Preacherman For the Reverend Mr. Dimwoody this was a time for quiet contemplation. He walked slowly around the empty room collecting the hymnals from the wooden chairs. The chapel at the Women's Correctional Facilities was stark, with bare white walls, florescent lights, and a small lectern for a pulpit. But what put him in a funk was the counseling sessions that followed services here. He would sit with the women one-on-one in the chapel and listen to their petty complaints and bleak lives. There was always the note of loneliness and desperation to their stories, and so little comfort that he could offer other than spiritual. So after the counseling was done he had a little time to clean up and think. He couldn't wait to get beyond the grey prison walls, back in his car, driving down the road in the sunshine and fresh air, heading back toward town and his normal life. This reverie was shattered by the sound of a klaxon in the hall. He as so startled that he dropped his armload of books on the floor. Just then a guard burst through the wooden door to the chapel and shut it quickly behind him. The guard was surprised to see Dimwoody there, "Jesus, Revren', you still here ?" "What's going on ?", Dimwoody demanded. The guard stood listening at the door for any sounds outside. After a moment, when he was sure there was no one outside, he turned to the minister and explained breathlessly, "Riot. The girls have taken over their cell block and the whole east side of the complex. We gotta get you outta here, Rev." He turned back to place his ear to the door. Dimwoody noticed that the guard, like all the guards that worked in population, carried no weapon. "Don't worry ", he assured the guard, "they won't hurt us." This eared him a disbelieving smirk from the man. After a while the guard risked opening the door a crack and peeked outside. "If we can make the exercise yard, we're home free, Rev ", the guard said over his shoulder. "Follow me, but be very quiet. One noise and they'll be on top of us." With that he slowly opened the door and all but tiptoed out into the hall. Dimwoody followed, leaving the hymnals in a pile on the floor. He tried to stride with confidence, as through the Valley of Death, but also made sure he did so silently. They wound their way through a maze of institutional corridors, there was the noise of the klaxon and in the distance sounds of female voices yelling. As they approached the door to the 'yard' the alarm suddenly cut off and they stopped in their tracks. The sudden silence made them feel exposed, and they could here angry women's voices just around the corner. The guard slowly drew the keyring from his belt and took a step toward the door. The ring caught on his leg and went flying across the floor in a loud jingle. The men froze in terror as the voices around the corner stopped. The guard made a dive for the keyring, but never made it. Around the corner came a gaggle of prisoners, dressed in their denim uniforms, and full of anger. One of the women stopped the guard with a knee to the head which sent him sprawling. Dimwoody made a move to help the man, but was restrained by a strong hand on his chest. He looked at the woman who stopped him. She was nearly as tall as the gangly minister, and pure muscle. No doubt she was one of the prisoners who spent all of her free time in the weight room, as she had torn the sleeves from her blue denim shirt to show off massive arm muscles. Her skin was as black as coal and her shark-like grin was unco white in contrast. Her kinky hair was cropped short, as was the fashion amoung the Sisters of Islam, the militant Muslim gang in the population. "Leave him be, Preacherman ", she told him. "We'll help him up." With that two of the other prisoners grabbed the guard by his arms and hoisted him to his feet. They kept their iron grip on him and dragged him over to the older woman who seemed to be the leader of the group. She was short, but stocky, and her short hair was peppered with grey. "Looks like we got a coupla hostages ", she proclaimed to the group, "Coupla bargaining chips." "Let's not be hasty ", Dimwoody said with more courage than he felt. "Taking us hostage won't help your situation. I'll be happy to help you with your negotiations with the warden. You all know me and can trust me." Looking around Dimwoody saw that none of the women were in his congregation. From their haircuts they were probably all Black Muslims or at least played the part. The leader seemed to consider his words, but when she spoke her voice was as cold as iron, "Take them to your cells, girls. Keep 'em on ice." The guard struggled when he heard this, but the two women at his side kept their vice-like grip on his upper arms and started to drag him toward the cell blocks. The woman in front of Dimwoody still had her hand on his chest. She grasped his arm and turned him around shortly, then pinched the nape of his neck so forcefully that his shoulders spasmed upward involuntarily. She kept her grip on his neck and he had no choice but to walk when she pushed him forward. It took them several minutes to make their way back to the cell block, all the way the two women ahead dragged the poor, blubbering guard ahead of the tall, thin, helpless minister. Dimwoody