I. Penal Popularity
"With all due respect sir, being the head of a maximum security penal institution is hardly a popularity contest!"
Jared's eyes nearly bulged out of his overly large head as he sought to rein in not only his severe anxiety, but the nervous sweat which had built up as soon as he stepped foot in the Warden's office alongside that Sasquatch of a woman. He already missed the paperwork waiting to be filed at his desk. Alice just looked bored.
"Not to mention, sir, that most of them were brought here by your word and your...your Jailbot!"
His boss angrily crossed his arms and huffed. Rolling his eyes childishly—childish really was the perfect word to describe the Warden of Superjail—he spun his chair away from Jared to face the window overlooking his beloved penitentiary.
"Superjail is a haven for criminals," the Warden began as he gesticulated from his seated position. "A practical paradise for all manner of hoodlums and ne'er-do-wells! And who runs this fine operation?"
Jared debated rubbing his already throbbing temple as the Warden paused for dramatic effect.
The Warden stood abruptly from his chair, turning and leaping atop his desk to strike a theatrical pose, one hand clutched to his lapel and the other outstretched. "Why me of course, the Warden!"
Alice looked disinterested; Jared wrung his hands in distress. Jailbot was still projecting the poll results, screen blank of expression.
"Sir, when you said you wanted a poll to see which authority figures in the jail the inmates liked the most, I had no idea you'd take the results so...personally!"
"Well that's because they're practically my babies, Jared! My own children have taken my kindness—my generosity—and tossed it in the incinerator!"
The Warden in a tantrum was not highly unusual, but Jared really, really wished he had taken his pills with his morning coffee.
"The desk jockey's right, just accept the fact that you're second fiddle and move on." Alice said gruffly.
"I simply can't be second fiddle, Alice my dear," the Warden gestured wildly, morphing into a musical instrument for a moment to illustrate his point. "There must be some mistake! A miscarried two!" He spluttered. The abacus that had materialized in his hand was hurled in Jared's general direction.
Jared held up his hands in terrified surrender, voice quaking.
"S-sir I-I'm very s-sorry, b-but the results were quite clear..."
"This is a waste of my time," Alice's gravelly voice interjected the other employee as she tapped her club impatiently on her opposite palm. "Call me back when there's a real emergency."
The buff woman strode out of the office, slamming the door on her way out. Jared winced at the loud bang of her exit.
For a moment the Warden simply seemed bewildered, then he slumped over, melting slowly back down onto the desk until he was slumped over it like a gutted fish. Dejected. The look, when placed on his face, was akin to that of a child denied a carnival prize.
"Cheer up sir," Jared tried to console his employer. "So the inmates don't like you...but like you said sir, no one else could possibly run Superjail." In all honesty, while that statement was true, no one else was insane enough to understand how the jail worked, let alone be able to run it...smoothly. Or whatever counted as smooth for Superjail. The jail seemed to operate on its own plane of existence, and entirely at the superintendent’s whim.
After a long pause, the Warden's back straightened suddenly.
"You know what, you're right Jared!" The Warden exclaimed. "Surprisingly," he added.
"I am the only person alive capable of running this jail. Perhaps I simply need to try a new approach with my inmates..."
The Warden got a thoughtful look on his face, undoubtedly a cause for concern. Tailcoat swinging behind him contemplatively, the prison head turned again to stand in front of the panorama glass window, cane tucked under his arm.
"...a more personal approach."
"Jean—honey. You have to read this flyer I just found posted outside our cell."
Paul shoved the flyer into his life partner's face without pause. Without a second thought, Jean snatched the piece of paper offered to him. He read the first line aloud.
"Make A Wish?"
He shot a confused look at Paul, before slowly skimming the rest of the flyer. His confusion tripled.
Huffing, Paul took the flyer back and pointed at the Warden's eerie smiling image in its center.
"The Warden is offering to grant one wish for every single inmate," At this Paul waved the flyer excitedly in his partner's face again. "As long as it doesn't involve release."
"A wish? That's complete nonsense. What does the Warden mean to do?"
"Who cares baby? Come on, we're getting a ticket for a one-wish genie!" Paul clapped his hands together excitedly.
Shrugging, Jean got up and followed Paul out of the cafeteria, the other already going on about the incredibly long list of wish possibilities.
From his seat at the adjacent table, Ash hurriedly finished his gruel. He had news to tell the other inmates, and he had a feeling they would be extremely interested. Across the room, (the former) Lord Stingray languidly stroked Fang, a calculating smile on its way to completion.
"Next." A bored wave of hand followed the monotone command.
Granting wishes had been fun at first. The proceedings felt a bit like Christmas—except the children weren't children at all, but convicted felons, and Mr. Claus was their warden, not some rosy-cheeked Samaritan. However, boredom had quickly set in for the mastermind behind the whole event after a grand total of thirty minutes.
