Date: Mon, 18 Feb 2008 14:00:42 -0500
From: Edward Rivera <majalistic@gmail.com>
Subject: Slammer in the Kitty - Part 1 (TG)

	It was the boy's first night in prison.  At a young age, he had
gotten into the habit of stealing; particularly, he stole women's
"personal" clothing, underwear, nightwear, and the like.  The bars slammed
shut, and he found himself in a remote cell, at the end of a block, looking
out at nothing but a poorly lit brick wall.  Inside the cell was something
else entirely.
	The boy knew the warden, personally, as he had pilfered from his
beautiful young wife on more than one occasion.  As it turns out, after one
aborted attempt, he had also been stealing from the warden's mistress,
whose clothing the young wife did find, left behind by his heist, and
promptly filed for divorce.  A judge bribe and a rigged jury later, and the
boy found himself with three years to serve in the warden's prison for a
felony "reckless endangerment" charge on top of burglary.  Strangely,
though the prison was an all-male prison, as they often are, the tag on the
boy's uniform said "Kitty."  And what a strange uniform it was.  Kitty had
always been feminine, soft-spoken, reclusive.  People teased her for being
short and forgettable.  But the outfit was louder than life.
	Far from being the usual grey-dismal slacks and sleeved-shirt
ensemble, Kitty's dress was just that, lacy and black.  From bottom to top:
six-inch "fuck me" pumps (as the warden called them), with a small buckle
clasp keeping them tight, black fishnet stockings coming up to the thigh,
clasped with a garter, topped with white lace and ribbon.  Underneath the
frilly, poofy maid-like skirt (of course, likewise black with white lace)
was what made "Kitty" most uncomfortable: a French-cut, again,
black-with-white lace pair of panties, large, to fit Kitty's less than
modest assets, which were prominently displayed by the skirt, which covered
little.  Above that, a white maid's blouse, froofy shoulders and a low-cut,
revealing "breasts" that were mostly padding and a push-up bra.  A collar,
engraved with "Kitty" and a paw as well, that went around the neck and was
buckled in the back, like a pet collar, and then, just above that, was the
make-up fit for a high-class "escort," complete with pink lipstick, blush,
rouge, eye-liner, eye-shadow, and a waxing.  That wasn't the only place
that Kitty had waxed and shaved of hair.  The hair, however, was given the
royal treatment, straightened and sprayed and cut medium-length, with
heavily prominent bangs and straight, black, sleek hair that came down to
the cheek.  Staring in the mirror, holding a bouquet of roses, of all
things, like the winner of a beauty pageant, Kitty found herself shaking
with fear and ripe with bewilderment and surprise.  Nobody would confuse
"her" for a boy.  That is, until they noticed the rather obvious bulge in
the front of those panties.  Then, certainly, they'd back down.  Kitty knew
that the things people say about prison are overblown and exaggerated to
extreme degrees.  Most guys are turned off by "that" kind of sex, Kitty
told herself.
	The warden liked what he saw.  "Perfect," he said, earlier that
day, "that collar might say Kitty, but that underwear says 'I don't bite.'"
	Kitty stayed silent.
	"Now, listen to me.  You don't complain.  You don't argue.  Nobody
is going to help you or change your predicament, and, least of all, punish
me.  I'm the law here.  If you step out of line, it'll be worse.  Much,
much worse."
	Kitty nodded, defeated.
	"Good.  Now, you'll talk like a lady, walk like a lady, and moan
like a bitch in heat.  Got it?  Nobody'll have to wonder whether you're
packing or not.  In this prison, you're a girl, a slut who does it easy and
likes it hard, understood?"
	Kitty shook, and nodded.  He was just trying to scare her.
	"Enjoy your first night.  Try to get some sleep before the
morning," he said, amused.
	And so Kitty marched down the cell block, guards in toe, amidst
hoots and whistles and howls from the inmates, and sly looks from the
guards.  Her hips swayed side to side, which she could have stopped if she
walked more awkwardly in the heels, but the warden had forbid it, and she
didn't want the guards to anger.  Kitty knew they were teasing.  It was
emasculating, and that was it.  "Look at that guy wearing a maid costume,"
they'd say, and point and laugh.  She could endure it.
	But then the bars slammed shut, and she saw what the inside of the
cell looked like.  There was stone, and brick, and grey and dark, and then
there was the bed-one bed, heart-shaped, pink, and laced, and much larger
than the usual inmates twin-sized bunk.  On the bed there were a few items:
a card, sitting up on its halves, a bottle of brandy, a large jar of
something or other, a few very obviously shaped object with flared ends,
ring gag, a jar of extra-strong aspirin, a digital video camera, a pink
cell phone, and a letter, also on pink, folded paper, sprawled out and
filled with words.
	She picked up the card and read it.  The actual printed text just
had a picture of two circles, one on each half, with a caption for each.
The one on the left, a small circle the size of a dime, had the caption
"how you are," and the one on the right, a half-dollar sized circle, read
"how you will be (think about it)."  The written text was addressed from
the warden and read "Dear Kitty.  Your cellmate is a man known for three
things: the size of his frame, the size of his cock (he's got a foot-long!
How about that?) and the size of his sexual appetite.  He's been
sequestered with you away from his usual store of a dozen or so of his
usual targets, and he's been alone in that cell now for about two weeks.
When he's finished, try not to lose control of your bowels, the janitors
will have a fit if they have to clean that up.  Do try to enjoy it; he's
really good at it.
					May you never be constipated again,
Warden."
