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Subject: {ASSM} The Innocent Fugitives Ch28 {Varkel} (Mg oral ped tort bd sad snuff ws fist)
Date: Sun,  4 Mar 2001 23:10:03 -0500
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The Innocent Fugitives
a Novel by Varkel
Copyright (C) 2001, Varkel



Chapter 28: Commitments



"I don't usually do physicals, Bobbie, because I'm a 
psychiatrist," the young doctor explained nervously, standing in 
the door to her room after shooing her inside.  Cautiously he set 
the occupancy indicator to yellow, meaning official private 
business.  He hadn't seen a nurse on this hall as he strolled 
along it, but he didn't want to explain his behavior to one if 
she happened by.

The girl, head cocked with interest, asked, "What's that, a 
cychopidist?"

"It's psychiatrist, Bobbie.  I explore how you think and behave.  
But first I must examine your body again."

"Oh, good!  I know I'll like that," she said, eyes lighting.  
"Did you think I was pretty?"

"Yes, I did, though that wasn't the --"  He cleared his throat.  
"I've studied your case more closely, Bobbie.  Dr. Felder of 
course did a complete female physical on you, but his emphasis 
was different.  I want to see if I can detect any physical cause 
for your eroticism."

As he spoke, her gown flew over her head and she jumped naked 
onto the bed, spreading her legs.

"Uh, that's not actually necessary, Bobbie," Sonnenschein 
murmured nervously, although he delighted at the sight of her 
exquisite, nearly grown body.  She had marvelously attractive 
limbs for a girl so young, he thought.  He took a breath and 
casually laid his hand high on a soft thigh, thumb digging 
gently.

The flesh beneath her button-like nipples formed incipient 
mounds.  Except for a few silky strands she had no pubic hair.  
His trembling fingers trailed up her body to touch a nipple that 
hardened immediately.  He felt his penis thicken.

The girl had another concern.  "Is that a new word for bum hole, 
doctor?"

"I'm sorry.  What word is that, Bobbie?"

"Cisum.  You wanted to check my rotten cisum."

He cleared his throat again, then laughed slightly.  "Yes, 
perhaps I do.  But don't misunderstand me.  The word is 
_eroticism_.  It means your strong interest in sex."

She looked into his eyes.  "If you want to check me out, Doctor 
Sunny, go ahead.  I'd like it."

His hand caressed her rounded belly, her well-padded ribs, the 
risen nipples, before descending directly to her lumpy clitoris.  
"I think you like to be touched," he observed.  He probed the 
vaginal opening and verified Dr. Felder's claim of yesterday.  It 
was slippery with the fat emulsion secreted for sexual arousal, 
as opposed to the tackiness of urine.  This patient was 
suggestible indeed!

He sighed.  So was her doctor.  She aroused him sexually.  His 
penis had grown painfully hard as he fondled her.  It did not 
surprise him; he knew his weakness from other encounters.  He 
loved immature bodies too much.  Young flesh attracted him so 
powerfully that he had not dared to pursue a career in 
pediatrics.  Then an irony of fate had assigned him to an 
adolescent ward for his psychiatric residency!  He knew he could 
not adequately maintain a professional composure when confronted 
with pubescent beauty.  He had succeeded in doing so yesterday 
because only Dr. Felder had touched her.

"Perhaps it would be better if you put your gown on again," he 
suggested, standing straight and stepping back from the bed.

"But you hardly touched me where it feels best," she protested.

His voice quavered.  "I understand you enjoy being touched."

"As you said, doctor, I like sex," she retorted without 
embarrassment.  "I like to fuck."

"Y-yes, Bobbie," he stammered, nonplused by the girl's boldness.  
"That's why you're here."

"I'm here to be fucked?" she squealed joyfully.

"Keep your voice down," he responded urgently, "and get your gown 
on!"

He heard the door pop open behind him.  Turning his head, he saw 
Nurse Covey's skinny figure hesitating in the doorway.  "Oh, I'm 
sorry, doctor!" she called.  "I didn't know it was you."

His body was between the woman and the girl.  If Covey discovered 
the nudity, Sonnenschein was sure to pay in one coin or another 
for the rest of his tour at Atkins.  With a thrill of fear, he 
responded harshly, "This is a history retrieval session, Nurse 
Covey.  Please leave us."

"Yes, doctor.  Excuse me."  The door thumped shut.

Bobbie's hand closed over his, still lying on her thigh.  "She 
scared you, didn't she?"

"S-scared me?  Why, Bobbie --"

"You tensed up and your face turned pale.  Is it because I'm 
naked?"

