Misty Chikan

Women’s Prison

xxx-fiction-story-disclaimer-top2

Women's Prison Misty Chikan

  • Erin is sentenced to Grand Valley Women's Prison in Toronto and finds the system wants more than it's pound of flesh for her her punishment.
Erin Jones was feeling very happy with life in general and her own in particular. She had left a week ago to escape the monotony of small-town life, and in that short time had found herself a job as a receptionist in a small insurance agency on the Northwest Side of Toronto. Also, she had found a modestly priced one-room efficiency apartment, complete with tiny kitchenette, in which she could prepare her own meals, and in which, after the confining life she had had even in her mother’s house back home, seemed wonderfully spacious and free, exactly because it meant freedom to her.

Erin was twenty years old, about five feet six inches in height, with dark brown hair and a sweet, heart-shaped face, large and very expressive dark brown eyes, a dainty little-uptilted nose, and a full, sweet, kissable mouth. She had already attracted many a wolf-whistle back in Toronto, and she had been drawn to one or two boys in her senior year of high school. But she’d never really dated, first of all, because her stepfather had put his foot down the moment he’d married Mom, just five years ago, just a week after her own fifteenth birthday. And ever since that time, life in the pleasant, roomy old house on Linn Street had been little short of hell for Erin.

In fact, when she applied for the job at Lloyd’s Casualty-Assurance Company of Canada, she had used her own father’s original name. She had done this for two reasons: first, so that she would never again be reminded of Evan Jones, the man who had kind of swept her mother off her feet and then acted like a dictator; and second so that he wouldn’t be able to trace her here in her new life. Her father, Clark Jones, had been a kindly, easy-going salesman for a farm machinery outfit in East Toronto, and he and she and Mom had got along wonderfully together. Mom couldn’t have any more kids, but somehow Dad and she seemed to have as much fun as a whole big family. But that had all changed when Evan Simpson had moved into the house on Linn Street.

Mom was just about to hit forty but still was very good-looking. Plump, with a kind of apologetic look all the time, and still a very nice figure, and wheat-colored hair that didn’t have any gray in it yet. Evan Simpson was tall, stern-faced, about fifty, with gray hair and a harsh, dry voice. She had never seen him smile once in the five years she had lived there. And several times he had slapped her across the mouth and reprimanded her for some tiny little mistake or another, and when she had gone weeping to Mom, all that Mom could do was say helplessly, “I know, honey, you just have to put up with him. He’s a good man in his way, and he’ll get to understand you. Just go along with him, for my sake.”

So she’d tried, even to passing updates when she went to college at St. Anne’s College for Girls, ten miles outside Toronto. Her stepfather had sent her there purposely, although she had wanted to go to the University of Canada. He had told her that no daughter of his was going to go to a distant campus where she could be exposed to all the nastiness of boys away from home who looked upon single and attractive girls like her as easy marks.

There had been many quarrels at home during her years in college, and sometimes she had come home to find Mom weeping and hiding bruises on her arms. Then, a month ago, when she had come home early, Evan Simpson had been out shopping, and she had pushed open Mom’s bedroom door and seen her mother lying there in her slip. It had been crumpled up, and she had seen dark, angry marks on her mother’s legs and body, and when she asked questions about it, Mom had told her, “I guess I did something wrong, and he took the strap to me.”

That was when Erin had made her decision. She would be next; she knew. What she hadn’t told her mother was that just the night before this had happened; he had come to her room late at night, opened the door and stood looking down at her. She had awakened and looked up at him, and he had muttered, “One of these days, young lady, I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget. You think you’re so high and mighty, but deep down inside you’ve got the makings of a little teaser. I’ll take the strap to your butt, and then I’ll show you what a man is really like, you hear me?”

And so the next morning, without telling her mother what had happened, Erin began to plan how to get away from the house on Linn Street.

Her great-aunt in Ontario had left her about two thousand dollars. It was in the bank, it was to be hers on her twentieth birthday, so she had waited until that happy day when she had gone to the bank, shown her birth certificate and drawn it all out. Then she had bought a suitcase and some clothes, written a letter to her mother and taken the Rocket to Toronto.

She lay on the indoor bed in her little apartment, wearing just her white cotton pajamas, which though they were very modest, emphasized the magnificent, high-set, closely spaced round globes of her titties, snuggled her round and spacious bottom-cheeks, and called attention to the full, womanly curves of beautiful white-skinned thighs. She was thinking that there were lots of nice fellows down at the insurance agency and that maybe when she got over the fear of being followed when she had conquered her fear of Evan Simpson, she might just find out what it was like to be loved by a decent guy.

