Work Text:
In the dimly lit cell of Cruz del Norte prison, the air hung heavy with the scent of inmates and desperation. Zulema stirred on the narrow top bunk, the coarse sheets clinging to her as she emerged from a restless slumber. The flickering glow of a distant, malfunctioning bulb cast eerie shadows across the cramped space.
The rusty springs of the bunk groaned in protest as Zulema shifted her weight, the metal frame creaked in rhythm with the distant sound of other inmates coughing and snoring.
Beneath her, Saray slept on the lower bunk, her breaths steady. Casper, a silent presence in the corner, huddled under her thin blanket, her face hidden.
The cell itself was a study in confinement – narrow and suffocating, with peeling paint revealing the scars of time. Personal belongings were scattered everywhere, an eclectic mix of makeshift treasures and contraband, evidence of the inmates' attempts to maintain some semblance of individuality in their shared confinement.
Tap tap tap.
Hierro tapped his keycard on Zulema's cell door, to wake her up. Even though she was already awake. They did this a lot – and way more often in the last few weeks. Meeting at night when everyone else was asleep.
Despite Antonio Hierro being married and his wife expecting their first child, their secret encounters didn’t stop. No, they seemed to get more frequent and more… intense.
In the muted glow of the prison's overhead lights, Zulema and Hierro navigated the labyrinthine corridors towards the washing room.
In the illumination of the washing room's few fluorescent lights, Zulema and Hierro found themselves momentarily shielded from the prison's watchful gaze. Zulema, her eyes locked with Hierro's, broke the silence that enveloped them.
"Got a cigarette?" she asked, her tone one of nonchalance.
Hierro, his expression unreadable, reached into his pocket and produced a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Without a word, he extended it toward Zulema. Zulema accepted the offering with a nod of gratitude, the subtle glow of the match flickered to life before she took a deep drag from the cigarette.
Earlier that day, when Zulema attempted to talk to him during lunch, Hierro appeared distant, deliberately ignoring her. And now he had also been silent.
Zulema knew why, and she was waiting for him to start questioning her.
Hierro, his curiosity cutting through the smoke-filled air, couldn't resist probing into Zulema's recent conjugal visit. The faint glow of the cigarette illuminated her face as he inquired, "Who was the lucky one?"
Zulema, a master of guarded responses, rolled her eyes in response, taking another deliberate drag of the cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke. The silence hung between them, a defiant pause.
Undeterred, Hierro raised his voice, pressing for an answer. "Quién fue?!"
She met his gaze with a sardonic smile, the cigarette dangling between her fingers. "None of your business, Hierro," she finally replied, her words shrouded in ambiguity.
In a sudden burst of frustration, Hierro's patience wore thin. His hand moved harshly, slapping the cigarette from Zulema's grasp.
The glowing embers scattered in the air, as the discarded cigarette rolled across the cold, tiled floor. Zulema, her eyes narrowing in response to the unexpected aggression, met Hierro's gaze with an intensity that matched his own.
Something in his expression changed. She could literally see the rage building inside of him. And then, he suddenly slapped her hard across the face.
Zulema only realized what had happened as she felt the stinging pain on her cheek.
Fueled by her anger, she lounged out to hit him back but he was quicker, catching her arm mid ways.
In a matter of seconds, his large hand seized Zulema's neck, the pressure making, his authority known. He pushed her against the unforgivingly hard wall behind them. The cold, rough surface met her back as she braced against the unexpected impact.
Zulema, though momentarily caught off guard, met Hierro's intense gaze with unyielding defiance.
Hierro's grip tightened, a silent demand for compliance. "Tell me the fucking truth," he urged, his voice a low, commanding whisper.
Zulema, unfazed by his hand starting to shut down the flow of her windpipe, leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.
However, Hierro quickly pushed her away. Breaking the physical connection, he demanded once more, "Who was it, Zulema? Don't play games with me."
The brunette, not answering, initiated another kiss. He can taste the cigarette on her tongue when she slides it inside of his mouth. Yet, as the kiss deepened, Hierro pushed Zulema away once more.
Breathless from the exchanged kisses, and his and on her throat, Zulema, with a gleam in her eyes, broke the silence. "What? I can’t have a conjugal visit with my boyfriend?" she teased, her words cutting through the charged atmosphere. The revelation lingered in the air.
Zulema, well aware of Hierro's posessive tendencies, had intentionally sought to provoke this reaction. Zulema had deliberately tried to spark some sort of jealousy in him because, deep down, she had her own feelings of envy.
While she wouldn’t admit it openly, the sight of him going home to his wife every day stirred a hidden sense of longing within her. The news of his wife being with child had been like a dagger through her heart.
“Oh, so now you have a boyfriend? Does he know I fuck you?”
“Does your wife know?”
“Don’t you fucking dare bring her into this, Zulema.”
“Does she? What do you think she’d say if she found out that while she is at home, pregnant with your child, thinking you are working hard to provide for her, you are actually here, fucking me, every single chance you get.”
“Fuck you.”
“No! Fuck you, and fuck your wife and fuck whatever bastardo you have growing inside her!”
In a swift movement, the guard turned Zulema around, her face now pressed against the wall. The cold surface met her cheek as she braced herself. He placed his leg on the inside of hers, making her spread slightly.
He snaked his arm around her front, while he pressed his body into hers, pinning her against the wall. He grabs her breast and pinched her nipple through her shirt.
"I’ll teach you a lesson about respect," Hierro whispered
She groaned at the sensation and immediately scolded herself for giving him the satisfaction of hearing her.
He can feel his cock throbbing and straining against his own pants at the sound.
