Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
KACE
ONE MONTH LATER
Ishake the rain out of my Peach Correctional Institute jacket as I reach the awning to the employee entrance of this godforsaken place. It’s been nearly three months of my employment, and I can safely say that I’m miserable as fuck.
You need the money.
You want to leave this small town?
Earn the money, dumbass.
I sigh at my own thoughts.
Pretending like I’m some Barney Badass is getting pretty exhausting. Some men are meant for gigs like this. They get off on being assholes, keeping people at arm’s length, and having boundaries the strength of grade-A steel.
Me?
Not a chance.
I want nothing more than for my camming persona to become an overnight success, make me a millionaire, and to simply be happy.
Hard for that to happen when you have to be anonymous.
Let alone when you’re into shit that some people despise… like wearing thongs, and fucking machines until you find someone who doesn’t judge you.
Yeah, get me the fuck out of this small town.
Shaking my head, I keep moving. Scanning my ID tag on the door, I wait until the beep matches the flashing green dot on the monitor. And, as usual, I’m immediately greeted with a mix of equally unhappy grunts and wolf-whistles from the fellow officers and therapists employed here.
Grunts because they just got here too, and wolf-whistles for the shift change, happily leaving.
Every single shift.
Rolling my eyes, I hang my jacket up on the hook before heading over to the sign-in sheet to clock in and out. I scribble my name and time, huffing audibly when I see that I’m actually early, and then turn to grab the radio, keys, flashlight, and baton.
Can’t forget the pepper spray—that is something I never want to have to experience again. Being held up by two other people while that shit is sprayed onto my face.
Yeah, I don’t think I make enough for this shit.
I’m shaken out of my unhappy haze when someone asks, “How are you holding up, kid?”
My gaze snaps to the left, where I find Stephen—one of the institute’s advanced practice RNs.
His eyes are so crystal blue that it almost looks like I’m talking to a corpse.
Almost as if it’s out of my control, I find myself comparing them to the brown eyes of both men who have haunted my thoughts lately, and I swallow roughly. “Another day in paradise.”
Stephen chuckles. “Uh-huh. You looked like fucking Eeyore walking through that door. You alright?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “All good.”
Unless you account for the fact that I’m on day three of little sleep and can already feel a migraine coming on. I need to drown myself in black coffee… right after I drown myself in water.
Stephen raises an eyebrow. “You are the worst liar on the goddamn planet. And we work with criminals.”
That gets a laugh out of me. “I’m just tired, alright? Don’t know how much meanness I can take on so little sleep. Don’t want to snap and end up like one of these people.”
My thoughts about the brown-eyed men sour in an instant. At least I’ll never end up like either of them. I outright refuse.
Stephen frowns at me. “Aren’t you in Block 2A?
The couple, right? I didn’t see anyone across from them on the vacant sheet when I was doing check-ins last week.
Or did they move you to a different block?
I swear, those two got the luck of the draw being so isolated from others.
Normally it’s six people per block, and they’re completely alone. ”
I pause. Why does he seem… okay about that? “Yeah? So?”
“They’re probably the best men we have in this place, Wright. I’ve heard talks of them being released early based on good behavior.”
I laugh.
Until I realize he’s not joking.
My head shakes. “Nah, no way. Nathan and Colson are just another reason the addiction population climbs in areas like this. And they’ve been fucking assholes to me, nonetheless. Downright scum to me.”
Stephen shakes his head and whistles under his breath. “And here I thought I liked you. You still have some growing up to do there, kid.”
I blink.
Ouch.
Sadness hits me first, but then it’s replaced by anger. And fast. “The fuck does that mean? You team addict, nurse?”
Stephen’s expression darkens in a blink. The barely-there lines on his forehead hunch as he raises a daring eyebrow. “Careful, boy. Don’t be saying shit when you don’t know people’s experiences in life. We all go through hard times. It’s how we change after the bad decisions that matters.”
I inhale through my nose, count to five, and exhale after. “I’m sorry. I, uh. Addiction is a sensitive topic for me. My homelife wasn’t great.”
He relaxes marginally, but I already know the damage is done. “You’ve been their guard for three entire months, and you haven’t even asked them for their story? Why they’re here? None of that?”
“No. I saw the charge, and that was all I needed to see.”
Stephen shakes his head once more before sliding his chair back and standing.
