Shanking Shaw 2

Scott didn’t need to think about how attractive she was or consider what he wanted to do to her. The inmates were an audible outpouring of every possible thought a hot-blooded man could have about the female body. Emma walked imperiously past them all, studiously ignoring them, as they nearly rioted. The frenzy of their lust for her seemed about to explode when it became clear she was approaching Scott’s cell. Then they quieted respectfully. Knowing now that she was Scott’s meat.

As part of Scott’s circumstances, he had a measure of privacy. A one-way glass showed through to the cell block, but to actually access his specific cell, one had to round a corner and come into a vestibule, cut off from the sights and sounds of the prisoners who weren’t as ‘high-profile’ as Scott was. He usually kept an eye and ear turned to the mood of the mainstream, but with Emma here to present herself to him, he shut out that din and focused exclusively on her.

She stood before his barred door, clearly aware of the effect she had on men. And Scott had not failed to be affected. He felt a little chagrinned by his yearnings, but he wouldn’t compound the issue by denying them. There was a stirring in his cock and his balls felt overfull—as much control as he credited himself with, he was not immune to Emma’s charms.

“Mr. Summers,” she said, not quite respectful, but as though she believed that her saying his name was respect enough. “I’d do you the courtesy of not wasting your time, but it seems like you have time to waste. And perilously little to do with it, besides look at me.”

“You do give a man something to look at,” Scott observed.

“Then I’ll take my time. I represent Sebastian Shaw of Shaw Industries. A man of your intellect knows of the power Sebastian holds, but he’s overextended himself. An unfortunate miscalculation.”

“How unfortunate,” Scott said dryly. “And I suppose he’s being treated as a mutant who isn’t the CEO of a Fortune 500 company?”

Emma sniffed dramatically. “Is that a whiff of self-pity I detect?”

“I don’t have that much time to waste,” Scott told her.

“Sebastian’s being punished. In time, the situation will be rectified, but in the meantime, he’ll be in here. Powerless. Vulnerable.”

“So he’s called on you to arrange protection.”

“If it helps your self-esteem, know I didn’t bother going to the warden. You run this little mutant daycare center. I know I don’t look impressed that you run the largest gang in these drab gray walls, but believe me, I am.”

“And if I were to shelter your wayward boss, you’d make it worth my while,” Scott finished for her.

“Shaw’s sentence will be up in two years. I’ll pay you five million dollars the day he walks into the prison and another five the minute he walks out.”

“Hmm,” Scott mused. Then, turning away from her, he went to the bed and pulled back his sheets.

For a moment, Emma thought disbelievingly that Scott was going to take a nap in the middle of their meeting—surely one of the more elaborate dismissals she’d ever received. But that wasn’t it.

Lying under the covers was an absolutely ravishing brunette. She had huge, high breasts and a beautiful little slit, well-used by how red it was. Emma couldn’t believe her eyes, staring down at the woman’s irresistible nakedness lazing on the bedspread. And even through the jail’s power dampener, she felt Scott’s lust for the woman.

At first it was normal, but there were flickers of driving passion behind it—a low-burning flame that could rise into an inferno. He was drizzling gasoline into it by looking at her glistening pussy lips, her creamy thighs thrown wide—but as of yet, the fire was under control.

Scott’s nostrils flared with the heavy scent of perfume that emerged with the woman uncovered. His eyes dipped into the deep valley between her full breasts. Scott slowly lifted his gaze to her exquisite face, and then up to Emma, a sneering grin on his own features.

The woman’s perfection was every bit that of Emma—the kind of plaything Emma would be hard-pressed to acquire. Certainly not something she would ever have believed a cheap thug capable of acquiring or retaining.

Scott petted the rich, raven-colored hair that softly cascaded down the woman’s bare features. His touch stirred her to wakefulness. She was unabashed at the realization of Emma’s presence. In fact, she seemed somewhat smug, as though relishing to have someone to brag to as to who’s bed she was in.