"Well --"

"Is it because you were going to fuck me?"

"Bobbie, I can't do that!"

"Yes, you can.  She won't come back now."  The girl spread her 
legs so far apart that both feet extended past the edge of the 
bed.  The hairless labia gaped red.  She winked at him.  "What's 
a better way to check on my eroticism?"

Despite his sinking heart, Sonnenschein undid his trousers and 
pushed them to his knees as he climbed upon the bed.

"We'll have to be quick about it," he warned, scooting closer to 
her.

"Not too quick," she responded with a twinkle.

"I wish I could take all day with you, my little sweetheart, but 
I couldn't stand it if we got caught."

He sank forward and kissed the gaping lower lips, which caused 
the girl to tremble, then straightened his body upon her.  His 
penetration was effortless.

Bobbie exclaimed as she felt a large cock push into her, "Oh, 
doctor!  That feels so good."

"Indeed it does!" Sonnenschein agreed as her tightness gripped 
him.  "Try not to make much noise, baby," he cautioned.  He began 
to plunge in a delirium of pleasure.

The surprise of this encounter and the ease of his seduction had 
aroused Bobbie from the start.  She stifled her excitement with a 
fist balled at her mouth.  As for the young doctor, the ecstasy 
of Bobbie's youth plus the weeks since his last sex -- with a 
skinny and stoned barfly that he could pretend was pubescent -- 
emptied his testicles in short order.  He pressed his face 
against the girl's flaxen head and grunted quietly.

"That was too quick," Bobbie complained when he dismounted her 
and stood next to the bed to adjust his clothes.

"Here, darling," he said, handing her a handkerchief.  "Don't let 
any of my stuff ooze onto the sheets.  The nurse would notice, 
you know."

He was terrified by what he had just done to this pretty girl, 
and he resolved to get himself transferred from her case.  "I 
have to go now.  You won't mention this to anybody, will you?"

"Of course not, silly.  I know better than that."


* * *


Amy reappeared after a few hours.  With a tinkle of chains both 
victims cringed when she paused inside the door and raised her BB 
rifle.  She laughed harshly.  "You're finally beginning to 
learn."

Lowering the rifle, she went to the control desk.  Motors whined 
and the bottom end of the semi-circular sliprings that attached 
Jenny's chains rose from the floor.  Jenny's body rotated 
backwards.  When it reached the horizontal, the woman stopped the 
motors.  Jenny's body sagged between her outstretched wrists and 
ankles, buttocks lowest, about two feet off the floor.  Amy 
pressed other buttons, watching closely as the chains played out, 
lowering Jenny farther until her nether cheeks barely touched the 
tile.

Amy removed her robe and threw it over a chair.  Paul studied the 
body thus revealed.  Though thick-waisted with breasts and belly 
sagging appropriately for a woman whose son had nearly reached 
his fourth decade, she was not fat.  The thighs were marbled with 
cellulite and varicose veins.  The pepper and salt of her head 
was repeated in lush pubic growth.  Dark hair shaded her calves 
and, he was to see eventually, clustered in her armpits.

Holding the rifle under her arm with what appeared to be a fat 
kielbasa in the hand, she stepped around the projecting slip 
rings onto the tile and straddled Jenny's torso, her ankle bones 
against Jenny's ribs.  "Listen to me, Deep Pussy," she commanded 
sternly.  "You have enough slack to throw your body back and 
forth.  You might be able to knock me off my feet.  I warn you: 
if you do that, I shall certainly shoot your eyes out.  Do you 
understand me?"

Jenny's horrified face was below and in front of the woman's 
bush.  "Y-yes, ma'am," she replied weakly.

"I've debated how to punish you for hurting my neck.  At my age 
getting rid of the bruises and soreness will need a couple weeks.  
I've thought about applying another round of BB stings.  They 
would be most effective on your pussy lips, don't you think?  And 
my son would love the way you react when his big cock stretches a 
stung pussy.  But I'm saving that until you give me another 
excuse."  She grinned evilly.  "In the meantime, I have a new 
punishment for you, though considering how you've lived the past 
few months, it may not be as novel for you as for me."

She laid the apparent kielbasa on the floor, where Paul was able 
to identify it as an obscenely huge dildo, and waddled closer 
until her knees were in Jenny's armpits.  "Open that deep throat, 
slut," she cried.

