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Subject: {ASSM} The Innocent Fugitives Ch25 {Varkel} (MF oral bd tort violent)
Date: Thu,  1 Mar 2001 19:10:04 -0500
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The Innocent Fugitives
a Novel by Varkel
Copyright (C) 2001, Varkel



Chapter 25:  Prisoners All



Bobbie sat uncomfortably in the back seat of the car next to a 
surly woman who wore a suit jacket with padded shoulders.  
Neither the woman nor the male driver would talk to her.  At 
least she was out of the smelly and boring police station with 
its staring cops, even if this nasty woman did turn up her nose 
and turn her face away as if Bobbie were a piece of shit.  Bobbie 
had not learned the woman's name, and she didn't want to know it.  
Instead she looked out at the buildings and the bustling 
afternoon traffic.  Eventually the car eased into the driveway of 
an expansive structure identified by a sign as "Atkins Children's 
Hospital."

"Come," was all the woman said after the car stopped and the 
driver opened the rear door for them.  When Bobbie hesitated for 
a moment the woman grabbed her arm painfully, pulled her from the 
back seat and almost dragged her into the building's brightly lit 
entrance.  They went down corridors, up an elevator and down 
further corridors until they reached a pair of double doors where 
an armed guard lounged behind a desk.

"Another junior whore, Mazie?" the man inquired, getting up to 
unlock the doors.

"You wouldn't believe this one, Jack," she replied with a wink.  
"But take a good look at her."

The man shrugged.  "Brush her hair and press her clothes and 
she'll look like a plump schoolgirl."

"Who loves the men, the more the merrier.  And boys.  Buy me a 
drink tonight and I'll tell you all about her."

"That's a deal."

Grinning the woman pulled Bobbie through the doors.  Inside she 
wiped the grin and announced to a huge, glowering nurse behind 
the counter, "Here's a prize for you."  She pushed Bobbie ahead 
so roughly that the girl stumbled a bit.

"What's this," the nurse grumbled in undisguised ill humor, 
"another one of your twitchy delinquents?"

"This one's really sick," Mazie replied with a shake of her head.  
"Here's her paperwork.  You might want to keep her isolated."

"I don't need your advice," the nurse replied haughtily, although 
she took firm hold of Bobbie's arm.  "Put your receipt down on 
the counter and I'll sign it."

Mazie soon departed.  Still gripping Bobbie's forearm, the huge 
nurse pushed a button on her desk.  Her foreboding gaze rested 
upon the girl.  "Do you think you have a problem that a good 
whipping wouldn't cure?"

Bobbie stared back.  "Not a whipping."

"Too bad.  Nowadays they bring bad children here, where they hang 
around for months, doing nothing.  In my time they beat the shit 
out of them every week and kept them on the farm.  They knew how 
to behave when they grew up, too, which you don't have a chance 
to learn."

The girl thought it over.  "Then what am I doing here?"

The woman nodded.  "Good question.  When you can't beat them, you 
have to stuff them somewhere.  This is where you got stuffed."

"Stuffed!"  Bobbie's expression showed puzzlement.

The woman laughed sourly.  A door behind her opened with a crack 
and a large black nurse sailed through it.  Her sparkling brown 
eyes fixed on Bobbie and thick lips parted in a warm smile, to 
Bobbie's surprise not the derisive grin that so far official 
Chicago had exhibited exclusively.  "A new arrival, Gussey?" she 
asked in a melodious contralto.

"Very new," agreed the huge nurse, releasing Bobbie's arm at 
last.  "Mazie says she's a bad one, Alice, that we might want to 
keep her isolated."

"Isolated!"  The black woman laughed shortly.  "We'll make our 
own judgments about that."

"That's what I told her.  Here's the paperwork."

The newcomer swept it up in her large hands, studied it a moment 
and turned to the girl.  "Do you like being called Bobbie?"

"It's my name."

"All right, Bobbie.  I'm Alice.  Follow me, please, and we'll get 
you settled in."  She grinned.  "Maybe by then it'll be time for 
supper."

She led the girl through branching halls to a room with a railed 
bed and short table.  Curious at the rails, Bobbie examined the 
bed closely and found straps dangling from them to the floor, 
tucked back under.  She held up an end of one toward the black 
nurse, who was watching with interest.  "This is really a jail, 
isn't it?"

