You wouldn’t be able to tell now. But when I was a teen, I was a bully – to my siblings, to the other girls at school – to anyone I thought I could push around. And I was a shoplifter, a smoker, hell I did all the stupid reckless shit entitled kids do. And sure, I got caught. And I was obnoxious to the Juvi judge and got sent to the “little house” for four months – until my 18th birthday, in fact. Even then, I took it as a point of pride. I’d bull my way to the top there, and come out Queen of the Bitches.
Then I met “Correction Officer Almeida.” I never learned his first name. He was always, “Sir” or “Officer Almeida” to me. But the first time I mouthed off to him – about a month into my time, I was in solitary. And the second time – the last time I cursed him out and gave him the finger – nobody but him saw me until my release.
The first time he put the Shackle on me, he told me how it was going to be as he cut my clothes off.
“Every day after breakfast you’re going to be on the bed, naked, just like you are now. If you’re good, I won’t need to use the Shackle anymore. If you’re not, it’ll stay on, and I’ll be visiting after lunch and dinner, too.”
He pulled his own clothes off, too, as he spoke. The Shackle itself was a metal bar about three feet long with four metal cuffs welded to, evenly spaced apart. The outer two were for ankles, and the inner two were for wrists. So ‘Just like you are now’ meant half lying on my cell’s cot, ass up, head and shoulders down on the thin mattress, arms down on the mattress between my spread knees.
“If you give me more lip, there’ll be a gag for you, too.”
He pulled out a small bottle and poured slick liquid along his cock – veiny and hard and angry looking. He stood behind me and placed the fat head of it against my asshole. I was too shocked to even squeak.
“Every day, I’m going come in here to teach you manners.”
He started pushing into my ass.
“To be civil, to obey the law. To be kind to people…. “
For every item he listed He pushed deeper. The head of his cock popped in with the word “law” and I grunted low at the strange, uncomfortable feel of it.
“…To respect the people around you…”
Shoving deeper each time, until he’d reached 10, like in the commandments, and his abdomen was pushing up against my ass. His whole length was buried in my backdoor and I was moaning incoherently.
“You’re going to learn, Charlotte, to be a good citizen. Or else.”
And then he grabbed my hips in his hands and fucked me. Hard, brutally, fast, not paying any attention to the sounds I made. And he didn’t stop until he came – rooted as far in my ass as he could go.
He visited me every day for the remaining three months of my sentence, and did exactly the same thing. For the first week, he did visit me three times a day, because I did give him more lip, and kicked, and fought, and I lost each time. For the last month, though, he didn’t need to use the Shackle.
Until the last day. I was ready for him, blanked out like I’d learned to be. Waiting for the fuck and the lecture. But this time, the fat head of his cock pressed between the lips of my pussy. I’d long ago stopped being embarrassed that I was getting wet for it. But he’d never, ever touched me there.
The tip nestled between my lips as he bent over me. His voice growled.
“I don’t ever want to see you here, or any institution like this, ever again, Charlotte. If I do, this is what you’re getting. Every fucking day, every fucking night, until you’re too knocked up to move. Am I clear?”
“Y-Yes, Officer Almeida.” It was all I could whisper.
Then his cock was gone, and my clothes – the clothes I’d arrived with, clean and neat – were on my bed.
“Get up. Dressed. Out.”
I never looked back.
I promise you, my adult record? It’s cleaner than yours.
Categories: Cassie Andra, Erotic Fiction, The Wrong Alphabet
The Erotic Writer 
God you have to love fantasies.
Thank you