by Pervert Savant

The Poignant Story of a Young Pre-Operative Transsexual Forced into a Life of Twisted Sex and Degradation in the Sordid Confines of America’s Penal System!

Chapter 1: Twisted Sex in the Prison Infirmary

 

Cherie inhaled languidly on her first Virginia Slim of the day and idly contemplated the hairy figure of the bleeding con that was strapped to the prison infirmary’s examination table. The scarlet wound in the con’s abdomen did not look good to Cherie.

 

“We found him in Block Seven with a shiv stuck in his gizzard," growled Biff, the statuesque female guard that had brought him in.  “You better patch him up quick before he meets his maker! The Warden isn’t gonna like this."

 

“Biff" wasn’t the guard’s real name, Cherie knew. Her first name was actually “Mary."  But Biff, like most of the female prison guards at West Texas Corrective Facility for Incorrigibles #8, was a bull dyke. You couldn’t be a card-carrying bull dyke at West Texas Corrective and have a first name like Mary.

 

Cherie took a last puff from her full-flavored Luxury Light 120 (her favorite!) and directed her attention to the con, who was struggling to put his strapped hands over his gushing wound while moaning prayers in Spanish.

 

“Santa Maria, Madre de Dios"

 

Cherie confidently reached for a bottle of antiseptic, noting, as she did so, that her long, artificial nails could use a new coat of polish. It was so HARD keeping her nails looking the way they should and still be a prison nurse. It was one of Cherie’s biggest regrets about her occupational status at West Texas Corrective. “It’s so sad," thought Cherie as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “At West Texas Corrective, fashion always seems to be a secondary consideration."

 

“There, there sugar. You just stop that nasty moaning!  We’ll have you as good as new in just a jiffy," Cherie chirped cheerily.  “Now hold still! I don’t need to break another nail!"

 

Biff snorted disparagingly at the groaning Hispanic, all the while admiring the lush contours of Cherie’s buttocks. These were prominently on display as Cherie bent over the leaking Mexican and expertly poured antiseptic into the crimson maw that had once been an intact stomach.  "Nice ass," mused Biff idly to herself.  “I wouldn’t mind having a crack at that crack!"

 

Biff pulled an unfiltered Camel from behind her left ear and ignited it with a nickel-plated Zippo lighter. The Zippo was a gift from one of Biff’s former lovers. The name “Biff" was prominently engraved on its side in Old English lettering.

 

“Yeah, Cherie’s one nice piece of fluff," Biff mused.  "It’s a shame that the Warden’s got designs on her. Otherwise, I might put a move on her myself!"

 

The brown antiseptic that Cherie had poured into the hole in his gut seemed to enliven Alejandro. His low moans quickly turned to screams and his twitching increased and became markedly more spasmodic. Cherie waved a long-nailed finger under Alejandro’s nose and said, firmly, “Now you just hush up, honey! I’m working as fast as I can!"

 

Cherie’s confident manner, coupled with his acute loss of blood, seemed to calm Alejandro. His screams gradually receded into muffled sobs and his twitching changed to merely an occasional spasm of jerks. Cherie’s well-intentioned ministrations were obviously having their designed effect.

 

While Alejandro continued to writhe on the examination table, Cherie minced over to a glass-paneled cabinet. Cherie’s movements continued to intrigue Biff, who took another opportunity to ogle Cherie’s tush  — the twin orbs of which, at that moment, were on prominent display beneath her flimsy cotton nurse’s uniform. Ignoring Biff, Cherie continued to rummage in the cabinet.

 

The guards at the prison had lately taken to selling the infirmary’s drugs to the cons for pocket money: something that made Cherie’s work occasionally difficult.

"It’s so unprofessional," thought Cherie.  “Just when you need something, you find out it’s gone."

Cherie explored the depleted inventory that had once been the infirmary’s well-stocked medicine cabinet, pushing aside, in the process, her own ample supply of Estradiol Valerate and Progesterone.  As usual, Cherie emerged from her search dismayed.

 

“Oh great," Cherie groaned.  “First the Demerol disappears, then the Morphine, and now even the Tylenol’s gone! Biff, did you take the last of that too?" Cherie intoned, eyeing the burly lesbian guard accusingly.  “How can I be an angel of mercy when you and your friends keep taking all of my tools?"

 

Biff shifted her massive form uncomfortably and did her best to ignore Cherie’s question. Rather than answering, Biff opted to take another long draw on her Camel. Then, affecting an attitude of injured innocence, Biff responded, “You know I’m a degreed criminal science professional," Biff replied.  “I wouldn’t do nothin’ as unprofessional as that."  Hoping to change the subject, Biff then began humming “T for Texas," thinking that her accuser might be distracted by the bouncy C & W tune — one of Biff’s favorites.

 

“Hey, you like Ernest Tubb, honey?" Biff asked. “I got all his records."

