The new guard gets a sexy welcome.

The sun barely crested the horizon when Ethan Caldwell, 23 years old and fresh off a transfer from a low-security men’s facility, pulled his beat-up Ford pickup into the employee lot of Blackthorn Women’s Correctional Facility. The prison loomed ahead, a squat fortress of gray concrete and razor wire nestled in the desolate plains of upstate New York, 2025. Ethan adjusted his crisp navy uniform, the badge on his chest gleaming with rookie pride. At 6’4″, with a lean but muscular build from years of discipline and gym work, he carried himself with purpose, his short brown hair and sharp green eyes signaling a no-nonsense attitude. But beneath the stoic exterior, his nerves churned—this was his first day at a women’s prison, and Blackthorn’s reputation for tough inmates made his old post feel like a daycare.Ethan had always been a stickler for rules. Growing up in a strict household, he’d internalized order as a shield against chaos. His last job at Greenhaven Men’s had earned him a rep as “Iron Caldwell,” enforcing curfews and contraband checks with surgical precision. But Blackthorn was different—rumors swirled of inmates running underground markets, guards bending rules for favors, and a culture where power, not policy, ruled the yard. Ethan vowed to stay above it, gripping his thermos of black coffee as he strode through the steel gates, ready to impose order.Inside, the air smelled of bleach and tension. The intake room buzzed with guards—most older, jaded, and swapping crude jokes. Captain Torres, a grizzled woman with a buzzcut and a permanent scowl, sized Ethan up. “Caldwell, you’re on D-Block, medium security. Don’t let the ladies charm you—they’ll eat you alive.” Ethan nodded, jaw tight, ignoring the chuckles from the veterans. He was here to do his job, not play games.D-Block housed 200 women, from petty thieves to hardened felons. Ethan’s first shift was a whirlwind—pat-downs, cell checks, breaking up a shouting match over a stolen hairbrush. He barked orders, his voice steady, enforcing lights-out and contraband sweeps with textbook precision. But one inmate stood out, watching him from the yard with a predator’s gaze: Alicia Monroe, The Queen of D-Block.

Standing at 5’7″ (170 cm) and weighing about 140 lbs (64 kg), Alicia looked Voluptuous and commanding. Her 36 DD-cups are full, heavy, and bouncy, straining her orange jumpsuit or tank tops, with wide, dark nipples that tease through thin fabric. Her curvaceous ass, round and firm, sways like a weapon, complementing her lush breasts.

Alicia, 32, was a legend in Blackthorn. Serving five years for armed robbery, she ruled D-Block with charm and menace, her sharp wit and sultry looks bending inmates and guards alike. Her caramel skin glowed under the yard’s harsh lights, her long black hair tied in a messy bun, accentuating her hourglass figure. Those 36DD tits, barely contained by her jumpsuit, bounced with every step, drawing eyes like moths to a flame.