1 comments/ 9472 views/ 4 favorites Desert Bus Stop By: cowboy109 The skinny white dog was painted mid jump on the blue oval sign. Five bullet holes had pierced it. The rim of the holes had the metal bent backward. Rust, tiny red-brown pigments, had eaten in between the remaining paint. The sign was small and flimsy, just a little something that someone had screwed to the roof without a bench. It was a vestige of human civilization in the expanse of golden brown dirt, little mounds, a little track of something, and a cluster of vermin or snake holes. That desolate expanse reached to the horizon, where some lowly hills obscured the farther view, not even mountains. That would have been a destination. The only interesting thing was a dead 7 foot tree. The desert had dried it out so savagely that the bark shriveled up to half its juicy green size, all the way to the point where it turned into crumbs. The dead branches paid testimony to nature heat pulverizing the tree with the merciless baking light, the sun. Caroline stood with her head in the shade of the roof. Her freshly shaven, bare shins reflected the blazing sun. The black-purple high heels had a patent leather shine to them. Her feet were arching high in the heels. Her calves were tightening and rising high. A lavender dress started mid-thigh. The fabric was very light and looked limp. The limp feeling strengthened the impression of timid, little person from the distance. However up close, her butt cheeks were clenched. Her spine was extra straight. Her shoulder blades were pulled back. Her whole body was balanced on her own axes. And that made her size B breasts pushed out. They were in front of her body like an ambassador announcing that her body would follow, like figurehead on the bow of a historic sailing ship carving through the world's oceans: "Listen up world, here comes Caroline!" The dress had triangles over her breasts held up by thin string over her shoulder that showed plenty of her skin. The skin was smooth and young. Her chin was parallel to the ground. Her posture was perfect like she had practiced holding a book on top of her head for hours at a charming school. The makeup in her face was a smooth layer of pasty-white base. Her lips were painted in a bright pink. Her left hand reached into the blue leather purse that hung close to her armpit with the white, slightly foamy deodorant marks. Her fingers lifted metal tab of a diet coke inside of her purse. A refreshing million dollar his popped in the absolute silence of the Chihuahuan Desert. Not a single car passed. The roughness of the asphalt showed with a million tiny little holes and unevenness, too small to see the individual holes. The color was also a blend of light gray and white dots, both of which were too small to see individually. The only thing that was clear were the bold, thick yellow stripes in the center of the road. They had a richness too them that was calming and centering. One followed the next in a straight line for hundreds and hundreds of yards probably miles until the road converged into a single point in the distance into those lowly hills unworthy of geographic recognition. They, the road, the desert, and Caroline, where all standing still, as a lizard to conserve energy, with 105 degrees, which all felt like 105 individual bastards tormenting her, trying to wear her down, making her fight against them to stand a little taller with a little more poise. A white shuttle bus, like one of those little ones from the airport, wound its way through the desert towards the road. It big black oversized windows. There was a black box with a sign above the windshield. The whine of the engine was faint. It carried crystal clear across the desert silence, like one can hear a pin drop at the center of an ancient Greek amphitheater because of superior acoustics. Caroline also heard her own breath, small, feminine, and nervous. The bus made a complete stop before entering the road, despite not a car being visible. Caroline offered herself the respite of one last weight shift from her left hip to the right hip. The sense of blood flowing back into her compressed left knee from standing forever was a delicious, private joy. The bus grew in size at it came larger. And still it would fit 15 people at most. The sign over the windshield read: "Courtesy shuttle - James Lynaugh Unit." The driver pushed a lever to open the French-style doors. It was an old man with gray hair, short trim and clean face, who smiled at her. He was thin and in uniform. She carefully placed her high heels that were an inch higher than she normally wears on the first step and pulled herself into the refreshing