Tiffany sat in her living room, staring at the letter in her hands. A tv reporter, talking about the weather, chattered in the background. Her small apartment was sparsely furnished, laid out in dull colors, with few decorations. She stared down at her hands, tears welling in her eyes. Her brother, Casey, had finally written to her. He had gone to prison, for life, 10 years ago. Tiffany had written to him multiple times over the years, with no response. His letter was short.
Dear Tiffany,
My beloved sister, it has been so long. I am writing to tell you that I have finally won my appeal, and have been re-sentenced. My sentence has been commuted, it has been reduced from murder to manslaughter. I will be eligible for parole in 5 years. I have avoided you, because I did not want you seeing, nor thinking about me in this way. I feel, for the first time in a long time, hope. "Possibility of parole" Can you believe it? I am in a state of shock. I was resigned to living the rest of my life inside of this cage. I know it must have hurt. I should never have avoided you. I felt, and feel, like I failed you. Immensely. I regret not being able to be there to help you into adulthood. Please accept my most sincere apology. With my commuted sentence, I have additional privileges, the most important being conjugal visits.
We could see each other, face to face, no shackles or guards. I could hug you.
Come see me little sister, please.
With Love,
Casey
In the envelope was the necessary forms for her to fill out for conjugal visits with the California Departments of Corrections.
Tiffany was 18 when Casey, at age 25, was been convicted of murder. They had been really close. So close, that when her 24 year old boyfriend, had sexually assaulted her and taken her virginity. Casey had swooped in like an angel to protect her. The two men clashed like hero and villain in folklore. Casey had been brutal. The judge had been harsh, saying that he had never before seen a crime so violent. Sentencing had been the last time she had seen him. He had smiled at her, a special smile, as they led him away in cuffs.
Life had not been easy for Tiffany. Her mother had passed when she was young, and she'd never known her father. Feelings of abandonment and betrayal coursed through her veins like a living entity, her own internal, self destructive demon. She had floated around aimlessly all these years with a chip on her shoulder. Partly, she blamed herself. The other part blamed her brother for leaving her. She wrote often in the beginning, but when the letters started returning to her marked "Undeliverable" she had quit. Furious, she raged through life, lashing out at anyone and everyone. She was close to no one, and had no friends. All alone in life, she walked her own path.
It was afternoon, nearly bedtime, she worked some odd hours, being a Wal-Mart assistant manager. It was not glamorous, but it paid the bills. She took off her blue vest, then peeled off her jeans and panties all at once. She unbuttoned her light grey blouse, tossing it unceremoniously in a pile with the rest of her clothes. She unclipped her bra, sighing, in contentment.
She stood in the bathroom, looking at herself in the full length mirror. Long legged and narrow waisted, her hips flared, giving shape to her round and full bottom. She cupped her breasts, letting them bounce a little. It always felt good letting the girls out of captivity. She always wore a C cup, even though it was a little small. It kept her heavy breasts pushed up higher, hopefully making her look a little younger. But the discomfort could be tiring after a long day.
She showered letting the hot steam soak into her. She shaved, toweled off and rubbed in some lotion. Naked, her hair wrapped in a towel, she padded out of the bathroom.
Her bare feet slapped a staccato on the tile floor. She didn't have to travel far to her bed, the apartment was a studio. The one real luxury she had was her king bed, it was soft like a cloud. She was taller than most women and preferred a king bed with room to stretch out. At 5'8" she didn't look gangly or too thin. Her weight had never been an issue either, she stayed around 130lbs no matter what she did, or ate. Most of her weight was in her hips and ass, she wasn't sorry. She knew it made her more attractive, men tripped on themselves looking. She basked in the power she had over men, though she never took advantage. Not even bothering to date, as she preferred her more solo and simple life. Sometimes it was the most simple of things that were worth the most.
Tiffany kept a mirror by her bed, it was one of those simple things she most liked. She found pleasure in front of it. She really enjoyed watching herself. Often pretending she was watching someone else, or someone else watching her. It was a guilty pleasure of her nightly routine, that and her stories. She propped it up now, on the headboard, and sprawled out naked in front of it. Her hands roamed her body, massaging and probing at her favorite spots. Propping her head up with some pillows, she snagged her laptop and opened it up. Most people liked porn, and that was fine with her, but she loved her stories. She knew she was probably fucked up in the head, who wasn't though. The stories took her beyond her own imagination, and into the realm of naughty, and perverse. Logging into a new site she had just found, she settled in and began clicking through the pages. Almost immediately at the top of the screen was a title and description that caught her attention. Beginning to read, an anxious wave washed through her, electrifying her. She crossed her legs to help calm the energy between them.
It had been read over 130 thousand times, and had a very high score. Looking at herself in the mirror, legs crossed. She could see the bottom of her feet and toes, she grinned a wolfish grin, wiggling her toes. She had her long blonde hair pulled up in a bun, and her small pink nipples stood erect like little soldiers, dwarfed by the mounds they stood guard over. Just looking at herself made her feel hot and sexy. She wasn't vain by any means, maybe she just had some latent lesbian tendencies, as yet unexplored. She smiled to herself at the thought.
Not that she would ever act on any of these fantasies, some of her fantasies were pretty bizarre, like this incestuous tale.
She began reading. It was a beautiful story, she fell into the world of Olivia and her alter ego Bethany the prostitute. She read through it, fascinated and heavily excited. When she finished she lay back and closed her eyes. Imagining she was Bethany, naked on the bed. Showing off for her john, showing him how she pleasures herself.
She opened her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror. Her legs were spread wide, feet pressed together. Her complexion rosey, starting from her chest it burned up into her cheeks.
Placing her hand, palm down, against herself, she pressed her middle and ring finger inside herself and groaned. It was glorious, she let out a stifled moan and tightened her grip. Fireworks. Marveling at how her pinky and index finger dug into each side of her outer lips, she rocked her hand. Everytime she tightened her grip, her palm pressed against her clitoris, while her inserted fingers clamped down on her G spot. She squeezed and pushed against her pelvis, sending rivulets of liquid fire through her veins. In the mirror, she watched her brow bead in sweat as she kept to a rhythmic motion.
"Do you like what you see?" She said aloud, feeling sultry. Her voice ended with a moan of pleasure.
"You've imagined this before haven't you?
She felt dirty, and naughty. She felt explosive. Her body arched compulsively, lifting her pelvis into the air. She whipped her hand away as she quickly became too sensitive to continue. Her fists balled up the sheets. And with her pelvis still thrust into the air, she came in one massive release. She collapsed into the bed convulsing, and rolled onto her side. Tucking her knees to her chest as she wrapped her arms around her legs. The convulsions continued, as she let her imagination run astray. She drifted off to sleep imagining Bethany and her john, laying together naked, arm in arm. Safe, and together at last. Never to be alone again.
It took six months. A very long six months of waiting and writing letters. Today she was on her way to Salano prison in Vacaville. Finally, it was happening, she was finally going to see her big brother. Tears began to fall unbidden, she choked back a sob. The waiting list had been long. And the paperwork extensive. But in the end she had been approved for a conjugal visit. 40 hours. She sighed, 40 hours! She couldn't believe it.
The strumming from a guitar came on the radio, a familiar soulful song. She turned it up, tears began to brim in her eyes.
"So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from hell?
Blue skies from pain?"
She wanted to just push her foot to the floor and go as fast as the car would take her. The air felt thick and the lyrics of the song carried her back in time. Back to when she was 15 and all alone. No father, and her brother taken from her.
"How I wish, how I wish you were here
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl
