Men
Are Just Testicles In Prison
by Sterling
Chapter 7 of 10
It
was an unfamiliar footfall that arrived in the morning. It was someone
carrying his breakfast bowl, but it wasn't the usual woman. It was
Rachel! The second-grade teacher.
"You slimy bucket of shit!"
she said. "You raped a dozen women, multiple times. I will teach you a
lesson you will never forget."
"But, ma'am..."
"Silence! When I want your opinion I will ask for it."
"Here is your breakfast," she said, placing the bowl six feet outside
the bars.
When
she walked up the stairs, Bill fought hard his urge to speak, to point
out that he couldn't possibly reach it. But he soon realized it was
intentional, and if he complained it would make things worse.
She
returned a half hour later, picked up the bowl and took it away. He
heard what sounded like her dumping it in the upstairs trash.
Mid-morning
a woman appeared with a giant padlock for his door, and under Rachel's
watchful eye she installed it silently as an extra level of security.
He
faintly heard a snippet of conversation from outside. "... not sure
why. But no one's allowed in without official permission."
Lunch
was similarly placed out of reach. But Rachel looked at him and came
back down right after she'd taken the food bowl upstairs.
"Clothes. Male animals don't deserve clothes. Hand them over."
Bill dutifully stripped and slid the sweatsuit under the bars.
"Books and magazines too."
Bill complied.
"And that screwball Amy must have turned the heat up. Let me fix that.
No point in wasting energy on the likes of you."
Bill shivered miserably under his blanket all afternoon, his stomach
growling. He was also getting thirsty.
When
Rachel came down with his dinner, he sat up, hoping his punishment was
at an end. At least the part about getting no food. Or at least water.
When the bowl was set down out of reach and Rachel looked at him, he
allowed his hand to go to his throat and his mouth to fall open in an
attempt to signal thirst.
"Oh, for God's sake. I guess you're not even as smart as a dog, huh?"
As
soon as Rachel was out of sight, he realized what she was getting at.
He didn't have much, but he did have a flushing toilet. It didn't have
a tank, but it did have a bowl. It was only cleaned when he cleaned it,
and he had nothing to use but his hands. This he now did, working
feverishly, trying to get all the crud off, flushing it multiple times.
And then he was gratefully cupping the water from the bowl with his
hands and drinking it greedily.
His hunger made it hard to sleep, but he did finally doze uneasily.
In
the morning Rachel appeared with his breakfast bowl. "Oh, look at that!
A hunk of cheese. That's much too nice to waste on the likes of you."
She picked it out with her fingers and ate it with relish, smacking her
lips. "And these raisins? I think I'd better eat those too."
She
put the bowl down well out of reach and then produced a semen sample
cup. "Sample. Now." She kicked it under the bars to him.
Bill
was faint with hunger and feeling humiliated, but he managed it. He
turned away from the witch Rachel and began stroking, thinking of the
nights when Alison shared the cot with him, of her lovely face, her
soft breasts, her smile, her hands on his shoulders, and that hot,
smooth pussy... He spurted into the cup, and after fitting the lid,
approached the bars obsequiously and placed it underneath.
Rachel took it. "So you want food, huh? Well, get down and kiss the
floor."
Anger
surged in Bill, but he did as asked. She then emptied the bowl onto the
concrete floor eight inches beyond the bars and stood a foot away, arms
folded across her chest. He reached under tentatively, looking to see
if she objected, but she just looked. He tried to maintain some dignity
as he fingered the oatmeal off the floor and into his mouth, but he was
so hungry it was difficult.
"An animal," muttered Rachel. As he reached out for his next mouthful,
she suddenly stomped on his hand with her boot.
Bill winced but didn't cry out. She marched up the stairs and he
eagerly finished his oatmeal mixed with floor grit.
He
got no lunch and half his supper with the best bits removed. Rachel
once again dumped the mush on the floor outside his cell, barely in
reach.
Every morning he was called on to give a semen sample.
This he managed for three days, and then the next day no matter how
hard he tried, he couldn't get an erection.
"You're not earning
your keep," said Rachel. "And let me make the consequences especially
clear. Lean your back against the bars."
He didn't know what to expect, but figured he must do as told. When he
saw a scalpel in her hand he jumped away.
She
gave a sick laugh. "Aha! He recognizes danger. Doesn't look so good,
does it? Maybe I'll make you submit to this knife to get anything at
all to eat." But she didn't press the issue.
The next morning,
after considerable work he managed to fix a fantasy of Alison in his
mind long enough to spurt out some semen, but it was a close call. Half
the plain oatmeal was dumped on the floor within reach.
The next
morning he couldn't manage an erection, and the food stopped. "No
semen, no food," explained Rachel simply. "If it was up to me, I would
have had you publicly executed. Oh, well."
It then occurred to
Bill that Rachel might simply starve him to death. From events of the
past week and what he had overheard that guard say, it seemed likely
that no one except Rachel would come see him, to prevent any more women
having any sympathy for him. And if none could see him, none could
notice his health deteriorating.
Bill considered his options.
Rachel slept elsewhere. During the day she sat upstairs, and he would
hear her moving from time to time. He had no idea how she was passing
the time. But he noticed that she went out from time to time during the
day. Her most reliable absence was late afternoon.
He waited
until she left, and waited some more until he heard voices not too
terribly far away -- the old police station wasn't a place many people
had occasion to pass in their daily travels. And then he bellowed,
"Help me! I'm starving! Help me! I'm starving!" Over and over again. He
thought he heard some interruption in the pattern of voices, and he
thought perhaps he heard some footsteps coming closer. So he bellowed
again. If the word spread to the right people, maybe he'd have a
chance. He knew men were not cheap, and however much the authorities
hated him, he performed a vital service.
Fifteen minutes later
the door opened upstairs and then slammed. Heavy footsteps on the
stairs foretold the appearance of a livid Rachel. This was the moment
he'd been fearing. If she produced a gun...
"Damned if you'll eat again!" she spat. "Come here!" She wielded the
scalpel.
But
Bill hung back and dared to shake his head. He was gambling that she
wouldn't dare to enter his cell and didn't have any deadly weapons with
range. He was prepared to try lifting his cot to the vertical to use as
a shield. He was also gambling that no authority figures she called on
for backup would support her in killing him by scalpel, gun or
starvation. After several seconds, Rachel tromped up the stairs.
Afraid
Rachel might have turned off the water, he didn't dare to flush the
toilet. He let loose his urine in the far corner of the room. That
night he huddled in hunger and fear, dozing from time to time. A few
times he bellowed out his call for help.
There was no
interruption until the next morning, when Rachel reappeared with what
looked like his breakfast bowl. His hopes were soon dashed as she
hurled it into his cell, covering everything. He couldn't tell exactly
what it was, but it had a strong fecal odor to it. And to his great
dismay, some of it got into his drinking supply. Later, when he was
feeling really thirsty, he flushed the toilet and found nothing
happened; Rachel had indeed turned the water off.
He got through
that day somehow, bellowing for help when he heard evidence of anyone
in earshot, and finding it drained his strength alarmingly just to
shout.
At one point he faintly heard a voice outside say, "Sorry, no one is
allowed in. Strict orders."
In
the dead of the night, around the time Alison used to visit, he heard
the distinctive sound of glass breaking upstairs, and his hopes surged.
After banging around and some muttered curses, someone came down the
stairs and it was indeed Alison. "Oh, Christ!" she said, her nose
wrinkling at the smell of urine and whatever vile mixture Rachel had
heaved into his cell. She turned on a dim flashlight.
"Your hand!" he said. Her right hand was bleeding freely.
"Never
mind that." He saw that it was not life-threatening. "It's good to see
you," she said quickly, and their faces met at the bars for a quick
kiss.
She produced a cylinder with a nozzle, and explained it
was called an acetylene torch. The kind builders use to cut metal,
among other things. "Where should I start?" she asked.
"I don't
know. I think it'll take two bars for me to get through. Start low,
here in the middle?" She lit the torch and began to cut.
"Maybe I could do that while you look around to see if there's anything
down here that could help speed this up?"
She
nodded, and he took the torch and began to cut. It was maddeningly slow
work. The jail bars were naturally made of a strong metal alloy.
Alison
didn't find anything of use for getting him out of the cell, though she
did find his old clothes and shoes -- assuming they succeeded. They
took turns cutting. It was a half hour before the first cut was finally
finished, and they immediate began on the second. Alison started in the
middle, easily within her reach. Bill explained why they should cut up
high, and Alison agreed at once. They hadn't made much progress before
the torch began to burn less brightly.
"This time it only has to
bend," said Alison. She handed the torch to him and as he focused the
heat of the torch on the inner surface, she began pulling with all her
might. Very gradually the bar did bend, and bent some more. As the
torch sputtered out, Alison gave one more mighty tug. It had come out a
few feet at the bottom.
He hoped he'd been mistaken about the need to remove two bars. He tried
to wedge himself through, but it was difficult.
She said, "Do it in the middle, where the other bars might bend a
little."
Bill
saw how that would work, and dragged his cot over and stood on it while
he wedged himself through. His hips were the sticking point. Alison
grabbed the other two bars and tried to pulled them apart with all her
strength, though any difference she made wasn't visible. Finally,
bruised and scraped, he emerged from the cell and tumbled onto the
floor.
He hurried into the clothes and shoes Alison had found,
but stopped by the sink upstairs to ease the worst of his thirst. The
door to the building was locked from the inside as well as the outside
with multiple locks, which apparently took the place of a nighttime
guard. They crawled back out of the broken window before they took off
into the woods. Bill felt dizzy and faint. Alison handed him a hunk of
cheese to eat as he staggered along. She dared use the flashlight once
they were at some distance from their community, but before long the
sky was light enough to walk by. He was no judge of distances, but it
seemed forever before they finally arrived at the shed Alison had
scouted out for him. There he dove into more cheese and nuts. When he
finally lay down, exhausted, Alison lay beside him and they hugged.
Bill didn't try to stop himself from crying. They exchanged a few
perfunctory kisses but he hadn't the strength for anything else.
After a few minutes, he asked, "So, you need to be heading back soon?"
