A Taste of Freedom

Hope tried asking around, got nowhere. Then Olive stepped up. Everything's got a price. After her shower Hope walks in on Olive waiting in the locker room, grinning like the winner of some twisted lottery. Olive gets Hope on the bench, hands on her hips, pulls her close. Wet skin on wet skin. Their mouths crash together hard. Olive pushes her knee between Hope's thighs and grinds until Hope's breathing like she's been running. Hope's back hits the lockers. Olive drops, tongue working fast between her legs, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. Hope twists one leg over Olive's shoulder and rides her face, teeth sunk into her own lip to keep from moaning too loud. She comes once standing, then again with Olive's fingers buried deep. Olive isn't gentle. She keeps pushing, keeps wanting more. Hope turns the tables, spins Olive around, spreads her open against the bench. She eats her like she's starving. Two fingers pumping steady until Olive shakes and curses under her breath. They grind against each other on the cold floor, locked together, sweat slick, still hungry. For a few minutes neither of them cares about the guards, the walls, or the cameras. Just heat, pressure, the taste of each other's skin.