CurbitKirby

“Guilty.”

The bang of the gavel seals your man's fate; guilty on all charges, no doubt a life sentence to follow. Tears well in your eyes, but you refuse to close them, refuse to miss even a moment of seeing him for one last time. He's so close, you could reach out and touch his shoulder, if it weren't for the stupid plate glass they keep him in-

Ole Munch is stockstill, as he waits to be dismissed. From what you can see, he barely blinks at the verdict, unsurprised, unmoved, unafraid. Just accepting, as he was of most things that happened. Rarely had he ever felt…anything, really, until you came along, until he saved you-

The battle against your tears is a losing one, and you blink them away as he stands. Leaping to your feet, you reach for the glass, scrambling up against it, desperate to be close to him one last time, who knows how long it will be until you can see him again, and even longer until you can touch-

Ole Munch's blue eyes simply blink at the sight of you, your panicked eyes and snotty nose hurting him so much more than the verdict; who will protect you now? His soft-hearted wife, his heart, his everything-

His eyes close, and he bends to rest his forehead against the cool glass. Popping up on your tiptoes, you press yours against his, and swear you can feel his body heat through it, even though you know you can't.

“I love you,” you mouth to him as a guard takes him by the shoulder. “Be good.”

Behave more like, he thinks glumly, knowing he won't be able to keep his promise to you now. He had promised to give up the sword, promised to live a peaceful life; you wouldn't whore, and he wouldn't kill, that was the deal unspoken between you.

Not anymore, he thinks, shrugging off the man's touch, desperate for one last fleeting moment with you-

“I said move it!” The man grunts, shoving the slender man, knocking him back from the glass.

For a sickening moment, you see him; your kidnapper, your monster, the man who had stolen you from the Tender Trap in the dead of night and chained you to the radiator; he flashes behind your husband's face, the menace so great it startles the guard even. You pound on the glass with your fist and shake your head beseechingly when he meets your gaze.

Then the monster is gone, and Ole Munch is in his place again. He grits his jaw, nods, and raises a hand to the glass, but before you can raise yours in kind, the guard shoves him again. Your heart breaks as he obediently steps back from the glass, but you force yourself to flash him an encouraging smile.

Pain-filled, he thinks, his gaze lingering a moment longer than he wants it to, before he turns and leaves the court room through the side entrance.

Your knees go weak. They buckle, and you find yourself back on the bench, staring helplessly after the man you had grown to love.

It sort of surprises you, the achiness between your legs as you lay eyes on him for the first time in months.

He looks very much the same; same grim expression, same stormy blue eyes, same restless energy as his gaze flicks around, searching for you.

You beam as he finds you, bouncing in your seat and waving eagerly, picking up the phone before he can even take a step.

His shoulders sag with relief under his orange jumpsuit. You look good, or at least healthy, at least clean, and he's so grateful; thanking God, Ole Munch approaches the seat behind the glass, and immediately places his palm against the clear barrier, before he even has the chance to fully sit.

Thoughtless, your palm finds his. For a moment the two of you simply smile like fools at one another. His hair’s grown out a bit, his face is a bit thinner than before, if that's even possible, but it looks as though he's gained a bit of muscle mass, maybe from his time in the yard-

He picks the phone up. The quiet sound of your breathing is enough to soothe him, and his shoulders ease as his eyes flutter close, leaning into the receiver the way he used to your breast. “Uxor,” he sighs.

“Are you okay?!” The warble embarrasses you, but you shove it aside. There's no time to be embarrassed, you only have precious little time- “Have you been eating?! Sleeping okay?!”

He nods, blinking and offering you a wane smile. “Okay,” he repeats, he promises.

Relief floods your chest, loosening it, and with it, your tongue, “I-I missed you so much, I've- I mean, the bed’s been so cold without you, Munch-”

Ole Munch smirks as you squirm, and he knows what you need. “Uxor,” he coos, lowering his hand so he can get closer to the glass. “Speak plain.”

“I miss you,” you babble, copying his posture. “I miss sleeping with you, in your arms, I mean, and I miss waking up with you inside me, and I miss-”

“Oh,” Deputy Governor Haynes groans, palming his cock through his navy slacks as he eavesdrops on your conversation with your freak husband.

