Free Captive Audience by Chloe Cole Page A

saw his bare chest and arms. If he had looked hot with his shirt on, he was on fire with it off. A light sheen of sweat covered his swarthy skin. Finely-sculpted muscles cut vertical lines down both sides of his stomach, disappearing into the light blue cotton pants slung precariously low on his hips. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.
    He stood, turning to face the bed. Mickey whistled under her breath as she took in the view of his naked back. Yummy. Wide shoulders tapered down to a lean waist and a taut, juicy ass. Mickey’s face burned. She took in a shuddering breath and tried to calm herself. She wasn’t that person anymore–the naughty girl who harbored sick thoughts and dark desires. She was on a different path now, one that led to intellectual fulfillment and stability. Her rampant but unrequited sex drive had done nothing but cause her grief.
    Mickey had been something of a late bloomer. Over the course of one summer her breasts had emerged large and in charge, her coltish legs became shapely, and her softly rounded cheeks took on a leaner edge. Her mother, Kitty, had been horrified. In a panic, she had grabbed Mickey’s mane of sable hair and chopped it off with one sawing cut, all the while grumbling under her breath about vanity and boys wanting only “one thing”. However, to Kitty’s dismay, the cut did nothing to detract from Mickey’s loveliness and acted as a frame for her heart-shaped face. Determined to keep her daughter safe from advances, Kitty threw out all of Mickey’s clothing and coerced the girl into wearing the frumpiest clothes she could find, insisting that she hide her breasts and downplay her assets.
    Soon everyone forgot that Mickey had ever been something special and they went back to their own lives. But while she could tame her looks, she just couldn’t tame her curiosity. Since her mother would barely let her leave the house, and having a boyfriend was totally out of the question, she learned about sex on the Internet. She was fascinated–no, enthralled–and when looking without touching became unbearable, she was driven to fumbling, guilt-ridden masturbation. She could never quite shut out her mother’s constant reminders that “good” girls didn’t do that sort of thing.
    And good girls certainly didn’t stare at bad boys exercising half-naked.
    With a soft sigh of regret, she turned resolutely away from the camera aimed at 742 and its delectable inhabitant, and started on some paperwork for a transfer that was taking place the next day, passing the hour until chow time.
    When five o’clock came, she met up with her section partner, Rich Sarguchi, who worked the other side of Block C. While women were allowed to work in the men’s block, the warden always made sure that if there was a woman on one end of the block, there was a man on the other. Mickey didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed by the double standard, so she chose to ignore it.
    Once the dinner bell rang, she and Rich would go to each cell and open the doors for the prisoners. Together, they would walk their wards in a line to the cafeteria and watch over them while they ate. Then, they would take them to recreation room for some TV or computer time.
    As Rich walked down one side the block, Mickey went down the other, approaching cell 742. Her stomach gave a little leap. She reached out with the keys and peered in.
    “Hey there…Thompson,” she called, reading his name off her clipboard. “My name is Officer Grace. Come on out and get something to eat.”
    “Sure thing, Officer Grace,” a deep voice drawled from the farthest corner of the small room. He stood and moved into full view. Her breath caught in her throat as she got a load of him in the flesh. He was huge, well over six feet tall, she figured. She kept her gaze steadfastly on his face to avoid drooling. As he looked down at her, his eyes narrowed, seeming to take in her ill-fitting uniform, traveling from her cap to her