tried to assure the man that all would be well, but the painful grip on his neck made it hard to talk. Soon the women turned into a cell with the guard in tow, but Dimwoody was forced to march ahead a few more cell doors before he was shoved into what was his controllers cell. She sat him down on the bed before releasing her death grip. He hunched his shoulders a few times to get the feeling back into his neck. As she sat on the iron bedpost between him and the cell door, Dimwoody looked around the bleak little cell. The cinderblock walls were painted a dull green and the florescent lights were behind a metal grate. In addition to the iron bedstead there was a toilet and sink in the corner, just sitting out there in front of God and everybody, and a small table and wooden chair. A small bookshelf contained toiletries and knick nacks, but no books. The minister wondered if his warden could even read. His attention went to the near wall. Over the bed were pasted dozens of magazine photos of men. They were all muscular, handsome men posing in very brief swimsuits at the beach, or in a few cases were quite naked. How she had smuggled _those_ kind of magazines into the prison was more than the man of the cloth wished to consider. She caught him looking over her collection and gave him a big grin. The minister looked away and blushed. The odd thought came into his head, though, that none of the men pictured were black, they were all quite lily white. "Like my gallery, Preacherman ?" she asked boldly. "I would have thought you could have spent your time more ...er.. productively", he scolded. The grin left her face and his blood froze. But the tone of her voice was more edgy than angry when she replied, "It's been a looong time since I've had a man. You wanna see what I've had to make do with, Preacherman ?" Dimwoody refrained from replying in the negative as the woman unscrewed a cap from the bedstead and pulled out a long, thin, ivory colored plastic dildo from inside the iron framework. She held it out in front of him with it pointing upward. "I call him White Boy ", she said with a raucous laugh. The minister looked away and blushed again. He was getting quite warm under his collar. Just then a screech came from down the corridor. Both their heads snapped around looking in the direction of the yelp. Dimwoody recognized the guard's voice and rose instinctfully to go to his aid. This earned him a thump in the chest which sat him smartly back down. As he desperately gasped for the wind that had been knocked out of him his cellmate said, "Don't worry 'bout him, Preacherman. He's only gettin' what he got comin' to him." Somewhile later one of the women who had been guarding the guard sauntered into view, wearing his utility belt and twirling his handcuffs on her right index finger. Dimwoody called out, "We just heard a scream down there. You haven't hurt the guard, have you?" She smiled a wicked smile, "Nothin' permanent, Revrun'. Just fun'n'games." She tossed the cuffs to Dimwoody's guard saying, "You can use these, Fahtima. We got _our_ prisoner all tied up." As she unlocked the cuffs, Dimwoody spoke up in a startled voice, "Now then, Fahtima, is it ? There's no need for those. I've given you no cause not to trust me, have I?" "Nah ", she answered. "But what if I have to go to the bathroom ?" He was horrified at the thought of being handcuffed and forced to watch as she sat on the toilet only a few feet away from him. "I give you my word as a minister of God ...", he started. "Whose God ?", she asked and grabbed his right hand. With a metallic click she locked the cuff on. "Our God, Fahtima ", he said in a shaky voice. He tried to continue but she shot from the bed and walked behind him, pulling his arm over his head and down. He was forced to lay back on the scratchy blanket while she threaded the free cuff through the bars of the headrest. She swiftly yanked his left hand up and secured the other cuff on his thin wrist. She walked to the side of the bed and shoved his legs up on the bed so that he was lying supine. She straddled his waist and sat directly down on his stomach. She wiggled around on him and in a deep, sultry voice said, "Finally I got a man between my legs." Dimwoody suddenly felt terrified, this was a turn he hadn't expected. Being helpless with the handcuffs was bad enough, but surely this woman didn't intend to go any further ? He struggled under her weight, but it was to no avail. Worst of all, he felt himself start to become aroused. That was the _last_ thing he needed, he thought, as sweat broke out on his forehead and he blushed furious crimson. "Don't do anything that our God wouldn't want you to, Fahtima", he said in a desperate whisper. "I think Allah wants this for both of us ", she smiled at him and he could feel the heat of her through the prison jeans she wore. She picked up the forgotten dildo from the bed beside him and held it under his nose. He crossed his eyes to look at it. "I'm wonderin', Preacherman. Are you bigger or thicker than White Boy ? Les' find out." "No ", he begged as she slid herself down to his knees. She busied herself with his belt buckle and he continued to beg her not to continue. He was frightened by the furious, nervous energy with which her shaking