Chapter III: The Mourning After
In the mourning I wake up to Mag palming my left boob as I a line of drool runs down her chin in to the pool of drool that is currently located on my other boob. Well I’m glad Mag has made herself comfortable. I poke her head.“Mag wake up, Mag you fat ass get up! I need to pee!” I say my voice rising in volume with every word, to the point that my throat hurt. Oh and I forgot to mention that my mouth is less than an inch away from her ear.
Mag’s head shot up fast, her hand squeezing hard on my boob. “Son of a bitch!” We yell at the same time. Mag was covering her ear, while I was almost screaming. “What was that, I think you broke my boob.” I started to rub it a little. Mag was yelling right back. “You almost broke my eardrum.” By this point we were on opposite sides of the bed glaring at each other.
After about five minutes of silent glaring, my bowls decide that I have to go to the bathroom, so I stand up and go to the toilet, I relieve myself before going back to the bed. Flopping down on it lazily, curling into the corner. I close my eyes, just lying there. Ten minutes later, I know this because I was keeping count; Mag gets up and moves to the toilet. I hear the toilet flush and a few soft footsteps, going to her bed. I hear the springs of a mattress groaning as someone sits on it. I wait a few minutes before I uncurl myself and lay out on the bed, scooping one of Mag’s porn magazines off the floor. It’s a Hustler. I page through it, stopping at all the good pictures. After I’ve paged through it, I decide to stop at a picture and memorize its details.
At some point Mag crosses the room and starts to look over my shoulder. The one I’m looking at has a blonde girl with a black guy pushing into her from behind, another guy fucking her mouth, while another girl licked her nipples.
“Are you a lesbian or something?” Mag’s voice breaks my silent reverie and I jump a little. “No.” I blurt without thinking. “Then why are you looking a Hustler?” She asks. “Because Hustler has both men and women.” I reply, not looking at her. Mag sits down next to me and flips ahead showing me the highlights of this issue. “Dude!” I gasp as she flips to a picture of a guy pushing himself into a red heads ass while another chick squatted over her face, as another chick was sucking the red heads nipples and fingering her. Mag smiles and walks to the foot of her bed, she pulls a roll of duct tape from the mystery box; she rips the picture out of the magazine and tapes it up on the wall.
I put the Hustler down and stare up at the ceiling, debating whether or not to ask one of the questions that have been haunting me for the past few hours. After ten minutes of silent debate, I finally open my mouth.
“Mag?”
“Yeah.” Mag’s voice comes from the direction of her bed; I still have my eyes on the ceiling.
“How did Namine get in here?” Mag is silent for a little, thinking.
“She killed three people in a burglary gone wrong.” She says with a sigh. “She was different then meaner, tougher, loud, arrogant, a real butch.” She pauses to gather her thoughts. “Blaze broke her, beat her down, showed her she was nothing.” I turn on my side to face Mag. “How did she do it?” I ask.“She raped her every night, beat her in the mourning, and she made her beg for food and stuff.” Mag says rather quickly as though this is a subject she doesn’t enjoy talking about. I nod. “So do you all do that to people?” I ask. Mag shook her head. “Just Blaze. I’m a slow mover, I’m soft and gentle, I don’t lead, I guide.” She said. “I prefer to show them a good time, and go from there.” I can’t help but ask. “How do you decide, who teaches who?” Mag grins a little. “You teach your cellmate.” She said. “You’re a good girl, Rizzy.” I can’t help but grin back at her.
Mag stands up and grabs a brush off the floor; she comes over and sits behind me, and starts to brush the knots out of my long blonde tresses. She finishes a half an hour later, when my hair is straight and silky; it touches my shoulder blades now. She puts the brush down when she has brushed out her hair.
My cellmate pulls my back against her and I ask. “Mag, why did you do me in the shower?” I ask. “I had to test you, Rizzy, you did good though.” I am suddenly stricken by sleepiness. “I didn’t to anything, it was all you.” I yawn. The woman slips her hand up my shirt and then the other down my pants. I’m too tired to be jumpy so I just close my eyes. “Just relax and enjoy baby.” A raspy voice says and my nipple and clit are twisted, rolled, and pinched, until two fingers enter me and start to pump me hard. I’m left helpless as a white-hot orgasm scorches my thoughts away. “I got you Rizzy.” I hear a familiar voice say as I suck in a breath and lie still in the arms of the person who put me in this state.