A photoblog of the men of the Brutewood Correctional Facility, an Open Setting that you can contribute to.
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The longest, most excruciating period of every workday for me was mealtimes. The inmates of the Baltimore City Jail ate in a large open cafeteria, most of them wearing just prison-issue orange pants and scuffed wifebeaters or t-shirts, muscles bulging underneath their clothes. Seeing them crowd next to each other got me so hot it was all I could do to remain professional. The cafeteria was highly monitored and recorded, so I couldn’t take any chances there. The rest of my shift, however, afforded me considerable freedom.
I worked Sundays because it meant I was allowed to usher the chaplain through every part of the prison, but then left him alone to minister to the inmates. I always began on one of my favorite cell blocks, Whiskey. It was a segregated unit, meant unofficially for the Black Guerilla gang — we had always found it beneficial to divide cell blocks up by gang, to prevent violence and rape.
Appreciative whistling echoed in the steel-ceilinged hall as I walked past the rows of cells, sticking my uniformed ass out in the way I knew they liked. Each cell had four black men in them, mostly wearing boxers and t-shirts at first, but they quickly stripped them off. Their muscles pressed through the bars of their cells; some of them reached for me, but I stayed just far enough away they couldn’t touch.
I undid a couple buttons on my shirt, so the edge of my powder blue bra could be seen. Cell Block Whiskey had old-fashioned doors with bars running the entire height, so most of the inmates let their erect cocks poke out of their cells, stroking them and murmuring from their rough-hewn faces as I passed. I loved the smell of desperate sweat and precum, and their rugged, lip-licking mouths. Swagger spilled out of them, making my clitoris quiver just from the feel of my soft panties vibrating as I walked.
Paul Trotterman was a cruel-faced Black Guerilla, with broad shoulders and a shaved head, perfectly smooth and shiny, inked with the names of his daughters. He was one of my favorites, and had been for a long time because he had a perfect cock. It was long and thick and veiny, and it tasted like his entire manhood was bursting out of it. I would have loved to suck it down and taste his cum, but I needed to maintain my power over the inmates, and that meant teasing them more often than not.
“Yeah, Officer Charlotte, get over here. Let’s get it on,” he said as I leaned against the bars to his cell. His orange pants were around his ankles, bristly leg and pubic hair wild, stinking of dried sweat. His handsome jaw line moved even when he wasn’t talking, his tongue rolling in his mouth as though he was imagining the taste of my pussy. But I had a special nigga just for that, and no longer found it worthwhile to get eaten out by anyone else.
“Beg me for it, Trotterman.” I reached into his cell and wrapped my hands around his muscular waist, feeling his skin pucker at my fingertips. His tattoos flexed around my grip. His dick pulsated, begging me to grab it.
“Please, suck on my dick, come on, bitch,” he said, “Be my bitch. You want it, don’t ya?”
“Oh, I do,” I said, wrapping one hand around his hot, thick cock. I slowly slid along its shaft. It was already hard as cell bars, leaking sticky precum even before I touched it (Yeah, that guard is doing it. Fuck, come over to my cell next, bitch!)
I motioned for his cellmates to come forward. They weren’t as sexy as Trotterman was, their bodies strong but not dripping with sex like his, their faces too rearranged from prison brawls, their teeth jagged and broken, eyes scarred and wild. There was one in his early fifties, who went by ‘Sale’, his hair just streaked with gray, his body burly and bark-colored, and two younger men, lithe and heavily tattooed, Rabbit and Harsh.
As he usually did, Sale got up real close to Trotterman, their hips pressing against each other. He jabbed his dick towards me. “Come on, rub me off too,” Sale said as Trotterman winced. I knew he hated Sale touching him. Sale wrapped one of his muscular arms around Trotterman’s waist, hugging him close. (Yeah, she gonna do ‘em both. Give the whole block a handjob, slut!)
“Man, don’t jump in on this shit,” Trotterman said, “Let her do me.”
“You gonna jack me off instead?” Sale asked. Trotterman groaned. “Then shut the fuck up and let her do it. Damn, nigga…”
Sale smiled at me and nodded, and I grabbed his engorged cock with my left hand. He moaned right away, and I began stroking both niggas off in unison. Sale’s dick was shorter than Trotterman’s, but much thicker and veinier, his gray-tinged pubic hair bushier.
