Chapter 5: Warden's Special Training Program
The command hung in the air, crisp and absolute. Sugar stumbled forward, her bare feet silent on the industrial carpet. The polished edge of the mahogany desk was cool against her stomach.
“Bend over,” Warden Davies said, her voice not raising. “Grip the other side.”
Sugar obeyed, leaning forward until her cheek pressed against the smooth, mirrored wood. Her reflection stared back at her—wide blue eyes, swollen lips, a face flushed with something more than fear. She could see the Warden behind her, adjusting the harness, a figure of efficient power. Then the cold, lubricated tip of the silicone pressed against her, already slick and ready. Sugar held her breath.
There was no gentle push. Davies drove into her with a single, precise thrust that punched the air from Sugar’s lungs in a sharp uh! The fullness was immediate, stunning, a stretch that bordered on pain before it liquefied into a deep, radiating heat. It was bigger than anything Alison’s crew had used, bigger than her ex-husband had ever managed. The desk creaked under her weight as Davies set a rhythm, each forward motion sliding Sugar’s skin across the polished surface.
“You’re a quick study, I see,” Davies said, her breath even, her movements measured. “Already so accommodating.”
Sugar could only moan, a high, breathy sound that fogged the wood beneath her cheek. Her fingers scrambled for purchase on the far edge of the desk. The world narrowed to the burning stretch inside her, the slap of leather and skin, the sterile scent of the office mingling with her own rising sweat. Pleasure coiled tight in her gut, unfamiliar in its intensity. It wasn’t the bored, performative shudder she’d faked for years. This was a live wire, raw and demanding. She felt herself climbing, tightening, a coil about to snap.
“Warden, I’m—I’m gonna—”
“I didn’t ask you to speak,” Davies said, her pace never faltering.
The orgasm tore through Sugar like a shockwave, blind and white-hot. Her back arched, a ragged scream tearing from her throat as she convulsed against the desk, her vision spotting. Davies kept moving, riding her through the tremors, each thrust now a delicious, oversensitive ache. Just as the waves began to subside, the pressure disappeared.
Sugar whimpered at the sudden emptiness. Before she could process it, she felt the same slick tip, now pressing at a different, tighter entrance. She clenched instinctively.
“Relax,” Davies commanded, a hand coming down to press firmly on the small of Sugar’s back. “This is part of the curriculum.”
The breach was slower, more deliberate. A burning, invasive sting that made Sugar’s toes curl. She bit down on her own forearm to stifle a cry. Then the Warden was seated fully inside her, a profound, impossible fullness. Sugar panted, tears leaking from her eyes onto the desk. Davies waited, letting her adjust, the stillness somehow more intimate than the pounding before.
Then she moved. A slow, grinding roll of her hips that transformed the sting into a strange, deep throbbing. Sugar’s moans turned liquid, surrendering. This was a different kind of possession, a claiming that went deeper than any mark on her skin.
Time blurred into the rhythm. Just as Sugar was sinking into the strange, painful rhythm, the door opened without a knock.
Officers Vargas and Peña stepped back in. Peña leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Took you long enough to get to the main event, boss.”
Vargas let out a low whistle. “Damn. She takes it all?”
“She does now,” Davies said, her voice only slightly strained. She picked up the pace, the wet sounds filling the quiet room.
The two guards watched for a moment, their professional detachment gone, replaced by hungry interest. Vargas walked around the desk, coming into Sugar’s blurred field of view. She unbuckled her own belt, sliding her trousers and shorts down just enough. “Scoot up, new fish. You’re not done.”
Dazed, Sugar lifted her head. Davies pulled out of her, leaving her feeling gaping and empty. A rough hand—Vargas’s—guided her by the hair off the desk and down onto her knees on the carpet. The coarse fibers bit into her skin. Vargas turned, presenting the same muscular backside Sugar had seen in the yard.
“You know the drill,” Vargas said, looking over her shoulder.
Sugar didn’t hesitate. She pressed her face forward, burying herself in the guard’s musky warmth. The scent was stronger here, concentrated by the uniform fabric and the day’s heat. She licked with a tired but willing earnestness.
Above her, she heard Peña speak. “My turn, Davies? You’ve had your fun.”
“Mind the desk,” was all the Warden said.
Sugar heard the shift of weight, the creak of the harness. Peña must have taken it. Then a new pair of hands—Peña’s—gripped her hips, yanking her backward until she was on all fours. The silicone, still slick from her own body, pushed back into her sore asshole. Sugar gasped around a mouthful of Vargas, her body jolting forward. Vargas just chuckled, a low rumble.
The orchestration was brutal and efficient. Peña fucked her from behind with a solid, piston-like rhythm. Vargas, grunting softly, pushed back against Sugar’s face. Then, a low, guttural noise, and a hot, humid blast of gas filled Sugar’s mouth and nose. She flinched, but Vargas held her head firmly in place.
“Breathe, inmate,” Vargas muttered, and another followed, sharper, more acidic.
Tears streamed from Sugar’s eyes as she choked, her throat working. She swallowed reflexively, the taste foul and intimate. Behind her, Peña’s thrusts grew harder, jarring her whole body with each impact. The world dissolved into a symphony of grunts, the slap of skin, the wet sounds of her own body being used, and the shared, dark laughter above her.
She lost count of the times she was turned, repositioned. Vargas swapped with Peña on the strapon. Davies watched from her chair, a glass of whiskey in her hand, her eyes glittering with appraisal. Sugar’s mouth was used, then her ass again, then her mouth once more. Her body was no longer her own; it was a well of sensation, a piece of utility, celebrated and punished in turn. A part of her, the part that used to care about silk sheets and diamond tennis bracelets, floated somewhere near the ceiling, looking down at the animal groveling on the office floor.
Finally, after an eternity, the movements stilled. Sugar collapsed onto her side, a twitching, damp heap on the carpet. Her body felt both numb and hyper-sensitive, every nerve alight.
Warden Davies stood up, placing her empty glass on the desk with a soft clink. She looked down at Sugar, her expression unreadable. Vargas and Peña were re-dressing, their movements easy, casual.
“Clean her up and take her to the showers,” Davies said, her voice back to its normal, bureaucratic tone. “Then back to her block.”
Vargas nudged Sugar’s thigh with a boot. “Get up, 78432. Fun’s over.”
As Sugar shakily pushed herself to her feet, her legs barely supporting her, Davies spoke again. “You performed adequately. Report to my office every Thursday evening. Understood?”
Sugar nodded, a dumb, wobbling motion. Adequate. The word echoed in her blissfully empty head. She had a standing appointment. A purpose.
Peña tossed her the crumpled jumpsuit. “Move it. You reek.”
Stumbling into the coarse fabric, Sugar followed the guards out, her gait wide and uncomfortable. The hallway lights were too bright. As they walked, she could hear the faint, tinny echo of a radio from a distant guard station. The normal sounds of the prison seeped back in.
But inside her, a new warmth hummed. She was the Warden’s asset. She was Alison’s bitch. She was, for the first time in her life, thoroughly and completely useful.