Swish-flack!  She cocked the BB-rifle even though Jenny had 
obeyed with alacrity.  Using both hands she held the rifle off to 
her side with its muzzle near Jenny's head.  She declared 
menacingly, "If you turn your face away or close your mouth, 
you'll find out how it feels to lose an eye."

On the last word her urine sprang out, the major stream splashing 
on Jenny's upper chest.  Amy threw her hips forward while 
rotating them backward, thus redirecting the stream into the 
chained woman's open mouth.  Jenny flinched but recovered.  She 
had understood Amy's intent and taken a deep breath, enabling her 
to release it slowly while blocking the back of her throat with 
her tongue.  She tried not to be aware of what was filling her 
mouth beyond its salty taste.  She had seen videos of people 
accepting mouthfuls willingly from both men and women; apparently 
it was not so horrible as to be intolerable.  But despite all her 
self-persuasion, her gorge rose.  She gagged and sprayed the 
mouthful back at her tormentress along with a small quantity of 
stomach acid.  It seemed that nothing remained of last night's 
meal.  She turned her head away and clenched her eyes shut, 
expecting momentarily to feel true horror in one of them.

But what she heard was raucous laughter.  She looked up 
cautiously into Amy's glee.

"So!  You're not so accustomed to piss in the mouth after all.  
That's a useful datum.  Let's see what you think of our next 
trick."

First Amy fetched the water hose and standing on the tile, washed 
off Jenny's upper body and her own lower extremities.  Returning 
the hose to its cubby, she found a towel in a drawer of the desk 
and dried herself before redonning her robe.  Again she came to 
the tile, now slipping between the projecting sliprings to stand 
with one of Jenny's knees on either side of her waist.

 From the pocket of her robe she took a tube of lubricant and 
smeared it liberally over her right hand.  She grinned at Jenny.  
"The closest you came to childbirth was that abortion after the 
rape, am I right?  What's the largest thing you ever had up your 
pussy?"

Jenny opened her mouth to answer but made a face.  "Gah!"

The older woman laughed.  "For your information, Deep Throat, 
after drinking piss you want to gargle with champagne.  Otherwise 
the taste lingers amazingly."  Her fingers parted Jenny's labia.  
"Hmm.  How many different dicks did you say had been in here, 50 
or more?  Isn't it interesting how so many can bang it with so 
little lasting effect -- that is, until you have to push a baby's 
head back out!  Believe me, _that_ makes a difference! ...  Oh, 
does this hurt?  Think how a baby's head feels, twice as big as 
my hand.  Ha!  Pinching hurts any womb mouth, doesn't it?  Well, 
Miss Deep Pussy, you've got my whole hand in you, up to the 
wrist.  Not so bad at all, is it?"

She backed away, slathering more lubricant on her hand, and 
continued her monolog.  "But what I really wanted to do, for both 
of you, is to make you unafraid of Slim's big cock.  Since you're 
turned up so nicely, Deep Puss, I'll start with you.  Hey, still 
a neat little rose!  We'll have to open it up, won't we.  I 
assure you, some people actually enjoy his monstrous tool."

"Oh, god!" Jenny cried involuntarily.

"Oh, that's just four fingers," Amy explained.  "Here comes the 
thumb."

Paul craned his neck in dread and fascination, but Jenny's 
elevated thigh blocked his view.  Amy looked up at him with a 
leer.  "Too bad you can't see this, honey.  Maybe I can do her 
again later just for you."

"Oh, my god!" Jenny cried, louder now.  "Oh, you're killing me!"

"Not at all," Amy smirked.  "It just feels that way."  She 
twisted her hand back and forth, each turn eliciting a groan from 
her victim.  "The anus is especially sensitive, you know.  It 
reacts to pepper the same as the tongue.  This alien pressure 
upsets it at first, but I assure you --"

Jenny screamed in agony.

Her tormentress laughed.  "Don't care for my assurances, eh?  
Well, that was the knuckle.  From here on it's smooth sailing.  
Hold on a moment while I slick up my forearm."

"Oh, god, oh, god!" moaned Jenny.

"You may have noticed, Miss Deep Asshole, that I cut my nails 
short.  You really have nothing to worry about."  She began 
twisting her arm back and forth.  Paul could see the shoulder 
motion and Jenny's hips twisting in response.  At least the 
groans had become whimpers.

Amy purred, "We're getting close now.  I'll stop at the elbow.  
Many would proceed to the shoulder, but that serves no useful 
purpose, unless of course the objective is to agonize the 
recipient.  Feels like a gas pain, does it?  But that is not my 
concern.  I seek only to _spare_ you pain!  I refer of course to 
the pain you might otherwise feel upon the occasion of Slim's 
next visit here.  Now you will accommodate him most readily."