How could she know, in her trusting innocence, that she had jumped from the frying pan into the fire?

*****

Erin Jones’s apartment was on the fourth floor of a new high-rise building which lofted twelve impressive stories at the corner of Belmont and Western Avenues. It was about twenty-five minutes from the apartment to the agency, and with lovely warm June weather now prevalent in Toronto, there were times when Erin felt like walking to and from work, just to thrill to the feeling of being her own mistress, earning her own living and being free. But in the apartment next door, fate was taking a hand to change her life into something that even a nightmare couldn’t have conjured up. And the two people who were going to affect her young life were, at the moment, fucking.

Women's Prison Misty Chikan

  • Erin is sentenced to Grand Valley Women's Prison in Toronto and finds the system wants more than it's pound of flesh for her her punishment.

Luis Garcia, thirty-five, with a wispy mustache, very dapper and quite personable, wearing just his socks, was slowly and luxuriously thrusting his stiff prick back and forth inside the moist, warm and tight love sheath of Liz Coleman, a brassy twenty-six-year-old blonde cocktail waitress who worked in the cocktail lounge. Luis was a two-time loser, and he was still wanted in Toronto and Quebec for forgery and the confidence racket. As for Liz, she was almost am an amateur whore, having married at seventeen and having had her husband walk out on her six months later for another girl. From this, she had gone on to various jobs in restaurants and bars, occasionally finding a friend who would pay the rent on the apartment in exchange for fucking privileges. She had stumbled on in the lounge where she now worked, been smitten with him by that peculiar chemistry which often attracts opposites, and now she was part and parcel of his nefarious scheme to make a killing. It consisted, as he had just told her, of finding some sap, probably a woman, who has access to money orders or checks or negotiable bonds, you know, Liz Baby. Now we sort of work on her, get a good stack of those orders, and then we spread the paper around in other towns. We’ll make a killing before they can catch up with us. And who will get the blame, the sap, naturally.”

Liz had been enthusiastic. This was her chance to make a lot of money without any danger, and to have this good-looking, black-haired cock-Smith grateful to her for her help. That was why, wearing just her nylons and garter belt, she arched her big, melon-like titties against his chest. As she kissed him hard and thrust her tongue between his lips, her fingernails digging into his shoulder-blades, whispering, “Oh Luis, it feels so good, oh screw me hard, give it to me, darling!”

Luis Garcia dug deep to the balls inside Liz Coleman’s quaking cunt hole, as he muttered, “I’ll give it to you—you—you sweet bitch, I really will. And you wait till we get that dough and go off to South America. I’ll get you a villa, and you can have a whole staff of servants for about twenty bucks American cash, and lead a life of luxury. You just stick with me and give me nookie when I need it, just like now, and I’ll take real good care of you!”

“Oh, will I ever, Luis lover,” the blonde cocktail waitress panted. Her hair was bobbed and frizzy, and the dye showed a little too plainly, perhaps making her look a little older than she actually was. Its natural color was a light brown, but it now came out a kind of dark gold with metallic glints. But of course the hair around her cunt was dark brown and thick and shaggy, and Luis Garcia was feeling it now against his balls as he moved slowly back and forth, just stirring his cock a little inside the tightly churning love sheath of his passion partner.

He thought that she was a damn good lay, but nothing really super. When he got a good heist, he could always dump her and find a real young squirmy bitch who didn’t need to dye her hair and whose titties were even firmer. Liz had big size thirty-eight D tits, but they were just a little soft and starting to sag. Give her two or three years of really high-living and she’d have a pot on her. Her skin wasn’t too bad, though, soft and pink like a baby’s. Her calves were just a little too stocky, and she had plump thighs. They would get fatter, too. Right now she was at her peak. Maybe she could earn about fifty bucks for a good hour-long fucking session if she were still plying her trade. But he was practical enough to take what the gods of fortune gave, and not be too critical right now. Later, once he got his hands on some real dough, there would be time enough to pick and choose pussy.

Now her stockinged legs wrapped over his bottom as she began to arch her cunt up to take his digs and to kiss him hard on the mouth and to pant hoarsely. “Oh God, make it last a long time, lover, I’m going to bubble all my juice up if you keep on fucking me and work it out-Oh Luis, I’m so hot when you screw me, you just drive me crazy! Even the Johns I used to lay could never get little Liz here worked up the way you do just by pushing your big hard cock into my little puss-oh lover, frig me, too-tickle my button and make me burst!”