"Yes, Bobbie."

"Why am I in jail?  Don't you have to do something wrong to be 
put in jail?"

"Didn't you do something wrong?"

The girl sighed.  "If so, I had a lot of help."

"We'll talk about that in the days to come.  For now I want you 
to strip naked.  I'll help you hang your clothes in this closet."

The girl turned around and stared.  Alice found herself subject 
to an intensely intimate scrutiny.  Instead of the expected, 
"What'll I wear?" she heard, "I can't believe them."

"Who, Bobbie?"

"Not 'who.'  I can't believe boobs can be that big.  If they were 
real they'd be big as my head."

Alice laughed.  "They're real, all right, and by the end of the 
day they're heavy as lead.  Now turn back around.  I'll get your 
buttons."

Soon the girl was fully naked.  Alice, pausing only a moment to 
admire the sleek but immature body, took an institutional gray 
shift from a drawer and settled it over Bobbie's head.  It only 
descended half-way to her knees.

"I'm sorry, dear, but the supply room is short right now.  I'll 
get you a larger shift tomorrow, but you'll have to make do with 
this one tonight.  Try on one of these slipper socks, please."

"It binds my toes."

Alice sighed.  "I thought it would.  Take it off.  I'll be right 
back."

Shortly the big woman returned with a substitute pair.  Bobbie's 
eyes lit.  "Mickey Mouse slippers!  And they fit just fine."

"I thought they would."  Alice studied her wristwatch.  "It's 
another half hour to supper.  Sit with me on the bed, will you?"

Bobbie did more than sit.  She snuggled herself into the big 
woman's arm, head pressing into the huge breast.  A small hand 
came up and caressed the other side of it.

"Does it feel real to you?" Alice asked with an indulgent grin.

"Uh-huh.  I love you, Alice."

"Thank you, Bobbie.  That's a nice thing to say."

"I said it because you feel like a mamma."

The big woman chuckled.  "I suppose I do.  I've got a lot of you 
kids to mother."

Bobbie's arm went around the unexpectedly narrow waist.  They sat 
comfortably together until the girl raised her face with an 
anxious expression and asked, "What's going to happen to me, 
Alice?"


* * *


The lights came on blindingly.  "All right, lazy bones.  Time to 
rise and shine."  High-pitched laughter rang in their ears.  
"Time to pee, at least."

Paul released Jenny and sat up with a clank of chains.  She 
moaned, hands rubbing her eyes in metallic tinkling, and sat up 
beside him, breast pressing into his arm.  They had spent the 
night in each other's arms -- and chains -- on the carpet before 
their alcove, which was padded underneath comparable to a hard 
mattress.  It had a faint odor of urine that both had noticed -- 
residue of previous prisoners?

They stared across the room at the grinning woman in slippers, 
loosely draped robe and disheveled gray hair.

"Come, come, my dears!  Can't you speak?  Or is it that you don't 
remember where you are?  That happens sometimes when you awaken 
in chains; disorientation, they call it.  Well, he's Paul, she's 
Jenny and I'm Amy.  Good morning to you!"

Jenny's chains rattled as she pressed herself closer to Paul.

The woman shook her head.  "You'd think we chained your tongues, 
too!  All right, my silent ones, let me offer you a little 
practical advice.  Just now your chains are very loose.  Paul can 
direct his pee into the drain without it dribbling on his legs.  
Jenny can squat over the drain and wet herself not at all if she 
holds the labia apart.  But I shall tighten your chains soon.  
After that you will be unable to control the direction of your 
water.  If it should leave you very wet, I'd unfortunately have 
to give you both another bath."  She laughed.  "I'm sure you 
recall last night's bath!"