She looked at him with surprise. "I can't go back any more."
"Why not?"
"Because
I stole from the community shop? Destroyed property? And worst of all,
helped you escape? Amy told me that if I'd been convicted for giving
you the chance to get out through an unlocked door, I could have faced
10 years in prison."
"Oh," he said. After a moment, he added, "I don't know how we'll
manage, but I'll be really glad to have you with me."
They beamed at each other and shared a more tender kiss.
Bill
slept until noon, then consumed an alarming percentage of the food
Alison had brought. Somehow there was no kettle or pot or large vessel
of any kind available for carrying water, so she led him to a stream
not too far away where he could get a long drink. He trudged back
uphill with her and sat on the steps of the covered wooden porch of the
cabin.
"You feeling better? We have some decisions to make," said Alison.
"Yeah, OK."
She
brought out a map. "I've looked at a few of these old farms around
here, but I think we ought to look at a lot more. We're here." She
pointed.
"Where's Shady Pines?"
Alison pointed again.
"So we walked past these three last night?" he asked.
"I didn't dare stay too close, in case there are search parties."
"Oh, OK." Bill put his arm around Alison's waist.
"We don't know who we're likely to encounter out here, so having a
network of places we can quickly move between seems safest."
He worked his hand under her shirt at the waist and slid it up her
smooth, warm back.
Alison
hesitated. "We have to be looking for old orchards that might still
produce some fruit, and for wild plants, or grains gone wild."
Bill leaned in to Alison and took a deep sniff of her hair, then
nibbled on her ear.
Alison
turned to face Bill and engaged him in a passionate kiss. Their hands
roamed freely over each other's bodies. "Oh, Bill, I've missed this so
much!" They hurriedly shed clothing, and Alison quickly arranged Bill's
sweatshirt and sweatpants so she could lie on her back with legs
spread. One foot rested on the porch, the other leg trailing away over
the edge.
Bill's erection was full and hard and he prepared to
mount her as he stood on the ground below the porch. He caressed her
between the legs briefly.
"No -- In, go in!" Alison cried.
Bill
grinned and moved in for the penetration, but suddenly staggered
sideways. He managed not to fall, but his butt landed heavily on the
porch beside Alison.
"Are you OK?" she asked, scrambling up.
"Uhhhh, guess I'm still pretty weak."
"Oh, I'm sorry honey," she said, grabbing the sweatsuit and arranging
it behind Bill as she laid him down.
He smiled at her, but couldn't keep his eyes off her breasts or
especially her engorged pussy. "I really want to," he said.
"Oh, I know, me too!"
Bill's erection was as hard as before, and as he looked at her it
twitched.
"Do
you suppose we could, like..." Alison giggled as she mounted him
awkwardly, shifting around to find a workable angle. Bill smiled too,
until the physics was finally right, and her body descended rapidly
until their pubic bones met, his penis at the same time pressing up
into her depths.
Their smiles vanished and they stared into each
other's eyes. Alison lifted herself up and fell again, lifted and fell,
experimenting but soon finding a rhythm that worked.
Bill
moaned, his eyes closed with a faint smile. Alison experimented with
rhythms and pressures, soon finding one that not just worked but felt
really good as well... a rise, a plunge, and a slight horizontal drag
of her outer pussy parts against his pubic bone. Her breathing got
ragged and shallow as her body twitched.
"I'm gonna... uh... give a sample!" said Bill.
"Yeah,
do it!" Alison said, rising and falling four times in quick succession
as Bill gave a plaintive moan and she felt him twitch. Then she
plastered herself against his pubic bone, gasped and shuddered several
times before collapsing on him. They lay like that for several minutes,
as Alison felt Bill's penis shrink. She finally disengaged and lay
beside him on her back on the rough wooden porch.
"That way is really nice too," she said.
"Yeah," said Bill. "It's sort of proof in another way that you really
want it. You're actually doing the puncturing part."
Alison nodded. In another few minutes they put themselves together and
resumed their planning session.
Their
most pressing problem was how to get food. Other amenities would be
needed soon and, as it was now September 9th in the old state of
Wisconsin, it would soon be joined by the need for warm clothing.
"We've
got one more problem," said Alison. "Well, at least in the short run
it's a problem. Or the medium run." Bill looked at her, puzzled.
"I'm pregnant. It must have been from one of those super-quickies
through the bars.""
"Oh...
Oh! That's great!" Amy had told him he was already the father of a few
baby girls and several as yet unborn. But this would be a girl he might
actually get to live with, who would know him as a parent. And it was
Alison's baby too. He decided it was very good news, and grinned. Then
he suddenly realized it might not be a daughter. It might be a son.
"But that means that in about 7 months things get a lot more
complicated."
Bill furrowed his brow.
"But we have one resource. A person. Want to guess?"
"Um... Amy?"
"Bingo.
The word got to Amy pretty fast about your yelling that you were
starving, and she came straight to me. She had nothing to do with the
escape. Well, except for telling me to look into acetylene torches. But
we've got an arrangement. Amy and I have agreed on a couple places
where she can leave things. Like food, if she can manage it without
arousing suspicion."