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Wounded Wolf	By : Squeaky Category: Celebrities - Misc > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1496 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is not a true story. I don't know Charles Manson and am not affiliated in any way with the California Corrections Department nor any hospital. I am making no money from the story. Let the good times roll!

Chapter List
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October, 1984. This is it. For nearly a month, I've been helping one of the most detested men in America recuperate from severe burns. Every day I've been paying him special attention, changing his dressings and bringing him his food. The tension between us has been getting higher and higher; it's time to fix that.
I walk into the ward slowly. My heart is pounding. This is what I've been waiting for.. I look down at my chart one last time before entering the PIN on the tightly secured room.
Patient: B33920 California Correctional Department
God, it's really happening. The guards leave the room, and there he is. I feel the damp heat in my panties as I look him over. He's got a lot of vitality, despite what they're saying on the news. His new haircut, the shave, looks surprisingly good on him. I make mental note to tell him later.
He's resting now, the florescent light making him look a bit pale but not at all fragile. I look him over, wondering if I'm in over my head. People consider him to be among the most heinous criminals in the country, but he looks peaceful and calm. The pain pills have the poor thing napping most of time. He blinks sleepily, groggy but immediately irked.
"What're you interrupting me for? Do you have my pudding I asked for?"
I shrink back and shake my head.
"No, Mr. Manson.. I.. I don't. I'm here to give you an exam, hopefully so we can discharge you."
He scowls, the swastika on his brow creasing. My knees feel weak, and I take a step back. Even though he's cuffed, I feel compelled to do whatever he asks.
"May I do that for you?"
He grumbles, but nods reluctantly. I reach a shaking hand out to take his pulse, mindful of the bandages still on his chest and back. The skin there is soft, scarred but healed nicely, and I can feel his coarse beard on my hand.
I look at the clock, trying to find his BPM, but to my surprise, the wall clock is stopped. Strange.. it had worked just a few weeks ago. I catch a hint of a smile from him as he looks at the clock.
His heartbeat is strong, and I leave my hand on his neck for longer than is probably needed, fudging his vital records. I can't help that I enjoy the feeling of his skin, like velvet over steel.
He glares at me. "You done yet?"

"Not yet.. I have to check for any swelling.. any infection." I hum, taking the bandages off very gently. I can see where the worst of it was; where the paint thinner had been splashed on him and flared up. Silently, I grab some ointment and rub it into him, especially heeding his jailhouse style tattoos.

There's a hawk a few inches wide, and something the size of a quarter that's faded out with time. He shivers a bit as I brush on his nipple for just a moment, the cool creme making it stiffen up a bit.

"Do you still have some feeling in your chest?" I ask softly. I'm trying to be seductive, trying to take his mind off it. He seemed to enjoy that light touch; what would he do if I focused more there?
I rub his chest more. He still feels quite toned, and I feel that he has a certain sense of power. Anyone who can live through such pain deserves all the pleasure can have. The rise and fall off his chest is quickening. I feel like I'm taming him, but of course, he is expressly allowing it. Manson is wielding all the power in the world over me.

"That does feel good, but I want you to touch me more than that."
I shake my head, but move the blanket away from his waist. There's clearly a tent in his boxers, white standard issue fabric straining to hold him in. And Manson certainly isn't embarrassed. He nods down at it with a smirk.
"You gonna suck that, or just stare at it, ya little candy striper?"
My face goes bright red, and I look into his stormy brown eyes. This was too easy. So easy, in fact, that I decide to play coy. I cover my face with a little gasp.
"That wouldn't be very professional of me!"
He just rolls his eyes. He's getting more crass as time rolls by it seems. I look up at the clock again, and now it's moving incredibly fast. Charles has a Cheshire cat grin on his face.
"Bullshit. Now you been teasing me for a month, always puttin' your rack in my face, your titties are always out. And you're always trying to rub my dick every chance you get. Get to it."
As I unbutton my shirt, he immediately gets a hungry look in his eyes. Once again, I'm wondering if I'm in over my head. I feel like prey; another notch in his belt. I very tenderly touch him, feeling him throb in my grasp. He looks down at me.
"I could do that myself." he mutters, irritated. I smear the bit of precum presently beading up on him. He twitches a little at the pad of my thumb on his wet head.
I pull back and shake my head. I set about sucking him dry, even letting him slide between my breasts. Before I know it, his hands are balled into fists and he's panting softly.
I sit up abruptly. I take the one pin in my hair I'd intended just for this and carefully take his hands mine. I admire the twin tattoos on his forearms for a brief moment before quickly picking his cuffs.
Manson knows an opportunity when he sees one. Even in the state he's in, and even at five foot two, he easily overpowers me and pushes me into a more subservient position. I let out a soft noise and look towards the door. Sensing my fear, Charles bites down hard on the scruff of my neck before growling, "Don't you even think about it." I gulp and nod.
He yanks up my short white skirt exposing my soaking wet panties. Those are torn off, and he holds them to his face and inhales deep. He must love the scent because I feel his fingers stretching me and his tongue lashing me. So he has some mercy after all.
He knows exactly what to touch, and it's sending me into a frenzy. I let out a whine as he lets up a bit on my clit and unceremoniously shoves ïn a third finger. It stings, but I take it okay.
I feel something blunt nudging me now. By this point, I don't care that he's not wearing a condom, or that the guards could be waiting outside the door. I want him in me, and soon! My pussy is dripping wet, and he lines himself up to my sticky wet slit.
He tugs eagerly at my hips to get me down on his cock. No time is spared; he's buried to the hilt in one punishing thrust. It's rough, it's sloppy, and it's all him. I take a second to soak it all in.
Manson is splitting me wide open. THE Charles Manson. His big hands are on my hips, and I have no idea what else they've done. He told me he was framed, that it was a CIA plot to spoil his good times and send the hippies of the Haight back to work. I don't even care one way or the other, now that I'm stuffed full with his cock.
The next thing I know, his hands are around my neck, squeezing harshly. He doesn't let up, and doesn't give me any air until I feel something on my back. His one fingernail, manicured long for classical guitar, is raking into my back, soft at first but then very harshly. Ohhh god.
I know I'm going to have bruises tomorrow and welts today. His balls are slapping me hard, and I suddenly feel my climax come over me like a wave. I'm limp on the crisp white linen sheets as he plows me at his pace.
All the sudden he's shaking me like a ragdoll- then I feel him twitch and release into me. He's still got Death Valley in him, because as his cum splashes out into me it's every bit as scorching hot as the desert.
As soon as I'm out of my daze, I pull up my panties and adjust my clothes. Getting dressed in front of the mirror, I notice two huge lines on my back, intersecting to form an X. Slowly I recuff him, and put the hairpin neatly where it was. I plant a kiss on his forehead, on that symbol of many meanings, and another on his chapped lips. God, that was incredible.
"You're good to go.. just another week of my continued care, of course."
He gives me a lopsided grin, and is back to his old self quickly.
"The loving was great but I need a glass of water. And none of that chicken and beef for lunch." he complains, "And I need a smoke! And how about some TV?!"
I shake my head at his sightly endearing demands, and leave the room. The two guards file back in, cups of coffee in hand, and I leave hazy but invigorated. I'm still dripping his cum. My first stop? To go get a glass of water for my patient, of course!
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Wounded Wolf