...not by me, but Porno Person, who I adore for many reasons, one of which is his always creative and filthy mind:

The Spring Formal

When I showed up at Mr. & Mrs. Del Vecchio’s house the night of the Spring Formal, they seemed rather surprised to see me. I had been away at college for the last eight months but fully expected that the Del Vecchios would have known that I’d be by to pick up Vickie, their daughter, for the big dance. She and I had dated all throughout high school and I had promised her long ago that I’d take her to this dance when she was a senior, despite me graduating a year ahead of her.

Mrs. Del Vecchio disappeared upstairs for a bit while Mr. Del Vecchio regaled me with stories of cleaning his gutters. When Vickie came downstairs, she looked like something out of a storybook. She wore a long, yellow dress. Her hair was up with ringlets playing at the side of her beautiful face. She wore opera gloves with a corsage on her wrist. This gave me pause as I looked at the corsage I was holding in my hands for her.

Something seemed different about Vickie. When I left her in the spring, she still seemed like an innocent. This new Vickie had a harder edge about her. I could tell by the steely look in her eyes and the set of her jaw. She noticed the corsage and rolled her eyes ever-so-slightly before saying, “Looks like my ride is here. I was wondering if you’d show up. Otherwise, I’d be driving myself to the dance.”

Mrs. and Mr. Del Vecchio exchanged some awkward pleasantries with me before Vickie grabbed her wrap and started to leave. The Del Vecchios started for their camera but Vickie told them that she wasn’t in the mood for pictures. “Though, I will take your camera,” she said, liberating it from her mother.

Vickie stood by the door of my car, waiting for me to open the door for her, apparently. I did so, though she gave me a reproachful glare as if I hadn’t done it fast enough. She remained rather quiet despite my attempts at conversation and she outright refused to give me a hello kiss. It took a while before she was ready to talk.

“I wondered if you’d have the guts to show up,” she said. “I don’t know if you’re crazy or stupid or both.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. It was as if she had had a conversation with me sometime in the past that I couldn’t recall. She seemed like she was in such a bad mood, though, I didn’t want to set her off. I assumed that she had to be PMS-ing and knew that I was in for a long night.

***

Coming back to my old high school definitely felt strange. I was so this place. Yet, there I was with my old high school sweetheart and all of the other kids who were one year younger than me. But, there was someone else there that stood out like a sore thumb.

Standing up as we came in, he stood a little over six-feet tall and had the face of a man, not a boy. Something in the way he held himself betrayed that he was uncomfortable wearing a suit. He was smiling broadly when we walked in and I looked behind me to see if he was looking at someone back there. Rather, he held open his arms and Vickie ran to him, greeting him with a big hug and an open-mouthed kiss that took me aback.

I was stopped, dead in my tracks. I felt a hand on my elbow. It was Deana, Vickie’s best friend and coworker. I had always shared a mutual dislike with her. She led me over to Vickie and her, uh, friend. I was hoping for Deana to introduce this man as her own boyfriend.

“Mike,” Deanna said, her voice dripping with disdain, “this is Anthony.”

The big man offered me his hand and shook it firmly. He pulled me close to him during the handshake and said quietly, “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m glad you showed up.”

Perplexed, Anthony took a seat with Vickie to one side and Deana to the other. The three of them were thick as thieves. I sat across from them at our little table and wondered what the hell was going on.

Anthony reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flask which he used to freshen the girls’ drinks, along with his own. He tipped it toward me, to offer me whatever it was, but I declined. I had never seen Vickie or Deanna ever drink before; they had both been ardent members of S.A.D. (Students Against Drinking) when last I saw them. Now they were guzzling their spiked soft drinks and going back to Anthony for more.

Vickie was a little tipsy when she and Anthony left for the dance floor. It was so loud in the hall that I couldn’t hear anything that they said and now I strained to hear Deanna as she yelled across the table to me.

I only managed to hear snatches of what she said. I tried hard to catch everything but only came away with, “both of us,” “more than enough,” “a month after you left,” “finally satisfied,” and what sounded like, “truckload.” She leaned back after her tirade with a self-satisfied grin on her face. She looked like a lioness who had been batting around her food and now was enjoying the damage she had inflicted.

I felt absolutely helpless as I sat and watched Vickie and Anthony out on the dance floor. She was grinding against him and he was grinding right back in a lurid display. Even though she was dancing with another man, my feelings of lust overcame my sense of jealousy. Vickie had never been overly sexual with me. She was raised Catholic and always hesitant to go further than “first base” with me. I wheedled and whined enough to get a few hand jobs from her and even rubbed my finger along her vagina (only on the outside) The thing she loved to do, now that I thought about it, was grind up against me. She would give herself fabric burn from her jeans as she rubbed herself to orgasm against my leg in my parents’ basement.

