The Night Guard

The Night Guard

 

Correctional Lieutenant, Erica Warton’s

a woman, who might fuck you, fuck you up, or both

 

R.R. Ryan

© Copyright 2025 by R.R. Ryan

 

NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic, sexual nature. This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

The Night Guard

 

Correction, Lieutenant, Night Shift Supervisor, Erica Warton read the file of a new inmate, word for word. Huffing in disgust one moment, and chuckling in amusement the next. Paranoid Personality Disorder, Inferiority Complex, self-loathing, constant anxiety, possible Sexual Dysphoria, Pistanthrophobia, at the last one, she glanced up.

“What’s Pistanthrophobia?”

“Fear of being hurt, usually it’s about romantic involvement. With Knutson, it’s about everyone. But more pronounced in his relationship with his wife.” Warden Warner Gunton said.

Returning to the report, she continued through it. Once she finished the report, she gazed at the picture.

“It’s very pretty, stunning, actually, Warden, isn’t it?”

“He isn’t an it, nor a she, he’s a man. All five feet four inches, one hundred and five pounds of him.” While Warner Gunton agreed with her, he had to maintain professionalism.

“He shouldn’t wear long hair with such soft features and scrawny build if he wants to be treated as a man. What would possess someone with all his issues to pull an armed bank robbery?”

“Timmy, yes, he goes by Timmy, was trying to get enough money to, in his words, ‘To impress his wife before she found another man.’” Gunton said.

“The only way this lil’ pretty, pussy boy could impress a woman would be if he had a honking big cock.”

“Oh, he does. But with men hitting on his wife in front of him, all those mental issues, well. I think the file speaks for itself. I’ve restricted him to minimal contact with the general population. For his safety, I’d like you to keep a close eye on him on your shifts.” Warner Gunton said.

“Oh, I will. I’ll check out, Timothy, tonight on my shift. So, he eats in gen-pop?”

“Yes, and he shares the yard with a small group of men who aren’t any larger or stronger than he is.” Warden Gunton said.

“Warden, little Timmy mightn’t even be safe with them. I mean, they’re all men and together…”

“Well, I’ll do what you want about his restriction. Let me know in the morning. I called you early to have this meeting. You can go home now and come back for the shift at ten.”

“No, I won’t go on clock, but I want to talk to our psychologist about him. Why’d they put him here instead of Fremont or Four Mile?”

“He jumped bail before the trial and tried to escape from Denver County Jail before transferring, so the judge put him here,” Gunton said, laughing while he spoke. “A bag of mixed nuts.”

As Erica left the warden’s office, she wondered how honking big that cock was. Turning a corner, she smiled, the smirk having a sadistic twist to it. “Pussy-Boy for me to use,” she said softly under her breath.

When she entered Doctor Susan Daniels’s office, they exchanged a stare. The harsh lights of the prison corridor hummed softly, casting a sterile glow over the gray walls. Erica Warton, a six-foot-three-inch muscle-bound butch, leaned against the doorframe of Susan Daniels’s office. Her eyes, sharp and piercing, held a mix of concern and something more primal.

“Erica, thanks for coming. I bet you want to talk about the new inmate,” Susan said, her voice soft and measured. She was a small, curvy woman with a gentle demeanor that belied her strength.

Erica nodded, her arms crossed over her broad chest. “The new one. What’s the deal?”

Susan sighed, pushing a folder across the desk. “He’s soft-spoken, effeminate. Wears his hair long, stands at five feet four, and weighs barely 105 pounds. He’s not going to fare well in the general population.”

“Sounds like a target. We need to keep the Pussy-Boy separate.” Erica raised an eyebrow and shot Susan the look again.

Susan nodded, her eyes meeting Erica’s.

“There’s one thing about him that’s... masculine. His cock. It’s surprisingly large.”

Erica’s expression darkened, and she pushed off from the doorframe. Closing the door, she locked it and stepped closer to Susan. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“The warden told me. But baby, we don’t need any fucking cocks, do we?”

Susan’s breath hitched as Erica’s hand reached out, yanking her close. Their lips met in a fierce, hungry kiss. Erica’s hands roamed over Susan’s curves. Pulling at her clothes, Erica disrobed Susan. For her part, Susan yielded willingly, her own hands tugging at Erica’s uniform.

They stumbled to the floor, a tangle of limbs and desire. Erica’s strength was evident as she pinned Susan down, powerful thighs holding Susan’s legs apart. Susan’s hands explored Erica’s muscular body, her touch gentle yet urgent.

Erica’s lips trailed down Susan’s neck. Teeth grazed Susan’s soft, succulent skin. As Susan arched against her, a soft moan escaped her lips. Erica’s hands found Susan’s breasts, teasing and squeezing, drawing out a gasp of pleasure.

Susan’s hands roamed lower, finding the waistband of Erica’s pants. She pulled them down, revealing Erica’s moist, shaved pussy. Erica grunted, pushing Susan’s hands away and settling between her thighs.

Straddling Susan’s body, Erica pulled up, forcing her back to the floor. Erica’s cunt pressed against Susan, teasing her entrance. Susan wrapped her legs around Erica’s waist, pulling her closer. Erica battered their clits together, thrusting against Susan.

Their bodies moved in sync, Erica’s hips thrusting powerfully against Susan. Susan’s moans grew louder, her nails dug into Erica’s back. Erica’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body tensing with each thrust.

