June 2016
<Woke up early with this sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach.
As I write this the sun is just breaking through, casting a golden glow onto the painted brickwork above the cell door, bringing a new day and what should be a new chance at life. This is the last morning that I will wake up in this godforsaken place. Over the course of the last eighteen months, I have gone over this moment so many times in my head, dreamt of it, but curiously now it has arrived it doesn’t feel real. I should be feeling elated like a kid at Christmas, my stomach buzzing with a million tiny butterflies, but I’m not. A surprise visit from Dolan last night put pay to that.>
***
At precisely 7:34, the double bolts on my cell door were unlocked for the last time. I was led by a guard off the landing which has been my temporary home, passing the open cell doors and all the envious faces, to be placed in a small holding cell with another inmate.
I had no idea who he was; I had never seen him before that day. We sat in an uneasy silence staring expectantly at the door. If there is one thing that I learned from my time in there, it’s that no matter how tempting, never initiate a conversation with anybody, avoid eye contact at all costs, and speak only if you are spoken to.
From the holding cell, we were taken into a medical room where they had one final indignity to perform. So without any logical reason, I faced the crippling embarrassment of being strip-searched in the presence of two male officers, and a female observer who stood directly in front of me, judging my expression with a malevolent grin as the officer behind me inserted a finger into my anus.
My colleague followed me and appeared far less concerned by the invasion of privacy. In truth, he appeared to take pleasure out of the female officer’s attention. He passed me as I
exited the cubical, and couldn’t help but detect the obvious joy that he was gleaning from the situation. His naked body was turned away from me as he stood defiantly before her, an exotic serpent tattoo running the length of his body, the tail beginning in the middle of his neck then uncoiling down his spine with the head terminating on his left buttock, the snake’s fork tongue reaching inside.
“So what do to think, love,” I heard him say, his hands clasped around the back of his head, “do you want a quick go on it before I leave? I’m sure it’s more than you’re used to.” She didn’t reply to his request, although I did notice a slight smirk briefly crack her mask.
Finally, we arrived at a reception area where we completed a seemingly endless pile of release forms and were reintroduced to our civilian clothes and belongings. I haven’t got much, that last visit to court was a foregone conclusion; I knew before I left the house what the verdict was going to be, and the only issue was how long. The grey plastic tray that was placed in front of me contained a small see-through bag that held my wedding ring. In another, larger transparent bag was my suit, shirt, shoes and tie. Unfortunately, the double-breasted charcoal-grey suit that I wore that day no longer fitted as well as it once did. Prison had achieved one good deed as least as I had lost about two stone in weight.
It had taken a mere fifty minutes from my cell door opening to that breath-taking moment when the main door to the prison opened, and I inhaled the first breath of fresh morning air as a free man. Well, nearly; I am still on licence and will have to report to my probation officer once a week. But I could live with all that just to taste in that sweet air of freedom.
Peculiarly there were two cars parked side by side in the middle of this large and almost empty car park. Olivia was there as I knew she would be, leaning against the door of our red Honda Accord. She was wearing a flowery, knee-length multi-coloured summer dress, her eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses and a smile as wide as my love for her. She looked so happy.
Standing behind the white Mercedes-Benz that was parked beside ours, stood a woman with long blond hair, and the shortest skirt that I had ever seen. In fact, it was less a skirt and more of a small piece of cloth hanging off her waist. The roof was down, and music boomed from her car stereo, or rather a violent, incessant beat that vibrated her car’s windows and threatened to shatter any others in the vicinity.
My fellow releasee raced towards her and I watched them embrace, the woman leaping into his arms, her legs wrapping themselves around his body. Then as his hand reached under her skirt it became clear that if she was wearing any underwear at all, it was invisible to the eye. My greeting from Olivia was far more conservative with a hug and a peck on the cheek. Then without warning the blond woman turned her attention towards us and Olivia in particular.