	Kitty swallowed hard.  She picked up the letter next, in what
looked to be the form of a love letter, signed by Tyrone.
	"Dear Kitty, the bitch with the fine heart-shaped ass, you are
going to be walking funny for days, no doubt.  If you don't want me to get
too rough, just get up on our little love nest, shake your rear under that
skirt and purr for me.  I figure since your name is Kitty, and you're a
bitch in heat, you can start off purring and end up barking.  Try not to
make too much noise, it's funny when you try to save face.  Bite the pillow
and grip the sheets, I'm going all in, bottom out.  Try not to cum too
fast, it's more fun if I have to work for it.  You can call me master, or
just grunt and moan, I don't care.  When I put my hand up on your shoulders
(that's my space now), give my fingers a kiss or I'll slap your ass raw,
right?  Don't feel too bad, bitches need it, and it sounds like you need it
bad.  When I tell everyone how I railed you deep all night, you'll feel
proud.  Which reminds me, try to hold in my load, I wanna see your face,
because that is some hilarious shit.
					Here it comes, slut, sincerely,
Tyrone."
	Kitty looked up to see that there was actually a dark man in the
corner, who now walked out of the shadows, and revealed himself to be an
elephant in the living room, well over six feet tall.  He gestured at the
bed, and Kitty froze.  When he started to walk towards her, she climbed up
on the bed and put on her best impression of a real, honest to god whore,
complete with lip-smacking and purring, and even making a "kitty has claws"
gesture with her hand, but all while wearing a wide-eyed, fearful
expression.  She shook her rear and waited, eagerly, as the massive man
took hold of the jar and opened it, and undid his fly.
	He climbed up on the bed behind Kitty, and pulled down the panties,
and Kitty started to tear up.  He took the open jar, reached his hand
inside, and slathered Kitty's butt and thighs with the sticky substance,
and even got some on Kitty's mound, and it dripped down onto her package.
To her amazement, Kitty had gotten hard, fully erect, and wanted to touch
herself, but the idea repulsed her.  How could she sexually enjoy this man
handling her so roughly, about to do what he was about to do?
	He pressed his cock up to Kitty's balloon knot, and, suddenly, the
card made sense.  He had to be as thick as a half-dollar.  Kitty wasn't
small, but he was fiercely, terrifyingly larger.  He called out, "here I
go!" and, as if rehearsed, Kitty could hear the other inmates chanting
"fuck Kitty's shitter, poor Kitty litter," over and over again.  Some guys
yelled out "how does it feel, Kitty?" as Tyrone pushed forward with
tremendous strength, and Kitty clenched the sheets, gritted her teeth, and
lost her breath, mouthing a nearly-voiceless "ahhhhhhhhh. nghhhhh.." as
Tyrone pushed open her sphincter, and started to penetrate Kitty's virgin
butt, stretching her colon to untold limits to accomadate his massive rod,
making her sweat and shake and cry profusely, making a face in anger and
sadness and shame.  Tyrone had his massive hands on her girly asscheeks,
and was pumping deeper into her shitpipe with his hips, penetrating more
and more of her uncharted colon, emasculating her, humiliating her.  The
chants of "fuck Kitty's shitter, poor Kitty litter," are droned out by
Kitty's own panting, grunting and moaning.  She shakes her thighs and
instinctively tries to pull away from him, and rips at the satin sheets,
but Tyrone keeps his hands pulling back on her cheeks, which he strokes and
swats at occasionally, and her hips, and, then, finally, her shoulders.
	"You're not going anywhere, bitch. Grit those teeth, I'm gonna pump
a foot of meat into your kitty, Kitty." Kitty does, indeed, grit her teeth,
as he pulls back on her shoulders and thrusts, each thrust laying more and
more pipe for him, opening, dilating Kitty's anal rings to a much wider,
unnatural circumference, and opening Kitty up to a world of anal servitude
and humiliating, a girly nightmare of "pleasing a man" with her waiting
holes.  She moans "oh my god, oh my god," a few times, but Tyrone seems to
enjoy that, so she stops.
	Kitty's clothing is becoming damp, and she's drooling, listless and
devoid of fight in her, as she takes her "boyfriend" Tyrone from behind,
pushing out so it doesn't hurt as much, but allowing her lover deeper and
deeper into what should be her tight, boy ass.  Tyrone takes a hand off her
shoulder for a second, and then spanks her ass hard, so that she yelps out,
followed by cheers from the other inmates, and Kitty feels her sphincter
clamp down on him, making movement impossible.  He uses his hand on her
cheek, pulls it to the side so she loosens up a bit, and then thrusts in
deeper.
	"Almost there, Kitty," he says, and Kitty feels impaled, her ass on
fire, her anal muscles in spasms, when, finally, she feels his hips on her
ass, his balls on her little package, and she knows he's bottomed out.  She
scratches at the sheets, like a real cat, and he spanks her again.  Her ass
clamps down, squeezes him.  She feels her own erection stirring.  He spanks
again, and a drip of precum trails down to the sheets.  He starts to thrust
in short thrusts, deep and heavy, and Kitty feels like her asspipe is
widening more and more and more, and every time he spanks, she grabs onto
him and she feels her cock jump.
	"That's right, cum all over the sheets, bitch!" said Tyrone,
spanking one last time, and thrusting a few times during the ensuing spasm,
making Kitty explode all over the bed, squeezing Tyrone with her ass as
much as she can against her will, moaning and cryind and whimpering as it
shoots out of her while her boyfriend nails her ass, fucks her butt like
that's what it's for, pounding her up the ass as punishment for her crimes.

- END Part 1