The thing about being naked in prison is that it feels both natural and profoundly scandalous at once.
Natural, because this entire festering cesspit had already stripped you bare in a thousand other ways—your dignity, your freedom, your hope, your very skin if you lingered too close to the ironwork.
Scandalous, because when you present yourself as such, the guards and gawking prisoners don't see a person. No, they see bait. They see temptation wrapped in bruises, ripe for either worship or consumption.
And me? Well, I've always been rather partial to being bait. Bait gets noticed. Bait gets fed. Bait, in the right hands—or hips—becomes the fisherman.
And so I pressed my bare chest right against the cool iron of the bars, shivering at the shock, and arched my back in a way that would've made any courtesan cry with envy.
My skin stuck to the metal, slick with the remnants of sweat and blood, and I let out a whistle so sharp and sudden that it cut through the stale air like a knife. Not just any whistle either. It was the kind of whistle you give when calling a dog across the street, except in this case, the dog was a guard with weak knees and debilitating back pain.
Behind me, Brutus groaned. A deep, thunderous sound, like a mountain complaining about having to put up with the rain. I could practically feel his disapproval crawling up my spine like a wet insect.
"By the gods," he muttered, his voice a low rumble. "Every time. Always the same circus."
I turned my head just enough to catch his gaze. He was slouched in his usual way, arms folded, scowl painted so deep it might as well have been tattooed. But then—ah, there it was. A twitch. The faintest little smile breaking through his granite mask like a flower growing through stone.
"Oh, don't pretend you're not enjoying this," I sang, swaying my hips against the bars. "You'd be bored to tears without me."
He didn't answer. Which, of course, meant I was right.
And just like that—saints bless my timing—one of the guards strolled up. Not one of the scary ones with runed armor and knives made of people's nightmares. No, this was just a regular grunt. His posture screamed boredom, his face pinched with annoyance, his lantern swaying lazily at his side.
"What's all this noise then?" he barked, though his voice lacked conviction. He stepped up to the bars, ready to scold me like a schoolmaster catching a child with stolen sweets. But then—oh, then—his eyes flickered over me and the scolding died on his tongue.
He froze. Then blinked. Once. Twice. His gaze snagged on the curve of my hips, the glint of sweat trailing down my chest, the way my lips curved into a smirk that could curdle cream. I giggled—because saints, I couldn't help myself—then tilted my head like an innocent little lamb, watching his knees buckle from beneath him.
Excellent.
"Evening, darling," I purred, voice dripping with honey and venom. "You look tense. Rough shift? All those keys jangling heavy at your belt? All that responsibility pressing on those broad shoulders?" I traced a finger down the bar, slow and deliberate, watching his throat bob as he swallowed. "Wouldn't you like…a little break?"
His lips parted, but no words came out. Just a tiny, pathetic squeak, like a mouse drowning in tar. By the gods, he was already halfway gone.
I leaned in closer, pressing harder against the bars, letting my nipples kiss the iron. "I could make you feel good you know?" I whispered. "Better than good. The kind of good you don't tell your wife about when you get home."
That got him. His knees wobbled again. His lantern shook. His eyes went wide, darting between me and the walkway beyond like he was expecting someone to leap out and catch him.
"W-what are you—" he stammered.
I cut him off with a soft laugh. "Oh, you know exactly what I'm saying. But maybe words aren't enough, hm? Maybe I should show you."
I didn't pull out the vial of Erosin. Not yet. Timing was everything after all. Instead, I just let the promise of it hang in the air, dangling invisible between us like a treat on a string.
His breathing quickened. Wild. Ragged. His eyes darted one last time—left, right, anywhere but me—before, with a whimper that would've made a puppy proud, he stumbled back.
"No," he hissed. "No, I can't. This is—this is wrong."
And then he turned, stumbling over himself, before running, his boots clattering against the stones as he bolted down the walkway, lantern swinging madly in his hand.
I sighed dramatically, flopping against the bars like a spurned lover. "Well, that was anticlimactic."
Behind me, Brutus chuckled. A dark, gruff rumble that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
When I turned, his massive hand was already lifted, holding up one of the vials. The glass glinted in the dim light, the liquid inside glowing faintly like bottled sin. And there—gods above—was that wicked grin again.