“Is that her?” she said, the unexpectedly cutting sneer in her tone drew my attention and made her partner turn his head in our direction.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “that’s her.” I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Olivia. She looked horrified suddenly to be the centre of this scrutiny, staring blankly into the middle distance, a deep crimson blush bleeding from her cheeks down over her neck. The woman slid out of her lover’s arms and onto the concrete below, grinning maniacally in our direction.
“I’ve heard so much about you, lady,” she giggled, “I hear you have a taste for chocolate.”
“Come on Livy let’s go,” I said, guiding Olivia towards the car.
“Tell him. Tell him how much fun you’ve been having while he was locked up in there.” The car doors slammed shut and we both stared out of the front windscreen in silence, but the damage was done, and it cut deep.
“It wasn’t like that, Chris,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.
“I know,” I answered, but immediately realised that I didn’t know at all, and that evidence to the contrary was beginning to pile up. “Let’s get out of this shithole.”
We drove away from the prison without a second glance, leaving the last eighteen months of my life behind.
We were maybe half a mile from the complex when I suddenly became overcome with emotion. The combination of the confrontation in the car park added to the conversation that I had with Dolan the previous evening, had lodged itself in front and centre of my mind, and my brain was fizzing and overloaded with contradicting emotions and opinions.
Dolan had arrived at my cell door at about ten o’clock, just before lights out, his mere presence setting me on edge. He had been a stranger for so long. I hadn’t had any communication with him or any of his gang for over five months, which was fine by me, but I knew he wasn’t here just to wish me well.
“So, you’re leaving us,” he said, leaning back against the metal railings on the landing. I looked up and smiled in acknowledgement as he breathed in deep. “We have some work that we are going to push in your direction; a fresh pair of bent accountant’s eyes are always of use to us.”
As he stepped into my cell, his eyes curiously roamed around its corporation cream-coloured walls as if he had never seen the inside of a cell before in his life. Then he began.
“Your wife has exceeded all expectations,” he started. Nearly a year had passed since Olivia had been approached by him, the arrangement that was brokered between them giving me a degree of safety, and from his perspective, power. With every one of her visits came a new consignment of drugs which he then circulated around the prison. I wasn’t privy to how or where this happened, and to be honest, I didn’t want to know, but as far as I could tell it had gone smoothly.
“Good,” I answered, probably not as enthusiastically as he would have liked, but I didn’t care, safe in the knowledge that in less than ten hours’ time I would be leaving him and his merry band of like-minded psychopaths behind.
“I hear she’s enjoyed our little arrangement; some might say she has enjoyed it a little too much.” I didn’t engage as I had learned that it is best not to. Just let him get whatever he has to say out of his system.
“These wives; it is so intriguing, yet the final outcome is mind-numbingly predictable. At first, there is this appealing uncertainty as to how they will react. Your wife, for example, was a puzzle to me. She didn’t appear to be someone who would be easily manipulated. She was quite strong-willed and independent; I like that.
It’s not as much fun if their knickers are off before you’ve even loosened your tie. I did wonder how long it would take for her to submit, I even wondered if she would at all. I thought she might need a little persuading and in fact, I was actually looking forward to seeing the process of how she was broken in. So, to see her now brings me a mixture of pride and slight disappointment. To see that, in the end, she is just like all the rest when they get a taste for the real thing. Do you understand what I’m saying? Once they sample the goods, it’s difficult for them to give up and ignore the craving. It is a little like a drug, they become hooked on it. Everyone has a weakness, money, alcohol, gambling, sex, murder. It’s all the same; people will do the most ridiculous things, totally addicted to whatever it is that gives them the high that they seek.
In your wife’s case, I believe it’s the prospect of the forbidden, the middle-class taboo. What would daddy and the members of the golf club say if the truth was out? The reality is that what gives your wife her release is having a very large black cock between her legs. Like I said, what would daddy say if he saw his daughter being so willing fucked by a Black man.”
I watched as he put his hand in the right pocket of his trousers and pulled out an iPhone. I closed my eyes tight and inwardly groaned knowing what was coming next. He had been patient, I’ll give him that, biding his time, waiting for just the right moment before showing me the footage that I knew was being passed from cell to cell. Standing over me, he turned the phone on and forced the screen in my direction.
