Break Me ~ Chapter One

Break Me is a dark prison drama rife with rape and violence. In order to keep the story realistic to the prison setting and dynamics, derogatory racial slang will be used through out. This does not necessarily reflect the feelings of the author. If you are easily offended by this please do not continue.

"Break Me ~ Prologue" 


Chapter One


Erin opened her eyes wearily as the Department of Corrections bus ground to a halt. Letting her forehead rest against the cool window she studied the squat brick building that would be her new home for the next twenty-five to life. Somehow it seemed an acceptable price to be forever free of Shane’s tyranny. Finney had been a bonus. Some small part of her was eager to disappear into the anonymity of those walls and hide from the terror that had permeated her life the past year and a half. A wry smile twisted the corner of her lips. She had foolishly thought she would be free of that fear when she had felt the Remington’s kick. The hell had only been beginning.

On their arrival the deputies and paramedics had gone from gape jawed disbelief to cold fury at discovering one of their own. Shane Murphy, like his father before him, had served as a volunteer fireman in the small community, working closely with their departments. They all knew him as the former high school basketball standout and current fun loving, hard drinking all around good guy. In the weeks that followed they had staunchly held onto their male fairy tale, ignoring the 911 calls they themselves had swept under the carpet and discounting medical evidence as irrelevant. The long months in county custody during the trial had been hell. They had gone out of their way to make sure she paid dearly for the death of one of their own.


"ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF OR JUST HAVE DIFFICULTY FOLLOWING ORDERS?"

The derisive growl that broke Erin from her memories was deep, gravely, unearthly. Her emerald eyes flared wide as she looked up into its owner's face and knew true fear. Scrutinizing, wide set, brown eyes bore into her with fathomless intensity. Correctional Officer Sullivan, by his nametag, was a powerful barrel of a man. He towered over Erin's petite form at a hazarded six-feet-three inches, and in the ballpark of three hundred pounds. His dark chestnut hair was thick, with a touch of wave to it. A slight cowlick above his high, broad forehead made the tuft stand upright, and would have lent a boyish touch, if there had been anything soft in this man. Wicked brows arched and drew together in a seeming perpetual frown. His face was wide and strong, angular with a well-defined jaw, and a stubborn set belied the dimple in his chin. His mouth was a generous slash with full lips that pursed in a sardonic scowl. None of this could begin to describe the pure unadulterated POWER that radiated off the man.

When he spoke again, his voice dripped with sarcasm and promise. "Well I think we can rule out a hearing problem. Not to worry little girl, I will break you of your little problem with authority."

Erin tried to open her mouth to apologize to the corrections officer, but her words were cut off with a cry as his huge hand gripped her short blond hair and hauled her out of the seat. He dragged her to the front of the bus and flung her from the top step. She hit the gravel hard, instinctively wrapping her arms around herself and rolling. A hard shoe to the ribs stopped her in mid-turn, and Erin stared up at the woman for a moment dazed and trying to catch her breath. She winced as the black Amazon shook her head in disgust, jerking her to her feet, and shoving her into the center of the line.

"Smooth move, grace," one of the women snickered. There was a tittering of laughter from the line.

"Shut your holes and move your asses!" the female CO barked, moving them inside the building.

Sullivan followed them inside with an insolent saunter, enjoying the way the twit in the rear of the line skittered, fearfully peeking back at him. The eleven women were herded into a small room and lined up against the far wall. He stopped in the doorway and leaned comfortably against the jamb.

"Strip," Washington ordered curtly.

As her "peers" loudly voiced their protests and disbelief, Erin's gaze flew to the mammoth male CO in the doorway. He met her gaze with a mocking lift of his brow. His earlier question for her hung in the air between them like a tangible challenge. Lowering her eyes, she unzipped her jumpsuit with trembling fingers.

"You may follow orders, ladies, or you will be ASSISTED," Washington snapped with a bored grimace.

Jack "Sully" Sullivan watched the fish strip with a smirk. It always amazed him how shy the new ones could be. He shifted slightly, drawing a whimper and fresh tears from the timid brunette on the end closest to him. Eyes narrowing, Washington stalked down the line to the fresh-faced country bumpkin. Her baton tipped the girl's chin up to look her in the face.

"You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. MOVE YOUR ASS!" she barked.