hands pulled down the waistband of his pants. She rebuckled the belt around his knees, immobilizing his legs. She slid her sweaty palms up along the sides of his legs, reaching for his underpants' waistband. He gulped when he realized how uncontrollably excited she was, it had been years since she had been with a man. He closed his eyes and tried to will his organ to deflate as he felt her fingers curl around the elastic band and grip tight. A steady pull and his John Thomas sprung free. He could feel her warm, jagged breath on his naked skin as she tucked his shorts down out of the way. He opened his eyes again when he felt something hard and plastic against his member. She was holding White Boy up against it, doing a comparison test. "Oh yeah ", she said appreciatively. "Much bigger and thicker. You're gonna fill me up." The Reverend Mr. Dimwoody realized how long it had been since _he_ had been with a woman. He and Mrs. Dimwoody had long since settled into a comfortable, icy arrangement with not so much as a hug between them, but he never would have betrayed her or their marriage. Yet he found he couldn't help be get excited from the very touch of this woman. She leaned down with her face over his crotch and her surprisingly pink tongue shot out and dragged up the length of his shaft. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head as he let out a groan from the depths of his soul. He had never felt anything that good happen to him down there. She got off the bed and with both hands pulled open her shirt, the buttons went flying everywhere. The cheap, white cotton bra was a startling contrast with her skin, but it was soon flung in the corner with the shirt. Dimwoody noticed her 'stealth' nipples, black against her dark black skin he had trouble seeing them at first. With her weight off him he tried to wriggle his knees free from the tight belt and also his wrists free from the steel bracelets, all to no avail. She laughed to see him gyrate helpless on the bed, all it did was make his hard dick bob around in the air. She doffed her sneakers then undid her jeans. As she was standing there in her white panties the minister saw her naked thighs for the first time. They were huge ! The sleek, black torpedoes were larger around than his own legs, the muscles were so well defined he thought he could see each fiber. With one swift, violent move she tore her panties off, dropping the shreds of fabric on the floor. "Time to git bizy ", she said as she once again straddled his waist. "Wait, no, don't do this ", he begged, playing for time. She did stop with her crotch less than an inch above the tip of his wang. "What ?", she demanded. "Shouldn't we ...er...um...practice safe sex ?", he asked. She snorted, "Where the hell am I supposed to get rubbers in a Woman's prison ?" With that she reached down grasping his penis and positioning it under her. She sat down on it and the tip went inside her. Dimwoody felt the wet heat envelope his pecker and let out a totally animal sound. Then she sat down all the way and he was engulfed. He felt more trapped than before, not only was he secured down but he couldn't pull out of her if he had wanted. She slowly pulled herself up and let herself down, enjoying the feeling of fullness that she had been lacking for too many years. When she looked down at the stark white body beneather her she started to ride him harder. Her breathes became shorter and she began to grunt on the downbeat. Then she began to speak, saying something over and over like a mantra. But Dimwoody couldn't make out what she was saying, whether it was "Deeper" or "Beat me" he couldn't be sure. Anyway, he was finding it harder to concentrate as his hips began to buck up to meet her stroke. He was giving way to instinct and could no longer hold on to his dignity. He wanted relief of this incredible tension, and he wanted to hear her scream in utter animal satisfaction. He slammed up against her as hard as he could and her large buttcheeks slammed down against his balls. He was surprised to find he had been grunting "Harder" for some time now. Then she came, letting out a high pitched whine. It felt like fire all around his dick and then the walls of her pussy seemed to be grasping at him. That was more than he could take and he orgasmed. He felt his hot cum shoot up into her, and part of his brain tried to stop this, but this only made him cum harder. He was yelling now with every spurt, " God. Oh God. Yessss, God Almighty!!!!" As if awaking from a dream, he slowly became aware of the room again, and of the people standing at the cell door. Several of the Sisters of Islam were watching the show, big grins on their faces. He couldn't have been more mortified, but Fahtima, when she noticed them, was nonchalant. "OK, girls, who's next ?", she asked them. One of the women came forward, but when Fahtima arose from her squat she saw the sticky mess of their conjoined crotches. "He done shot his load !", she complained. Fahtima gave her a dirty look, "He's got a mouth and tongue, ain't he ?" "Oh, yeah !", she said as a big grin spread across her face. "No, no, please not that ...", the preacherman begged before he became muffled. The siege at Woman's Correctional Facility went on for five long days.