I watched now as she ground her pelvis against Anthony and knew that she had gone much farther with him. There wasn’t a doubt. And, from what Deanna had said, it sounded like Anthony had gone as far with her as well. Deanna had once had a crush on me but I wasn’t able to reciprocate since I couldn’t stand her. Ever since then she had played the vicious flirt with me, always being inappropriate around anyone I was going out with. She had gotten her claws into Vickie shortly before I left for college and it looked like this new relationship with Anthony was her doing.

I don’t know why I didn’t just storm out of there. This was humiliating beyond measure. Yet, I was riveted. I don’t know if it was some kind of masochistic drive that kept me there but I needed to see what would happen and felt, somewhere, that this was all justified. I had left Vickie and Deana seemed to swoop in while I was away and turned her into… this.

When Anthony and Vickie returned to the table, they were both visibly winded and aroused. The lump in Anthony’s trousers was almost as big as the lump in my throat that I tried hard to swallow. “Let’s go,” Anthony said and the four of us left the hall. Vickie led us straight to my car.

“You drive,” Anthony told me. He and Vickie got into the back seat while Deanna sat next to me. Deanna started giving me directions. In my rear view mirror I watched as Anthony and Vickie started making out. Her hand went to the front of his trousers immediately and she began rubbing him through the material of his pants the way she used to do to me only months before.

What happened next had never happened between us. Vickie fished Anthony’s cock out of his pants, her hands still in her elbow-length gloves, before she hunched over to take it into her mouth. Deanna looked from that scene to my face before telling me that I should keep my eyes on the road at least half of the time. “Plus, there’ll be plenty of time to watch Vickie sucking on Anthony later.”

Without quite knowing where I was going (but somehow listening to where Deanna told me to turn), the four of us ended up at the luxurious Hilton Hotel near the convention center a few cities over. Anthony already had a room reserved, though I was the one who ended up putting it on my credit card as we checked in. While I waited for the clerk to process my paperwork, Deanna, Vickie, and Anthony stood nearby; his beefy arms around the pair of them as they whispered and laughed together. Vickie’s hair, still piled high on her head, had begun to come unraveled a bit, thanks to Anthony holding her mouth down over his cock in my backseat.

The threesome stayed as thick as thieves as we took the interminable elevator ride up to our suite. As soon as we entered, Anthony produced his flask again and filled two of the glasses atop the mini-bar for Deanna and Vickie. He dry swallowed a blue pill while the two gulped their drinks like the unsophisticated teens they were before Anthony told them, “All right girls, it’s show time.”

Without further provocation, they both fell to their knees, their formal dresses billowing out around them. Deanna and Vickie began kissing passionately in a flurry of hair, hands, and tongues. Soon their dresses were off of them and they were pressing their bare breasts together. Anthony was obviously enjoying the show as he reached into his pants and unleashed his aroused member. He began stroking himself with one hand, his flask in the other, as Vickie and Deanna topped onto their sides in a heap of Sybaritic passion.

I couldn’t help but get turned on, too, as I saw Deanna putting her hand under Vickie’s skirt and hearing my “date” squeal with delight.

“Oh, man. I’ve got to put my dick in one of you,” Anthony moaned as he stroked himself. “Get Vicki ready to fuck,” he told Deanna. Then he added, “Get him to help.”

Deanna lead Vicki to the room’s king-size bed and stripped her completely. I couldn’t think of a time before this that I had ever seen Vickie undressed all the way. She laid the tipsy Vickie onto the bed and helped Vickie hold her legs up high over her head. Addressing me, Deanna said, “Get over here and lick this whole for Anthony’s pole.”

A chance to lick Vickie’s pussy–no matter what the circumstances–was something I had always wanted. I kneeled between Vickie’s legs, Deanna next to me, and leaned over to taste Vickie’s pussy.

“No!” Deanna yelled and pushed my head away from Vickie. “You’re not to touch there! Vickie is a virgin and no one is to touch her there. You never got that, did you? You were always trying to get in there and that will never happen. That’s sacred. You need to lick,” she said, indicating the pink rosebud of Vickie’s anus. “This is the only place we enter her.”

I was hesitant to put my tongue anywhere near that spot and this showed as I slowly moved my head back down near to Vickie’s sex. As I stuck out the tip of my tongue, Deanna grabbed the back of my head and pushed me into Vickie’s tight anus. Vickie squealed again, and I realized that this was where Deanna had been playing a few minutes before.

“That’s it,” Deanna hissed in my ear. “Lick her good. This is the first time you’ve ever made her feel good. And do you know why you’re licking there? You’re getting her nice and ready for Anthony’s dick. He’s got a real man’s dick, not that little excuse that you have between your legs. Vickie told me all about it. She told me about all the times you tried to finger her and when you tried to get her to ‘kiss your penis,'” she guffawed. The hard-on in my pants was quickly shrinking, horrified by the idea of Vickie sharing any and all intimate details of our past with Deanna.

