“So you like it rough huh?” you hiss into my ear. I nod my head, the rush of excitement overwhelms me and I can feel my pussy getting wetter by th... minute. You lean in pressing your lips hard on mine, and your hand goes up my dress to my dripping wet pussy. ‘Someone’s not wearing panties,’ you say as you pull away from me. I grin slyly at you. Your hand is still up my dress and you thrust two fingers hard into my wet pussy, causing me to yelp. ‘You like that don’t you slut?’ I nod my head.. I came to check on her a few hours later. I looked through the bars and her hand was down her pants. I had caught her masturbating. She looked very cute doing it. She was moaning and her toes, painted a bright pink, were curling up in pleasure. She looked so good in that orange prison uniform. However, masturbating was strictly forbidden. I screamed at her. She pulled her hands out of her pants quickly and seemed to start to panic. I asked her what she was doing? She was truthful and admitted. To him the spoken and written word was a feast of complex intellectual delights. Studying linguistics gave his existence direction and purpose. It shielded him from the messiness of relationships with his fellow humans. It filled his hours and his days and provided him with everything he needed. Almost everything.He was lonely.He craved human touch. He needed the touch of a woman as a thirsty man needs water. He was slowly withering away in his abstract wonderland of intellectual delights.Then. And afterwards she needed to clean up again, rinsing out her mouth from a blow-job, and doing a quick douche from where a friendly guy had helped her excitement while she was giving the blow-job. As she dried off she felt her tummy rumble. She hadn't eaten much since breakfast, and a couple of blow-jobs just weren't going to feed her. She decided to eat, and then find a place to sleep. She went back to the dressing room long enough to put on her panties and a robe before heading to the.