He knew that she liked to talk dirty when she fucked, and he accommodated her. He could thus express his contempt for her while at the same time enjoying a good screwing and working her up to really putting out. She didn’t have too much variety to offer, although she could French, then, all whores knew how to do that. She wouldn’t let him bugger her, and that was one thing he always wanted to do to a woman. Another thing she wouldn’t let him do was to give it to her from behind while she knelt on all fours on the bed, wriggling her big ass. But she didn’t like that either. Most of the time they did it the “Missionary” way, with him on top and her legs wrapped around him the way they were right now. Of course, that was nice and thrilling, but a man wanted variety when he poked pussy. And a young bitch that was just being broken in, maybe around nineteen or twenty would be glad and happy and wild to try everything in the world to please him because he was her first guy. He would really like to take a piece of cherry and polish it into something really first-class in bed.

These ideas excited him; of course, Liz was the inspiration for his sudden digging back and forth. He put his forefinger between them and found her clitoris, and began to rub it back and forth while she moaned, bucking and twisting her big bottom, the cheeks contracting and yawning spasmodically as she groaned and sobbed with her delight.

And then suddenly the cataclysm hit her, and he began to feel the cunt walls grip his prick and tax all his self-control until he couldn’t hold it back anymore. With a bellow of delight, he thrust the last time to the balls and felt himself explode, and they rocked back and forth until at last Liz was on top of him, panting and sobbing in her bliss.

Thus Luis Garcia had cemented his union with the amoral cocktail waitress who was to play such a vital part in the destiny of unsuspecting Erin.

Women's Prison Misty Chikan

  • Erin is sentenced to Grand Valley Women's Prison in Toronto and finds the system wants more than it's pound of flesh for her her punishment.

*****

About eighteen miles south of Fenbrook, the little town of Grand Valley quartered on its northeastern boundary the newest branch of the state reformatory for girls and women. It had been in existence only two years, and it was located in a little farm town of about eighteen hundred inhabitants. There was a main street, one movie house, a drugstore, a department store, farm equipment and supply shop, a gasoline station and mechanics facility, and a grocery store. Not that all this would have mattered to the occupants of the Grand Valley Women’s Reformatory, for they did not see the outside of the walled-in prison to which they were committed.

There were, at the present time, two hundred and sixty-five occupants, ranging in age from seventeen to the oldest, who was forty-one, a perennial thief whose last offense had been a charge of transporting stolen goods in which some marijuana was found.

She was awaiting transfer to the Women’s Penitentiary and would have to go back to court to face a charge which would alter her status and lengthen her imprisonment.

But as she was a dowdy, hard-faced and unattractive creature, her loss would mean nothing to Brooke White, the superintendent of Grand Valley. For Brooke, who was the cousin of a state representative in Ontario-which was one reason she had got the job was a notorious Lesbian and sadist.

Brooke White was thirty-six, black-haired, stern-faced and about five feet eight inches in height, with a svelte, rather athletic body. She had tawny skin, small but beautifully formed orange-like titties, and a boyishly compact bottom still quite firm and resilient. Her best features were her long, shapely thighs and the smooth, satiny quality of her bare skin. Her “pets” were made to appreciate these features, for Brooke liked nothing better than to be licked by an exceptionally pretty young girl. Especially one who had never done anything like that before and was forced to it by a threat of a week of solitary confinement and being strung up by the thumbs and given a taste of the blacksnake whip by Matron Chelsea Hall.

Brooke White and Chelsea Hall were two of a kind; indeed, they had gone to the same high school in Galena. Chelsea was thirty-eight, and her hair was the color of wheat, curly and unruly. She was stocky but attractive all the same, with big, jutting titties, a splendidly Amazonian behind which was still firm and could go without a corset or a girdle, and an exceptionally pale white skin which for her age was quite remarkable. But her face was cold and cruel, and her gray-green eyes could make a young girl shudder when they fixed lingeringly on her.

Both women had this one thing in common: they hated men because each of them had been jilted by a lover they had trusted. They had given their cherries to two different men, and each of the men had betrayed them, made a laughing stock of them, and then flaunted their replacements in their face. Brooke, when she was twenty, a trusting virgin, keeping house for her ailing mother and dying father. A traveling salesman had come to sell her a vacuum cleaner which Brooke was going to buy anyway, and he had been so fascinating and thoughtful and considerate, that Brooke, starved for affection and cooped up in the house with her elderly parents, had fallen madly in love with him.