I continued to lick and lick. I could feel Vickie’s anus grasping at my tongue as she wriggled and cooed on the bed. I then felt Anthony’s presence on my other side and could see the shadow of his hand stroking his dick. I’d never been so close to another man’s penis and knowing that he would be putting it where I was licking… and in my “girlfriend”… was freaking me out. What disturbed me even more was the feel of Deanna’s hand loosening my belt and lowering my trousers.

“You need to get him away from there,” Anthony moaned. “Now!”

Deanna pulled me away in time for Anthony to push his cock into Vickie’s wet anus. She gasped and he grunted as he began pumping her tender tush full of him. I watched in fascination and horror as Anthony did what I only had done in my wildest masturbatory fantasies. Vickie mewled like a cat in heat, her painted nails clawing at his back as he thrust in and out of her.

Deanna held me tightly and from her breathing I could tell she was excited about what she was seeing. She reached down behind me and I felt a finger invade me. I tried to pull away but she wrapped her other arm around my neck and hissed, “Stay still!” She was choking me slightly as she pushed a finger inside of me. It hurt and I felt incredibly awkward with her doing this to me. She began pushing her finger in and out of me in time with Anthony’s thrusts into Vickie. I couldn’t believe, however, that I felt my penis getting hard again despite my horror and this whole scene.

As Anthony got closer to climax, Deanna seemed to insert another finger, and another, until it felt like I was about to be torn apart below. As she did this, Deanna whispered into my ear, “Yes… yes… look at how he fucks her. I love watching him take her. The only thing I like more is when he fucks me, too. When he goes back and forth between us, seeing how long he can go before he cums. And whenever I get his cum, Vickie cleans me out. Your ‘girlfriend’ has a talented tongue. Oh, here it is!”

As if on cue, Anthony’s body tensed and he emitted a low howl as his whole body began to shake. “Oh, shit!” he screamed as he emptied his load into Vickie. I felt Deanna’s fingers tense in time with Anthony, as if channeling his orgasm into me.

Anthony withdrew his cock from Vickie’s bum and took a seat in a nearby chair. He was breathing heavily and simply nodded at Deanna. “Now it’s time to earn your keep,” she said to me. She pulled her fingers out of my bottom and, oddly, I almost wanted them back in me. “Your job is to clean Vickie up,” she said as she pushed against my back. I fell to my hands (already on my knees) and crawled the remaining few inches to the bed where I kneeled and put my mouth near her now stretched-out anus. Anthony’s cum was spread across the entrance and slowly dripped down the tender slope of Vickie’s ass.

As I steeled myself before beginning my work, I watched Deanna crawl between Anthony’s legs and clean off his spunk-covered, still-hard cock with her tongue. His head lolled back as she licked from cock-head to balls and back again.

I could smell the strong scent of Anthony’s spunk before my nose even got close to Vickie’s asshole. It smelled like anchovies — like sea salt and something else. It tasted worse. I tried to suck in the spunk without tasting it but that was difficult. I slurped it into my mouth and swallowed as quickly as I could. The closer I got to Vickie’s asshole the warmer the spunk and the less-disgusting it was. I finally locked my lips over Vickie’s anus and began to suck. I couldn’t believe how much spunk Anthony had put into her. The harder I sucked, the more Vickie began to moan. Giving her pleasure was a unique side-benefit of this obscene task.

Vickie’s moans were suddenly muffled. Looking up, I watched Deanna continue to settle her vagina over Vickie’s mouth. Deanna caught me watching and yelled, “Get back to work!”

I went back to sucking and licking Vickie’s ass clean as Deanna rode my ‘girlfriend’s’ face. I thought back to how Vickie had been grossed out by the girl-on-girl scenes of Tony Scott’s THE HUNGER; and now she was bringing Deanna to a screaming orgasm. It didn’t take long for Deanna to climax, her body shuddering as Vickie got her off.

I felt a hand on the back of my head as Anthony pulled me away from Vickie and said, “Let’s see how you did.” He pushed a thick finger inside of her and examined it after he pulled it out. “Looks clean. Good job.” He patted my head like a dog before he moved up onto the bed to lay with Deanna and Vickie (who finally lowered her legs).

The tang of Anthony’s cum still filled my mouth. I sat on the floor as the three of them relaxed. Anthony off-handedly tweaked Vickie’s nipples as he asked, “Is this everything you wanted your Spring Formal to be?”

Vickie nodded vigorously. “This was perfect,” she said.

***

I sat patiently as the three of them kissed and cuddled. Eventually, Vickie got up and put her dress back on. Offhandedly, Deanna told me to get ready to leave.

Driving Vickie home, she didn’t say anything to me until we were just a few miles from her house. “I’m glad that you agreed to do this.”

“Agreed?” I said, my voice cracking. “What do you mean, ‘agreed’?!”

Haughtily she countered, “I described everything that you would be required to do in my letter.”