cool of an air condition - an instant temperature plunge of 35 degrees. Her skin was so cold that it felt wet. "You are lucky, miss. I sometimes cheat a little and take a break instead of driving out here. Not many people visit Lynaugh. It's 17 hours from the nearest airport," said the bus driver. Caroline sat down with her knees pressed together and quickly crossed her knees, so that one high heel dangled in the air. She had to hold onto the pole, when the bus drove over the hump into the desert side road. Her whole body got shaken and was struggling to keep her poise against the momentum. Her phone buzzed. She slipped the pink iPhone out of the purse on her shoulder. It was a text: "Caroline, you don't have to do this. You are bold beyond anything for even going this far. Please, come back. We never meant to egg you on this far with the challenge. It was a stupid idea. We are all sorry." "You better reply soon, because the signal fades quickly once we leave the highway," instructed the driver. His arms were making wide movements to turn the big horizontal steering wheel. He turned into the dip of a wash, one of those desert rivers that's dry all the year, except for one day when rain sends an apocalyptic torrent down, which carves deeply into the loose dirt. Double-thumbed Caroline typed back: "I'm almost there. Tell Steve to have the $1,000 ready, when I come back. XO Caroline" Then she watched the last bar disappear from her phone. The display switched to a symbol of a broken cell tower: "No signal." "My wife runs a little B&B. Actually, it's only our spare room. Though, it's a firm mattress and clean sheets. It makes the visits a little easier to have a place to sleep overnight. Take one of the cards. You never know when you need it." The bus driver pointed a pile of business cards that were wrapped to a pole with rubber strings. The print was green with a little palm tree. "Thank you, sir. I won't be back. This is a onetime thing," replied Caroline. "Oh, boy. I feel sorry for the guy. They guys here are very isolated from the rest of the country. Even a close family finds it hard to travel this far to visit them. It's very sad. A few times a year, I see a pretty thing like you with a vanilla envelope, divorce papers all signed. And the same week, the prison bulletin reports an inmate taking a razor blade or hanging from the ceiling," blabbered the bus driver in a stern voice. "No, no, it's not like that," insisted Caroline. "Well, it's none of my business," acquiesced the bus driver upset. "A young thing with those heels and that dress will quickly find the next one." The bus driver upraised her body in the rear view mirror with an elevator glance. "I have a son in the Marines. He's good looking, strong, and hard working. He got a freedom medal last months. You should consider him." The bus driver got his phone out. He leaned on the steering wheel with his elbows, while swiping through photos. Then, he leaned far back to reach Caroline the phone. "American made, the real deal," he added with salesmanship. "He's never laid his hand on a woman, because he knows his old man would kick the daylight out of him." Caroline politely looked at the photo. "He is a handsome man, your son. I'm afraid my situation is more comfortable." "All cagey," the bus driver hissed with anger on his face. "You must be from a big city, even worse probably a city from either coast." The driver hit the radio hard. The report of a football game started with an excited narrator speaking a hundred words a minute. The facility appeared in sight: A cluster of low flung boxy beige buildings. There was a parking lot set in the distance in front of it. The wire mesh fence running around the facility was a little meaner than your average variety to keep desert foxes out. It had razor blade barbed wire running on top. It had a second set of fence separated by carefully manicure, 100% flat desert soil. With a little disbelief it could have been a warehouse complex, except for the sign that they passed. It said, "Texas Department of Criminal Justice - James Lynaugh Unit." Right after the sign, the pavement got nicer. The paint turned from yellow to white and had a remarkable crispness to it. The bus turned into the parking lot. There was a sign "visitor parking" with a set of parking spaces. There was a hulking black Escalate SUV. A Latin man with a black power suit, ties, and reflective glasses was standing at the back, like a driver or protection, in a comfortable stance, ready to wait for hours while exuding authority. Next to it was a little beater Honda with the paint peeled and the car sagging low on the worn out suspension. A pair