"Guess you're not as irresistible as you thought," he drawled, rolling the vial between his fingers with insulting ease.
My eyes went wide. "Oh give me that," I snapped, bolting across the cell before he could blink. I snatched it from his hand with a little hop, clutching it to my chest like a newborn child.
He raised a brow, unimpressed. "Hey—"
"Shush," I hissed, clutching the vial tighter, my grin curling sharper. "Sit down, be quiet, and watch the magic."
He rolled his eyes, muttering curses under his breath, but obeyed. Leaning back against the wall, he folded his arms across his chest, the picture of skeptical amusement. Fine. Let him sulk. I'd make him eat those doubts soon enough.
I sauntered back to the bars. The corridor was quiet now, shadows swallowing the stone.
Then—footsteps. Another guard, this one sharper, younger maybe, his stride more purposeful. In other words: perfect prey.
As he passed, I reached out, fingers curling around his shoulder. He stiffened immediately, spinning to face me. I tilted my head, flashing teeth. "Evening, handsome," I cooed. "Care to indulge a poor prisoner in a little…conversation?"
He faltered, his breath catching the moment his eyes met mine. Saints above, the way they drank me in—like I was water in a desert, like I was the last sin left in world run by zealots. I grinned wider, twisting the vial between my fingers until the liquid sloshed, glimmering in the dim light.
"This?" I whispered, lifting it to my lips as if I might take a sip. "It's sweeter than wine. Warmer than blood. Makes the world spin softer, brighter. Care for a taste?"
His knees bent, his chest heaved, his fingers twitched against his side. He shook his head, weakly, lips trembling. "It's…it's dangerous," he croaked.
Behind me, Brutus chuckled. I ignored him. Instead, I let my grin sharpen. "Dangerous," I echoed. "Mmm, yes. But isn't that the point?"
I uncorked the vial with a little pop, tilting it just enough for the scent to drift out. Sweet, sharp, and dizzying—it permeated through the air like perfume. The guard shuddered, a ragged pant tearing from his throat, breath misting into the air.
I leaned in closer before, slowly lifting my arm, I pressed the vial beneath the curve of my armpit. Sweat slicked my side, one bead rolling down in slow, sinful descent until it slid over the rim and into the shimmering liquid. His eyes followed it, wide and ravenous.
"Well?" I whispered, voice low and thick. "How about now?"
That was all it took. With a broken noise, half-gasp, half-moan, he lunged forward and snatched the vial from my hand. His fingers shook, his chest went wild. And then—gods above—he drank.
Not a sip. Not a careful taste. No, he chugged it down, tilting his head back, throat working in frantic gulps, draining the vial dry in seconds. The liquid slid down his chin, dripping onto the stones, until nothing remained.
The vial clattered from his hand, smashing against the floor in glittering shards. Silence followed. Silence thick enough to choke on.
My eyes went wide. Brutus's too.
And then—oh saints, I nearly collapsed—I clapped a hand over my mouth, stifling the laugh that began clawing its way up my throat. The guard stood there, trembling, eyes wild and glassy as if he'd just swallowed heaven and hell in one breath.
"Oops," I whispered through my fingers, grinning so wide my cheeks began to hurt.
His breath came ragged, short, panicked, the sound of a man begging himself not to do exactly what his body was already insisting upon.
I bit down on my lip, hard enough to taste copper, and cooed. "Aww," I purred, my voice soft as silk yet cutting deeper than any knife, "look at you, shaking like a sinner at prayer. How long have you been holding this in? Hmm? Days? Weeks? Or has it been your whole miserable life?"
The man whimpered, his body jerking in frantic rhythm, eyes locking onto me as if I were salvation carved into flesh. I laughed—low, cruel, and utterly delighted.
"Oh, gods above, you're about to collapse from nothing but the sight of me." I crooked a finger, slow, suggestive, every knuckle a wicked promise. "Come closer. Let me taste your weakness properly."
He faltered. His frantic movements froze, hands hovering mid-air as if the command had gripped his nerves. Then, with a desperate moan, he pressed himself against the bars.
His heat grazed my skin, his breath stank of hunger, and I let out the sweetest, filthiest little giggle.
"Gods, you're so pent up~" I said, my voice a low hum that vibrated in the small space between us. "Let me fix that for you."