I gave her a blank look. “Letter?”

“The one I sent two weeks ago,” she chided.
She nodded.

“I was in Germany for the last month and came straight from the airport to your place after getting my tux,” I reminded her.

She sat, stunned, for several minutes. She looked out the window without saying anything, watching the lights of the houses we passed until we got to her parent’s place.

I got out of the car and opened her door for her.

After she got out, she stood in the moonlight, a queer look on her face. She reached up and kissed me, the taste of Deanna still on her lips. “You did a great job,” she said. “When you go back to school, read my letter and let me know what you think of my letter. If you agree to my terms, I think that there are a lot of fun things on the horizon… for both of us.”

I stood and watched her go inside before I started the long drive back to school. I wondered what door I had just entered and if I would be up to continuing down this path.

***

I don’t know about you, but I always like knowing where and how a writer comes up with their ideas. How much of the story is based on experience? Or did something totally unrelated set the story in motion? Lucky for us, PP later wrote about how he came to write this particular story, which you can read about here.

And I do hope you got a bit of wood when reading this story.

xo, Angela

A certain reader, who shall remain nameless (but not guiltless) and is squiggly-wiggly enamored with the “literate” in my professional phone sex site, Literate Smut, took it upon himself to erect a virtual-effigy to me and my websites, an alphabetical list of of naughty alliterations. Being a frustrated poet, I happen to like alliterations and so…here you go (with his side comments included):

amphisexual ass play
breast bucking & fucking
cunt cracking crescendo
dip-stick, drip-stick, dick-stick
erotic, exotic enema (sooo kinky)
freaky fetish fucking
gonzo glory hole guzzling (count me out on this one)
hot hole humping
illicit inseminations
jerk the johnson to jizz
kinky keister kisser
lickable luscious labia
male membrum e-rectum (i suffer from this often)
nimble-hipped nympho
orbital oral intercourse
pecker-pumping & dumping
quim-quenching quickie
randy-dandy rim job
sado-maso mischief
teasing temptress of tele-dick-tion (Our Angela)
urge the prick to purge
voluptuous scrumptious vulgarian
wacking the one-eyed weasel
x-rated extreme reaming
yanking the doodle dandy
Zeusophobic fem domme diva (the irony of it!)

Well…I must say it does my heart good to see my callers/readers stretching their little creative wings. And it always makes me smile.

xo, Angela

Pee Date

~an erotic short story by Jeremy Edwards

Just as he started to jiggle in his desk chair, his phone lit up. Tracy.

“Hi, Donny.”   She giggled.

“Hi.” His heart raced.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to do it.”

“Me too. Can you hold on for five minutes?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll be right over.”

Tracy was a genius, thought Donny as he walked briskly across an array of quadrangles toward her dorm. They’d both needed to get a little bit of work done, on their own computers. It was her suggestion that they apply themselves to their homework until one, or both, had to pee. . . and that this would signal them to reunite in Tracy’s private bathroom and officially end the homework session in a ceremonious fashion, thereby inaugurating the recreational part of the evening.

He was holding himself by the time they bustled past the sink and tub, but he was looking forward to feeling his water continue to pulsate inside him while she went first. He gestured for her to go ahead, and Tracy grinned hungrily for him as she pulled her pants down.

***

Well that’s our Jerotic, AKA Jeromy Edwards: Always up to some sort of naughtiness or other.

If the above bit of joyful ribaldry twists your shorts or panties into a knot, be sure to check out our Zen-friendly bad boy at his MySpace Corner, where you can catch up on all the latest. Just don’t expect to find Jerotic, himself, there, because he is too busy making a big name for himself all over the place:

Parlez vous Francais?

Real Estate “Tour Group”

One of the Gang

With Adrienne

A Dinner Party

An Adult Book Store! (blush)

The Art Gallery

Almost all of those links represents a FREE erotic story, so read and masturbate to your heart’s content!

He’s really good at this, isn’t he?

xo, Angela

Finally: The long awaited quasi-conclusion to this most quirky and entertaining read penned by our own cherished and beloved Pervert Q. Savant. Why quasi? Because you don’t know P. Q. like I do and I kinda-sorta like Cherie and the gang. Don’t you?

by Pervert Savant

Read Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2

The Gut-Wrenching Story of a Naive Pre-Operative Transsexual Enmeshed in a Fetid Web of Corruption and Intrigue while Performing Humanitarian Services within the Sordid Confines of the Texas Penal System!

CHAPTER III: Stress-Reduction in the Warden’s Office

Prison Nurse Cherie D’Amour had just finished putting a second coat of “Love That Red” on her exceedingly long fingernails when she got word that Warden W. Lester McCobb wanted to see her. Her nails were at a critical stage and the thought of having to visit with The Warden at that juncture did not sound particularly inviting. Cherie knew, however, that important people often had to be humored.