The rogue lieutenant had demonstrated some of the unusual 
properties of their prison when he finally administered their 
"bath."  In fact the alcove proved to be a hollow cylinder, 
diameter equal to the height of the room, axis parallel to wall 
and floor.  The two sets of chains, each securing all four 
extremities of one person, were conducted through hawseholes in 
floor and ceiling.  These hawseholes were mounted in huge 
sliprings and could be rotated as a set around the cylindrical 
axis so that, when in the horizontal plane the prisoner hung with 
hands and feet at the same level, and when again in the vertical 
plane but fully inverted, the prisoner hung upside down with his 
back to the room, all weight on his ankles.  The lieutenant, 
having hosed them down thoroughly in front, leaving them coughing 
from the stinging water stream in the face and groaning in pain 
from its application to breasts and genitals, had operated the 
sliprings to turn them both upside down and backward to him, in 
which position he proceeded to give Jenny a painful douche and 
both of them painful enemas.  A short time later the enemas 
resulted in the application of a second, shorter "bath," and for 
the first time in his life, Paul, gritting his teeth in helpless 
rage, had been subjected to homosexual anal rape.  So far Jenny 
was unmolested aside from the water stream.

But, yes, they certainly recalled last night's bath!  With a 
clanking of chains, they turned back into the alcove and 
separated, each to his drain hole in the tiles.  Jenny squatted 
and Paul directed his stream, both with their backs to the 
watcher.

"Modest, are we?" she called.  "Turn around, both of you."

They glanced at each other but ignored the order.  Paul heard a 
curious sound behind him: whish-flack!  It took him back, 
sounding very much like the --

Pow!  Something stung his right buttocks cheek powerfully, almost 
an electrical shock, fully as painful as the prick of a wasp.  He 
clamped his sphincters and spun about as another whish-flack-pow! 
sounded in the room.  Jenny screamed and sat down on the tile 
with a clank of chains.  Paul suddenly realized what had 
happened.  The gray-haired woman, resembling any man's mother 
surprised from her bed, had shot each of them with a BB rifle.  
She was sighting down the barrel of it now, pointed low upon 
Jenny, as her hand worked the slide: whish-flack!

"Jenny, turn around!" he shouted.

Rubbing a buttock cheek, Jenny waddled around to face the room 
with a clank of chains.

The grinning woman lowered her rifle slowly.  "That's better, 
although I admit it's fun to watch you jump.  You will, you know, 
even when you know it's coming, even when I've shot you hundreds 
of times, even if I've shot out both your eyes."

She shook the rifle, a 50-shot pump-action model, intended for 
rural teenagers.  "This is such a lovely little enforcer.  Only 
rarely will it break the skin of an adult, except in eye or 
mucous membrane, but it leaves a neat little purple bruise, 
especially on nipples or gonads.  It's strange that the 
literature of sadism doesn't treat it better."  She laughed.  
"Paul, you will be absolutely amazed at the power of its sting 
upon unprotected testicles.  And here's a curious fact: 
anticipation only seems to strengthen the effect."

"Look," whispered Jenny, pointing to the floor with a clank of 
her chain.  Following her fingertip to the point where tile met 
carpet protector, he saw the coppery glitter of hundreds of BB-
shot presumably washed there by previous "baths."

Amy chuckled fondly.  "Well, now that we understand each other, 
please proceed with your eliminations before I tighten the 
chains."


* * *


As she made the bed, Ruth's toe struck something lying beneath 
the edge of it.  Her eyebrows rose when she retrieved it.  She 
held up John's polished leather folder, meant to attach to his 
coat and display his golden policeman's badge.  He had found her 
asleep on last night's late arrival and undressed in the dark, 
which probably explained the fallen badge.  He had left hurriedly 
this morning, after no sex, no explanation, hardly any breakfast 
and a bare peck on the cheek: a man in a hurry, which probably 
explained the failure to turn her house upside down in search of 
this badge.

As she already had many occasions to note, this was an additional 
reminder that a man of her own was a man for her to pick up 
after.  She smiled fondly, feeling privileged to pick up anything 
whatsoever that he might drop.  But one thing of his in 
particular...  She shivered and crossed her legs.

She telephoned his office.  When his admin answered, she asked 
for John.

"I'm sorry," the woman replied.  "Lt. Calhoun just left on 
official business.  He'll be out all morning.  May I transfer you 
to his voice mail?"

"No, thanks."

She hung up the telephone pensively.  She well understood how 
dangerous it could be for a policeman to operate without official 
identification.  She dressed quickly and left a note on her 
kitchen table, "John, Gone to deliver your badge.  Love, Ruthie."