It seemed that all the convicts wanted the same things: cigarettes or knives, Vaseline or lube, porn mags or blow-up dolls. It was all rather trite.
After the fiftieth inmate, the Warden had called Jared to get him a chair; now, he sat in it and drummed his fingers restlessly on the armrest. Granting wish after imbecilic wish. Did no one want anything of actual value?! Of merit?! Why the h—
"Spit it out, won't you." The Warden sent a bored glare at the inmate, huffing when the ward just twiddled his fingers.
"I...I want a blowjob."
The Warden didn't respond at first beyond raising his eyebrows slightly in distaste. After a beat, he added haughtily, "Will that be all?" Because really, what a perfectly imbecilic waste of a wish.
"I want...a blowjob...from," the inmate visibly gulped. "From you."
The Warden paused, fingers halting mid-strum.
As his brain finally caught up, he jumped to his feet and recoiled from the convict. He made a gagging sound. "Disgusting!"
The ward of Superjail shrugged, and with all pretenses gone, hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms defensively across a broad chest.
"Any wish, right?"
With narrowed eyes and another petulant huff, the Warden simply waved his hand dismissively at the convict and said, "I'll think on it. Next."
"But you said—"
"He said next you animal." Alice said huskily, pulling the inmate forcefully forward by the collar of his jumpsuit. With a pissed look on his face, the inmate backed off as soon as his clothing was released from the she-beast's grasp, dissolving back into the throng.
And so the line continued.
After the initial participants had come and gone, however, a discontented lot remained present. For each and every malcontent, the Warden had denied several eerily similar wishes: a blowjob or handjob from the Warden himself, among other perverse requests, all of which he had struck down with extreme prejudice. Clearing his throat to gain the notice of the few remaining stragglers, the Warden opened with: "Gentlemen, your attention please,"
"It has come to my attention that many of you have the same desire, and in keeping with the rules set forth by my own self, I am...obliged to see you compensated."
"Let no inmate say that the Warden is not a man of his word! At midnight, the cell block C bathroom will be where all parties owed may convene to receive their just due," He swept his hand in a gracious fashion over the assembly.
"Jared, of course, will mediate."
A slow, winding, serpent of a smile wormed its way onto Stingray's face at that last remark. The look in his eyes was predatory as a devious plan began to take form in his mind. Absentmindedly, he curled a finger under Fang's chin and spoke softly in a low baritone voice.
"Revenge, sweet revenge. A tit for a tat...or a hit to the hat, as the case may be, Warden."
As the Warden covered the prison hallway with lengthy strides, Jared scrambled to keep pace with him—his brow sweating profusely with effort. Face tense, the bookkeeper wiped his forehead, pulling out his hanky to dab at the beads of sweat. As for the sweat itself; it was not from physical strain, but rather the stress of the situation looming before the two making their way down the dim corridors of cell block B which made his temple perspire and his fingers itch for the comforting shape of a bottle.
They were nearly to block C now.
Utterly carefree, the Warden was in his element within the confines of his own prison. He swept past empty cells and sparsely populated ones with equal disregard, ignoring the few loathing glares from within just as he had ignored Jared's earlier advice.
"Sir, with all due respect, this is a terrible idea! You can't expect me to, in good conscious, let you go through with this,"
"Oh calm down, Jared. The situation is under control."
And now, the Warden still seemed confident in his course of action. But Jared's fears had neither ceased nor desisted.
The pair arrived at the designated spot, the door marked with a male lavatory symbol and an uppercase ‘C’ below it. No light filtered through under the door from the other side. With palm outstretched, the proprietor of Superjail fearlessly pushed his way in.
Arms already as wide flung as the door behind him, the Warden strode into the bathroom as if it were a royal court. He did love to make an entrance, after all. However, hastiness, this time around, would be his ultimate undoing.
If he had but paused at the entrance, the Warden might have noticed the dim interior, highlighted only by leering grins in the darkness. He might have also noticed the fact that as soon as he had stepped foot in, the door was slammed behind him, subsequently blocking his only means of escape, and cutting him off from Jared. Jared, only a few paces behind the Warden, saw only a sliver of dark room and the man’s quick turn of head before the door was closed with such force he nearly ran into it. Funnily, the last small glance Jared had of the Warden...of his expression...was it surprise on his face? Or...fear?
The sound behind him made the Warden jump, turning with the noise to assure himself that Jared had heard it as well. Before he could identify the source, though, he noticed something that made his pulse jump. The room was pitch black, and far too still. He could feel more than see the inmates around him, and in the darkness, it was almost like a steady thrum synced to his pulse. Dark outlines, darker than the room itself, converged on him suddenly. Affrightedly, the Warden started backwards, his body hitting something solid and alive.