“Sage,” Scott said, “what are the monthly earnings of our organization?”

“Eight million, four hundred forty-two thousand, six hundred and seventy-one. Rounded up.”

“I didn’t finish high school, but is that more than dear Emma here is offering for two years’ work and depriving me of the pleasure of seeing that privileged ass Sebastian Shaw inevitably get himself shanked?”

“It’s considerably more,” Sage recited, as though ignorant of his sarcasm.

Scott sat down. He tapped the floor before his chair with his foot. Sage rapidly got out of bed and then got down on all fours—Scott put his feet up on her bent back.

“Now how much do Emma, Shaw, and their little club make in a month?”

“Enough,” Emma interrupted. “You don’t have to grandstand. If I didn’t know you were powerful, I wouldn’t have come here.”

Scott held up a finger. “But you don’t respect how powerful I am.” And then he leaned forward, taking his feet off Sage’s back. “If I wanted you to stay here, do you really think you could leave?”

A tremor went through Emma. She had no idea where it came from, no idea how it got purchase on her inviolate armor, but she felt the brush of her hair in swaying motion along the back of her neck. “The Hellfire Club…”

“If they had power here, you wouldn’t need me. I’m in charge here. Now. In these walls, what I want to happen, happens. If I want your blood to give my cell a nice shade of ruddy brown… what will they do about it? Throw me in prison?”

Emma’s teeth locked together for a moment. “I understood that you were a rational man… why would you turn up your nose at a profit? We can negotiate…”

“I don’t need your money. I don’t want it. My gang doesn’t make an honest buck, but at least we aren’t toadies to a bunch of politicians that hate us.”

“Then why see me at all?” Emma demanded. “Just for the pleasure of humiliating me? It won’t work. I’ll leave all this behind me—whether or not you try to stop me.”

“Feisty,” Scott said admiringly, patting Sage on the ass to dismiss her. She got up and went to the bed, sitting on it as if awaiting his pleasure, while Scott stood once more to his full imposing height. “Money is a resource, not a goal. Greedy little things like you and your boss forget that. I have all the resources I need for the existence I find satisfying. As you can imagine, Sage here didn’t come cheap.” He looked at her. “In fact, shouldn’t you be in the women’s cell block?” He looked back at Emma. “You seem nervous. Is it Sage?”

“I’m not the type to find nudity distasteful.”

“She’s not my slave,” he assured her. “Well, not in the sense a human trafficker like you would recognize. Sage greatly prefers the privileges she enjoys here to other carceral experiences.”

Sage smiled largely. It wasn’t hard to figure out what some of those privileges were. Emma had known enough slaves—willing slaves—in her life to recognize the fulfillment one got from it.

“Do I strike you as the type to be concerned with someone other than myself?”

“No,” Scott admitted. “You don’t even seem much concerned with Shaw. Which makes it surprising that you’d go out of your way for him. Considering how nervous I make you.”

“Am I not supposed to feel an amount of fright when you threaten to paint your walls with my blood?”

“There are only three walls,” Scott pointed out, gesturing to the two on either side of him, the one behind him, and then to the bars that stood in the otherwise open space between him and Emma. “I didn’t mean to intimidate you. I was merely responding in kind. You’re a predator. I’m a predator. Our difference is one of degrees, nothing more.”

“Then—as one predator to another…” Squelching her fear, Emma approached the bars. “I hold no great affection for Sebastian. He is a privileged ass, as you call him. But my influence is tied to his. It would be… inconvenient if I lost the benefits of his name.”

“See?” Scott turned to Sage. “Now I feel like she’s respecting my time.” He looked back at Emma. “So long as we’re being honest, I won’t be too much of a hard-sell. I don’t want money from you. You can quote prices at me all day and it won’t make a bit of difference. In here, one million and one billion are just… abstractions. Once you’ve attained the power to have a little something like Sage at your disposal—abstractions can’t really compare.”