She carefully reinserted the brush-end of the applier back into its bottle of lacquer and meticulously tightened the lid. She then splayed her fingers in front of her lips (which were tastefully lined and painted in the same ruby tint as her nails) and softly blew on them to hurry along the drying process. A summons from The Warden was an important thing, Cherie knew. But so was a proper finish on her nails.

Cherie had found the call from the Warden to be inconvenient for other reasons. She had only managed to read 8 of the “14 Secrets to Drive Your Man Wild in Bed” – the feature article of her current copy of Cosmopolitan. “Secret #8 – Cover Yourself with Hershey’s Syrup and Be Chocaholics Together!” – sounded intriguing to Cherie.

“I wonder if they have any of that Hershey’s syrup in the dining hall?” she chuckled. “I’ll have to ask Cookie the next time I see him.”

Cherie really wanted to finish the article. She was looking forward to learning what the remaining secrets were.

Her further researches were abruptly aborted, however, when she heard the prison intercom system crackle again:

“Nurse D’Amour, please report to Warden McCobb’s office immediately…Nurse D’Amour, to the Warden’s office!”

“Oh drat!” complained Cherie. “What’s The Warden in such a damned hurry for?”

Cherie blew on the ends of her fingers again despairingly, closed her open Cosmo with her elbows, and then maneuvered it to a point on the edge of her table that allowed her to grasp it without smearing her polish. She gingerly picked the magazine up without allowing her nails to touch its glossy cover and then tucked it under her armpit.

“I guess I should be thankful that The Warden waited until AFTER I waxed my bikini line, “ Cherie sniffed petulantly. “Men have no idea what we women have to go through to stay attractive. No, we just have to always be at their beck and call whenever they want us And we better look damn nice while we’re doin’ it, too.”

Remembering not to touch anything with her still-wet fingers, Cherie swiveled out of her chair and began a long saunter to the Warden’s office. When she finally reached the entryway to his office, The Warden’s secretary, Tansy Delgado, a middle-aged Hispanic woman, motioned her to come in.

“The Warden he ben wanteeng to see you all morneeng,” said Tansy. “But don’ go heen chust yet. He haf an eemportant phone call now and he tell me he coodna be deestoorbud.”

Cherie nodded understandingly at Tansy and took a seat on a poorly upholstered vinyl sofa located immediately adjacent to The Warden’s door. Cherie demurely crossed her legs at the knee and carefully reopened her Cosmo to “Secret #9: Paint a Cheerful ‘Happy Face’ on the Head of His Manhood!”

“Hmmm, I’ve never thought of doing that one, Cherie giggled. How naughty!”

“I theek heets hokay you go een now, honey,” interrupted Tansy. “The Warden’s phone a-light eet ees off. Eet looks like hee’s alla feeneesh weeth hees call.”

Cherie smiled politely to Miss Delgado, gave her a breathy “Thank yew!” and sashayed to the door that was the entrance to The Warden’s sanctum. Still unsure about the state of her polish, Cherie turned the knob extra-carefully and eased the door open.

Upon entering, the Warden, for some reason, was nowhere in sight — leaving Cherie momentarily confused.

“Warden? Warden? Are you in here?”

McCobb’s head then giraffed upwards from behind his desk.

“Godammit! Why didn’t Tansy tell me you were coming in? Just a goddamned minute!”

McCobb’s head abruptly disappeared behind his desk again. The disappearance was immediately followed by the sound of loose change tinkling and keys jangling together in pockets. There was also some muffled grunting.

Cherie, puzzled, moved to the chair in front of McCobb’s desk, smoothed her skirt, and sat down. A dog-eared copy of “Penthouse” lay open on top of McCobb’s desk. The page that was open displayed an advertisement for “Hot Barely Legal Cheerleader Phone Sex.” Cherie noted that the ad in view had been neatly circled with what appeared to be a neon-orange Magic-Marker.

Cherie had no time to read any more of the ad before McCobb’s corpulent body popped up again from behind his desk. The full view he now offered was that of the usual Warden W. Lester McCobb, except that — as Cherie immediately noted — the fly of his pants was disturbingly agape. The opening underneath his paunchy midsection was all the more noticeable due to a swatch of shiny fabric that was poking though the gap. The fabric displayed, Cherie astutely noted, was in McCobb’s favorite color – “Fire-Engine Red.”

McCobb quickly picked up the open Penthouse, swept it perfunctorily into the top drawer of his desk, and then eased his plump buttocks back into his chair. He then adjusted his glasses and fixed his gaze on Cherie’s crossed legs, which faced him from another chair immediately opposite his desk.

The sight of Cherie’s legs seemed to have a calming effect on McCobb, as his earlier disturbed outrage turned swiftly apologetic.

“I’m real sorry, sugar. I didn’t mean to sound so nasty a minute ago. It’s just that the personnel situation around here sometimes gets me a little riled. I’ve told Tansy a million times to buzz me before she sends in a visitor. Damned Latinos. They never listen to nobody!”

