Captive Audience

Captive Audience

By

Chloe Cole

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Captive Audience

Copyright© 2010 Chloe Cole

ISBN:
  
978-1-60088-585-3

Cover Artist:
 
Sable Grey

Editor:
 
Lynne Anderson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Cobblestone Press, LLC

www.cobblestone-press.com

Dedication

To my husband, who stands behind me and cheers me on in everything I do (no matter how crazy it is). I love you more than words can say.

Chapter One

Michaela Grace stood in front of her bedroom mirror, wincing as she squashed her size 36D breasts into a size 34C minimizing bra. The bra, in the not-quite-white shade of cottage cheese, was a hideous contraption. She guessed it was about as comfortable as could be expected, given that its primary function was to flatten a woman’s breasts into an unflattering uniboob.

She stepped into a tiny pair of lacy black bikini underwear. Sexy panties were her one indulgence. No one would know, but the small rebellion made her feel a little better, like there was some part of her that was still pretty, even if no one could see it. She quickly pulled on her dark blue shirt and buttoned it, then yanked on the matching navy pants, intentionally purchased two sizes too large. To complete the uniform, she pushed the standard-issue navy blue hat over her long, dark tresses, making sure every tendril was tucked in tight.

She methodically strapped on her belt, slipped her baton in its holder, and jogged down the stairs, checking her pocket for her badge on the way. Grabbing her keys and slipping into her no-nonsense, thick-soled shoes, she headed out the door.

Mickey made the fifteen-minute drive, then pulled into a parking space at the Chester County Prison. She checked herself in the rearview mirror one last time, slid on her outdated horn-rimmed nonprescription glasses, and headed inside the large gray building. As she made her way to Block C, she gave a nod and a wave to several of her predominantly male coworkers, who barely spared her a glance. She stepped into the control room as Sergeant Manny Guererra stepped out.

“Hey Sarge.”

“Hey yourself, Mick, how’s it going?” he replied with an easy grin.

“Pretty good. How were the kids today?” she asked, referring to the inmates they supervised. They didn’t usually have too much trouble with the prisoners at Chester County. Most of them were there for parole violations or misdemeanors and were serving short sentences.

“Quiet, not a lot of action. Hopefully they’ll behave for you tonight. Got one new guy in 742, here for assault. Bar fight. Big fella, but hasn’t given me any trouble so far.” With that, he reached over and handed her the keys to the block. He signed out for the day and she signed in, effectively beginning her eight-hour shift.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Be good,” Manny said with a wink and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

She really liked Manny. He was one of those genuinely nice guys, and he was pushing to have her promoted to sergeant when the next spot opened up.

Mickey’s father had been a police officer for thirty years before retiring. She hoped to follow in his footsteps by earning a coveted position in the homicide unit. For the time being, she was working as a corrections officer at night and going to grad school during the day to get her master’s in criminal justice. The degree, along with her experience at the prison and, hopefully, her promotion to sergeant, would go a long way toward securing her the career she had always wanted.

She took a seat, glancing at the cameras. Everything was as it should be. All the inmates were snug in their cells reading, writing letters, or napping. She glanced at the corner camera that gave her a view of cell 742. The new prisoner was on his bunk, lying down with his hands folded behind his head. As she watched, he began to do sit-ups. She pressed a button, zooming in on the image.

Wow
. He was gorgeous. Dark skin, broad shoulders, thighs like the trunks of a tree. She zoomed even closer, biting her lip. He was hard all over, his face tense, and Mickey sat spellbound as he continued doing sit-ups for five full minutes. Her stomach hurt just watching him.
His abs must be like stone,
she mused.

The inmate abruptly stopped, sat up, unbuttoned his shirt, and tossed it on the bed. Mickey’s heart began to beat a little faster as she 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 sensible shoes. He looked puzzled for a moment before his warm hazel gaze settled on her face. After staring at her lips a little too long, he flashed a sardonic smile that disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“I like your uniform, Officer,” he said, his expression grave.

“Thanks, Thompson,” she replied, an angry rush of heat rising in her cheeks. “I like yours too. Prison blue is your color. Now, enough with the small talk. Let’s head to chow, shall we?”

She turned on her heel and walked to the next cell, leaving Sarguchi to take the rear of the line. She could swear she felt Jake Thompson’s heated gaze burning into her back as she walked away, and cursed herself for wishing that her pants fit better.

Chapter Two

Jake Thompson watched the retreating Officer Grace with rapt attention.
What the fuck was that woman playing at?
Clearly, she had a smoking body under that ridiculous uniform. Why try to hide it? And her face, those lips. His pants started feeling a little tight when he saw those lips. Juicy and full, the top one just slightly fuller than the bottom. He wondered what they would feel like…

Clearing his throat, he tried to divert his thoughts. He couldn’t very well walk around with a giant hard-on in these thin pants. He tried to think about the prison food and not what Officer Grace’s ass might look like under those baggy slacks.