“Those abstractions are quite important back in my world.”

“I recognize that. I’d be a fool not to. You’re wearing it on every inch. Your perfume. Your clothes. Your hair. Even the skin cream you put on the night before. You’re wealth incarnate, Emma Frost, and you are that way because of deliberate enjoyment.”

“You’re hardly a monk yourself,” Emma observed.

“Oh, I’m something of an ascetic. What experiences I can manage for myself, I vastly appreciate. I resent anything that spoils them for me, to even the smallest degree. For instance, I’m actually quite enjoying talking to you. You don’t… speak… prison. Most people do. It seeps into the prisoners until they talk like they’re a part of the walls, one of the bars…” Scott shook his head. “But as a stranger, you’re still frightened. Nervous. It puts a damper on our repartee, don’t you think?”

“An imbalance of power will do that,” Emma observed. “You can hurt me, but there’s scarcely anything I can do to punish you.”

“And you’re used to punishing people when they displease you.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not used to being afraid.”

“Not as such.”

“Then let me set your mind at ease. I’m not carrying any weapons.”

“Oh?” Emma intoned quizzically.

“I never make a statement I can’t back up.”

He unzipped his orange jumpsuit; underneath it, a white T-shirt and slate-gray boxers. There was a snap and a zip and he stepped out of the jumpsuit. Without its bright orange, he was immediately more intimidating, more… present. There was less of the prisoner, more of the man.

Emma watched, flummoxed and spellbound. He threw off his shirt and peeled off the boxers, leaving himself completely naked, completely unabashed. He had a good body, a man’s body, a body Emma could admire both for its appearance and its action. He was hard and lean and powerful, his muscle chiseled out of stone and from stone. It would pass muster for any male model, but just looking at it, you could tell it wasn’t meant for aesthetics. His musculature was meant for weaponry, for intimidation, and the scars he bore on his pale skin showed it had been tested and met requirements.

Emma quite liked pretty boy muscle, but she could appreciate the savage utility Scott had obviously trained his body for. He was a hair under six feet and two inches, which made him about four inches taller than Emma. There was no flab, no tattoos—in his own way, he was clearly as scrupulous about using his body as a tool, and keeping that tool in pristine condition, as Emma was.

His body was largely smooth, almost glassy in its marblesque perfection, save for a patch of hair across his well-defined chest. The sight of it immediately had Emma picturing herself nuzzling and burrowing into the thickness of his body hair, tickling her lips on the curly pelt, dragging her lips along the swells of pectoral muscle on his whipcord-thin athleticism. His chest hair narrowed to a delta down the center line of his six-pack abs, becoming a thick mat of added body hair about his groin.

The sight of his groin was what made Emma break from her stunned silence into a thrill of agony. His cock dangled limply down to his knees and even flaccid, it was almost as big around as Emma’s wrist. The head was nearly the size of a tennis ball. Emma just couldn’t believe that such a massive tool could be real. Her mind hysterically insisted that it was some sort of mutant power—an illusion or hallucination—surely, such an appendage couldn’t really exist. And he wouldn’t be showing it to her unless he expected her to take it: how? It was bigger than her tight, tiny pussy altogether!

“Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?” Scott mused, and Emma nodded her head before she thought to stop herself. “Don’t worry. I know already. But once a girl is broken in, like Sage here is, they never want anything else.”

“Can they even feel anything else?” Emma murmured—another sign of her stupor. She normally never would’ve made such a comment aloud.

But Scott took it in stride; in fact, it seemed to embolden him. He smiled charitably at her. “Can you guess what I want from you, Emma? What you can give me, besides money? What only you can give me?”

Emma hated to think of her arrangement with Shaw, much less reveal it, but clearly this was a time for last resorts. “If you’re so knowledgeable about our operation, you should know that I’m Shaw’s woman. He doesn’t share.”

“Good. I don’t share either, so he can just give you up. The prison won’t allow him conjugal visits anyway.”