I was nervous, make no doubt about it. We’d been writing to each other for two years, since I was 18, it had taken that long for me to gain his trust and for him to ask me to visit. The first time I received a reply letter I was ecstatic. I sniffed the paper and handled it with great care, didn’t show anybody.

Ever since I’d seen his infamous, almost iconic, mug-shot – the contemptuous almost mocking way he looked out at the appauled British public from many a newspaper front page gave me many years of night-time fantasies and pleasure, was it also th fact he was a monster that turned me on? I had an inkling it was. I’d never even heard his voice before, I imagined a deep Glaswegian drawl and I hoped it would be so, 20 plus years behind bars could have take his accent but more than likely didn’t.

It took ages to get to Liverpool on the train and I looked up at the looming secure hospital. “have I lost it finally?’ I thought, my mind was spinning. “should I have used this opportunity to get something out of him, to make some money?” I was questioning everything. “No way, he’s fucking gorgeous” I remembered our long-winded and sometimes amorous correspondance and decided to mount the stairs and finally see that infamous face for myself.

As I walked in I was faced with the clinical and pristine reception area and the motherly but slightly disapproving face of an overweight NHS nurse “Ian you’re visiting, is it?” she enquired gruffly. “Uh.. yeah” I nervously answered. “Thought so, wait here” She must have been one of the staff who checked his post and might have seen my pictures. I always sent ‘recorded delivery’ as even postal workers are known to rip up his letters. I was shaking, this felt surreal and I was suddenly totally confused about what I was going to say to him.

A guard approached me, decent looking – in his late 20’s or early 30s, with cropped black hair and icy blue eyes. ” Miss Shay?” he booms. I nod immediately “come on then” He said looking slightly pleased… I’d no idea at the time why he did, perhaps this place is very boring I decided. He lead me through pale green and cream passages until we came to a heavy door, he pulled out a huge set of keys and unlocked the door, I took a deep breathe and walked in..

Before me sat a man in his 50’s, although he looked slightly younger but with a hard life. Very slim and wearing black trousers and a grey shirt, his trademark James Dean style hair and haunting eyes still there. Not even the slightest bit of stubble. He had very dark circles under his eyes. He was smoking rollies and drinking black coffee. His eyes latched on mine and my pussy tingled as I realised he was the same bloke I’d been fantasising about for years.

The room was quite big and that awful hospital-pale-green colour. It smelt very strongly of tobacco and there was just a very small desk-fixed to the floor, and two chairs – not fixed, strangely.

“All yours Miss.Shay… I’ll be just outside the door ” the screw declared, taking his leave. I was amazed, Don’t such high risk prisoners need to have a guard at all times, especially when a young lady is around? I can’t say I wasn’t pleased though.

Ian looked me up and down, and pursed his lips and nodded in approval that I’d worn a skirt as he’d told me too. “Sit down” he said looking into my eyes “that screw is no bother” I could see that raw animal sexuality in his eyes as I sat. We talked for about 5 minutes about the usual mudane subjects, whilst he sucked thoughtfully on his second cigarette squinting slightly and screwing his face up with every draw. He stubbed it out in the ashtray which was nailed to the desk, and then out of the blue he cupped his hand awkwardly round under the table and rested it on the warm crotch of my pink cotton knickers. I shuddered “Ian, are you mad?” I whispered. “of course I am, I’m in here!’ he replied laughing chestily with a hint of sarcasm.

He squeezed my pussy, massaging through the cotton. Roughly pinching the lips together and running his middle finger down my slit. I could feel my whole body jolt every time he ran lightly over my clitorus.. I took my foot out of my shoe and found his hard dick and rubbed it, admiring the girth and wishing I could put it all in my mouth. His eyebrows raised in appreciation and he edged a finger under the panties and eased it slowly into me. I gasped, I was on autopilot, it was bizarre… but so sexy.

His finger eased slowly in and out of my wet hole, the rest of his hand still and firm against my pussy lips. What an evil but bloody good looking bastard, I’d wished to ride on his dirty cock ever since I’d heard of him and now he was finger-fucking me in a secure hospital visiting room. It was mad, this was just a prison with more doctors and psychiatrists.

His mouth was fixed intently, tongue occasionally licking his lips as I rubbed my bare foot over his swollen length through his trousers and as he enjoyed my wet, fully shaven cunt in his hand. He thrust his finger into me harder, looking under the table at how wet I’d become.

I then realised, looking over through a window in the door, that the guard was watching and we’d both stopped the conversation. He could clearly see my pussy being pleasured under the table and my foot rubbing away at the cock of this murderer.

Ian noticed my shock and sudden reluctance to continue and smiled a gorgeous half-mouth smile and laughed again in his chesty way “A wee deal!” he almost shouted at me “I can do what ever the fuck I want to, if this dirty fucking screw can watch, aye?” I agreed, dumbstruck. “take your knickers off love” he demanded. I complied in pure shock. He held his hand out and I gave them to him “mmm that’s the one” he groaned, holding them right over his nose.

He stood up and I noticed his trousers were open, dick poking out. He got behind me and pulled the chair back, scraping it noisely over the hard floor, pulled me, suddenly, up off my seat and turned me over on to the floor with all the ferocity of a former murdering rapist who’d not fucked in more than two decades, yet still making sure I didn’t hit the floor too hard.

The guard shut the hatch on the door and walked in to the room and looked on intently as the prisoner grabbed my hips and lifted my arse up off the floor and proceeded to enter me, pulling my shirt over my head and thrusting violently whilst groaning “you wee dirty bitch” Showing no regard for my comfort, he let his thrusts rain down on me mechanically, desperately and ferociously.

I was in heaven, make no mistake. I felt as though I were being fucked by a machine or a ravenous animal. His hands made for my neck “Nah!” the guard shouted “Dont start, I’ll get the blame, remember? You daft sod” and his hands went back to my hips as he laughed to himself as he grunted away, fucking my tight hole raw, it was painful but pleasurable beyond belief. His groin then pressed firmly to me and his dick was inside me as far as it could go. He started to rock on my arse rather than thrusting at me and I moaned and writhed in pure ecstacy under him, ignoring the stone cold floor and revelling in my fantasies coming alive.

The smell of him was so masculine and also sharp, I could have died engulfed in his scent. I then fully understood how a woman was so under his spell she asissted him in every way and spent her days inside at Her Majesty’s Pleasure for him.

In my mind, for a lot of the time, were the things he’d done on the cold Pennines in the 1960s when he was a young thug who could only derive pleasure from the pain of others. The young man who’d recorded his victim pleading with his then girlfriend to save her from his vicious assault. The man who’d drank cheap German wine and rode a motorbike through Manchester to the desolate moors and had picnics on his victims’ graves. The man who caved a lads head in to initiate his unwilling friend who witnessed it in to the murderous spree.

With one last heavy thrust I could feel his cum filling me and he groaned breathlessly and stood up. He handed my knickers to me and I pulled them on. I sat on my seat, head reeling from the experience and the guard left looking pleased with himself. Ian sat back on his side of the table and lit up a fag “All right?” he asked me, looking exausted but less tense than before. “Amazing” I told him. He looked amused “I couldn’t help myself” he half sneered. “yeah” I nodded, in awe of him.

“Well, keep in touch. I’ll be sending another visiting order in a couple of weeks. I may tell you something worthwhile to make up for your long journey next time” he declared nonchalantly, sipping his black coffee.

“I’d come without that incentive, I’ve no interest in that.” I told him, taking my leave as an older and sterner guard walked in, gesturing for me to follow him out.

I couldn’t wait until my next visit.

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