She drove directly to the police station, thinking that she would 
swing by her store afterward.  Surprise visits helped keep the 
once felonious tart she employed on her toes.  Ten minutes away, 
waiting at a stop light, she saw John's blue unmarked city car 
pass through the intersection across her path.  Immediately when 
the light changed she swung to the left to follow it.  She would 
give him his badge in person.  It should certainly be worth a 
kiss!

He was a block and a half ahead of her, driving fast, with his 
superb reflexes automatically taking advantage of breaks in the 
traffic.  She was nearly three blocks behind when she saw him 
turn to the right.  When she reached that intersection, she 
turned also.  This was a much busier street with traffic blocking 
all lanes, but as luck would have it, many of the cars between 
them turned off after he had passed.  She had almost caught up to 
him when he ran a yellow light that in fact turned red before he 
was well into the intersection.  The driver of the car between 
them decided not to risk it, and she had to stop as well.

A parking lot occupied the far right corner.  John's blue vehicle 
turned into it and slid into the vacant corner slot.  While Ruth 
waited at the traffic light she clearly saw John emerge from that 
car and enter a dingy brown one parked beside it.  A white cloud 
emerged from its tailpipe.  It backed out of the slot and pulled 
into the street, proceeding in John's original direction just as 
the traffic light changed.

Intrigued and puzzled, she followed, practicing the procedures 
she had been taught, including the chancy one of letting half a 
dozen cars slip between them.  John took no evasive maneuver, no 
random right or left turn, no racing through yellow lights.  
Apparently it had not occurred to him that he might be followed, 
which pleased her to consider.

Two blocks ahead he turned at last.  This time she was delayed by 
_two_ successive traffic lights.  When she was finally able to 
follow, she thought at first she had lost him, but a block ahead 
she spotted the dingy brown car in a corner parking lot.  Had he 
traded again?

No!  What he had traded was coats.  He was walking down the 
sidewalk, his back to her, bareheaded in gray workman's 
coveralls, carrying a mechanic's toolbox.  But even half a block 
away the walk was unmistakable, unique as his signature.  She 
pulled into the same parking lot, beside the brown vehicle but in 
the slot next to the walk, where she could peer around the corner 
of a building to watch the receding figure.

Halfway down the block he stepped off the walk and vanished.  She 
leapt from her car and moved out onto the sidewalk in time to see 
him unlock a door beside a loading dock and vanish into the 
building, closing the door behind him.  She returned to her car, 
pulled out onto the street and drove slowly past the building.  
Heavily weathered paint above door and dock might once have 
proclaimed this to be someone's warehouse.  At the right angle of 
light, however, a painted-over door number was detectable on the 
personnel door.  At the corner she paused at the stop sign, took 
out her notebook and made a note of the number and the name of 
the street.  This was a worn-out industrial district that she had 
never before traversed, to the best of her memory, but something 
about the street name rang a bell.

John had a key to this door!  That fact, perhaps explainable in 
terms of some remote observational stakeout, especially in this 
electronic age, was nevertheless fascinating to her.  She thought 
that John had told her of all his pending cases, often 
complimenting her on the suggestions her quick mind could offer.  
But he had said nothing of this.

Curiosity seared her heart.  Was this a city-owned building?  She 
could certainly find out that much.  She turned around and drove 
resolutely toward city hall, its records division and the 
computer terminals she had helped install.

She found the building's plat easily enough: 60,000 square feet, 
three stories, owned by Miller Holding Corporation of Delaware, 
taxes paid in full.  She remembered other things from her police 
education and shortly displayed the entry for Miller Holding in 
the Delaware corporate listings.  The president and owner of all 
shares was one Silas Miller, address a post office box.  That 
seemed to end her search until she noted Mr. Miller's federal 
tax-payer ID and almost whimsically ordered a search for it in 
the entire county database.  That search eventually returned one 
hit, for a Silas Miller, address another post office box -- but 
now including a social security number.  Would only one name be 
associated in the database with _this_ number, too?

No.  She stared at the screen, mouth hanging open.  Apparently 
Silas Miller, businessman, and John Mills Calhoun, lieutenant of 
the Bering police, were the same man.  At least they had the same 
social security number.