He had taught her how to French him, he had fucked her, he had undressed her and talked poetry to her while he got her naked. Then while she was half-fainting with desire and shame, he had licked her cunt and tickled her thighs and bottom until she heard herself begging him to give it to her. And he had done just that.

A couple of weeks of fucking and Brooke White had believed that she and Luke Johnson were going to be married and live the happiest life that any passionately devoted couple ever could.

She had a false alarm of pregnancy, and told him on his next trip in town, for his headquarters were in East St. Louis. To her horror and dismay, he had laughed in her face and said, “Now look, Brooke baby, let’s be sensible. You fuck like a mink, and I’m not here to see whom you’re sleeping with every day. Probably it’s not my brat anyhow. Besides, I’ve got news for you. They’re going to transfer me to the Ozarks starting next week, and I’ve already got me a cute little gal. The fact is I think I’m going to marry her. I want you to meet her. She’s about seventeen, a real sweet kid and nice as they come.”

Women's Prison Misty Chikan

  • Erin is sentenced to Grand Valley Women's Prison in Toronto and finds the system wants more than it's pound of flesh for her her punishment.

She had fainted at that shocking news, and a week later she had had a letter from her treacherous lover, enclosing a picture of his fiancée with a body-doll face and a voluptuous young Venus-like body. As it turned out, Luke Johnson didn’t marry that girl either, but the effect was the same on poor Brooke White. She became sour and hard and stern. When her parents died two years later, she took what money she had and went to school to learn about sociology and to do penal work. She had one burning obsession in life, and that was to punish all the wicked young bitches that would lure men away from their rightful mates. And eventually, she got to work as a guard, helped quell a mutiny, so when the new addition to the state reformatory was built, her distant cousin in Ontario proposed her name before his colleagues, and she was voted in without one dissenting vote.

In her two years of reign over Grand Valley, Brooke White was vindictively enjoying her newly acquired power. Every girl whom she had confined to solitary and turned over to Chelsea Hall for a whipping, every girl she punished herself and forced under the strap or paddle or the hairbrush to crawl between her legs and lick her represented that innocent fiancée of Luke Johnson’s.

As for Chelsea Hall, when she was twenty-five, she had fallen madly in love with a married man who had conned her, practical and hard-minded though she was. He was going to divorce his wife and marry her, he told her. And because Chelsea had a brutal stepfather and an ailing mother-nothing like Brooke’s, she had to stay home until she was past her early twenties, because she didn’t want to trust her mother to that bastard. Several times he had tried to fuck her, and several times he had taken the strap to her until she had wanted to kill him.

So when Alex Gray came along and told her she was beautiful and desirable and had an exotic quality to her that made him want to give up everything in the world and be with her, Chelsea Hall swallowed it hook, line and sinker. She gave him her cherry, too, though she was really somewhat reluctant about intimacy between a man and a woman. She had seen her stepfather fuck her mother before, and mother got sick, and the brutal, animal-like way he had done it, had sickened her.

But Alex Gray was such an expert lover, using his lips and fingers and tongue, not hurrying, not forcing, and Chelsea had been lulled into yielding and had actually experienced bliss after the initial pain of losing her cherry.

After six months she had timidly asked Alex Gray when they could be married, and he had gently told her that things had gone from bad to worse and his wife refused to give him a divorce. She made an anonymous phone call one evening, and she discovered that Alex Gray’s wife didn’t even know that he was in the middle of an affair and was deeply in love with him. Agitated, Chelsea hung up. It didn’t do her very much good to read in the newspaper a few weeks later that Mrs. Alex Gray was suing her husband for infidelity. By then she was sick of men.

She drifted from one job to another after her mother died, about six months after that, until finally Brooke White, in her new job, hired her away from a tough nightclub where she was a hostess fending off men. Already starting to give the eye to pretty young girls and handsome young Matron’s who wanted to rub pussy and game in turn. And as head Matron of Grand Valley, Chelsea Hall was able to vent her own vindictive spleen on attractive girls and women and to make them love her and to make up for perfidious Alex Gray’s treachery.

Thus there was a fearful bond of sadistic and Lesbian lust between these two strange women whose only amatory experience with the opposite sex had been so ironically flawed. And the two of them also were destined to alter the life of innocent Erin.

*****

This a preview sample of the eBook Women’s Prison by Misty Chikan. If you want to read the whole sexy story then buy it.