Page 4 of Bishop

“Single and you own your own business? My lucky day,” the man replied as he flicked on all the lights of the industrial kitchen.

Uncomfortable with compliments, I blushed heavily and tried to change the subject. “So, the inmates are allowed to use all of the machines and utensils in this space, right?”

Becker grinned when he realized I was shy and trying to ignore his come-on. “Yup. Everyone in this class has been cleared to work in the chow hall. Most of the prisoners you meet will be on their way out of Cantiville. They like to give these guys some life skills before they return to the real world.”

“That makes sense,” I said absently, checking out the state-of-the-art mixers and ovens the kitchen was equipped with. I wish I could afford this stuff. My business wasn’t nearly big enough to warrant the cost of such equipment though.

Becker snorted. “Wish it worked! These animals almost always return to the system. Losers, every one of them!”

While I shared his frustration with the recidivism rate in the penal system, especially as the daughter of a felon who never met a crime he didn’t like to commit, I was more than just a little put off by the man’s negative statement. After all, we’d only just met. And this was his job. Becker might not like it, but these men had done their time and deserved a chance at turning it around even if my father never could.

Ignoring this comment the way I had many of the others he’d directed at me today, I asked, “Are all my supplies in the fridge?”

Becker shrugged. “If you put it on the supply sheet, it should be stocked as you requested it.”

Opening the fridge, I spotted the trays of raw goods I’d ordered. For our first meal, I’d decided on fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and homemade rolls. Some of the stuff I was going to have to prep on my own, as there wouldn’t be enough time in class to get it all done, but I’d wanted the guys to be able to have a nice meal on our first day together. For dessert, I’d ordered three flavors of ice cream to be served with cones. You couldn’t have a feast without dessert, right?

“It looks like it’s all here,” I confirmed, pulling some of the trays out so they could come to room temperature and popping open one of the chest freezers to find the ice cream.

Becker hovered as I began to prep for the class. “Seems like you’ve got enough here to feed an army.”

I’d ordered enough for double the amount of people. But I figured I’d rather be over-prepared than under. I said as much to my nosy escort, as he watched me organize the trays from the fridge.

“Those lucky bastards,” he groused. “They don’t deserve a pretty woman like you cooking them a homemade meal.”

The guard was really starting to get on my nerves with his negative attitude. Plus, I worked best when I was alone and could concentrate.

Thinking to rid myself of him, I tried a tactic that always worked for me in the past. Kindness. “I can make you a plate if you’d like? I’ll make one for Garrity, too. You can let him know that it’s Bobby’s recipe.” I figured I’d plug the good virtues of my friend in case she was interested in the distinguished guard.

Becker’s face lit up. “That’d be great.”

“I better get going then,” I prompted with a smile.

The man took the hint. “Sounds good. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks! I’ll drop off the food before I leave,” I promised him over my shoulder, bustling around the kitchen to get myself acquainted with the voluminous space.

* * *

Bishop

I didn’t want to go to the cooking class, but it was a condition of my early release. It wasn’t so bad though. Bobby, the woman running the program, was a pretty cool chick. Plus, we got to eat whatever we made. And after a steady diet of prison slop, that in itself was well worth my attendance.

Becker led the select group of six men from the yard into the kitchen. As I entered the wide-open space, I saw seven food stations spread out amongst the counters. There were measuring cups, bags of flour, and various other cooking supplies too. Then, I saw her.

She was facing the fridge, rummaging through the shelves for something or other, when she turned to greet us. And holy fucking shit, I nearly embarrassed myself by emitting a groan out loud when I saw her face. This gorgeous woman sure as shit wasn’t Bobby. But she was everything I was looking for in my next lay.

In her early twenties, she was a petite thing. Maybe only an inch or two above five feet. Her long brown hair was in a braid that started at the top of her head and landed halfway down her back. I bet if she took it down, it would nearly graze her world-class ass. I’d only gotten a quick glimpse, but I could tell I’d love to watch it bounce as I took her hard and fast from behind. Or maybe I’d take her leisurely. Let that juicy ass ride my cock lazily as I watched it spear her tight pussy. Fuck me! I liked that mental image. And so did my dick. It stood up at attention at the mere thought of getting inside this delectable woman.

She wasn’t a twig, either. She had a woman’s body through and through with a picture-perfect hourglass figure. A fact that, not having seen a female outside of the television for the last six months, I could really goddamn appreciate.

When she waved hello to all the men, who I was sure were thinking the exact thing I was, those big tits of hers jiggled the slightest bit and I inwardly growled. I’d give every last dime in my bank account for her to lift her top and let me titty-fuck her for just five minutes. If I even needed that long. As a thank you, I’d leave her the prettiest pearl necklace she’d ever seen all over those perky, firm globes of hers.

The innocent brunette had a tiny waist that flared into hips that I could grab ahold of as I took her for a ride. And big, mossy green eyes I could easily fall into and drown inside of for days at a time while lying around naked in bed.

“What the fuck you staring at, Wilmont?” Becker said with a sneer.

I had to shake my head to free myself from the stupor I was in. “I was just trying to figure out which station I should set up at,” I lied, fighting the urge to adjust the tent that had suddenly been pitched in my pants.

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