* * *


Amy's first order of business that morning was to take their 
measurements.  After making the chains almost tight enough to be 
uncomfortable, leaving no room to bend elbows or knees, she had 
taken up a flexible steel rule, a clipboard and a ball-point pen.  
Paul had once been fitted for a suit, but no tailor would need a 
tenth of the measurements this woman took.  On Jenny, after the 
usual height to crown of head, waist, oval circumference at 
nipples and hips, she added length of foot, height of kneecap 
above floor, kneecap to groin, width of perineum, length of 
crease from clitoris to coccyx, distance from clitoris to navel, 
distance between nipple tips, diameters of areolas, diameters of 
the pendulous portion of breasts, width of shoulders, lengths of 
arm joints, diameter of skull and distance from chin tip over the 
top to the back of the skull, all carefully noted on her note 
pad.

She returned to the control desk, took something from a drawer 
and returned to Jenny, also bringing the BB rifle, which she 
leaned against the wall just outside the alcove.  She held up the 
thing from the drawer for Jenny's inspection.  It was a slender 
but long penis-model dildo upon which someone had scratched a 
scale of inches and fractions.

Amy said calmly, "Jenny, you will open your mouth and I will 
insert this dildo until it gags you, which will tell me the depth 
of your throat.  It won't hurt you."

Jenny cocked her head meaningfully toward the rifle, whose stock 
was visible from her position.  "Unless I don't cooperate, you 
mean."

Amy smiled.  "If you clench your teeth together, I'll have a good 
excuse to embed a BB-shot into your left boob.  At such close 
range it'll penetrate your flesh about a quarter inch.  Save 
yourself a lot of pain and blood by opening your mouth."

She raised the dildo.  Jenny first tilted her head back then 
opened wide.  Amy chuckled.  "Think you're swallowing a sword?"

Into the tilted mouth the thing slid, deeper and deeper.  Jenny 
held her breath.  The instrument met resistance.  Amy's eyebrows 
rose and she applied more pressure, with the result that her 
fingers and thumb, tightly gripping the end of it, also passed 
within Jenny's lips.  With an exclamation she snatched the thing 
back out.  Jenny lowered her head to a normal angle and took a 
quick breath.

"Damn you, slut," Amy snarled, "how did you do that?"  She held 
up the dildo.  "This thing is a foot long!"

"I held my breath," said Jenny solemnly.

Paul failed to appreciate the reason for Jenny's restraint.  He 
burst into laughter, choked off when Amy whirled upon him and 
slapped his face so hard as to disorient him momentarily and 
leave his cheek numb for the rest of the morning.  He staggered 
and might have fallen were it not for the arms held tightly 
aloft.  His assailant declared with a vicious note in her voice, 
"I'll get to you in a minute."

She turned back to Jenny and said in a reasonable voice, "Only 
one more measurement for you, and for this one you have no teeth 
to clench."

She took a tube of jelly lubricant from her robe pocket and 
smeared the dildo liberally before leaning forward and thrusting 
it into Jenny's vagina.  She pushed until the resistance was 
strong and Jenny moaned in pain, at which point she sighted along 
the side of the instrument.  "My god, I thought you were about to 
take the whole thing here, too!  Eleven inches!  You truly are a 
porcupine, aren't you, dearie?"

She withdrew the dildo and added with a grin, "I mean porcupine 
as in, 'If you had as many sticking out as you've had stuck in, 
you'd be a porcupine.'"  She chuckled.  "In some circles I 
suppose it could be a term of admiration."  Her voice fell.  "But 
not here."

The contemptuous little speech caused Jenny to blush, though Amy 
failed to notice.  She wrote busily on her clipboard before 
shifting her activity to Paul.  Jenny sagged with relief but 
watched the progress with anxiety, sure that Paul would evoke the 
unpredictable wrath again.

But all went well with the man's measurements, including the 
dildo-in-the-mouth trick, which gagged him and produced an 
obviously genuine coughing fit at a depth of six inches, 
approximately.