of girls in overly bright JC Penny hot pants and miniskirts climbed out of the back over the front seat out of the door. They had an uneducated look on their face. "Those girls are carpooling. Prisontalk.com is a great place to find carpools. It saves you the money for the Greyhound ticket. Plus, many people find that they need human company and consoling on the long trip, when they are left alone with their thoughts and worries," the bus driver had completely forgotten about the onetime thing and had gone back to his usual narrating. The driver leaned to push the door open with the shiny, polished chrome lever: "End of station, Missy." Caroline uncrossed her legs, pressed her knees together, and swooped onto the high heels. She carefully reached her toes down one step at a time, while carefully holding onto the railing. Her poise was fragile. The desert heat hit her like an open oven. Her eyes produced tear from the pain of heat. Her lung pulled in flimsy, scorching air. She forced herself to keep pulling in and out air. Her heels made loud tick-tock sounds crossing the pedestrian walkway the mirror black window with the sign "visitation." She pulled the door open. It was a small room with eight gray, thinly upholstered chairs. There was one exit door with a metal detector in front of it. There was a big billboard of "prison visitation rules." The bottom of the sign had a bold red warning: "If you in any way cause disruption, you will cause your inmate to be punished as well. Think twice. Do the right thing. If you have bad plans in your heart, you can still turn around now. And it will never have happened." Caroline stepped up to the counter with the Plexiglas and speaking hole. A tall uniformed man was sitting behind it. "Hi, my name is Caroline Woodrow. I am here to visit Eliseo Ortiz. I'm on the visitor's log," stated Caroline politely and clearly. The guard looked at printed list and crossed her name off. Then he turned a clipboard around and pushed it to Caroline. "Please, sign the prison rules. Initial every constitutional right that you are waiving in exchange for being allowed visitation." With each CW, Caroline felt herself sinking in deeper into helplessness into being inserted into a machine that wouldn't care about her. She had entered a foreign world. Like Christopher Columbus had stepped onto the white spot on the map, so did she. She couldn't tell what would await her, riches of gold, impassable jungle, or hostile Indians. She felt the shakes coming on in her arms. She had to focus to get her signature cleanly onto the paper. "This is a conjugal visit." The air went almost completely out of her. Her heart stopped beating for a second. Then with thundering power, it would contract and shoot blood into her ears and face. It would seize again for a second. Her stomach was turning in apprehension about the next thundering contraction of her heart that would pound her whole body. Her vision went a little blurry. The guard looked at her. "I have a letter from him. He agreed to a conjugal visit." The next second was broken into ten chapters. Each chapter was of epic size, like the overbearing chapter in Moby Dick, where Herman Melville droned on and on about the evilness of the color white. Her thighs became gooey. She simply wanted to lay down on the cool vinyl floor. The terror of what might happen to her for acting out kept her standing, kept her mouth shut waiting for the guard to respond. "Are you his wife?" asked the guard. "No, I'm his girlfriend. Pecos county law 102b has a provision that allows girlfriends conjugal visits. I have a printed copy here." Caroline reached into her purse to find the folded up printout. She had chosen Lynaugh, because it was in the only county that allowed non-wives conjugal visitation rights. "That's alright, Miss. You will have to register as his official girlfriend. I can do that for you here." The guard started typing on his computer. "That would be excellent," replied Caroline politely. "Where you two living together prior to his incarceration?" asked the guard. "No, we grew close writing letters to each other," replied Caroline barely truthfully. She had only sent a single letter to Eliseo. She had carefully laid out her case with crafted prose that built up to the steamy proposition. And, she trusted that male sexuality would happily fuck any pussy that was laid at the mercy of his dick. "you down to fuck I show you mucho grande," was his reply no capital letters, no punctuation, no greeting. The G in grande was a giant circle, three times the size of the other letters. And with two shaky first grader lines the circle had been turned into a G. The U in