He breathed in to panic, and just as quickly, was rendered mute by a meaty palm. The Warden struggled in what he assumed to be an inmate’s grip, but merciless strength quickly overpowered him, pinning his arms to his chest. A crushing grip settled on his wrists as if an afterthought. Breathing heavily through his nose, the Warden desperately pushed the panic down. Whatever the circumstance, he was still in control here. This was his prison.
The truth of that statement dawned upon him as his eyes found the sliver of light under the closed door, right before it was extinguished by what had to be at least twenty or thirty pairs of feet.
Twisting savagely, he fought blindly. Hands, it seemed, sprouted from the air, restraining him further, blindfolding him, pulling his hair, cuffing his hands, squeezing his throat…
The ultimate offense came as a fist barreled into his gut, forcing the air from his lungs and his jaw open—and a circular piece of metal unfamiliar to him was quickly pushed in. As soon as the odd device was in place, hands slowly and clumsily secured the piece’s leather straps as the Warden jerked as much as the grip on his hair allowed. Overcome with fear, his eyes watered pitifully, and a small pathetic whimper escaped a constricted throat. Still, a twisted kind of curiosity made him explore the contraption in his mouth. Probing tentatively with his tongue, he found the metal to be smooth, round, and shaped like an ‘o’. It sat just behind his teeth. The middle hole was weirdly large, more than three times the thickness of his tongue, making the ring hit the roof of his mouth rather painfully if he tried to bite down. The effect was that he could not freely open nor close his mouth as long as the device was secured.
Suddenly, he was released. With no hands to catch himself, the Warden’s shoulder hit the cement jarringly, and with a strangled shout, he rolled quickly onto his side. Cuffed hands stretched to rub the throbbing joint. From the huddled group of inmates, a solitary pair of feet proceeded forward confidently. As they reached the Warden, their owner crouched down, resting his elbows easily on bent knees, a lazy grin on a sharp face.
“Hello, Warden.” said Stingray.
Jared leaned against the bathroom door heavily, chest heaving. Despite his best efforts, pushing the door open had proved impossible. Whoever was on the other side, with the Warden, he reminded himself, had locked him out. Rolling over to rest his forehead on the door, he hit his head repeatedly against the surface.
“Damnit, damnit, damnit.”
A trill behind him caught his attention, and he turned quickly to see an inmate...Gary. The yellow bird sitting on his shoulder cocked its head, black eyes almost scorning the accountant. Gary and Bird then.
For an awkwardly long pause, nothing was said. Then a voice broke the silence.
“I have a deal for you, Jared.”
The prison accountant stiffened uncomfortably, unsettled by the fact that it seemed that the bird was speaking, and the bad feeling growing in his gut. Clenching and unclenching his fists, the shorter man yearned to reach for the walkie-talkie at his hip. But one beady-eyed look from the bird forced his hands still with uncertainty. He wondered momentarily why contacting Alice had not even been his first thought.
“We simply want compensation. Give us that...and there will be a reward in it for you.”
In spite of his unease, Jared couldn't help but ask about the reward.
Jared did so, hesitantly, the feeling that he was making some kind of terrible mistake sweeping over him. Yet it didn't stop him from following Gary and his bizarre bird into a cell. Inside, there was a laptop (contraband, his mind supplied) occupying the bottom bunk, along with a formidable stack of CD-Rs. On the screen was live feed of a dim room with blurred figures surrounding something. Gary went down on one knee and adjusted some setting of the camera, bringing the scene into focus.
Jared’s pulse hammered and he hitched his breath. But he said nothing.
Stealing a glance at the accountant, Bird trilled again. The voice—whether it was really Gary’s or Bird’s Jared didn't know—addressed him.
“A copy is yours if you don't interfere.” Gary slid an empty CD his way.
Jared paused, indecisive. He would likely never have another opportunity like the one before him. The Warden would be disgusted and furious, he was sure, but...but...
With a slow nod, he acquiesced. Jared hoped he hadn't just agreed to killing his boss…
...and the object of his subconscious attraction.
[The former Lord] Stingray ordered two inmates to lift the Warden from the ground with a brisk wave of his hand. He motioned once more and one inmate grabbed ahold of the cuffed man’s wrists and held them aloft in front of him. Smugly, Stingray pulled a key from his pocket, dangling them in front of the Warden teasingly. Then, without further production, he unlocked the handcuffs.
The inmate holding the Warden’s wrists immediately pulled his captive’s arms behind him, and a pair of padded leather cuffs were refitted onto his limbs. As this occurred, the Warden remained in a state of shock; he came out of his stupor, nevertheless, at the feeling of the cuffs tightening.
“Now, Warden, as much as I love to see you squirm, I’ve already played my part. What happens next is not really to my...tastes. Although I do have one more thing to say before I go,”
Stingray leaned in towards the Warden, who was still held practically immobile within the burly inmate’s grip. From behind him, he pulled out a cloth blindfold and stretched it between his hands. He smiled coldly at his jailer, the action all teeth and malice.