“I needed this, bitch,” he said, “My own hand just don’t cut it.” He wrapped his right arm around one of the wiry tattooed niggas in the cell with him and kissed him chastely on the cheek. “This nigga too squeamish. He just wanna cry the whole time.”
The younger, skinny man, Rabbit, whined, “Nigga, that ain’t how it is, shut yo’ mouth.” He tried to step away from Sale, whose jovial face grew serious.
Sale grabbed his cellmate’s bare ass, jabbing one finger into it and pushing him against the cell bars. The young man closed his eyes and said, “Sorry, nigga, stop, stop.”
“You done contradictin’ me, boi?”
“Yes, I’m done,” Rabbit said. Sale took his finger out of Rabbit’s ass and shoved it in the young man’s mouth. He gagged at the taste in his mouth, Sale sneering at his disgust.
I felt Sale’s cock pulsating with power as he whispered in the young man’s ear. “You best not disrespect me or I gonna punk you out for real.”
Someone in a cell next to me came, their semen flying through the air and landing on my pants leg. Others must have cum too, because I could smell it in the air. (This bitch is cock crazy. There should be one like her in every joint.)
Trotterman’s handsome face went sullen as I told him to hug Sale. “I wanna jack you both off together,” I said. Trotterman gingerly placed his arm around Sale’s broad shoulders, his armpit hair brushing against Sale’s torso, their muscles shimmering with each other’s sweat. They angled their hips together and I took both cocks between the same cell bars. When their hot cockflesh touched, Sale grinned and Trotterman frowned, moaning and laughing a little to hide his discomfort.
“You wait till you been here a couple more decades,” Sale said to his cellmate, “You gonna learn to love it, nigga. We can use our precum as lube so it’s actually better, man.” Sure enough, both cockshafts were thick with precum, sliding against each other as I wrapped both my hands around the cocks.
(Oh fuck, she jacking them off with the same hand! This bitch need-a work e’ry night!)
“You gonna suck down my cum, ma’am?” Sale asked with a wide, goofy grin. “I’m ‘bout to bust the world’s biggest nut.” He looked at Trotterman’s awkward face. “You gonna get beat to nut by some old nigga, man. You should be ‘shamed of yo’self. I gonna tell yo’ paps too.”
Sale’s gyrations grew more and more exuberant until he was fucking my hand. He kept talking, cracking wise about his cellmates and me, making the listening crowd laugh with silly jokes and exaggerated fucking noises. I held out my left hand in front of his cock when it began convulsing, his body shaking as he screamed and cheered. He shot his wad right in the palm of my hand, a hot soup of cum that had to be at least a full tablespoon.
“Man, can’t you suck my dick, Officer Charlotte?” Trotterman asked, having trouble keeping his dick hard.
“No, I like it like this,” I said.
“Well you can let go of his dick. He’s done,” Trotterman said.
“But I like it like this,” I said.
Trotterman winced and muttered something about it being gay, but he didn’t stop. He closed his eyes, ignoring Sale’s teasing and pawing over his muscular frame.
“I’ll swallow your cum when you’re done,” I said, and that finally got him excited again.
Trotterman began thrusting his hips forward, his precum mixing with Sale’s semen, making a squishing sound with every stroke. His toned muscles flexed, making my pussy wet even without touching it. I felt his orgasm coming and put my hand in place to catch his load.
He shot a wad even bigger than Sale’s, a heavy spurt that almost overflowed out of the palm of my hand. The men around me hooted with appreciation, and the snotty smell of semen filled the air.
“You take it in your mouth first,” I said, “Then we’ll kiss and I’ll swallow.”
“No!” he said, “That’s fucking gross. His cum is in there.”
“Do it,” I said.
The other inmates started chanting, “Do it! Do it!”
I held my hand up in front of his handsome black face, and Trotterman reluctantly slurped the cum out of my palm. He gagged, his whole body rejecting it, then opened his mouth to show me. He crossed one arm across his belly as though he needed to physically force the semen to stay in his mouth.
I nodded. “Good job, Inmate Trotterman. You hold onto that load.”
I darted away, laughing as he protested with his mouth full of cum. He spat the semen out of the cell, where it landed in the center of the walkway, congealing there coldly.
“You fucking bitch!” he shouted.
I smiled and moved onto the next cell.