Miss Amanda's Bitch Boys VII

“Read your file. Mom lets me read anything I want. You’re Luke Donovan... murderer... for hire... lots of killing.”

The precocious Molly... young, blonde and beautiful... and knowing it... wheels the food cart into the windowless mausoleum of super max. Yes, mausoleum, as most of the chamber’s inmates have come to think of it. For no one leaves alive, the sentences so long, the existence so arduous, that few out live the time to be served.

“And now you’re trapped... like a rat... a naked rat. And one that can’t even feed itself.”  

The teen brashly snaps her fingers, pointing downward to the designated area on the cell floor where Leg Breaker Luke knows he must kneel in order to be spoon fed. No supplication to the young girl, no food, that seems to be the rule. There is no method of protest for his treatment, no one to whom he can appeal. Instead there is the threat of being posted. And in observing arsonist Henry be so casually and callously caned, there comes horripilation in recalling the haunting scene.

So the man of size and viciousness indeed kneels, repressing the urge to snarl. 

“You killed with guns,” Molly gathering a large dollop of the tasteless gruel. “Mainly. But there was one you strangled.”

The free left hand reaches through the bars and gathers the slack nostril string. Molly pulls, slowly but steadily, knowing that though huge and powerful, the yoked inmate must follow her guiding hand.

“That’s better. It gets tiring reaching in so many times,” smiling wickedly as a kneeling Luke finds his face forcefully pressed to the bars, nose piercing held high.  

The feeding begins, young mother but no infant or toddler. Instead the grown man must open, lips encircling, tongue gathering. There is no choice, other than slow starvation.

Luke hungrily partakes. The food is surprisingly nutritious, his body feeling a mild burst of energy after every meal. But the fare is not formulated for enjoyment. Instead it is to keep him healthy for many, many years of mental duress. Denied exercise, he has come to realize the individualized bowls contain the exact number of carbohydrates and calories required for an inmate’s lethargic existence... and nothing more. No weight loss... and certainly no weight gain.  

And so he knows to take in every salubrious ounce, despite the lack of taste, despite the ignominy of being spoon fed.

“Did it excite you, the killings?” Molly boldly inquires.

“It was a job. How I made a living.” Luke’s voice without inflection as the empty spoon returns to the bowl.

Then he feels below. The girl’s gripping left hand on the nostril string does not permit him to look downwards. His penis, she is pressing against it, presumably with her leg... her booted leg. There is ulterior motive for her guiding hand. Thighs up against the bars, his genitals are thrust through into the narrow corridor.     

Molly smiles in noting Luke’s realization.

“Yes, in answer to your cynical question, on occasion I like looking at cock. But when it’s nice and hard... and in need... in frustrating need, ha, ha, ha.”

Molly jostles her leg... in a surprisingly adept manner... adept in fostering the reaction of a virile male held in abject chastity. Luke curses himself in sensing his reaction. He feels the twinge, knowing that he will soon be erect... and there is nothing he can do to stop or prevent her frottaging motion.

“Don’t! Stop!”

“I thought you had made an invitation, Luke. Withdrawing it?”

Molly continues, leg vigorously rubbing, left hand assuring immobility, right hand spooning more fare.

“So the strangulation. The report said the woman died slowly. Bare hands used, no ligature marks. Interesting change in your modus operandi, Luke. All the shootings and then comes a strangulation. Run out of bullets? Perhaps you got bored? Needed a change? How did it feel, sensing a life slowly end?”

Luke seethes, her taunting words riling a man normally not to be trifled with, not to anger. But with week after week of chastity, the smooth leather, the steady rhythm, the masterful pressure on the neglected frenum, brings joy. Wanted? Unwanted? The girl, though young, knows the male anatomy, somehow knows she’s kneading the most sensitive portion of a sensitive organ. 

With this realization, as Luke’s anger slowly chills, the emotion transforms to concern. Perhaps fear, but does a man of his ilk ever fear? Still, the precocious girl has power, that cannot be denied. But can it be avoided? Some how diverted to another super max inmate... or perhaps to that hapless prisoner in Cell Block D... to he eating her excrement.

“No reply?” girl Molly further taunts, pulling back her boot, her timing superb in knowing she has brought a froth of need, that climax is eminent.

There comes a moan of disappointment, embarrassing but not to be suppressed. Molly laughs, offering the last spoonful.

“Lesson learned, Luke. I never bring them off. Mother would find it rather inglorious. But I will suggest to Amanda that you need a visit from Jami. He’s always willing to accommodate... always in need of his next meal.”

The empty spoon is stowed. The gripping left hand lowers, forcing Luke to bend at the waist. The pretty face turns stern, the blue eyes twinkle in mischief as Luke’s nostril piercing assures compliance. His face must follow, in bending now able to note the purple tip of his raging erection.

“Yes, now I like looking at your cock... in such dire need. And if you like the feel of my boots, you may lick them. Lots ands lots of slow licks. And when I next visit, you’ll tell me more. More about bringing slow death. It must make one feel quite empowered.”

Molly pauses, her smile transforming to an annoying giggle as Luke finds no alternative but to lick, the gripping hand young, soft yet bringing relentless pain as the penetrating steel ellipse pressures a myriad of olfactory nerves. The long wet appendage thrusts, swirls and thrusts, spawning much laughter.

Task completed, Molly releases, the slack allowing Luke the Leg Breaker to right himself and return to the center of the small cell, turning away to sheepishly veil his hard on.

“And I have some fresh water for you... flavored. You enjoyed my taste the other day.”

With that, Molly reaches to the clear plastic water bottle hanging low on the cell bars. She takes and switches it with an identical bottle from the rolling cart, replacing the phallic drinking tube. Luke notes the liquid within is not clear but instead an ominous yellow.

“Just a diluted mix... for now. But I’ll make it stronger. Got an inmate in Cell Bock C who has come to savor it. Likes it pure... and warm... ha, ha, ha.”