 

Cherie ignored Biff’s question. She preferred Disco to the pervasive C & W that seemed to be the prison preference. Instead of pursuing the matter further with Biff, she shook out two aspirins from the green bottle and then poured some water into a paper cup. Cherie then popped both aspirins into her own mouth and chased them with water. Alejandro’s groaning had given her a splitting headache.

 

Her own medical problems attended to, Cherie then shook out two more tablets and refilled the cup for her patient

 

“Here, Alejandro. Bottoms up, honey! You just take a couple of these and I promise it won’t hurt so much. These little thingies are buffered. They shouldn’t hurt your tummy one bit. But even if they do, it serves you right! You boys in Block Seven are always playing such silly games."

 

Alejandro sat up to choke down the pills, swallowed some water, and then fell back onto the table, his eyes rolling in obvious pain.

 

“When’s the Warden coming back from that conference in Waco?" Biff asked, trying her best to make conversation with Cherie while simultaneously changing the subject from the missing Tylenol.  “I thought he was s’posed ta be back here yesterday."

 

“He stayed over to do some shopping,” Cherie smiled. “They have better malls in Waco than they do here.”

Cherie spoke about the Waco malls from experience. She was intimately familiar with all of the malls in West, and most of those in East, Texas. She’d given the Warden a long shopping list and particularly hoped that he would be returning from his trip with a lilac peignoir that she had picked out for herself from her latest Victoria’s Secret catalogue. But one could never be sure about the Warden. Cherie knew that his lingerie preferences ran to bullet bras and girdles and his favorite color was fire-engine red.

 

While waiting for the aspirin to take effect with Alejandro, Cherie took the opportunity to refresh her pulse points with a few liberal spritzes of Opium. Opium was Cherie’s favorite fragrance. She preferred it to the smell of denatured alcohol that ordinarily permeated the infirmary. It was also the closest thing to a real opiate left in the infirmary’s depleted medicine cabinet.

 

Biff sniffed the odor of the Opium, grunted approvingly, and then stubbed out the remains of her Camel on the infirmary’s tile floor. Meanwhile, Cherie – now suitably refreshed — removed a fistful of gauze from a plastic jar and began stuffing antiseptic-soaked wads of it into Alejandro’s wound.

 

Biff watched the process admiringly. “This little cunt’s pretty good at her work, “Biff mused. “I think she likes me. The next time the Warden’s gone, I may have to have a little chat with her.”

 

Cherie then raised one end of the examination table, ignored Alejandro’s answering wails, and began shimmying around the table with a roll of adhesive tape. Cherie wound the tape around Alejandro’s midsection and that seemed to stop most of his bleeding.

 

“There, sweetie! That ought to keep you safe and sound until Dr. Lumley comes in.”

 

Cherie eyed her finished work proudly, choosing to ignore a small red spot — slowly becoming larger — that stubbornly seeped through the gauze. “If Doc Lumley stayed sober last night, he ought to be in here to see you in a couple of hours. So stop worrying!”

 

Alejandro groaned gratefully.

 

“Take him away, Biff. But not back to Block Seven. Move him to the side room and let him get some sleep. The Doc will be all over me if Alejandro gets knifed again before he gets a chance to look at him.”

 

Biff nudged the still moaning Alejandro with her nightstick. “C’mon amigo. Time ta move!”

 

Alejandro struggled to his feet, his knees buckling as he slid off the table. Biff grabbed the con under his armpits and steered him to a wheelchair that Cherie had thoughtfully provided. At 6’ 1” and weighing 250 pounds, maneuvering the Mexican into the wheelchair was easy work for Biff. Biff hoped that this womanly display of strength and professionalism wasn’t lost on Cherie.

 

“See ya later, cupcake. Maybe we can talk a little bit more sometime soon,” Biff winked. Biff then took the opportunity to pinch Cherie’s left nipple between the ends of her stubby fingers. “Ha, ha! Titty twister!” Biff chuckled, hoping Cherie would appreciate her attentions.

 

“You quit that, Biff. It isn’t funny!” said Cherie, wincing uncomfortably at Biff’s touch.

 

“Sorry, baby. Just a little joke!” said Biff, not one bit unrepentant.

 

“Why does everyone have to twist my left nipple?” Cherie wondered to herself. “No one ever does that to my right one.” She continued to speculate on this strange phenomenon as Biff, somewhat chastened, turned and wheeled the now comatose Alejandro from the examination room.

 

“I guess it’s just all in a day’s work at West Texas Correctional,” Cherie sighed to herself as she rubbed her now-swollen left nipple. Then, seeing that Biff was finally gone, Cherie removed her latex gloves, opened her compact and, eyeing its mirror, deftly began retouching her mascara.

 

This entry was posted on Saturday, November 18th, 2006 at 7:05 pm and is filed under Femistry, Funny Side Up, KinKergarten, Savant Collection, Smut by Proxy. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.