Welcome Home

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Blowjob

I walked up three steps outside the gloomy looking building into a hallway that was so, so typical of government owned properties, beige, tatty, threadbare cheap carpet, peeling paint and a noticeboard saying in directive terms what is not allowed. A glass screen opened beside me and a dowdy woman with blonde hair (greying roots) and ridiculous glasses with blue-tinted lenses peered myopically at me.“You, Tatton?”“No.”“Well, who are you then?”“I am Lady Emily Cawston-Tatton.”“Oh, pardon me, my lady.” There was no hint of apology. In fact, there was a sneer. She read something from her desk. “Six month’s residence in this offender resettlement hostel. You’re sharing with Bailey.”“Sharing? Darling, I have a fucking castle only six miles outside town. Why can’t I stay there?”“Because, darling, the parole board says you stay here. Make your mind up or it’s back to the nick for you. I don’t care either way.”Cow. It was true I had a castle, not exactly Windsor but twenty bedrooms, sixteen bathrooms, a ballroom, staff quarters and a few sitting and so on rooms. I’d inherited it from my embittered Uncle Hugo, second son of the late Duke of Bristolshire. The main home had passed to his older brother, my father, along with the title. Uncle Hugo was by far the cleverer of the two brothers but, since he’d been delivered of his mother’s womb thirty-four minutes after his twin brother, by dint of the rule of primogeniture, my useless Pops had got the Dukedom and most of the fortune which was so big even his incompetence hadn’t been able to lose it all. Hugo had not only left me his castle. I’d inherited a business which was hugely successful along with substantial almanbahis wealth thanks to darling Hugo’s acumen.The business was run for me by Amelia Fitzroberts, herself a wealthy widow, not long retired from her own business and whom I had met at one of the hunt balls I had hosted before my little recent brush with the law. She had fucked and buggered me rather vigorously in my bedroom that evening. I decided then that a woman who goes to the hunt ball with a strapon in her handbag was a woman who was accustomed to seizing the opportunity and would be perfect for running my company so I could do what the fuck I wanted.My happy life of luxury was brought to an abrupt end as a result of the death of Gordon Jessop, farmworker and drunk. I’d been having some problems with poachers, particularly of my deer and I was out one evening with a Purdy (one of a matched pair, thanks again, Hugo!) when I’d caught a glimpse of a figure and loosed off two barrels in an attempt to scare the poacher off. Sadly, my aim wasn’t quite up to the task (I blame the light) and caught Jessop full in the chest.I might have got away with it. I told the police that Jessop had come at me, grabbed me and tried to get his cock out and rape me when the gun had gone off. This was brought into doubt when it was revealed that said Jessop had had a nasty encounter with a baling machine which had torn his testicles off and rendered him unsuitable for any sort of sexual activity, consensual or not.Manslaughter was the verdict, rather than murder and my barrister assured me that wearing the little black dress had spared me the murder verdict since a woman of my age (forty) cuts a sad figure almanbahis yeni giriş in widow’s weeds. It had seemed to work. The Judge sent me down for seven years. Here I was, three and half years later and out on parole.“Right. Show me to my room.”“Three flights up, third door on the right. Oh, and you’ll need these.” She handed me a bundle of cheap clothes. “Uniform. You start at Paulita’s restaurant tomorrow at lunchtime.”“Explain.”“We got you a job, your majesty. See how the other half lives. You’ve got a shirt and trousers and shoes, all black and, yes, the trouser cuffs are wide enough to hide your ankle watch.” I’d been given the additional humiliation of an electronic tag on top of everything else. She gave a mirthless smile.“Oh, and no men, no visitors, no booze and no smoking.”Having ascended the staircase and found the room, I knocked on the door.“Fuck off!” I opened the door. A blond woman in a t-shirt and grey joggers was slumped in a chair. “I said, fuck off.”“Yes, I heard. Not quite the way to welcome one’s new cellmate I’d have said. I’m Emily.”“Your bed is the one on the left.” She hadn’t even looked at me. “Don’t snore, don’t fart and don’t ever touch any of my stuff.”I sat down. Prison holds few fears for someone who went to a girls’ boarding school where the bullies were smaller, and the food was worse. Those were pretty much the only differences. “Okay, I get that your pissed off having to share but so am I. I’d very much appreciate it if we could try to rub along.”She turned slowly to take a look, took in my dress, the tag and the heels. “Hmm, I bet you were popular in the nick. Get a big mama to look after you, did almanbahis giriş you? Rub along? Careful what you wish for.”“As it happens, I didn’t have a ‘mama.’ But then, I don’t need looking after.” This was true, thanks to the inappropriately named Bella Combe, our large and ugly PE teacher at school. She had taught us martial arts amongst other things, and I had excelled despite my slight frame.Bailey was straight. Disappointing, I know but she was and that was that. I’d had a few moments of delight during my time in the three prisons I’d been sent to during my incarceration. One was with a real thug called Billy.~“That’s my seat.” I looked up. Quite a few of us were gathered to watch a film. I have no idea what the film was, but I do know I’d never have gone to see it in ‘real’ life but any distraction from prison life was welcome. Seats assume disproportionate importance inside. People, some people anyway, use them as status symbols. The woman looking down at me, feet slightly apart, hands hanging like a real fighter’s, was very masculine but I found myself thinking, wow. I knew of her. Known as Billy, she was a ‘capo,’ one of the bosses. Since everyone wears pretty much the same stuff (T-shirt and joggers and trainers), a body shape assumes a different importance and hers was hard, athletic and her face could have been a lot worse. Now, I’m not the biggest fan of tattoos but they are increasingly prevalent and hers were at least tasteful and artistic.Fight or climb down? That was my dilemma and I didn’t have a lot of time to decide. I stood up.“Then you’d better have it.” She was about four inches taller than I and I looked up into her eyes, smiling. Eye contact is another thing. It gets some people wired, others enjoy it. She enjoyed it.“Thanks, posh girl.” She pointed to the seat next to it. “You can sit here.”“No, thanks. I don’t think I want to watch the film anyway.”

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32