Sully continued to let his gaze rake over the women as they shivered miserably, trying unsuccessfully to cover their nudity with arms and hands. Many of them darted worried, bashful glances in his direction; the country bumpkin crowded her neighbor in line to put as much distance between her and his assumed threat as possible. His "little girl" kept her eyes front and center, standing as tall as her petite five-foot-four, or so, would allow. Her fists balled at her sides, knuckles white with tension. Her lightly gelled pixie cut still showed the after effects of his none too gentle grip. His mouth watered as he eyed her small, pert breasts, the pale mocha nipples puckering in the chill. She was so slender, he could trace the outline of her ribs with his gaze. Her tiny waist flared into soft hips and a delectable heart-shaped ass begging to fill a man's hands. Between her shapely legs, her mound was trimmed close. It had probably been clean-shaven at one point, with only a thin strip of light, blond curls concealing her bud from view. It was a becoming style he would make sure she continued. In comparison, he had seen her unshaven pits as she stripped and could make out the pale shadow of fine, blond hair on her pretty legs. Someone had denied her use of a razor recently. A punishment he was sure, but something he would correct. He liked his bitches well groomed.

Washington deliberately waited, the tension mounting with every second. She suppressed a smile as she watched Sully's keen interest slowly grow into discomfort. Eyeing the massive ridge straining behind his zipper with a bit of trepidation and a tad of longing, she forced her thoughts back to her job.

"Weapons or drugs of ANYKIND...prescription, OTC, or recreational, are considered contraband. If you are currently carrying any of these items declare them now," she said, her direct gaze meeting and holding each prisoner's in turn. When no one stepped forward, she continued in a no nonsense voice."You will face me, feet shoulder width apart, hands laced behind your neck. I will search your hair, ears, and mouth for contraband. If you bite me...I promise you will wish you hadn't."

The search garnered a few snippy comments, but went without incident.

"Turn around, hands on the wall, feet shoulder width apart, and bend at the waist," the female CO ordered, as she snapped the dreaded surgical glove into place. Panicky eyes and fresh tears ran down the line as even the most naïve caught on.
"It's my way or the hard way, ladies," Washington said, tapping her baton into her gloved hand as two male COs entered the room to flank her.

Resentment, fear, and finally resignation, hung heavy in the room as the women slowly assumed the position. The feel of the cold, hard baton across their backs held most in place as Washington completed a thorough body cavity search, but the pain and humiliation was too much for the already terrorized "country bumpkin." At the guard's first touch, she tried to bolt for the door. Bouncing off the unmoving Sullivan in the doorway, she fell under a flurry of batons.

The dull thud of the guard's batons on the helpless girl's prone form made gorge rise threateningly in Erin's throat. It took everything she had, not to sob her fury at the cowards. Desperately, she turned, beseeching the stoic Sullivan with tear filled emerald eyes. As if feeling the weight of her gaze, his eyes rose from the beat down. He stared, waiting. That hint of challenge was back in the dark, sparkling depths. Time seemed to stand still. Confusion flooded her weary mind, sparking fresh tears and anger. She glared at the big man, mindless of the wisdom in provoking him.

Sully nearly laughed out loud as his new kitten showed her fangs. Spirit was a good thing...it kept them coming back for more. Pointedly, he looked down at the brutality in front of him, then back to her with a mocking brow and a slight grimace of sympathy. He knew the moment comprehension dawned. Her beautiful eyes narrowed, the fury blazing brighter. Her fine jaw clenched, raising a notch in defiance. He gave her the slightest apologetic shrug and made a show of turning his attention back to the work of his Correctional Officers.

A low mewl of rage sounded deep in her throat at his dismissal. Sully frowned. A little spirit was one thing. However, it would be disappointing and most unfortunate if she got on his bad side so soon. His temper was legendary. He was NOT a pleasant man when his ire was roused. The little minx already had him eager for a little one on one time with her, and it could be such a fine line between pleasure and pain.

A coil of fear twisted in Erin's stomach as she watched his mammoth fists clench and unclench. The look on his face was grim...the taunting now gone and a cold fury starting to etch his craggy features. A shudder ran through her as she could envision those ham-hock sized hands pummeling her slender body. She could feel the sick thud of flesh on flesh, the crunch of bone and cartilag. A low moan of fear escaped her throat as the all too familiar crack of bone ricocheted through the quiet room, followed by a strangled scream from the young woman writhing on the floor. Erin broke.

"PLEASE," she choked, wrapping her arms protectively about herself with a soft sob.

For a long, tense moment, Sully held the pixie's gaze captive. His heated stare was full of promises...good or bad. Seeing the uneasy acceptance in her eyes, he smiled smugly and gave her an approving nod. Damn, but his little girl begged so prettily.

"That's enough. Let's finish up this fiasco and get these 'cuntvicts' to their suites," he rumbled.