“Karma’s a bitch, Warden. And now, so are you.”
Pulling the long strip of cloth over the Warden’s wide, confused eyes, he tied it tightly at the back of the Warden’s head, the red sitting sharply against black hair. With that, Stingray stood back, admiring his handiwork.
Stingray was sure the Warden made a titillating picture to the other inmates all trussed up. Seeing his jailer in such a compromising position, however, was reward enough for him. With a “Have fun boys,” he faded back into the corners of the room, presumably leaving through some alternative exit. The other inmates wasted no time.
With a startled cry as he was roughly forced to his knees—the lack of sight was disconcerting at best and terrifying at worst—the Warden nearly became reacquainted with the floor. This time though, a hand caught his shoulder, steadying him and prompting him to lean on a muscular thigh. A low rumble of laughter filtered through the heavy cloth which lay partially over his ears, which nearly covered up the foreboding sound of thirty prison regulation pants being unzipped at once.
The owner of the thigh he was leaning on was no exception.
A coarse hand found its way under the Warden’s chin, and his head was rudely jerked upwards, mouth still held ajar by the gag firmly in place. Fingers tangled in his hair, grabbing and pulling cruelly in an attempt to keep his head still. A certain smell reached his nose, a heady scent that pervaded every corner of his mind and seemed to drive away the last bits of his sanity as he finally figured out what was about to occur. What was about to be done to him.
The inmate tightened the fingers in his black mop marginally, the hand that had been holding the Warden’s chin now preoccupied elsewhere. As something soft and hard brushed against his cheek, the Warden stiffened and attempted to pull away. He was stopped, needless to say, by the inmate’s firm grip.
“Na-ah. You'd better behave bitch, or I won’t be so nice.” The inmate said roughly.
Still holding his manhood in one hand, the inmate shoved into the Warden’s mouth with no prior warning. The shock of the action was so that if the metal ring had not been in place, the Warden’s teeth snapping shut would have proved painfully problematic. The ring, though, kept its wearer’s mouth open nice and wide, and the inmate took full advantage of that fact. Too soon, before his servicer even had a chance to adjust, he shoved hard, forcing his length down the Warden’s throat. The inmate held him there with both hands on the back of his head for what felt like hours.
Finally, he released him, and the Warden of Superjail gulped in a lungful of air before hacking noisily. Saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth and his eyes were watering again, and his throat burned from the girth of the intrusion.
Before he had a chance to recover, the inmate was back, pushing even deeper, making the Warden’s eyes water as he struggled with his gag reflex. Centimeter by centimeter the cock in his mouth went past parted lips, brushing the back of his throat, and then, impossibly, continuing in its course. The inmate’s hips jerked backwards, pivoting for a moment, before grinding heavily back into the Warden’s face. He picked up a steady tempo, driving in and out with graceless abandon, fucking the Warden’s mouth. The mouth on his cock salivated more with each painful thrust, the urge to vomit and scream all at the same time rising.
Suddenly, the prisoner slowed, languidly dragging his manhood from the oral cavity before he pulled out entirely. Pulling on his cock, the inmate jerked himself off for a couple of seconds before unloading on his jailer’s face. The ordeal had lasted no more than six minutes.
The Warden shuddered as he felt strings of ejaculate hit his face. The stuff was still disgustingly warm, and the urge to vomit returned full force.
Just as his labored breathing began to settle, a different hand grabbed onto his hair and dragged him on his knees to another crotch, shoving him face first into a significantly larger dick. The Warden whimpered and his already sore windpipe clenched as he swallowed.
And so he was passed from hand to hand...and after an hour in, his jaw ached, his throat felt like it was on fire, and he was terribly thirsty. Most of the inmates had brutally fucked his mouth or forced him to deepthroat to the point of him choking and nearly passing out. The inmates seemed to thoroughly enjoy forcing every inch of their length down his throat, and holding his chin to their balls as the superintendent gagged and writhed. The Warden felt lightheaded from oxygen deprivation, the happenings becoming hazy in his mind as if he was drugged. Although his throat felt like he had serviced each and every ward individually already, he was still being passed down the line like some perverse form of conga.
Suddenly, the cock currently in his mouth pushed into his trachea and stopped moving completely. Seconds ticked by before the Warden began to panic, his airway completely blocked, leaving him to slowly suffocate. Fighting the leather cuffs, he twisted his shoulders, striving desperately to pull back. The merciless force behind his head did not relent, instead simply forcing more into his mouth. At this point, the Warden was well and truly terrified. He couldn't breathe!
His movements started to become sluggish, his eyes began to fall heavily shut under the blindfold. Just as he fell completely limp, the intrusion was removed, and the Warden slid to the floor, unconscious.