Ethan just got transferred into a female prison and he wasn't prepared for what comes next.
The sun barely crested the horizon when Ethan Caldwell, 23 years old and fresh off a transfer from a low-security men’s facility, pulled his beat-up Ford pickup into the employee lot of Blackthorn Women’s Correctional Facility. The prison loomed ahead, a squat fortress of gray concrete and razor wire nestled in the desolate plains of upstate New York, 2025. Ethan adjusted his crisp navy uniform, the badge on his chest gleaming with rookie pride. At 6'4", with a lean but muscular build from years of discipline and gym work, he carried himself with purpose, his short brown hair and sharp green eyes signaling a no-nonsense attitude. But beneath the stoic exterior, his nerves churned—this was his first day at a women’s prison, and Blackthorn’s reputation for tough inmates made his old post feel like a daycare.Ethan had always been a stickler for rules. Growing up in a strict household, he’d internalized order as a shield against chaos. His last job at Greenhaven Men’s had earned him a rep as “Iron Caldwell,” enforcing curfews and contraband checks with surgical precision. But Blackthorn was different—rumors swirled of inmates running underground markets, guards bending rules for favors, and a culture where power, not policy, ruled the yard. Ethan vowed to stay above it, gripping his thermos of black coffee as he strode through the steel gates, ready to impose order.Inside, the air smelled of bleach and tension. The intake room buzzed with guards—most older, jaded, and swapping crude jokes. Captain Torres, a grizzled woman with a buzzcut and a permanent scowl, sized Ethan up. “Caldwell, you’re on D-Block, medium security. Don’t let the ladies charm you—they’ll eat you alive.” Ethan nodded, jaw tight, ignoring the chuckles from the veterans. He was here to do his job, not play games.D-Block housed 200 women, from petty thieves to hardened felons. Ethan’s first shift was a whirlwind—pat-downs, cell checks, breaking up a shouting match over a stolen hairbrush. He barked orders, his voice steady, enforcing lights-out and contraband sweeps with textbook precision. But one inmate stood out, watching him from the yard with a predator’s gaze: Alicia Monroe, The Queen of D-Block.
Standing at 5'7" (170 cm) and weighing about 140 lbs (64 kg), Alicia looked Voluptuous and commanding. Her 36 DD-cups are full, heavy, and bouncy, straining her orange jumpsuit or tank tops, with wide, dark nipples that tease through thin fabric. Her curvaceous ass, round and firm, sways like a weapon, complementing her lush breasts.
Alicia, 32, was a legend in Blackthorn. Serving five years for armed robbery, she ruled D-Block with charm and menace, her sharp wit and sultry looks bending inmates and guards alike. Her caramel skin glowed under the yard’s harsh lights, her long black hair tied in a messy bun, accentuating her hourglass figure. Those 36DD tits, barely contained by her jumpsuit, bounced with every step, drawing eyes like moths to a flame. Her ass—round, tight, and sculpted—made her walk a performance, each sway a calculated tease. But it was her eyes, dark and piercing, that held real power, promising pleasure or pain depending on her mood. Alicia had noticed Ethan on day one—his strict demeanor, the way he didn’t flinch at her stare, unlike the other guards who either leered or cowered. “Fresh meat,” she’d whispered to her crew, smirking, her DD-cups heaving as she leaned against the fence. She loved a challenge, and Ethan’s rulebook rigidity was a dare she couldn’t resist.
Ethan’s first week was a test of endurance. He caught inmates smuggling cigarettes, broke up a card game for contraband, and wrote up three women for talking back. Alicia watched it all, her tits bouncing as she sauntered past during rec time, tossing him a wink that made his pulse spike despite himself. “Keep it tight, Officer Caldwell,” she purred, her ass swaying as she walked away. Ethan clenched his jaw, ignoring the heat in his groin—rules were rules, and Alicia was trouble.But trouble had a way of finding him. On day seven, during a routine cell check, Ethan entered Alicia’s cell—shared with a quiet lifer named Rosa. Alicia was alone, lounging on her bunk in a contraband tank top, the thin gray fabric clinging to her huge boobs, nipples faintly visible, her jumpsuit unzipped to her waist, showing off her curvy hips and that killer ass in tight shorts. “What’s up, Officer? Checking for naughty things?” she teased, sitting up, her tits jiggling with the motion, heavy and hypnotic.Ethan’s voice was firm. “Stand for inspection, Monroe.” She complied, slow and deliberate, her 36DDs bouncing as she rose, her ass flexing as she turned. He checked her bunk, finding nothing, but her closeness—her perfume, her curves—made his 8-inch cock stir, a secret he’d kept since his teens, thicker and longer than most. He stepped back, clipboard tight in hand. “All clear,” he muttered, but Alicia’s smirk said she’d noticed his glance at her chest.That night, Ethan lay in his apartment, unable to shake the image of Alicia’s DD-cups jiggling, her ass swaying. His cock hardened, and he fought the urge to stroke it, muttering, “Stay professional, Caldwell.” But Alicia was already under his skin.
Over the next two weeks, Alicia turned teasing into an art. During yard time, she’d stretch in tight tanks, her tits straining the fabric, bending over to “tie her shoe,” her ass a perfect curve that stopped conversations. In the cafeteria, she’d lean close during tray checks, her boobs brushing Ethan’s arm, whispering, “You’re too stiff, Officer.” Ethan stayed stone-faced, writing her up for minor infractions—untucked shirt, lingering in the hall—but each encounter left his cock throbbing, his strict resolve fraying. By week three, Alicia upped the ante. During a shower line-up, she “accidentally” dropped her towel as Ethan patrolled, revealing her naked body for a split second—those 36DD tits bouncing free, heavy and full, dark nipples hard, her ass a sculpted masterpiece. She caught his stare, smirking, before wrapping up. “Oops, my bad, Officer.” Ethan’s face burned, his 8-inch cock straining his uniform pants, but he barked, “Move it, Monroe!” and stormed off, heart pounding.That night, he jerked off for the first time in years, picturing Alicia’s DD-cups bouncing, her ass clapping, cum splattering his chest as he groaned her name. He felt guilty but couldn’t stop—Alicia was breaking him.