Standing back to scribble, Amy nodded.  "Quite respectable, 
really, for an ordinary man.  Of course, you owe me for helping 
you score higher by pressing down, away from the uvula."  She 
leered.  "Now, however, we come to the hard part."

She approached his penis with her flexible rule and sniggered.  
"What's it trying to do, crawl up into your belly?  Hmph!  I 
guess you could call that an inch and a half."

She measured the testicular descent on either side plus 
individual and combined diameters.  Solemnly she recorded her 
results, then, careful first to take up her toy rifle, withdrew 
to the control desk.  "As you probably guess, Jenny, I need that 
dick hard now.  I'm going to release your chains so that you can 
suck it up with your great lingual skill.  When it gets to full 
size, which I'm sure you'll recognize, you will retreat to the 
back of the alcove so that I can take its measurement.  Do you 
understand?"

"Yes."

Apparently Jenny's release was a preset maneuver.  Amy keyed a 
few buttons and returned toward the alcove while Jenny's chains 
played out of their hawseholes.  When the motors stopped, Jenny 
had enough slack to kneel before Paul easily, the chains on her 
wrists looping up to the ceiling.  She leaned forward and lifted 
his organ with her tongue.  Her head began to bob, accompanied by 
the soft chiming of dangling chains.

Paul eyes rested on the woman watching from ten feet away.  "I'm 
surprised you went to all this trouble."

"What trouble?"

"Of relaxing Jenny's chains.  You could've made me rise a lot 
easier than this."

The woman sniffed.  "How's that, Paul?  By showing you porno 
videos?"

He asked thoughtfully, "You have false teeth, don't you?"

"Several sets!" she snapped.  "And before you make disparaging 
remarks, let me tell you that one set is sharp as a razor."

"I meant no disparagement," he continued mildly.  "Not long ago a 
woman served me orally after first taking out her teeth.  The 
gums can apply a delightful and incomparable pressure."

"Oh?"  Amy's voice softened.  "You found it an interesting 
experience?"

"A wonderful experience!  It quite opened my eyes to the 
advantages."

"This was an older woman?"

"Well, no, I'd say about your age."

She grinned.  "You're an old smoothie, aren't you!"  Hand to 
mouth she hurried to take a tissue from a box on the desk.

Paul whispered to Jenny, "Still want to try it?  You'll have to 
do the work."

She unmouthed him long enough to respond, "It's our only chance."

"Here she comes."

Amy, smiling despite insunken lips, descended upon them.  A hand 
to Jenny's shoulder shoved the young woman roughly aside with a 
rattle of chains.  "My turn!" Amy declared, mouth opening as it 
plunged to surround the partly erected penis.

Jenny did not hesitate.  Having risen to her feet, she thrust 
herself against the stooping woman with a rattle.  The chains to 
her wrists were loose enough to form hanging loops.  She slung 
one of them around Amy's neck under the chin and in the same 
motion twisted the bight between her wrist and the back of the 
neck.  Her other hand drew the loop crushingly tight before 
grasping the affected wrist.  With the power of both arms, 
strength fueled by all the frustration and anger of recent 
events, Jenny jerked Amy up upon her tiptoes entirely by the 
force of the chain around her neck.  At its height Jenny's fist 
closed upon the part of its chain that descended from the 
ceiling, thus transferring the woman's weight to the grip of that 
hand, arguably the strongest retentive rictus available to the 
human body -- strong enough at any rate that all Amy's desperate 
jumping and twisting failed to dislodge it.

Jenny passed her free hand quickly through the pockets of Amy's 
robe.  For an instant she held up a set of four keys before 
Paul's widening eyes, then selected one that appeared to fit.  
She tried it on the shackle of the wrist holding Amy aloft.  It 
failed to turn in the lock, but two others were of similar size.  
Amy, still able to draw a wheezing breath, clawed at Jenny's arm, 
causing her to miss the keyhole.  Gritting her teeth, Jenny tried 
again and this time succeeded.  The key turned and the cuff 
popped off her wrist, unexpectedly releasing the loop of chain 
that was holding Amy erect.


* * *


In Atkins they could lock all the room doors at once from the 
nurses' station, after which you were a prisoner in your room 
until someone opened your door from outside or until all were 
again unlocked.  Bobbie had learned that last night.