“Oh, that’s all right, Warden. I knew yew weren’t mad at little ole me,” Cherie cooed. “Yew just have lotsa important responsibilities and all. I understand.”

“Yer darn right I do, sweet cheeks,” McCobb nodded, pleased that Cherie recognized his importance at the institution. “Not just anybody can run a prison, y’know. It takes trainin’ and brainpower. This is one high-stress profession.”

“I’m sure it is, honey. Yew don’t have to tell me. But if you’re feelin’ all stressed-out, why, yew should just come on down to the dispensary and let me give yew another one of my soothin’ massages. Didn’t my last one relax yew?”

“It did indeed, dew drop. An’ I might just take yew up on that offer real soon,” McCobb grinned, his tobacco-stained smile revealing his sincere pleasure at the prospect.

“Yes, a massage sounds real good,” McCobb chortled. “But we got some bidness to attend to right tcheer before we can get inta relievin’ my stress. Biff said yew had to patch up Alejandro Acevedo last night.”

Cherie eyed her nails warily, wondering if, by now, their deep red lacquer had at long last hardened.

“Yes sir, I did. Biff brought him down to the infirmary after he got into it with his little brother. I swear, Warden, those Mexican boys in Block Seven are a rambunctious group. You might wanta have a word with ‘em. I really don’t think they’re on the right track for full rehabilitation.”

Cherie tentatively tested her left thumbnail with the tip of her right index finger. She was pleased to see that it had completely dried.

“Well, maybe I will do just that, cupcake. But right now I’ve got a little problem with Austin about that knifin’. See, that wuz the fourth one this month. I gotta send the Superintendent another one of them goddam reports and I think when he hears about it this time they’ll be sending an inspector down pronto to poke around.. Hell, I don’t need that. I mean, WE don’t need that. After all, we’re all family here at this prison, ain’t we sweetheart?” McCobb mewled.

“Well, of course we are, Warden. Why, everyone loves yew here. No one would want yew to get into trouble with all those ole State inspectors. Where do they get off inspectin’ you, anyway? I get so tired of ’em. They’re always pokin’ their big ole noses into things that don’t concern them one bit,” Cherie concurred, still eyeing her nails but trying to sound sympathetic.

“But Warden, what can we do? Right now Alejandro has a big ole hole in his belly. An’ if those State people come down and take a peek, why they’d have to be kinda dumb not to notice it. And besides, every time they come down here they always wanta see Doc Lumley’s reports and all my nursin’ records. I mean, when they read those they’re gonna know about Alejandro. I mean, They just will.”

Her moment of polite commiseration over, Cherie turned her full focus to her other nails, noting with satisfaction, after checking them, that they were dry too.

“Well, I hear what you’re sayin’ sugar-drop,” McCobb wheedled. But maybe if you and the Doc’s reports kinda downplayed what happened to Alejandro last night — well, maybe those Austin fellers wouldn’t haveta come all the way out here. Y’know what I mean? Maybe those reports could just say Alejandro had some kinda accident. Like maybe he slipped and fell on a crucifix while he was prayin’ in the chapel or something.”

At the mention of a crucifix, McCobb displayed his yellowed teeth — which lit up his pinkish face like a burst of fading sunshine. A crucifix was the only object remotely resembling anything pointed in the prison that wasn’t technically off-limits to the convicts. McCobb was pleased that he had thought of it.

“So couldn’t ya jus’ help me out on this here one lil’ ole problem? Jus’ this one time, honey?” McCobb inveigled. “Like I said, we’re all good friends here, ain’t we?”

Cherie sighed. “Well, I dunno, Warden. I mean this isn’t the first time I’ve helped yew out cuz we wuz such good friends. Remember? There was that other time when Biff hit that one con with her nightstick cuz he wasn’t movin’ fast enough for her? She busted his head open like it wuz a Halloween punkin, an he’s never been the same. Yew know that fella still thinks he’s the Virgin of Guadalupe. That time, yew had me say he slipped on his soap in the shower. I didn’t think that was right sayin’ that, but I did it for yew cuz we wuz friends and cuz yew asked.”

“Aw, yeah honey. I member that. That was real nice of ya. An’ I appreciated it. An I still appreciate it. But I jus’ need yew to do me this one other lil ole favor too. It’s jus’ a teensy ole thing to do, an’ it’ll keep those Austin boys away. Besides, don’t I always do nice things for yew?”

A flash of inspiration crossed The Warden’s sallow face and he began rooting again in the area behind his desk.

“Hey, cutie-pie, that reminds me, McCobb wheedled. I got a little somethin’ for ya. A little somethin’ from my trip to Waco. I almost forgot. Look, here it is, right tchyeer.”

McCobb emerged from behind his desk with a large package prominently swathed in Victoria’s Secret gift-wrapping.

