Cunty Convicts Want To Spend 6 Months In One Another's Holes

She laughed when the guard slid the cover shut and the dark closed in. Three months in solitary and she felt drunk on it. She stripped, laid the slab of blankets on the concrete and worked herself open until the whole wing could hear. Her partner was already past that stage. Four cells down she had her knees up to her ears and the heel of a smuggled toothbrush pushing past the tight ring of muscle. She hissed, swore, then took a slow, deliberate breath when the widest part slipped inside. Metal teeth on plastic, ten inches of contraband, temperature-warmed from her body heat. She shoved until it disappeared, counting the beats between each thrust like strokes on an oar. Every twenty minutes she paused, rolled onto her side, checked the slot under the door. Nothing. Just the wet smack of the next push. When the angle turned unbearable she reached between her legs, took hold of the end and pulled it almost out, only to sink it back to the hilt in one smooth slide. The sting kept her sharp. It kept her thinking about tunnels, about messages, about when to pass the data stick deeper still. After she came the second time she left the thing inside, squeezed around it and stared at the ceiling. Dawn would bring another inspection. She smiled.