fuck had dropped two lines lower than the rest of the word. The space between the O and U of 'you' was a whole inch. Yet, the space between the word 'you' and 'down' was non-existent. In fact, the U touched the D. The guard carefully studied the computer screen. Caroline adjusted her shoulder blades to be more upright. Steading her anticipation, she read the guard's name tag: James Malone. He had blond Hitler mustache above his lip. It was neatly trimmed. The end of the whiskers were in perfect alignment. "Ms. Woodrow, do you realize that Mr. Ortiz is a heavy gang banger. He is incarcerated with narcotics trafficking over 10 lbs. He has two murder conviction outside of the prison and one inside of the prison. It says that he never completed high school. There is a red warning on record for anger issues. I wouldn't go into a room with him alone even if I had a gun. Are you sure, you want a conjugal visit with this man without ever meeting him?" "Yes, our love runs very deep. And he's turning his life around," Caroline lied with a fire red blushing face. All she knew about the perp was that he wanted to show her mucho grande. "Okay, I warned you. You are not the first criminal groupie. Sign this form to declare that you are his official girlfriend," the guard slid her another clipboard with a form. Her heart had changed to a fluttering tipsy mess, bouncing around in irregular rhythms, fast, skipping, and double beating. She signed her name and date. The guard paused before hitting the enter key on the girlfriend declaration. "Ms. Woodrow, you seem like a very nice girl. You are polite. You seem educated. Once I submit your girlfriend declaration, you will be a registered associate for Mr. Ortiz. You will be in the FBI database and state police database. Any time that he does something, the red-and-blue lights will show up at your doorstep with all your neighbors watching. Any time that you have a background check done, this will come up as a red flag. Are you very sure that you want to go through with this?" With a very thin voice, barely able to get her vocal cords to clap, she said, "yes, I do." Her mind was swirling. "Do what you are told," was the mantra that she kept telling to herself. The guard hit the enter key. She felt ethereal handcuffs put on her. This was the point of no return. She had paid so much that she couldn't turn around. A printer rattled and then swished. A white visitation tag appeared. The guard handed it to her. She was visitor number 450037: "Caroline Woodrow." And in small print, it said, "inmate Eliseo Ortiz." There was a bar code. She pinned it to her summer dress. "I'll have to take your purse," said the guard. He put a plastic box on the counter. "Condoms? Can I take condoms?" asked Caroline panicked at the thought of prison disease. "You can hand carry two," replied the guard dryly. "Can I bring lube? What if I don't get aroused quickly enough." asked Caroline with a shaking voice. "Nope, lube is not approved. Use spit," said the guard sternly. She picked the red one that was magnum size and the blue one for regular size for the case that he had exaggerated the mucho grande like every other male. Awkward with such an explicit items in her small and now very sweaty hands, she walked toward the metal detector. A woman stepped through the door behind it. She had curly hair. She had a chubby, low center of gravity. She carried the belt with the stick, Taser, hand cuffs, and utility pockets around her hips in a swinging motion. She already had blue Latex gloves on. Caroline stepped through the metal detector, those invisible prying electromagnetic wave sensors that pried deeply into her body down to her bones. They knew everything about her. The fear that made her almost stutter. The out of place feeling. The trepidation of not knowing how she would be coerced or what the guards would make her do. She felt helpless not knowing her rights. And even if she knew her rights, there would be nobody to save her or pledge her rights to. The female prison guard wordlessly opened the door. The guard was chewing pink bubble gum. Her eyes were bored and glazed over. The guard didn't even bother talking. Once they were in the private room, the guard simply stretched her arms to indicate to Caroline to stretch her arms. Caroline obediently followed. She looked around the 7x7 room with a single desk, where she had to put down the two condoms. The guard carefully glided along Caroline's bare arms. The guard was slowly and meticulously, the complete opposite of the quick pat downs that she received at the door of a club. The guard's fingers massaged her scalp. It gave her strange tingles. She was