“Awww, yew remembered, Warden. Ain’t yew the sweet one!” Cherie gurgled.

“I couldn’t get watcha wanted in that lilac color though, sugar. ‘Fire-Engine Red’ was the only one they had it in, “ McCobb lied.

“Oh …well…shoot…I guess Fire-Engine Red’ll jus’ hafta do then.” Cherie sniffed, mildly disappointed.

“I knew yew’d be a friend ta me on this, sugar, “ McCobb smarmed. “Now, yew jus’ take yore little present an’ leave that ole nursin’ report about Alejandro all to me. When it’s all typed up and pretty like, I’ll jus’ have Tansy let yew know, and yew can come on in and sign it. I’ll also have a word with Doc Lumley about his report too.”

Cherie smiled her nicest smile at the Warden, picked up her package, and started to leave.

“Wait, there’s one more thing I have for ya, sweetness,” said McCobb, rising from his chair and accompanying Cherie to the door. Lowering his voice conspiratorily, he whispered:

“I’ll maybe be down for that massage a bit later this afternoon.”

“Okey-dokey, Warden,” Cherie whispered back. “An’ I’ll have everything ready. I’ll even have Cookie warm up the Mazola Oil — jus’ the way you like.”

“Yew jus’ do that, blossom,” grinned McCobb. “An’ mebbe yew could wear that little thingie I bought ya too!”

Then, to Cherie’s surprise, The Warden reached out, grabbed her left nipple with two of his stubby fingers, and gave it an affectionate parting twist.

by Pervert Savant

Read Chapter 1

The Heart-Rending Story of an Innocent Pre-Operative Transsexual Forced to Confront Brutality and Recidivism in the Dank Cells of the Toughest Prison in Texas.

CHAPTER II: An Audience with “The Warden.”

Warden W. Lester McCobb leaned back in his chair squinting at the correspondence he held in his pudgy hands with obvious irritation. The object of his attention was another letter from Purvis McCutcheon, the Assistant Superintendent of Prisons of the State of Texas. McCobb hated McCutcheon, hated receiving correspondence from McCutcheon, and hated even more responding to correspondence from McCutcheon.

“What’s that little pissant want me to do now?” McCobb growled. “Institute macramé workshops for rapists?”

McCobb and McCutcheon had philosophical differences about the proper direction of Texas penology.

“The trouble with McCutcheon is he’s crock full of that Austin liberal reform shit,” McCobb muttered. “He’s got about as much sense as an armadillo in heat. It’s pansy-assed little shit wads like McCutcheon that are responsible for the screwed up state of the prisons in this here country!”

McCobb had his own ideas about running prisons. He came from a long line of prison wardens – four generations of them, in fact. Grainy pictures of his clone-like ancestors proudly graced the walls of McCobb’s office. Prison management was in McCobb’s blood – literally. Indeed, the initial “W” in McCobb’s first name actually stood for “Warden.” McCobb seldom told people that “Warden” was his first name. The appellation had been conferred by a doting father at birth. But to McCobb’s sensitive ear, and given his present station at West Texas Correctional, it sounded a bit redundant. At West Texas Correctional all personnel and convicts knew McCobb simply as “The Warden.” Only McCobb’s close relatives, in moments of rare intimacy, called him “Warden Warden.”

McCobb shifted uneasily in his chair, pushed his black-framed glasses back from their customary perch at the bottom of his flared nostrils, and disgustedly tossed McCutcheon’s partially read letter onto his desk. He reached into his jacket pocket, removed a previously opened package of “Mail Pouch,” and placed a three-fingered wad of the tobacco carefully into his mouth. McCobb had indulged in this noble pleasure since age 14 and a discerning viewer could read his emotional moods by the position of the plug of tobacco beneath his pinkish jowls. Today’s telltale positioning indicated that McCobb was having an unusually bad morning.

“Where the hell’s Biff?” McCloud growled. “What’s this shit about another knifing? The last goddamned thing I want to do today is send another knifing report to Austin. That’s the fourth one this month! They’re gonna have my ass.”

McCobb shifted his plug to a position reflecting greater irritation and stabbed an intercom button on his phone system. “Tansy, you tell Biff to get her ass in here right now. I go away to Waco for three days and this place turns to turds!”

A disembodied Latina voice on the other end of the intercom responded: “Sheez onna her way een right now, Warden. I tole heer you want to see heer.”

“And where’s Cherie? I heard she patched the Mexican up.”

“Sheez eena the commissary. You wan me to tell heer you wanna to see her too?”

“Damn straight I want to see her. These goddamned reports don’t get written out of thin air. I need facts! Get her in here right now.”

“Hokay, right away, Warden,” Tansy’s invisible voice responded.