It had been Hell, being transferred to Minnesota in the dead of winter, and Ole Munch had been a thorn in his side since day one. The man stuck out like a sore thumb, made trouble defending himself, and wouldn't take orders. He had been given a cushy library gig, not because he deserved it, but rather because so many others refused to work with him; he made the other prisoners cagey and restless, a bad combination, so Haynes had stuck him somewhere with no cameras, hoping for a little prison justice to take care of the nuisance.

Ole Munch put three men in the infirmary on the first day, and no one had bothered to try anything with him since.

Plan effectively failed. Miserable, that's what Deputy Governor Haynes was. Absolutely miserable.

Then, one unsuspecting morning, there was you, innocently hopping off the visitors’ shuttle. He had been peering out the window, a phone tucked under his jaw, pinning it to his shoulder when your sunshine yellow coat distracted him. He gave you a quick once over, taking in the shapely set of legs wrapped in black fishnet stockings, and told the man on the line he would have to call him back.

Now here the Deputy Governor sat, peering at you through a surveillance camera; you had a cute face, but all he could focus on were your plump tits, your nipples straining against the white cotton of your T-shirt as you purr pure filth over the telephone line, not knowing every call was recorded, or maybe just not caring.

“-cock, nothing fits right, nothing feels right, I can't get my fingers in all the way like you can-”

Ole Munch grunts, forehead banging lightly against the glass as he stares at your breasts. “Show,” he demands, and you don't hesitate.

The Deputy Governor groans as you peel your neckline down, almost ripping it in two in an attempt to appease him, flashing him the sweet curve of your breasts, a flash of silver piercings sends drool flooding to his mouth, a shock of pain in his cock as it strains against the metal zipper of his slacks-

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, gaze hot as he leers, but he only has a moment to appreciate you before a prison guard is rushing over.

A startled yelp escapes your lips as you are yanked off the stool from behind.

“This ain't a conjugal visit!” The guard hisses, grabbing your shirt and tugging it up. “Visitation time is over! Back to your cell, freak!”

The latter is directed at your husband, who bangs furiously at the glass with his phone, but it's bullet-proof, shatter-proof, and you're unreachable. Glancing helplessly behind you as firm hands drag you away, you barely hear the static voice over his radio prompting the man to bring you to his office. All you see is your husband, red faced and furious as he slams the phone against the glass-

The prison guard huffs, but turns you around before you can get to the front exit. “Come on,” he snaps, grabbing you by the scruff of your shirt. “The Deputy Governor wants to see you.”

The Deputy Governor is a tall, slender man, who reminds you a bit of Ole Munch, if Ole Munch had his shit together, if he had lived a life of privilege, and frankly, if he was an insufferable prick. His smile is stiff and smug at the same time, his blue eyes cold, calculating, and he makes no show of hiding his gaze as he leers at you outright. The prison guard steers you into a seat across from the desk he stands behind, his stature imposing, and stifling.

Hackles high, you glare at him, trying to fight the tears in your eyes and losing- “I didn't mean to get him in trouble,” you mutter before he can say a word, curling your shoulders into yourself as he dismisses the guard with a nod.

The man goes, shutting the door behind him, and the Deputy Governor moves around to your side of the desk. You tense as he drifts behind you, as he chuckles at your paranoia, but it's all the more justified as you hear a sickening *click* of a lock being snapped into place.

“So. You're the Mrs, hm?”

His terse British accent startles you, and you glance at him with wide eyes as he strolls back to his desk. It's when he leans against it you finally notice his straining erection. Cheeks hot, you snap your chin aside, away from him, but he merely smirks.

“Mrs Munch.”

Your jaw tightens at the mockery.

“Quite a man, your husband. Gets himself into a lot of trouble…” His blue eyes roam your face, your neck, your shoulders. Your white T-shirt is thin enough that he can see you're braless, something he already knew of course, but the faint outline of your peaked nipples make his cock throb with need. “You love him?”

Your eyes cut to his, sharp and stark with rage. “Yes.”

The word is simple, plain, with a jagged edge.