At breakfast she remarked to the pensive boy on her right, "I 
hate being locked in at night.  My uncle used to do that."

This one was taller than she and very skinny with hollow eyes.  
He had a few actual whiskers growing on his chin.  His head had 
once been shaven but now the light brown hair was growing out 
evenly all around, giving him the appearance of a halo when the 
light was behind him.  He looked at her and repeated, "Your uncle 
locked you in at night?"

"That's what I said."

"Were you a runaway?"

The questioned startled her.  "No!"  She laughed.  "Though I did 
run when I got the chance."

"Did you threaten it at first?"

"No.  I knew better than that."

"But he guessed you would, did he?"

She studied him.  "Oh, he didn't lock me in every night.  Only 
when he made me a date."

"Made you a date?  For what?"

"To fuck somebody."

The boy's eyes widened.  He looked her up and down in her gray 
shift, identical but for size with his own.  "You're only a kid, 
too!"

"'Too?'"

"Like my little brother."

That comparison seemed to make little sense.  She ignored it and 
commented, "Some people like kids.  What about you?"

He shrugged.  "I like kids all right, just not for fucking."

"No, I mean, were you ever locked in?"

His lip curled.  "Wouldn't've made any difference if I was."

"Why not?"

"My brother would've fucked me anyway."

"Your ... brother?  Is he older?"

"He _was_ older."

She paused with her oatmeal.  "Did something happen to him?"

"He came home too drunk to crawl up the stairs.  I smothered him 
with a pillow."

"For fucking you?"

"No, for fucking my younger brother instead of me."

She smiled.  "You were jealous, were you?"

"Yeah."

"I know how that feels.  Sometimes I was _so_ jealous of Jenny!  
In Kentucky I thought about killing her all the time."

"Your older sister?"

"My mother.  She could suck my daddy better than I could."

The boy laughed.  "I think you might be more fucked up than I am!  
What's your name?"

"Bobbie.  Bobbie Smith."

"I'm Gerald Porter.  You can call me Gerry.  Do you like to 
suck?"

"Yeah.  Sometimes."

"So do I.  Sometimes."  He grinned slyly at her.  "If I tell you 
something, can you keep a secret?"

"I always keep secrets."

"I've taught myself in here to suck my own cock."

Her eyes widened as she thought about it.  "Can't boys do that 
anyway?"

He frowned.  "No.  I never knew one that could.  I couldn't when 
they put me in here.  I could almost touch the tip with my 
tongue.  But now I can take it in halfway."

She stared at him.  "Then you don't need anybody!"  She took a 
deep breath.  "I wish I could lick my clit, but I can't even get 
close."

He nodded.  "You're too plump.  You have to be skinny.  And you 
have to teach your back to bend farther.  Put your arms around 
your ass and pull hard, a hundred times every night.  In a few 
months you'll be --"

Suddenly he fell silent.  His gaze turned up.  A nurse, thin and 
hatchet-faced, stood before their table, staring at Gerry, then 
at Bobbie.  She declared mockingly, "Well, well, we have a Little 
Miss Fixit in our midst!  Did you know this young man has not 
been heard to utter a dozen words since he came here last 
February -- until now?"

Both youths stared silently up at her.  She said, "You're the new 
girl, Bobbie Gentry?"

"Bobbie Smith."

"Whatever."  The woman lowered her voice.  "I've heard about you.  
What did you say to him, 'Let me suck your cock?'"  With a 
raucous laugh she turned away toward the stacked trays.

Bobbie grinned slowly at Gerry.  "Guess that's one thing you 
don't need."

He didn't return her smile.  "You said you hate to be locked in."

"I do."

"How about if you have company?"

She grunted.  "How can you have company?"

"I'll show you tonight, Bobbie, if you want."


* * *


Amy reacted immediately, springing away from the chained woman 
and falling to her knees on the carpet, coughing raggedly, both 
hands to her throat.  Jenny applied her key to the other handcuff 
and shortly flashed a smile at Paul.  Now she was standing beside 
him with both hands free.  When she knelt to an ankle cuff, 
however, the key failed to turn.  She tried another.  It failed 
also.  Doggedly she tried a third.