fighting against the soothing feeling that reminded her of getting a hair wash before a haircut. The guard folded Caroline's ears over to look behind them from contraband. Caroline felt like a monkey would feel, when they groom each other for lice. The guard's hands followed the contour of Caroline's torso. The hands circled her breasts. Caroline steadied herself against the tender touch. And the fingers kept going to her nipples to give them a gentle squeeze. "You know, now genital piercings are allowed. You have to take them off first. I won't find anything on you, will I?" asked the guard. The words were drawn out. The guard open mouth chewed her gum in between and mouth breathed. "No, I don't have any piercings," stated Caroline. "Good," said the guard. The guard's fingers kept caressing her dress down. When the guard was squatting down, she sternly told Caroline to look at the wall. The guard's rubbery hand went up Caroline's thighs inside of the dress. Caroline's impulse rushed to struggle against the intimate touch. She forced herself to hold still, to let those fingers keep on encroaching deeper and deeper into the privacy under her dress. The fingers reached her panties. An index finger went under the rubber bands. The thumb closed around the rubber bands. The guard's fingers traced the hem of her panties over her butt and in between her thighs, where they touched the outside of her vulva. Caroline quivered internally. Desert Bus Stop Finishing the careful examination, the guard stood up and sternly told Caroline: "You have to leave your shoes here. The heels could be used as a weapon." "What will I wear?" asked Caroline coyly. "Nothing. Next time, bring flip flops. It's a rookie mistake," replied the guard with a condescending tone. Caroline stepped out of her high heels. Her manicured, purple toes were out in the open. Her young feet were very tender. She stepped on the harsh ground with her soft feet. The guard bent to take her shoes. The guard handed Caroline the condoms from the table. "Durex extra thin? Next time, bring Trojans. They are tougher. Inmates fuck rough," the guard put her hand on Caroline's back and pushed Caroline toward the next door. Caroline felt like a little, frightened girl. She would have wanted to hide in a hole, run home, and hide under the bed sheets. However, she was even more afraid of doing anything out of place to unsettle the machinery of motions that she was being put through by the institution for her conjugal visit. "Be that little mouse," she told herself, "follow the maze that they sent you through. Just follow. Don't blink." They walked down a hallway. A big glass pane lined the hallway with glass that had an interleaved wire mesh. Caroline recognized the girls from the old Honda in the parking lot. Each was sitting with a young man in orange jumpsuits. One girl was sitting on the lap of her orange guy. Guards lined the walls of the room. They had their nightsticks in hand. There was a soda and snack machine in the corner with colorful neon lights. The guard let Caroline past that. There was a big iron door. A heavy lock popped with a loud clank. The guard pushed the iron door open. The guard had to lean forward heavily. The proper prison had started here. Every window was tiny and had half inch thick metal bars. Doors were heavy reinforced steel. The hinges were welded in place. The air conditioning lost a couple degrees of power. It was easily 80 degrees. The panic of a trapped rabbit shuddered over Caroline's body. Getting out of here would be a slow process, no matter how hard she would panic. Unlike holding the breath under water in the pool at home and pushing to the surface, when she couldn't hold it anymore, this would be like pushing up from 30 feet under water. A desperate, push after push, struggling for air, for freedom, for being left alone. The guard stopped in front of a white door. The guard got a huge chain of keys out. She fumbled for the key with the blue rubber marking. This moment, everything became very real. Until now, everything had been as she had planned it inside of her head in her bedroom in Jersey. Now, things were real. Now, she'd have her real body collide with reality. All could have been a dream until here. Simply something so outside of her reference experience that it might have been her imagination. Now, she was going to wake up in reality. Things would happen to her. Caroline stepped in front of the guard and into the room. The guard said one last thing, "the room is sound insulated for privacy. You have to bang hard against the door if you want out early." The door clicked as the guard turned the key shut behind Caroline. The 