A cell mate.

You decide it's safer to be a one man sissy than trust a group of strangers. When you see who your cell mate is, however, you have your first of many doubts...

"It's me, Elijah, from the pokey. Yew was sent to me from Heaven, Barbie. It is like it was preordestinained." He is on you in seconds, you feel him pulling you into a slobbery kiss as you hear the CLANG of the cell doors. You smell the chewing tobacco in his beard as it scrapes against your cheek. You taste it on his tongue as you obediently, even passionately suck on it.

This swarthy slab of meat is all that stands between you and a sea of starving inmates. You tell yourself that's why you moan in his mouth, squirm out of your orange bottoms, grind against his hard cock, and squeal girlishly as he lifts you in the air and sits you back down on his dick.

You never told anyone in lock up, but secretly you loved his cock the most. It wasn't the biggest, but it was definitely a shower and it is sliding deep enough in you to crush your sissy gspot. It wasn't the thickest, but you definitely feel that sweet stretching simmering sensation as you sink down on it. What made it extra special was the way it curved slightly, making it hit your spurt button harder and more expertly than any of the other animals in your cage.

What made you fall in super secret love with it, is how your hunky hick always waited until he felt you spurt first before pounding you hard and fast. Each thrust forces out another shuderry sissygasm spurt and takes you soaring further away from prison...free and far away from the fear and shame, far from the regret and feelings of failure. You fly higher and higher until you burst into brilliant bits of bliss, floating down weightlessly like the ash from an exploded firework.

You barely notice you are still sucking on Elijah's tongue when he breaks the kiss and asks, "Barbie, will yew be my prison bride? I swear to keep yew safe, treat yew right, never hurt yew, always love yew, from now until yore set free as a baby bird!"

You don't know why your crying, blushing or beaming when you finally break the kiss you planted on your rural roughneck after he asked you to be his Bitch bride. You only know you feel like you are flying again as you answer, "I do...I do...I do..." between slobbery kisses.