back, something sharp, something cutting,
and nothing came out, because she was still looking at
me like that, like she knew something, like she was waiting.
I didn't like it. By week two, I had stopped
filing complaints, not because I'd adjusted, but because I'd realized
complaining made me look weak, and I refused to look weak,
just like I promised myself. So I adapted head down,
minimal interaction, keep a distance, especially from her, which worked
until it didn't. It was late quiet for once. I
was sitting on my bunk, pretending to read a warn
paperback I had zero interest in. When I heard the
footsteps measured unhurried, I didn't look up. I thought you'd
be asleep by now, Mara said from the doorway. I
prefer quiet, I replied, it's the only time this place
is tolerable. She stepped inside. That alone made my spine straighten.
Staff didn't usually come in unless there was a reason.
She looked up at Christine, the woman with neck tattoos
in the bunk above, and the pair shared a dirty grin.
Then Christine pretended to roll over and go to sleep.
What do you want, I asked. She didn't answer right away. Instead,
she walked slowly around the small space, taking it in
like she hadn't seen it a hundred times before. Then
she stopped right in front of me. Funny thing, she said.
You spend your whole career putting people in here. I
looked up at her, and now you don't know how
to be one of them. I'm not one of them,
I said automatically. She crouched slightly, bringing herself eye level
with me, close enough enough that I could see the
faint scar near her eyebrow, close enough that I could
feel it that shift in the air. Keep telling yourself that,
she said softly. My heart did something irritating in my chest.
I set the book aside. Is this some kind of
power trip, I asked, because I've dealt with people like
you before. That made her laugh. Low genuine people like me,
authority figures who think intimidation equals control. She tilted her
head studying me. Then no, she said, I think you
like control. That hit harder than anything else she'd said.
I don't you do, she cut in, calm, as ever,
you like being the one asking the questions, setting the pace,
deciding what happens next. I stared at her because she
wasn't wrong, and I hated that. What's your point? I asked? Quieter.
Now she leaned in, just slightly, not touching, but right now,
she said, you don't have it. The silence between us stretched, thick, charged, uncomfortable,
and something else, something I absolutely did not have time
to unpack in a place like this, I swallowed. You
should leave, I said. She held my gaze for a
second longer, then stood stepped back. Thirty days, she said, casually,
like it was nothing. You might learn something, especially since
I checked out who was making all those complaints about me. You,
I gulped hard. Oh shit. She turned toward the door, paused,
then turned back. Get your fucking clothes off, she said, angrily.
I'm not doing that, I barked back, Christine, she said,
snapping her fingers. Christine jumped down from her bunk, pulled
me up and held me tight from behind. Tell me something.
The warden said, and now she felt like a warden.
You're always looking at me, always complaining about me. Tell
me you don't want me. Being asked a question that
frankly I didn't know how to lie about, made me gulp.
She'd got my number, and the fact of the matter
was I did want her, but I wasn't going to
tell her that. I bit my lip didn't answer. Okay,
we can play it the other way, Mara said. As
Christine helped me. Mara stripped off my vest and panties
roughly and tossed them to one side. Nice, she said,
just remember the rules around here. Whatever I do to you,
you do to me. Got it, nodded fast. Then Mara
leaned down and started to suck on my nipples. Instantly
they went hard. God, that felt good, and that goes
for me too. Christine whispered in my ear and licked
my cheek. You know the rules, Maa barked, inmates, get
sloppy seconds. Christine moaned, but didn't argue. I was in
big trouble. Maraa lapped at my nipples, sucked on them,
made them good and hard, then started to kiss down
my body. I flinched with every touch of her lips,
let out a little moan. Oh, Christine said mockingly, she
likes it. Mara smiled, got in front of my pussy
and looked up at me, said, I've always wondered what
a district attorney tastes like. Then pushed her face into
my pussy. I moaned out as she forced her face
into me, licking and lapping until she had full full
access to my tight pussy. I spread my legs. Then
Christine took my weight, grabbed my arms and bear hugged me,
lifting me into the air. I yelped and my legs
went either way. Mara grabbed them and pulled them apart
so she could get deeper. She pushed her face into me,
tasting me in every way klit to pussy to asshole.