I saw the swell of his throat as he swallowed hard. His uniform's trousers did little to hide the desperate, throbbing outline of his cock straining against the fabric.
Perfect.
With agonizing slowness, I slipped one slender hand through the bars. My nail began tracing a feather-light path up the front of his pants. He shuddered violently, a choked gasp escaping him. I could smell the salt of his sweat, the musk of his need.
Fuck, it was intoxicating.
"Just one little touch, sweetness?" I whispered, my words dripping with faux innocence. "Just to see…"
I didn't wait for an answer. I pressed the pad of my finger right against the head of his cock, applying the barest, most teasing pressure through the rough cloth.
His entire body went rigid. A stifled, faint whimper tore from his throat. And then I felt it, a hot, sudden wetness bloom against my finger. Oh. A tiny sputter of cum, right through his trousers, landing in a warm, sticky patch on my skin.
I flinched back with theatrical surprise, bringing my finger up between us. The pearly drop glistened there, catching the light in ways that made it shimmer. His face was a mask of pure, mortified ecstasy.
"Shhh, shhh, it's alright," I cooed, my voice softening into a velvet embrace. My other hand came up to gently stroke his cheek through the bars. "It's okay. Poor thing. That was just a little hello."
His breath was coming in heaving waves now, his eyes wide with a mixture of shame and insatiable hunger. The dam had broken. The tease was over.
Now it was time to feast.
My demeanor shifted in a heartbeat. The sugary comfort vanished, replaced by a predatory gleam. I growled, my voice dropping an octave. "Let's get the real thing out, shall we?"
I dropped to my knees with smooth efficiency.
I made quick work of his belt and button, yanking his trousers and briefs down just enough to spring his cock free. It was flushed a deep, angry red, standing stiff and desperate against his stomach, a pearly bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.
I didn't hesitate. I wrapped my fingers around his hot, velvety flesh and began a wicked, twisting rhythm. Up. Twist. Squeeze. Down. My thumb swiped over the slick head on every upstroke, smearing the wetness around the tip.
"Fuck~!" he hissed, his hands slamming around the bars on either side of my head, gripping them for dear life as his knees buckled out from under him. His head dropped forward, and a string of thick saliva escaped his slack lips, dangling precariously before splattering onto my face
I didn't wipe it away. Instead I ran the flat of my tongue over the warm, salty wetness. A shiver of pleasure ran through me as I tasted him.
His eyes rolled back in his head. The scent of him, pure masculine need, filled my senses. I leaned in closer, my breath ghosting over his wet, straining cock.
Then I let my tongue roll out, a long, pink offering, ready and waiting.
The sound he made then was almost inhuman, a shattered moan as he violently slammed his forehead against the iron. His body seized, his grip turning his knuckles bone-white before—
There.
The first rope of his cum shot straight into my open mouth, hot and thick, landing heavy on my tongue. The taste was musky, salty, perfect in ways I couldn't put into words.
The second spurt followed, then a third, painting the back of my throat. I kept my mouth open, letting him use me, each violent pulse of his release a testament to my power. I swished the warm, viscous liquid around, savoring the unique flavor of his surrender before gulping it all down in one fluid motion.
I leaned back, huffing the rich, sexual musk of his semen into the air with a contented sigh. A smirk played on my lips, now glossy and coated with his essence.
He slumped against the bars, completely spent and breathless.
I licked my lips clean. "I'll let you have that one for free, sweetness," I said, my voice smooth as honey once again. "But you'll spread the word, won't you? Tell them I don't bite—unless they beg me to."
For a moment, I thought he might actually collapse right there in a puddle of his own shame. But then his gaze darted up at me—wide, dazzled, and terrified all at once—before he nodded so fast I thought his head might snap clean off.
I smirked, slow and knowing, and let my tongue sweep one last, lingering trace from the corner of my mouth. That was enough to send him scrambling. He fumbled with his trousers, half-dragged them up, then bolted down the walkway in a clatter of boots and panic, not daring to look back.
Brutus could barely contain himself, I could see tears leaking from his eyes as he tried desperately to hold back his laughter.
I leaned lazily against the bars, letting the iron kiss my skin once more, before exhaling a soft little laugh. "Well then," I purred, "the first seed has been planted. Let's see how quickly it spreads."