He runs a hand through his messy auburn hair and sighs.
“Inmate Richardson was a sobriety sponsor to inmate Locke. They’ve both been sober for years.
Richardson has been sober for twenty-plus years.
They both help me with seminars for other inmates in here who are actively struggling with their disease, and they mean nothing but good to those they care for. ”
I blink in shock. “But they were arrested for possession with suspicion of trafficking!”
“And they were set up. But they pled guilty because that evil spawn of a woman had a fuck ton of money, and it wasn’t worth the fight when everything already looked bad for them.”
My stomach dips at this new revelation.
The mean shit I’ve said to them.
Stephen continues, grabbing his own radio and heading for the door.
“Go to therapy over your issues, Wright. Other people’s struggles have zero effect on you, and you talking to them like dog shit on your shoe says a whole lot more about you than it does about them.
” He pauses before turning the knob to the hallway that leads to the common room.
“And word to the wise? Those men are inmate Richardson and inmate Locke to you. Nathan and Colson will only get you canned under suspicion for inappropriate relationships here. Especially if you already have certain feelings toward them.”
Twelve hours later, I find myself on my bed, scrolling through fucking porn to try and release some of the tension within me.
Between the lack of sleep, the interaction with Stephen, and the words I had to endure from Nathan and Colson today—Inmate Richardson and Locke—I need an orgasm, and I need it now.
Their words from earlier in the day play on repeat in my head all the same.
Colson’s dark, heated gaze and sly smirk when he said, “Look, baby. Our pocket pussy is here!”
Paired with Nathan’s grunt and eye roll as he said, “Oh, yay. For the love of god, ram his fucking G-spot so he can be tolerable.”
When I didn’t answer either of them—frankly, too ashamed after learning more about them—Colson only berated me more. “Hey, Princess. Get in between us. Let me show you what it’s like to be a bitch in heat. Sharing is caring, ya know.”
It went on for fucking hours.
And by the time I clocked out, I was harder than a rock and wanting to cry.
Lifting my hips, I wiggle my pants and boxers down so they’re no longer trapping my dick in place.
As soon as they’re off my skin, I lean over to my nightstand and grab the pink lace panties I put there the last time I did laundry.
I don’t hesitate as I fist them around my cock, whimpering loudly.
The mixture of the scratchy yet satin material against my flesh has me rocking forward.
Usually, I put a pair on and edge myself over top, but my patience is unbelievably thin today.
Grabbing my phone, I curse as I keep scrolling through the pornos, unable to find one that I actually want.
Porn addiction? Eh. No.
Just two men in my head taking up far more precedence than they should.
Except… It’s 2026. The prisoners have technology and social media allowances.
Fuck, I saw Colson scrolling on an iPad before I left for the day.
That means…
The thought has my hips shifting into my panty-wrapped fist again.
Pushing all caution aside, I close out of my VPN browser and open Picsta. It doesn’t take me long at all to find either of their social media accounts, but it does surprise me when I find one they share. With photos of them from prison.
Kissing. Shirtless. Celebrating degrees with a smiling Nathan and PRs with a sweaty Colson.
Holy fuck.
My hand pumps at my cock more forcefully, quiet whimpers escaping my throat.
I scroll through their entire feed as I jerk off, thinking of their degrading words, and it’s mere minutes later when my orgasm crests.
My dick jerks all over the pink lace material, cum landing on it and my work shirt in spurts.
My back arches off the bed as I moan their names back to back, shuddering. My thoughts hazy.
I just came, and I still can’t get them out of my head. With a mix of a moan, grunt, and whimper, I move the lace material off of my skin, only to stop short when I hear the distinct notification of a direct message coming through.
I pause.
Messages never come through like that. Not unless I’ve interacted with an account first, which I rarely ever do.
Peeking down at my phone, my heart rate jumps. The username. Their username.
SecondChanceStory
Like what you see, Princess?
Your ass looks really pretty in that glittery thong. Your recent pic? Makes Colson want to eat it.
Scrambling, I click on the profile again.
Nathan Richardson and Colson Locke.
With my heart rate beating in my ears, I scroll through their posts one by one, until I land on a photo of them smiling and posing in front of the prison mirror, shirtless.
The photo I came to.
The photo I apparently fucking liked when I came.
And the photo I liked from my goddamn camming account.
Oh my fucking god.