She pulled away, looked up again and said, district attorneys
taste sweet, like privilege and being pampered. She spat on
the floor. You need to be ruffed up, baby, yeah,
Christine said, kissing my neck. What am I eating you for?
Know your place inmate, Get on the bunk, Maa yelled.
Christine threw me on the bottom bunk and Mara yelled
on the floor Christine dragged me off the bed and
held me around the back of the tightly. Mara stripped.
My God, she had muscular arms around ass and heavy tits.
She was perfect. She got on the bottom bunk and
spread her legs. Her pussy was puffy and wet. Come on, inmate,
you know what to do, she ordered. Christine thrust me
forward and plunged my face into Mara's pussy. That's it,
district attorney, she said, make sure you eat that cunt
by the book. I licked like crazy, tasting Maa's wetness.
I pushed my tongue out as I rubbed my head
from side to side, fast, tasting her dripping pussy lips
and worming my way towards her hole and clit. When
I got there, I licked them fast and wet. Maraa
threw her head back and moaned for a little blonde,
prissy bitch. She's good. Christie smiled and pushed my face
deeper into her. You're going to enjoy this slut when
I'm done with her, Mara said to Christine. Christine stroked
my hair as she held me in place to eat pussy.
I spat into Mara and ate her good. Maa moaned
and held onto the bunk's railings as I worked her
up into a frenzy. Then she repositioned so her puckered
asshole was in my face. It smelled like she'd been
in a sweaty uniform all day. Come on, district Attorney.
I thought you guys all liked a backdoor deal, mara said,
and Christine pushed my face into her ass, making me
eat it. I licked her asshole until my entire mouth
tasted like her filthy ass cheeks. Maraa moaned and groaned,
pushing into me, enjoying every lap I made over her
sensitive hole. Then she pulled me out of her ass
and we made out fast and sloppy. Then she got
up and pushed me to Christine make out with her inmate.
Taste my ass on her breath. It's a privilege. Christine
desperately kissed me, tasting all the work I'd put into
eating our jailer's asshole. Then Maa pulled me into a
sixty nine on the cell floor. She spread my legs
and lapped at my wetness. I moaned and did the same, back,
lapping at her sensitive areas. Hearing her gasp in pleasure
as I did. I took a finger and started to
fuck her cunt hard as I ate taking liberties down
there I see inmate. Maraa gasped, you'll have to be punished, Christine,
you know what to do. Christine walked behind me, took
Maraa's nightstick and started to feed it up my cunt.
As Maraa spat into me, lubricating it up, I screamed
out in pleasure as the thing wooden rods sank deep
into me. Give it to her. Maraa barked, and Christine
started to fuck me fast with the black bat. As
Maraa licked my clit. I groaned in pure pleasure and
took it out on Maa's cunt, tongueing it as fast
as I fingered her. Then building rhythm fast, I started
to whine and cry as the best orgasm I'd ever
had ripped through me. I licked harder than mara began
to come too. We screamed as we both came together,
Christine never giving up with the night stick until Maa
called her off. Mara got up, pulled me off her
and kissed me. So good was all she said. Then
she let Christine have her way with me. She licked
and fucked and slapped me until I made her come.
I was a destroyed wreck. Mara just smoked a cigarette
and water. Then before I knew it, I was out.
I went back to my privileged, prissy life. It felt boring,
very boring, so I took matters into my own hands.
Got thirty days for a dui. I walked back into
the cells and Marrow was waiting for me. Couldn't get enough. Huh, blondie,
she said with a smirk. I nodded, smiled to myself. Honey,
you don't know how right you are. I hoped you
enjoyed today's sexy story. If you love this podcast, leave
an Apple review. Share what sexy fantasies you want to hear.
Maybe we can make your dirty dreams come true. See
you soon,