6x8 room was bare, except for the low twin sized bed and the black Christian cross at the wall. Eliseo was already sitting on the bed with his knees wide. He was heavy, in fact fat, about 200 lbs., twice her weight. He was dressed in a bulging orange jump suite and clear bathing flip flops. His head was shaven. The fat in his cheeks filled out the head to look like a round ball. There were three teardrops tattooed under his left eye. There was a bar tattooed on his chin. There was a triangle on his forehead. He looked fearsome. "Yo mommy!" said Eliseo. He had a thick Guatemalan accent. His eyelids were so sparse that one could have guessed that he plucked them. His armpits had crackled outlines like the coast of a continent. There was one white, salty crusty outline after the next. They had accumulated by him sweating in the desert heat, the sweat drying, and then sweating again. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties. "Give it a twirl. Show me what you are working with," encouraged Eliseo with a jovial smile on his lips. Caroline had been standing right in front of the door, like the zone the door moved over was a save place and the rest of the room was a crocodile invested lake. She hadn't dared stepping closer, having trepidations. She turned around. Her bare feet treaded the prison stone ground. The hem of her dress fluttered a little up from the momentum of her turn. "Oh ya, hot mommy," cheered Eliseo. "I thought you'd be a fat chick or an old lady. You are one hot mommy. I bet out there, they'd pay ten keys for you for one night. And I mean that in the best way as a compliment." Caroline blushed silently. "Come here, sit down," Eliseo patted his thighs. Caroline walked over to him. She sat down sideways on his lap. She felt his arms around him. His arms were so thick and strong. Like a baby tree in the wind, he could move her that effortlessly. He leaned her over against his chest. His body was big and soft, a lot of fat, yet strong muscles had to carry all that weight. She felt engulfed by him. She realized that she was his toy now. He could move her around however he wanted. She remembered the guard warning her about the sound insulated room. She realized that he was a criminal with temper issues. If at any time, she refused her pussy, he could get raging mad, through her against the wall, bash her head in from a fit of rage. And then she'd merely be another tattooed teardrop on his face, so insignificant. He smelled, he smelled off days without shower in a sweaty desert prison. Among the musky scent of his body, a new smell arose. She could smell his unwashed penis wafting like a rotten fish. She remembered that scent from the boys. When they got a hard-on, their penis head would start emitting this strong smell. The smell that equally repulsed her with disgust and aroused her in a deep spot between her thighs. "Conjugal visits are short," he introduced his hands pulling the lavender dress over her head. He grabbed her bra at the front center and pulled it over her head without bothering to unlatch it. She reached her arms high. He pulled down her panties. It was so quick. She was already naked. Her mind had a hard time catching up. He was hungrily breaking out of his orange jump suit. Her eyes were shocked at the white oversized underwear. Funny enough on all the things that she could have and should have been shocked at, the oversized white underwear, the beyond grand pa style panties, shocked her the most. "Condom," she screeched. Her throat had dried up. That was the first thing she said to him. She handed him the blue condom. He put it on hastily. It flipped out of his hand on the ground. He tried again to put it on. He accidentally flipped the sides, so that her side was now touching him. She realized what it meant for infection. She didn't dare saying anything. The blue rubber stretched into see-through, as it rolled over his cock with the parsley, curly groin hair at the base. He threw her on her back and went on top of her. His weight crushed her. She felt flattened. Her fingers were fighting to create a breathing space between her mouth and his chest. She was too busy focusing on getting her to realize his cock pushing into her. Flap-flap, the cock shot inside of her pussy. She arranged herself under the big body. She found a way to gasp her under him. Her mind wandered his fat folds that were pressing down on her belly and breasts. The roughness in her pussy eased as his cock spread her lubrication around. Images of movies and the news about the violence of gangbangers were flushing through her head. She was being pounded live, that very moment, by one of those cruel