Paul found his voice.  "Slim?  Do you have more than one son?"

"Only the one.  You know him as Lt. Calhoun.  He used to be quite 
slim, thus the nickname, but he filled out as a man after I 
killed his father.  Well, now, Miss Truly Deep Ass, that's far 
enough.  Brace yourself.  You'll find what happens next very, 
very interesting."

Jenny screamed again as Amy suddenly withdrew with the sound of 
loud suction.  Her raucous laugh sounded again.  "That's what I 
believe they would call a 'gasser,' in an earlier age.  Now let 
me show you what we've accomplished."

She stooped for the dildo.  Again Paul could not see exactly 
where it went, but Amy smiled in satisfaction.  "You see?  14 
inches of thick rubber cock up your ass and you hardly noticed."

The wet dildo reappeared.  She held it up with a reddened arm, 
wet and greasy to the elbow, and leered at Paul.  "Your turn!"

She backed around Jenny's sliprings and knelt before him, leaving 
Jenny whimpering with heaving chest, tears running from the 
corners of her eyes and dripping from her earlobes.  Amy applied 
a little more lubricant to her fingers.  Paul felt its coldness 
in his crack, then a shock of penetration that twisted and grew 
painful beyond even the lieutenant's invasion.

The woman grinned up at him as her shoulder worked.  "I'll suck 
your dick once I get well started.  You may even come to like 
being ass-fucked.  Lots of people do, you know."

He was not destined to find out.  When she reached the point of 
presenting her knuckles, he screamed, which was the last thing he 
remembered for some time.


* * *


Sonnenschein awoke with a rampant erection that continued even 
after he had emptied his bladder.  He shuddered in horror at the 
memory of yesterday's recklessness, then shuddered again in 
anticipation of the next inevitable indulgence.  He consciously 
tried to calm himself, to regain a professional demeanor, but he 
knew he would foolishly risk his freedom as well as everything he 
had worked so long to achieve for one more chance to savor that 
child sexually.  He squared his shoulders with a sigh.  He had to 
be careful, he knew, but he also understood that he was a 
hopeless addict.

After completing his morning routine he found her at the end of a 
corridor gazing out the window at a small park three floors 
below.  She was so irresistibly lovely.

"Good morning, Bobbie," he said softly from behind her.

She turned quickly and her face brightened at the sight of him.  
"Hi, doctor," she grinned, wriggling her hips provocatively.

"Let's go into your room," he suggested in a low voice, glancing 
over his shoulder to verify that no nurse was in sight.  He 
turned again to her.  The girl's head came just to his chin.

"Are we going to do it again?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Please, Bobbie, keep your voice down!" he cautioned, pushing her 
toward the open doorway with light pressure on the shoulder.  "We 
can't do it just now," he said when they were inside the room.  
"But I would like to kiss you."

They kissed as adults.  He marveled at the feel of her in his 
arms.  She was not in fact such a little girl.

"I won't be back for a day and a half," he told her quietly.  
"You can wait that long, can't you?"

"Oh, but Doctor Sunny, we've hardly done anything."  Her face 
showed concern and disappointment.

"Would you miss me so much?"

Her eyes twinkled.  "I can get along.  But you've barely started 
to check all my erottencism."

"Eroticism.  Please, Bobbie.  I'll find a way for us to do more."

Her hands rubbed the front of his britches.  What she found 
please her.  "This wants me," she declared.

"Oh, god, of course I want you.  You don't know how --"

"Ahem!" sounded behind him.  He immediately stepped back from the 
girl's arms and turned with a chill to face a large black woman 
in a nurse's uniform.

"Hi, Alice," Bobbie cried joyfully and rushed to the woman for an 
embrace.

"Good morning, darling," the nurse replied, nuzzling the girl's 
head with her face.  "Why don't you go down the hall?  I need to 
talk with Dr. Sonnenschein."

Alice watched the girl leave and then turned to the doctor.  
"Barry," she said with a shake of her head, "I told myself, 
'That's not what it looks like.'  But then I said, 'You're right, 
it's worse.'  You have a real problem, man."

"Do you intend to inform on me," he asked, quivering in terror.  
The woman stood half a head taller than he.

"I only saw you kissing the girl, or so I thought."  She smiled 
slightly.

"Actually, Alice, I was just looking into her ear."

"Through the throat?"  She looked at him seriously.  "You'd 
better control yourself, Barry, or get yourself excused from 
seeing Bobbie, although I don't know how you'd manage that."