Erin flinched as the door closed behind her. The sound had such finality to it. She shivered as she slowly turned, surveying the cold and unwelcoming cell that was her new home. Her "house" was little more than a ten by ten square with cement block walls painted a dull industrial gray and a matching concrete floor. With increasing despair, she noted the filthy and sagging mattresses on not the bunk beds she had expected, but shabby narrow single beds separated by a stainless steel sink and toilet.

Her heart sank as she turned away from the toilet to face the cell door. The top half of the steel door had two long narrow windows, giving the occupants little privacy even in the most intimate of moments. Beneath the windows was a slot that could be used for food trays, mail, or to cuff and un-cuff an inmate without the guards having to come in contact with them.

She stepped to the door and looked out. The block was two stories high and lined with identical gray doors, each with their cell block letter and number boldly stenciled on the outside. Erin's new address was A-44. At each end of the block, there was an observation deck for the guards, and high above them, were gun cages from which the CO's could spray the block with gunfire in the event of a riot. In the center of the floor, was a TV and chairs and a couple other small groupings of tables forming conversation areas. Erin wondered what you chatted about with your "girlfriends" in a maximum security prison.

With a sigh, she turned back to her new home. A wry smile flickered over her features as she realized she was still clutching her stack of "essentials" to her chest. Obviously whatever worldly possessions she had or acquired were expected to fit in the small Rubbermaid tub sitting at the end of her bed. She stared bleakly at the bed again. The thought of putting clean sheets on THAT mattress turned her stomach, so for the moment, she settled for the only other furniture in the room--one of a pair of small metal writing desks that jutted from the wall on either side of the door. Pulling out the cheap plastic chair under hers, she flopped down tiredly.



The dull roar of voices on the cellblock roused Erin from her weary thoughts with a start. Moving to the door, she watched "A" block's residents file back in. The women ranged in age from eighteen to grandmothers that had to be in their sixties or seventies. They came in every size, shape, and color. The only common denominator was the bright orange track pants with IWC, Indiana Women's Correctional, across the seat and down each leg.

They provided each inmate with three pair, along with three plain white t-shirts in their essentials upon arrival. A matching windbreaker, Washington had informed them, was sold in the commissary or the ladies were permitted to wear any solid color, non-logo bearing t-shirt or sweatshirt. A list of available commissary items and their prices had been included in the inch thick binder of rules, regulations, and FAQ's that had also been issued with the essentials. Even with the quick glance Erin had been allowed, she wondered how people were supposed to afford such ridiculous prices when they admitted the average WORKING inmate made fewer than twenty dollars a month. So much for the common bitch that criminals sat on their ass and had everything handed to them scot-free by the government.

Her stomach growled, reminding her of how long it had been since she had eaten. "A" block had already been in the cafeteria by the time the new arrivals had made it through central processing, so they had been locked down in their cells to settle in with the promise of a tray to be delivered later. Erin wasn't going to hold her breath. Taking another look at both mattresses, she decided she actually had the better of the two. So, flipping it over, she set to making the bed up. After the bed was made and her meager belongings stored away in the Rubbermaid footlocker or the small toiletries shelf near the sink, she had nothing left to distract her from the cramping hunger pangs. When the seven o'clock lock down came and still no tray, she resigned herself to a very long night. Kicking her Nikes under the edge of the bed, she curled up under the thin blanket and tried to force her mind to concentrate on the Inmate Handbook rather than her empty stomach.



Erin woke disoriented and afraid, unsure of where she was for a long moment.
"Asleep already, little girl?" an amused voice rumbled from the gloom. A cold ball of fear and dread settled in her stomach as CO Sullivan's hulking form stepped from the shadows, moving to the side of her bed. She sat up slowly, pulling her knees to her chest, her back against the wall...literally as well as figuratively. Her forgotten handbook fell to the floor, sounding eerily loud in the quiet of the cellblock.

"I hope you brushed your teeth and said your prayers," he mocked.

Her face flushed but at a quirk of his brow she found herself whispering, "Yes, sir."
He nodded with a sardonic smile and reached out to stroke her jaw line with his fore finger. She shuddered, instinctively turning from his touch. Instantly, those massive fingers gripped her jaw with bruising strength. She whimpered, her emerald eyes wide and dark with fear as he slowly forced her chin up until she met his intense gaze.

"Do yourself a favor, little girl, and DON'T piss me off," he said with a low, ominous growl, his dark eyes glittering with painful promises.

Despite the pressure on her jaw, Erin nodded hastily, a tear trickling down her cheek. Her heart hammered as he leaned in close, nuzzling her cheek with a feral purr as the tip of his tongue captured the tear.