creatures. She was but a small girl, helpless to his savage goal of rubbing his dick in a live body, preferable female. "Yo real tight, mommy," Eliseo groaned. His Spanish way of calling her mommy was strange. It made her feel being thought of as getting impregnated. The steam in his breathing started turning her own. Her sexual machinery started turning, as his panting got more intense, as the body slabs of his against her body grew wetter from the sweat. She wanted to completely surrender herself to the violent and evil beast. She wanted to be taken, really taken like no question of her was asked or consideration of her was made. That feeling of being a fuck doll, that she had to keep so secret from everyone, was the thing that drove her nuts in the wildest way. And she could feel him ramming into her solely trying to rub his own dick in the right places. His pubic bone hitting hers was as fears as wild bucks hitting their antlers into each other. It was pain followed by pleasure, left by a hunger for being hit again, while he recoiled his dick outside of her for the next crushing pubic bone to pubic bone hit. Her voice quivered high pitched like a little girl. His thrusting got more feverishly. The bed was screeching over the rock floor stop-and-go. "Thank god, the walls are sound insulated," Caroline silently prayed. "Que mommy! You make my children proud!" groaned Eliseo pushing his dick as deep as he could inside of Caroline. Then, he collapsed. She struggled with both hands and all her force to get her head out from under the languid body. "I can't breathe!" "Suck my dick," commanded Eliseo. He rolled to the side. She quickly crawled on her hands and feet to his cock. She could taste her own pussy on the condom that tasted of spermicide. The dick was deflating inside of her mouth. She sucked hard on it. Her cheeks puckered in. She felt the rubber bulging on her tongue like a balloon. "Say, mi amo, why are you doing this?" asked Eliseo. "I'm so stuck in my life. I fold clothes at the GAP store. I see the same movies with my friends. They are different movies, different titles, and different actors. Yet, it's the same movie over and over if you get to the heart of it. I needed to break out, break out of that routine, that invisible prison of a schedule, 6 months dental cleanings, taxes on April 15th, groceries at 3 pm on Sunday, and the social security report in spring telling me that I got another 33 points towards retirement. I vented to my friends about it. They challenged me to the craziest thing that they could think of. And I told myself I have to do it. I have to do it for freedom," Caroline talked with Eliseo's dick in her mouth, taking pauses from sucking. He patiently listened to her, feeling the joy of her tongue on his limp dick, the tiny and delicate sensation. "I never understood you white chicks. You come to prison to feel freedom. How his sucking my ugly, stinking dick giving you freedom? I tell you freedom. Freedom was my dad and me with nine years old on a boat in the water of Guatemala. I tasted the salt on my lips. My dad was letting my hold his Corona. I felt so proud, like life couldn't get any better," responded Eliseo. "Are those real?" Eliseo grabbed her tits and squeezed them roughly, as he was popping bubble paper and thought that if they were fake, he could pop them and find out. Caroline squealed and slapped his hand. "Oh, the shy girl, has some fire!" Eliseo laughed. Caroline kept earnestly bobbing her head up and down the cock that was getting a second life. "Mira es culo," Eliseo leaned over to see her cute butt that bulged up, because she was on her knees. "When you are ready, I'll fuck you in there. You come back." The door opened. Caroline jumped back in a crouching position to cover her naked body. The female prison guard was in the door. "Times up!" "Ey, two more minutes. My guns loaded so big," pleaded Eliseo. "Enough, get dressed. Both of you!" Caroline searched for her clothes on the floor. Eliseo climbed back into his orange jumpsuit. "Real love, mommy. What we have is true!" said Eliseo to Caroline. Two male guards came into the room. They had been hiding in the hallway. They grabbed Eliseo harshly to put him into wrist and ankle cuffs. All four cuffs were connected by a shiny metal chain. "Look at these cowards scared with me in irons. That little girl was all naked and dancing on my dick by herself." The trio staggered out of the prison cell. The female prison guard pushed Caroline out of the visitation room, while Caroline still adjusted her underwear. The guard said with a sad look on her face, "I hope you got what you came for, girl, and not too much more."