"Oh, no!" cried Paul above the sound of Amy's wracking coughs.

Jenny spun around.  A large man in gray coveralls loomed out of 
the blackness beyond the open main door.  Despite the incongruity 
of his dress she recognized Lt. Calhoun.  The spirit drained out 
of her.  Even if she freed herself, how could she hope to 
overcome him?  Nevertheless she tried the third key.  It, too, 
failed.  She inserted the fourth.

Calhoun slammed the door shut and went immediately to his mother, 
ignoring the prisoners.  The fourth key turned.  Jenny's heart 
leapt momentarily -- but the hasp did not release.  She turned 
the key back and forth, pulling hard enough on the cuff to bruise 
her ankle, but it would not open.

In her son's arms Amy's coughing eased.  He patted her back and 
told her sympathetically, "Go put some ice on those bruises, 
Mamma.  I'll clean up in here."

"Th-thank you, son.  You're a good boy."  With a deep sigh, she 
turned away and left the room, leaving the big man staring at 
Jenny, who slowly straightened up, bearing the wooden face of 
failure.

He strolled forward to stand in front of her, hand extended.

"Leave her alone!" Paul snarled.

Ignoring him, Calhoun said quietly, "Give me the keys."

With a sigh Jenny put them into his hand.

Paul asked, "Would you like to know what happened?"

Calhoun chuckled grimly.  "I already know what happened.  The 
chain marks on Mom's neck tell the tale.  One of you, probably 
_you_, sweet-talked her into carelessness.  I doubt it will 
happen again."  He took a step closer to Jenny.  "You can hardly 
be blamed for trying it, but rebellion always has a price.  If it 
fails the rebels must pay."

At the last word his powerful fist, though thrusting only from 
the hip, buried itself into the pit of her belly.  Breath 
departing in a whoosh, she went over backward to the tile, where 
she lay for a moment as if unconscious.

"You are a son of a bitch!" declared Paul, which earned him the 
big man's attention.

"In a way I'm glad you said that.  It gives me the opportunity to 
caution you against defaming my mother."  With the last word his 
fist sank again into the center of an unanticipating belly.

Paul could not fall over.  He reacted in every other way open to 
him: with an awful scream, gasping breath, then coughs 
interspersed with episodes of wretching that produced little.  On 
the floor below him Jenny's hands had crept to her reddening 
belly.  She began to whimper, cough and wretch similarly.

Stepping over her, Calhoun simply caught her wrists and resnapped 
the dangling cuffs upon them one after the other.  Then he went 
to the control desk and tightened her chains, though somewhat 
less than their previous tautness, still enough to haul her fully 
erect.  He touched other buttons long enough to release some of 
the tension on Paul.  He shook his head at them and passed out of 
the room through the door used by his mother.

Paul allowed himself to groan.  "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.  How 
are you feeling?"

But Jenny was still wheezing.  Her whole lower belly was bright 
red.  After a bit she gasped out her answer.  "I hope he didn't 
ruin me, Paul.  It hurts.  Oh, it hurts!"

"You're a nurse, honey.  Can such a blow to the belly harm 
anything ... permanently?"

"It can ... rupture the intestines ... and other tissues...  P-
Paul, no one ever hurt me this bad before."

"I'm sorry, honey.  I'm so sorry."

They hung in their chains.  Jenny's wheezing and whimpering 
gradually subsided.  At last she said, "It certainly took our 
minds off our dry throats."

He laughed in relief.  "Yes, at least it did that.  We were so 
close to freedom!  Our luck is terrible, you know."

"Worse than you think," she answered.  "I found the key to the 
ankle cuff but the hasp wouldn't turn when I unlocked it."

"Ah ... Just checking, honey, but you did notice there's two 
keyholes in the ankle cuffs, didn't you?"

"T-two?"  Jenny held up her foot, turning it to one side then the 
other.  "My god, two!"

"I don't guess it matters.  He was in the room by then.  If he 
hadn't showed up, you wouldn't have been rushed.  You'd have 
noticed the second hole.  Like I said: terrible luck."



NEXT:  Chapter 26: Studies in Depth
Varangian:  ludmax11@hotmail.com
Kellis:     kellis@dhp.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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