Then his hand moved lower, and undid the string of her yellow prison shorts. Then his hand stops just shy of the edge of her panties to caress her thigh. He can feel the heat off her, the desperation.
"Does he touch you like this?" He asks as he slides her panties to the side and slips his fingers between her folds.
His fingers instantly coated in her juices.
" Joder Zulema. You’re soaked." He voices appreciatively as he finds the curve of her neck and sinks his teeth into it.
His thumb coming to rest on her clit for a few seconds before stroking softly. He let one finger enter her, feeling her walls immediately begin to clench down around him. A second finger followed soon after, seeking out that spot inside her that always gave her immense pleasure.
“Ah!”
When he heard the brunette finally moan for him, he knew he had found it.
“That’s a good fucking girl. Moan for me.”
The deep voice next to her ear sent shivers down her spine and she wanted to repeat with a snarky answer, but for once, she couldn’t made up any.
She could feel him slipping in a third finger, curling them inside of her, putting more pressure on her clit.
“ Dios ! I’m— I’m gonna cum!” She groaned out.
She was so close, so close, and then he bit her neck again, hard enough to draw blood and she came. Her eyes squeezed shut and she bit her tongue as pleasure shot through her, body wracked with spasms, the only thing holding her up was Hierro’s body against hers.
She heard the metal buckle of his belt jingle behind her, then she felt him pull her panties down, they fell to the floor where they formed a small heap with her yellow shorts.
Hierro tapped his dick against her bare ass and groaned at the sight, "Fuck you, zulema. I don’t know how what you do to me." he groaned as he aligned himself with her. He slowly pressed against her wet entrance, feeling the tip pop in and he shuddered at the tight heat clenching around him.
“Fuh— Fuck!” She moaned as she felt him stretching her out. Her hips bucked, knocking against him.
Grasping her shoulder to steady himself, Hierro sped up, plowing into the inmate again and again.
“Yes! Keep going!” She didn’t want him to see her face because she he’s grimacing at the pale white wall which is cool when she puts her hand on it to help her push back into him
“More?”
”Dios si. más!”
He pulled out slowly and slammed himself back in once more.
“Fuck!” She screamed as her eyes rolled back in her head. “ Sigue, sigue, sigue!”
“What? Like this?” He pulled back and started hammering her, mercilessly.
“Yes!” She moaned loudly.
Hierro kept up the pace, his thighs burning at the intensity of his rapid movements.
“Who makes you feel like this? Whose are you?” He knew she was close, he needed to hear her say it. He needed to claim her.
“Yours." Zulema panted as she pushed back at him.
Hierro’s open hand landed hard on her backside, making her moan loudly, "Whose?”
“Yours." Zulema said again.
They were both nearing their climax. Heat was building inside of them, their moans and grunts growing more primal and sloppy.
“Antonio! Fuck! Ah!”
She came with a wail of unadulterated ecstacy, spasms rocking her entire body, and this time he couldn’t hold her up, they slit down to the floor and he continued pushing into her.
Down on the floor, nose level with an electrical outlet, Hierro fucked her relentlessly through her orgasm.
Zulema was beyond oversensitive, raw, when Hierro finally started to lose his perfect rhythm, frantically moving towards his own release.
Zulema could feel his member pulsing inside her as the guard came.
He grabbed a fistful of her black locks and pulled hard as he released himself.
“ZULEMA!” was the only word on his lips as he shot his seed into her.
As the echoes of their passionate, romantic night lingered in the air, Hierro began getting dressed.
“I can’t keep doing this, Hierro.” She uttered words that hung in the air, a somber declaration.
Hierro, still in the process of dressing, turned towards Zulema and asked with a furrowed brow, "What do you mean?"
“I can’t keep seeing you, sleeping with you.” Her words, laced with a sense of finality, echoed in the room.
He couldn't conceal a scoff as he asked, "Is it because of your boyfriend?"
“No, Antonio, because of your wife! And your baby.”
"Oh, so now you're the postergirl for having good values?" His words held a mixture of frustration and a hint of self-defense.
"No, it's not about values. I couldn't care less," Zulema asserted.
Hierro, puzzled, pressed further, "Then what?"
"I— I just can't do this! I can't keep seeing you and..." Zulema's voice trailed off.
Hierro, awaiting the completion of her sentence, urged her to continue, "Y qué, Zulema?"
Zulema, laying bare her vulnerable emotions, confessed, "And not have you be mine. I can't stand the idea of you going home and being with her, like a happy little family!" In that moment, Zulema grappled with a mix of desire, possessiveness, and the painful reality of Guard Hierro's life beyond the prison.
Her yearning for a connection clashed with the stark contrast of his domestic happiness.
"Zulema?"
"Quiero eso. I want to have that!"
"That's… Zulema, you're in prison, I'm a guard."
Hierro struggled with his internal conflict, torn between his genuine desire to be with Zulema and the reality of his commitments to his family.
The weight of a growing family and the potential risks associated with Zulema's dangerous inmate status make the idea of being with her impossible. While his heart yearned for a connection with Zulema, the practicalities of his life and the reality of their situation within Cruz del Norte were an impossible barrier.
"I know, so from now on, I can't see you anymore. No más de esto. "
In a final act of intimacy, Zulema pressed her lips against Antonio’s, sealing their connection with a burning hot kiss.
With her decision firmly expressed, Zulema swiftly walked out of the bathroom, leaving a stunned Hierro behind.
Despite the daily proximity, both Hierro and Zulema harbored unfulfilled desires. He, committed to his family, and she, wary of further emotional pain. Forced interactions became a delicate dance, with Zulema deliberately avoiding eye contact to shield herself from the risk of falling for him again. The unspoken tension and unfulfilled longing lingered, threading through their shared reality.
tal vez la próxima vida.