Convict Leslie

Prisons love turning convicts into their personal fuck-meat. This one is no different. Leslie sits on the bottom bunk with his hands in his lap, waiting. Guard Eloa Lombard walks in already unzipped and tells him to get on his knees. She plants one boot on the mattress, spreads her thighs and shoves his face between them. “Lick,” she says. He does. When she’s wet enough she bends over the sink, yanks his jumpsuit open and guides his cock straight into her. Her cunt swallows every inch like she’s done it a hundred times. She doesn’t moan; she grunts and tells him the exact rhythm she wants. If he slows down she slaps the back of his thigh. He keeps thrusting because he has no other choice. The nightstick on her belt knocks against the metal bed frame with every thrust, marking time like a metronome. When she comes she clamps down so hard he almost pops, but she pulls off, leaves him throbbing, and walks out without a word. He stays on his feet until she’s gone, then tucks his wet, aching dick away and waits for next time.