"Good girl," he murmured, straightening but retaining his grip on her slender jaw so it drew her forward on the narrow bed and her freckled nose pressed against the bulge behind his zipper. "You're a smart girl. I think you know what to do...and how important it is that you do it WELL."

Erin's fingers trembled violently as she struggled to unbuckle his wide leather belt and ease his zipper down. A million protests ran through her head, but it seemed each ended with her in a load of hurt, gang raped, or dead. Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks and a sob threatened to close her throat as she carefully freed his monstrous member from his boxers. The words "hung like a bull" were no exaggeration in this man's case. Her hands shook as she stroked the thick and heavy length, watching in horrified awe as it grew under her administrations. The warm, musky scent of man mixed with a hint of soap assailed her senses.
Not wanting to test his patience, she leaned down to run her tongue over the head, tracing the ridge with the tip as she slid her hand down to fondle the weight of his sack. Her jaw popped as she was forced to open her mouth as wide as possible in order to take in his extreme girth. Mindful not to scrape his tender flesh with her teeth, she laved the smooth underside with her tongue, teasing the prominent vein throbbing from its root. One of his large paws cupped the back of her skull, encouraging her to take him deeper.

Wrapping her fist around the base, she bobbed her head taking him a little deeper with every couple of strokes. Shane had delighted in testing her gag reflex, but he had been a mere boy compared to Sullivan. When she could take no more of him, she hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard. She hummed low as she continued the tongue action to bring him off as quickly as possible. A low groan rumbled from the big man as his hips started to rock demandingly. Her breath came in short snorts through flared nostrils as she struggled to match his hard rhythm. Bratwurst sized fingers gripped her short hair, the sting adding to the tears as his thick shaft battered the back of her throat.

Erin winced and gagged as he finally found his release, the hot, salty seed filling her mouth as she struggled to swallow against the burn. He held her head close as he fought to catch his breath. It was frightening how his warm palm engulfed her skull. She couldn't help but imagine him crushing her head with the ease of a grape. Instead, he patted her roughly, as one would their prized hound, and stepped back to fasten his uniform pants.

"Not bad for a start, little girl," he rumbled, tightening his belt with a smirk. "Don't be concerned with my lack of glowing praise, pet. I promise you will be a first rate cock sucker by the time you get out of here...IF you get out of here."

Erin's wide eyes flew to his but he just stared back, that mocking glint of challenge that she was beginning to hate, taunting her from the sepia depths. She dropped her gaze, trying to hide the growing fear and resentment and he moved to the door.
Stopping in the doorway he looked back at her, still kneeling motionless on the bed, head bowed. Pulling something from his shirt pocket, he tossed it to land on her pillow.

"Be a good girl and keep this between us. Two's a party...twenty's a bitch. I don't think you want every hack in the place paying you nightly visits."

Erin flinched as the steel door clanked shut. Suddenly weary beyond belief, she pulled the scratchy blanket around her shoulders for the meager warmth and security it offered. Her cheek touched something on the pillow, making her jerk away as if burned. For a long moment, she stared at the Snickers bar with the distrust normally reserved an oasis in the desert. Accepting his gift was as good as accepting his deal. Her stomach cramped painfully. On the other hand, she had just docilely taken his dick in her mouth and sucked him off. How much more submissive was she going to get by eating a candy bar? "Not Going Anywhere For a while? Grab a Snickers." The familiar slogan made her smile despite everything. It was some how so appropriate.

Somewhere on the block, a woman wailed. Erin shivered, pulling the blanket tighter. Unlike when she was a little girl, this act alone could not banish the nightmares suddenly made reality. In the quiet of the night you heard the voice of the prison itself. The white noise of the ventilation blended with the occasional creak of the concrete building as it expanded and contracted. The soft whisper of fabric as bodies tossed and turned, searching for the peace of sleep, magnified when there were so many in such a confined place. Voices loud and boisterous only hours before, now were naught but whimpers, moans, and if lucky, eventually snores.

Shamelessly licking the wrapper clean, Erin pitched it into the small metal cylinder under the sink. Between Sullivan's "gift" and the Snickers...the hunger cramps eased. Thirsty, she slipped from the bed and moved to the sink on shaky legs. She brushed her teeth until her gums bled. Cupping cool water in her hands, she rinsed her mouth, then drank before splashing some of the soothing liquid over tear-tracked cheeks. Leaning close to the mirror, she studied her face in the cell's gloom. As with so many other nights, she couldn't help wondering what it was about her that called to the Alpha male...BREAK ME. This mirror didn't offer her any more answers than the others had.

"Break Me ~ Chapter Two"