It was a short clip on a loop with a timeline along the bottom of the screen indicating that it was only five seconds long, but it was enough. The woman on the screen was my wife, that much was beyond any doubt. She was lying on a bed under the body of a large Black man. The skin on his wide muscular shoulders, arms and neck were covered in inky black tattoos. I didn’t recognise the room; it wasn’t ours which frankly is irrelevant. It looked like a hotel room which indicated that she had lied to me. I was under the impression that they came to her, and that she had no choice, but this short clip told me otherwise. It told me that she had travelled to them of her own free will and met them willingly.
Her pale white legs dangled on either side of this man’s monstrous torso, her left hand resting on his right bicep. On her wrist was the watch that I had bought her for her twenty-second birthday, the very first birthday of hers that we had celebrated together. On the third finger of her left hand gleamed her wedding ring.
Her eyes were closed, but her mouth hung open, saying something that I couldn’t understand. As the clip played over and over, I tried to decipher the words: ‘faster,’ perhaps, or maybe ‘master.’ I never did find out. Dolan turned the screen away from me, and I watched his finger scroll across to another page, tap the screen then returned it up to my gaze.
This showed a longer clip, the timeline said thirty seconds. It was broken up into three sections. The first segment showed Olivia in full makeup which surprised me. She was wearing a black basque with purple trim, a black thong, stockings and suspenders. It was most definitely her, but my surprise came from the fact that she hardly ever wore makeup. I can recall only a handful of occasions when she did, with one of those being our wedding day.
I recognised the location immediately: the cream kitchen cupboards, the black granite worktop and the large window looking out into the garden. It was our kitchen, in our home. Olivia was kneeling on the stone-tiled floor, the camera pointing directly down focusing on her face, the man’s cock choking her as he fucked her mouth, her eyes wide and bulging as black mascara-tainted tears streamed down her face.
“Yes?” he asked, his voice gruff and urgent. Strings of spittle formed tightrope like lines between the large black cock and her lips as he withdrew. There was something in her expression as she looked up at him, contentment and yes, desire; she wanted to please him. It didn’t look like an act, she isn’t that good an actor, it was real. She knew what he wanted and knew what he wanted to hear.
“Do it,” she said, “I want to taste your black cum.” Her hand rubbed his saliva covered cock while staring unerringly into the camera’s eye. The first spit of the man’s ejaculation landed on the left lens of her glasses, then hungrily she devoured his member, taking him back into her mouth.
“Show me,” he said, grabbing a handful of her hair in his fist, and pulling her head back. As he did, she parted her lips, presenting a mouthful of thick white cum on her tongue, before swallowing his seed.
The second clip had her head and back pressed against a bed’s brown headboard with her legs outstretched on either side of him. Then came the stomach-churning moment where he leaned in, and they kissed. She didn’t grimace or move her face away as I would have hoped; it was full-blown and passionate, her hands reaching out to caress the skin behind his ear and down his neck as their tongues met. And then he said it.
“Did you just cum?” There was a wide, knowing smile on his face as he made the comment, her reply was to giggle then gorge on his outstretched tongue, taking it deep into her mouth, sucking on it like a child would with an ice lolly.
I briefly glanced over the phone’s thin black rim toward Dolan, the glint in his eye said everything about the man. Even at this late stage, he couldn’t let me leave without twisting the knife. This was the final humiliating kick in the balls.
What served as the finale showed her on all fours on a bed, causing my memory to drift back to seeing Andrew Garvey’s wife in exactly the same position. It is possible, I suppose, that this was the very same bed, and I painfully remembered what followed next.
As this final scene began, the words that came out of my wife’s mouth forced me to realise just how far she had fallen, making Dolan’s earlier comment on addiction all the starker, and forcing me to speculate on what world I would be returning to. Had I lost her?
Thankfully, I was spared the ignominy of having to listen and watch the whole unedited version of Olivia’s interrogation, witnessing her succumb mentally as well as physically to another man. But what remained was mortifying enough.
“Does it feel good?” a deep, dark, disembodied voice asked from behind the camera.