Erica’s hands found Susan’s thighs, lifting them higher, changing the angle of their union. Susan cried out, her body convulsing as an orgasm tore through her. Erica’s grip tightened, her own release building.

With a final, powerful collision, Erica came, her body shuddering against Susan. They both cried out, their voices mingling in a chorus of pleasure. Erica collapsed on top of Susan, her body still trembling with aftershocks.

As they lay there, entwined and panting, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in their private, passionate world.

“You’re going to fuck that confused boy up right good. You gonna make him a man or woman?”

“Both,” Erica said, smothering Susan’s mouth and breathing the word down her throat.

At six pm, Erica went to the cafeteria, understanding this was where things would go wrong for the new prisoner. When they did, she’d have her excuse to completely restrict his movements.

Without noticing the big woman guard, Timmy entered. The prison cafeteria hummed with a low, menacing energy as Timmy stepped into the room, his eyes darting nervously from one inmate to another. He joined the line, his tray clattering as he moved forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The food served was bland and unappetizing, but he took it without complaint, his mind focused on finding a safe place to eat.

Timmy scanned the room, his eyes landing on an empty table in the far corner. He hurried over, his head down, his shoulders hunched in a futile attempt to make himself smaller. As he sat down, he kept his gaze fixed on his tray, his fork moving mechanically as he shoveled the unappetizing food into his mouth.

Suddenly, a large, brute of a man sat down next to him, his massive frame casting a shadow over Timmy’s tray.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” the man growled, his voice a deep, threatening rumble. “A little lady like you must be new here. I’m Jack, and I think you and I are gonna get to know each other real well.”

Timmy’s heart raced, his mind screamed at him to run.

“Please, I just want to eat in peace,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

Jack leaned in closer, his breath hot and foul on Timmy’s face.

“Oh, you’ll get plenty of peace, little lady. But first, you’re gonna get on your knees and show me what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

Timmy stood up, his tray clattering to the floor, his hands trembling. He took a step back, but a second man jumped up from a nearby table, blocking his path.

“Going somewhere, pretty boy?” the man sneered, his eyes glinting with malice.

Before Timmy could react, the man reached out, knocking the tray from his hands, the food splattering across the floor. He grabbed Timmy by the shoulders, forcing him to his knees, his grip bruising and unforgiving.

As Timmy was about to be overwhelmed, a figure stepped in, moving with a speed and precision that caught everyone off guard. Erica Warton, the Night Shift Supervisor, grabbed the man by the back of his neck, spun him around with a force that sent him staggering. She pulled out her collapsible baton, the metal shaft snapping into place with a menacing click.

As she beat the man, Erica’s eyes were cold and unyielding, her strikes precise and brutal. The man crumpled to the floor, his body convulsing with each blow, his cries of pain echoing through the cafeteria.

“Escort Prisoner 374312 to his cell,” Erica barked to one of the guards, her voice leaving no room for argument. “And you, take this piece of shit to the infirmary,” she ordered another, her gaze never leaving the fallen man.

As the guards rushed to follow her commands, Erica turned to Timmy, her expression softening slightly.

“You okay, Pussy-boy?” she asked, her voice a low, concerned murmur.

Timmy nodded, his body still shaking, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and gratitude.

“Timmy, but, yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, you’re Pussy-Boy to me. Remember, I’m watching out for you. Don’t forget that.”

With that, she turned and strode out of the cafeteria, her boots echoing on the concrete floor, leaving Timmy alone amidst the chaos, his mind reeling from the sudden and violent turn of events.

***

Day turned to night.

Timmy Knutson was pretty sure hell would be quieter than Colorado State Penitentiary’s C block. He lay rigid on the sliver of mattress, supported by a seven-and-a-half-foot cold-rolled steel shelf. With a sheet so thin it was almost conceptual. Knutson’s back pressed flat against it, arms crossed like he expected a closed-casket sendoff.

The cell was brighter than a Walmart, thanks to the blinking fluorescent tube outside his cell. For once in his life, he wished he’d gone blind as a child, like his mother’s Sunday school pamphlets had threatened what would happen if he kept up with the “deviant self-abuse.” Instead, he was a twenty-nine-year-old criminal arrested & convicted, and locked up with a glowing tube invading the dark of his cell, for the foreseeable future.

Sentenced to five to ten for armed robbery. He’d rather it be the nickel than the dime. Already, he’d picked up the lingo.

He tried to time his blinks with the half-second flicker of the overhead, but there was no pattern. Only a relentless strobing that pulsed behind his eyelids and burned the word “PUSSY-BOY” into the inside of his skull. The same way the red neon at the liquor store used to when he was a teenager and thought the world was as harsh as it would get.

The man wasn’t the toughest anything here. He didn’t even register on the correctional facility food chain. The first time another inmate called him “Prisoner 374312,” it felt more like a serial number for an appliance than a person.

To pass the time and help him fall asleep, Timmy counted the tiles on the ceiling. Remembering he’d already counted them yesterday and hated himself for forgetting the total. For a change of pace, he tried counting cracks in the floor instead. But the floor was an expanse of unbroken, buffed-to-madness linoleum. And his brain hit the edges of his skull and paced from one side to the other.

Every few minutes, a heavy tread passed the reinforced window. A shadow split the rectangle of light on his chest. He’d learned to recognize the difference between the lazy, roundabout shuffle of an off-duty guard and the purposeful, boot-heel rhythm of a patrol.