The Breaking Point happened on a Friday, end of Ethan’s shift, during a routine lockdown check in D-Block’s rec room. The other guards were on break, leaving Ethan alone to secure the area. Alicia lingered, “helping” stack chairs, her orange jumpsuit unzipped low, her 36DD tits spilling out of a contraband bra, bouncing with each move, her ass swaying in tight pants. “You work too hard, Caldwell,” she said, stepping close, her perfume intoxicating. Ethan snapped, “Back to your cell, Monroe. Now.”But Alicia didn’t budge. She smirked, unbuttoning her jumpsuit further, letting it fall to her waist, her 36DD boobs straining the bra, nipples poking through. “You wanna touch, don’t you?” she whispered, grabbing his hand and guiding it to her chest. Ethan froze, but his fingers betrayed him, brushing her DD-cups—lush, heavy mounds yielding under his touch, nipples hard as bullets. His 8-inch cock surged, tenting his uniform, thicker and longer than any she’d seen in Blackthorn.“Holy fuck, Officer,” Alicia gasped, feeling his bulge, her slutty side igniting. “That’s a monster.” She dropped to her knees, unzipping his pants with practiced ease, his 8-inch cock springing free—thick, veiny, glistening with precum. “Fresh meat’s packing,” she purred, stroking him, her hands barely wrapping around his girth. Ethan groaned, “This is against protocol,” but didn’t stop her, his resolve shattered.
Alicia’s lips wrapped around his cock, sucking the head with wet, sloppy precision, her tongue swirling the tip, tasting his precum. Her 36DD tits bounced as she bobbed, heavy mounds jiggling in her bra, nipples straining the fabric. She took him deeper, gagging on half his 8 inches, saliva dripping down her chin, her hands stroking the base, pumping his thick shaft. Ethan gripped her hair, muttering, “This is... illogical,” but thrust into her mouth, her DD-cups swaying hypnotically, clapping together as she sucked harder, her moans vibrating his cock. She popped off, grinning, “You taste like power, Officer,” then dove back, deepthroating, her throat squeezing him, her boobs bouncing wildly, nearly spilling out.
Alicia stood, stripping her jumpsuit and bra, her 36DD tits spilling free—full, lush globes bouncing with a soft wobble, dark nipples erect and begging. She pushed Ethan onto a rec room table, the metal cold against his back, and straddled him, her killer ass hovering as she guided his 8-inch cock to her dripping pussy. “Time to ride the new guard,” she teased, sinking down, her tight walls stretching around his girth, gasping, “Fuck, you’re thick!” Her tits bounced like a porn star’s, heavy mounds clapping together, nipples tracing arcs as she rode him cowgirl-style, hips grinding in sloppy, wet circles, her ass smacking his thighs.Ethan grabbed her DD-cups, squeezing their plush weight, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, thumbs rolling her nipples until she screamed, “Yes, Caldwell!” Her boobs jiggled wildly, bouncing with each slam, sweat slicking their curves, her ass rippling with every thrust. He thrust up, matching her rhythm, his 8-inch cock hitting her depths, the table creaking louder than a prison riot. Alicia leaned forward, her DD tits dangling in his face, bouncing against his lips. He sucked one nipple, tongue swirling, feeling it harden, her lush mounds trembling as she moaned, “Fuck me like you mean it!”
Alicia climbed off, her 36DD tits heaving, and bent over the table, her killer ass up, round and firm, begging for more. “Fuck me doggy, Officer,” she demanded, spreading her cheeks, her pussy glistening. Ethan stood, gripping her hips, and slammed his 8-inch cock back in, pounding her deep, his balls slapping her ass. Her DD-cups swung like pendulums, bouncing wildly, clapping together as she pushed back, her ass rippling with each thrust. He reached around, squeezing her tits again, mauling the heavy mounds, pinching her nipples until they flushed red, her screams echoing, “Harder, you bastard!”Her pussy clenched, cumming hard, soaking his cock as her 36DD boobs trembled, sweat and jiggle mixing in a hypnotic dance. Ethan kept pounding, his thick cock relentless, her ass bouncing like a dream, the rec room filled with wet slaps and her slutty moans.
Ethan felt the edge, his 8 inches pulsing. He pulled out, flipping Alicia onto her back, her 36DD tits sprawling, bouncing softly. “Cum on these,” she purred, pressing her DD-cups together, creating a deep, lush valley. He straddled her, sliding his slick cock between her boobs, the heavy mounds gripping him, dark nipples brushing his shaft with every thrust. The sight—her 36DD tits bouncing, jiggling with each pump, her killer ass squirming beneath—sent him over. He erupted, thick ropes of cum blasting across her tits, coating her nipples, dripping down her curves into her cleavage. She moaned, rubbing it in, her fingers circling her cum-slicked nipples, making the mess filthier, her DD-cups glistening like a trophy.
Alicia sat up, her 36DD tits still heaving, cum-soaked and bouncing. “You’re my new favorite, Caldwell,” she teased, licking a drop off her thumb. Ethan zipped up, heart racing, muttering, “This never happened.” But her smirk said otherwise. The rec room smelled of sex, lockdown minutes away.