McCobb adjusted his plug to a more pensive position on the right side of his mouth and began filling out the all-too familiar multi-plied yellow, green, white and pink form that was appropriately labeled “Texas State Penitentiary Standard Accident Report No. 7 (Knifings).” McCobb had successfully negotiated the “Prisoner Name” and “Date” blanks on the form and was trying to cope with the one marked “Applicable Aliases” when Biff finally made her appearance in The Warden’s office.

Silently noting the burly lesbian’s arrival, McCobb shifted his plug back to its standard “very irritated” position, grunted, and then neatly expectorated a brownish jet of tobacco juice into a brass spittoon strategically located at the side of his chair. An answering ping, emanating from the depths of the spittoon, welcomed Biff into the Warden’s presence.

“Tansy said you wanted to see me,” Biff opened nonchalantly, trying her best to ignore both the neatly aimed jet and the resounding ping.

“Damn right I do, Biff,” McCobb growled. “What’s this shit about another knifing?”

“Oh that. Well, Warden, y’see, while you were away in Waco the Acevedo boys got into it. Things got a little ugly, and Chuey wound up sticking a blade in Alejandro.”

“Goddamit!” cursed McCobb. “I put those two in the same cell because I wanted to avoid crap like this. Hell, they’re brothers, ain’t they? Why’d Chuey wanta go and knife his own brother?”

“Well, they ain’t really brothers, exactly, Warden. They got the same mother but. different fathers,” Biff corrected. Biff had learned the importance of precision in her criminology class at Amarillo State Junior College. Precision was one of the qualities that made Biff an outstanding alumnus of ASJC as well as one of the more promising guards at West Texas Correctional.

McCobb tongued his plug rapidly to the other side of his mouth – a sure sign of rising anger that was not lost on the always-perceptive Biff.

“Okay, dammit, so they’re half-brothers.” McCobb growled. Same goddamned question. Why’d Chuey go and cut up his half-brother?”

“Well, I ain’t exactly sure, Warden,” replied Biff. “One of the cons that supposedly saw it tole me that Alejandro called Chuey’s mother a whore. You know Mexicans. They don’t like that. They love their mothers. I guess Chuey overreacted.”

McCobb’s jowls began quivering as the plug underneath began shifting to alternatingly starboard, and then port, positions.

“But they have the SAME mother, dumbass. Why would Alejandro call Chuey’s mother a whore if the woman he’s calling a whore is his own mother too? You expect me to put crap like that in my report to the Superintendent in Austin?”

Biff nervously fingered her badge, the pin of which, for some reason, she had accidentally and irritatingly placed directly over her left nipple. The pin’s location added to Biff’s growing sense of unease as she continued relating what she knew of the knifing to McCobb.

“Well, Warden, I’m just telling you the same thing that the con tole me. Maybe I got it wrong. Or maybe their mother really IS a whore. I don’t know. It’s possible. I don’t speak much Mexican.”

“Well, where’d Chuey get the goddamned knife?” McCobb asked, increasingly angered at Biff’s diffidence.

“It was a piece of metal, Warden. Remember when you had Chuey wax your car last week? I think he broke off a piece of your license plate. You sharpen a piece of metal like that up enough on a concrete floor and you get a pretty good prison blade.”

Biff paused in her narrative to pop a stick of Wrigley’s Spearmint (her favorite!) in her mouth. “Hell,” thought Biff, “if he can chew, so can I.”

“Anyway, Warden,” Biff continued, “that probably explains why the number ‘7’ went missing from the ass end of your car’s license plate.”

McCobb paused, placed his head in his hands for a few moments, and then lifted his eyes. Biff noted warily that those same eyes now seemed redder and buggier than they had immediately before the pause. Biff also noted that McCobb’s tobacco wad had shifted to a new “near-homicidal” position.

“Oh, fine. Just great,” McCobb yowled. “McCutcheon’s gonna have my ass for this. A Mexie stabs his own brother in a high-security cell block and he uses a piece of metal from my own car’s license plate to do it. And where am I when all this is happening? Yeah. Right. Away at some dipshit conference in Waco.”

“Well, shit happens, Warden,” said Biff, inadvertently popping her gum but trying to sound sympathetic. “I guess this means no more cons waxing your car, huh?”

McCobb rolled his eyes and moved his plug into its angriest position. “Biff, you keep your yap shut about that license plate, y’hear? I’ll figure out somethin’ to tell McCutcheon, but you better remember that I left you in charge here while I was away. If my ass gets in a sling for this, that fat ass of yours does too.”

“Er, yeah, sure thing, Warden,” Biff replied uncomfortably, once more feeling the pin-end of her badge biting into her nipple. “You know me. Mum’s the word.”

Not liking the new position of the Warden’s wad, Biff concluded it was probably time to leave his presence. As she closed the door behind her, Biff could hear McCobb cursing alone in his office, loudly and creatively.

***

Well it looks like Pervert Savant is cooking now, eh? Chapter 3 (the final chapter) is just around the corner so persevere, beloved Smut Mongers. It won’t be long now.

xo, Angela