“Mmm,” she breathed, her head bowed so I could only see the top as she stared down at the white bedsheets.
“Do you like his big cock?”
“Mmm.”
“You do, don’t you Olivia? Tell us how much.” She lifted her head and smiled into the camera, and it was that smile of contentment that crushed me, the words that followed were almost too predictable.
“You know I do.”
“Is he big enough for you, or do you want more?” She smiled again, her tongue temptingly gliding along the ridge of her teeth. “There’s always more if you want it. It’s down to you how far you want to go. What you will do Olivia. Tell us.”
“I’ll do what …” I never did hear her finish the sentence as the phone’s screen turned black making me suddenly aware of my surroundings, the cell, and Dolan’s looming presence.
“I’ll leave you to find out what she said. I am led to believe that your wife has become quite an internet hit, and she hasn’t got a clue.”
“What?” I said, still numb from what I had just witnessed.
“The guys sell these short films online. It’s called “Fans” or something like that; I don’t really understand how it all works. All I care about is the return, and twenty pounds each for such a minimal layout sounds fine to me. Your wife is developing into a bit of a star, they have christened her ‘Innocent Olivia.’” As he spoke, he couldn’t contain himself any longer and started to chuckle. It’s one of the things I’ve noticed that in here, people only seem to laugh at someone else’s misfortune.
“She doesn’t know?”
“No.”
“But it’s her life, Michael, she works in a school. She could lose her job, she’d be ruined.” Suddenly he stopped cackling and looked at me, his eyes quickly changing from a mirthful clear cold blue to what I imagine his victims saw at the end, a soulless, sadistic black.
“Who the fuck gave you permission to call me Michael? It is mister Dolan to you. And why the fuck do you think that is of any interest to me. As far as I am concerned, she is just another weak-willed addicted slut to be used.” As he spoke, I could feel the prickle on the back of my neck, and the sting of tears in my eyes. This was my wife that he was talking about, and she didn’t deserve it. For the first time since I arrived here, I wanted to react, but even through the pale red mist that clouded my eyes, I could see that that was what he expected me to do, in fact it was exactly what he wanted me to do. The plan was so transparent: goad the fool into violence and have his parole revoked, keeping his wife on the books. I wasn’t falling for it even if I knew I hadn’t either the guts or aptitude.
“You haven’t got it in you, have you, Christopher. Don’t for a second think that life is going back to normal just because you’re leaving. You have seen that look in her eyes, it’s unmistakable. Your life in the short term at least is mapped out. You are about to join quite a long list of husbands that sit at home like good little boys as we whore their wives out to the highest bidder.
We have plans for her. If she’s as popular as the guys say she is, then the possibilities are limitless for a couple of years at least, until the public tire of her. She’s already shown us what she’s prepared to do and what you have just seen is only a fraction. It would be interesting to see how far she will go and what she would be prepared to do. I understand the audience can be quite inventive. You really should see what some of the other wives continue to do even after their husbands have left here, happy to degrade themselves for nine inches of cock.”
I couldn’t look at him any longer, this bitter old man who will most probably spend the rest of his life locked up in here. And it appeared that whatever time he had left was devoted to making other people’s lives a misery.
“We will be contacting you soon. I’ll leave it to you to talk it over with her and give her the good news.”
***
“So here you are.” Olivia’s voice made me jump, tearing my eyes away from the words in the diary. After flicking through its pages, I had forgotten how much I had leaned on this diary to express my feelings and insecurities after my release. I hadn’t expected revisiting that world after so long would have such an intense effect on me. I had also lost track of time, engrossed in what I had written. She is standing in the garage doorway, the bright spring sunshine forming a sort of shimmering halo around the edge of her body. She is wearing a red vest with New Jersey emblazoned across her chest in white letters, and a pair of uncomfortably tight looking, old cut off blue jeans.
It’s impossible to think about what we have gone through to survive, what she has had to do to save us, and me in particular. In life sometimes you have to travel through the bad times to appreciate the good. In the end, it wasn’t prison that broke me, it was those torturous months after, with all that it revealed.
End Of Part One
