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MidReal Story
Prison Love
Scenario:a female prisoner falls in love with a femail guard and the guard helps her escape because she is innocent. The guard tragically dies in the process. Very steamy love story.
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Kate
independent, and compassionate. Kate endures the harsh conditions of prison but finds solace in a relationship with a guard named Stacy. Stacy secretly visits Kate at night, bringing food and books. Their bond grows stronger, and they plan an escape together. Tragically, Stacy sacrifices herself to ensure Kate's freedom, leaving her heartbroken but grateful for their time together.
Stacy
brave, and selfless. Stacy secretly visits Kate at night, defying rules to bring her hope and comfort. Her relationship with Kate deepens, and she plans to help Kate escape. Ultimately, Stacy decides to take the blame for the escape to free Kate. She dies moments later from gunshot wounds, leaving Kate heartbroken but forever grateful for Stacy's love and sacrifice.
I was in love with a woman who was a guard at the prison where I was being held.
It sounds crazy, I know.
I can hardly believe it myself.
But sometimes life is just weird like that.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, don’t judge me until you hear my whole story.
Because if you do, you might just find yourself wishing that you’d been in my shoes… or my prison cot… or my shower—wishing that you’d been me, because what happened to me was truly amazing.
It all started about six months ago.
I was serving time for a crime I didn’t commit, and to be honest, it was getting pretty old.
I’d been enduring the crappy food, the hard bunks, and the mean guards for far too long.
But all of that changed one night when I heard my cell door open after lockdown.
I thought I was in trouble.
But instead of a burly male guard coming in to frisk me or write me up for some infraction I hadn’t committed, a soft female voice whispered my name.
"Kate?"
It was a guard—a female—and she was hot.
I mean seriously hot.
She had long blonde hair, big green eyes, and a tight little body that looked like she spent every spare moment she had in the gym.
I remained frozen on my bunk as she moved toward me, her boots making no sound on the concrete floor.
The only light came from the corridor outside the cell, but it was enough for me to make out the name on her badge.
"Stacy Martinez," I read silently.
My heart was pounding in my chest as she stopped two feet from my bed and looked down at me.
She was close enough that I could smell her perfume, a subtle scent of vanilla and spice.
Then she knelt down, bringing herself to my eye level, and I noticed that her hands were trembling slightly.
We both jumped when we heard the night guard’s footsteps echoing off the walls at the end of the corridor.
We waited until he passed by, then Stacy reached into her pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar.
She held it out to me like a peace offering.
My fingers trembled as I took the chocolate from her.
I unwrapped it and watched as she sat down on the edge of my thin mattress.
The springs creaked under her weight, and we both froze again, waiting to see if the noise had alerted the guard.
But when he didn’t come back, Stacy shifted a little closer to me.
Her uniform brushed against my prison scrubs, and I could feel the heat of her body radiating toward me.
The smell of the chocolate filled the small space between us.
I broke it in half and offered her a piece.
She shook her head, her green eyes locked on mine in the dim light filtering through the cell bars.
The night guard’s footsteps echoed again, more distant this time.
Stacy leaned forward until our faces were only inches apart.
My heart was pounding so hard that I thought it might burst out of my chest.
"There's something you need to know," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant clatter of keys.
"What is it?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite the danger of our proximity.
"I'm not just a guard," she said, her eyes searching mine for understanding, "I'm here to help you prove your innocence."
She pulled a folded newspaper from her pocket and smoothed it out on my thin mattress.
The headline caught my eye: "Another Robbery with Same Signature as Previous Heists."
Stacy pointed to the article, her fingers brushing against mine and sending electricity through my skin.
I read the details quickly, my mind racing with the implications.
"This is the third robbery in as many months," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of the prison's generators.
"And just like the others, there's no sign of forced entry or surveillance footage."
I looked up at her, my eyes wide with realization.
"You think it's the same person who committed the crime I was convicted for?"
She nodded, her green eyes locked on mine.
"I do. And I think I can prove it."
The night guard's radio crackled in the distance, and Stacy quickly folded up the newspaper and tucked it back into her pocket.
She stood up, smoothing down her uniform with a practiced hand.
"I have to go," she whispered, glancing nervously down the corridor.
"But I'll be back tomorrow night. With more proof." Before I could respond, she turned and slipped out of my cell, leaving me alone once again in the darkness.
But this time, I wasn't alone in my thoughts.
This time, I had hope.
I had a glimmer of hope.
I unwrap the chocolate bar with trembling fingers, the sound of the wrapper crinkling in my small cell.
I take a small bite, letting the sweetness flood my mouth.
It's my first taste of real chocolate in two years.
The moonlight filters through the narrow window above my bed, casting bars of shadow across the mattress.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling, replaying every word Stacy said in my mind.
I analyze each detail she shared about the new robberies, trying to piece together the puzzle.
My heart pounds in my chest as I imagine walking out of this place a free man, my name cleared of all wrongdoing.
The wrapper crinkles again as I fold it carefully and tuck it deep into the mattress through a small tear in the fabric.
It's evidence of her visit, proof that she was here.
I close my eyes, clutching the hope she left behind like a lifeline.
I tear a blank page from the back of my prison-issued Bible and crouch near the cell door where the hallway light provides better visibility.
Using the stubby pencil I'm allowed for letter writing, I note each detail Stacy mentioned about the robberies: dates, locations, methods.
My hand trembles as I draw connecting lines between similar patterns.
No security footage.
No signs of forced entry.
Always during the night shift.
The same as my case.
A guard's flashlight beam sweeps past my cell, and I quickly slide the paper under my mattress, my heart pounding in my chest.
The footsteps fade, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
I glance at the paper again, my mind racing with possibilities.
"Tomorrow night," I whisper to myself, "I'll finally have the answers I've been waiting for."
I sit cross-legged on my bed, the page spread out in front of me.
The moon has set, and I strain to see in the dim light before dawn.
But the patterns are too clear to ignore.
The same methods.
The same timing.
Even down to the missing security footage.
It can't be a coincidence.
My hands shake as I add one more detail: "Stacy's night shifts align with each robbery date."
I scribble it at the bottom of the page, my mind racing with the implications.
The chocolate wrapper crinkles in my mattress as I shift my weight.
I close my eyes, remembering her touch, her promises, her kindness.
But the evidence is too clear to ignore.
I grab my pencil again and write one final question at the bottom of the page: "Were you on duty during these robberies?"
The morning bell rings, and I quickly fold the paper into a square and tuck it deep into my pocket.
I rise with the others, but my mind is already planning for tomorrow night.
I pace my cell all day, the folded paper burning in my pocket.
I rehearse what I'll say to Stacy, how I'll confront her.
The sun sets, and the night shift begins.
I position myself by the door, watching the shadows move across the floor.
My heart pounds as I hear familiar footsteps approaching.
She appears in front of my cell, her crisp uniform a stark contrast to the darkness around us.
Her green eyes shine bright, and she holds another chocolate bar in her hand.
Before she can speak, I pull out my notes and unfold them, my hands trembling.
I hold it up for her to see, the evidence clear in black and white.
Her night shifts align with each robbery date.
She moves closer, reaching for my hand, but I step back.
The question I've dreaded asking sits heavy on my tongue.
"Stacy, were you on duty during these robberies?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She hesitates, her eyes flickering with something I can't quite read.
"Yes," she finally admits, her voice steady but her gaze faltering, "but it's not what you think."