Barry hung his head.  "What am I going to do?  You know how she 
is.  She drives me crazy."

"How about practicing some self restraint and treat her like any 
other patient?"

"But I don't think she belongs here.  She shouldn't be a patient 
at all."

"She's crazy about sex, Barry, and she's scarcely thirteen."

"That may be unusual at her age, but it's not abnormal.  Do you 
think we should lock up all the horny boys, too?"

Alice displayed a wide mouth full of pearly teeth as she grinned 
broadly.  "You have a point, doctor.  But," she continued with 
resumed severity, "you still must keep her at arm's length."

"I understand that, Alice.  I must remain professional."

"More than that.  Have you forgot the laws against statutory 
rape?"  She insisted forcefully, "You need to behave like a 
responsible adult!"

"Of course, but what about the girl?  You know what she wants.  
Do you suggest we tie her to the bed and drug her until she's 
little more than a zombie?"

"You're the doctor, Barry.  What do you suggest?"  She sneered.  
"Fuck therapy?"

He grinned wryly.  "I'm sure you think it would be selfish and 
irresponsible of me to suggest it.  But I do think the girl would 
be happier with something of that sort."

Alice shook her head soberly.  "Bobbie doesn't belong here, 
that's true.  It's bad for the girl, and you're in great danger 
of ruining your career because of her."  The large woman paused 
to think.  "Do you suppose you could prescribe some time away 
from the hospital for her, perhaps on outings with a volunteer?"

Barry's face lit with a smile.

"I shouldn't be doing this," she said, placing a hand on his 
shoulder, "but I know just the right person.  She's a volunteer 
on the post-op ward.  She's very broad minded about these matters 
and very discrete."

Barry took a deep breath and declared sheepishly, "You seemed to 
have changed your mind about this all of a sudden."

"This is an unusual situation, man.  I don't really know what to 
think, except that we need to get Bobbie away from this hospital 
and into a home setting."

"Her parents -- the people she wants as parents -- are in jail 
for murder."

"I know, I know.  So it's up to us to find her some other folks, 
because you know the child welfare people won't do anything to 
help her."

"Is that really our responsibility?" he asked, suddenly unsure.

"She gotten to us both, Barry, like an infection, except that I 
don't lust after her body."

He cringed, unable to dispute the truth of her implication.


* * *


Their life settled into a routine.  Calhoun would appear with the 
cuisine of one fast-food restaurant or another, always more than 
they could actually eat or drink -- though they tried! -- which 
they understood constituted their supper.  Afterwards he gave 
them "baths," invariably including upside-down enemas and a 
douche for Jenny, following which he would dally with them for 
perhaps an hour.  Indeed after experiencing Amy's hand and arm 
they found his merely masculine equipment, however huge, to be 
relatively tolerable.  Mostly Paul found it so, though once it 
explored both of the woman's avenues.

Whenever he addressed it, Calhoun collected Paul's seminal 
offering easily and quickly.  Jenny wanted to tease her fellow 
victim about his too-obvious enjoyment of the homosexuality, but 
forbore when she caught his eye after the next one.  He had 
blushed to his toes.

Between such suppers Amy did not always appear, to the expressed 
relief of both or when she did, to their round-eyed fear.  
Sometimes she pinched Paul's genitals and put her hand again once 
into Jenny's vagina, but her attention to the couple was not 
primarily sexual.  It seemed that she wanted them mainly as an 
audience for her life.

She brought a stack of ledger books, set them on the carpet 
beside the control desk, tightened chains enough to hold her 
naked victims erect, fetched a chair, the BB rife and a ledger to 
the edge of the carpet before them, and began to read.  These 
ledgers were her journal.

"I'll begin with the interesting part," she stated.  They learned 
that some 15 years previous she had murdered her wealthy husband 
by driving an ice-pick into his ear while he slept on his side.  
She had waited to withdraw the weapon until well after the heart 
stopped, then filled the almost bloodless ear with melted beeswax 
containing a bit of yellow food color.  With her son's complicity 
she had revealed to the authorities an imaginary history of 
severe chest pains and refusal of medical attention.  She 
revealed only to her diary the man's expressed intention the next 
day to report finding the remains of a servant's retarded son, 
missing for six months, buried in the garden and the child's 
alcohol-preserved genitals in a jar in Amy's desk.

During that reading Paul made the mistake of scratching his 
shoulder with his beard, producing a shiver of the chains that 
drowned out the woman's voice temporarily.  Whish-flack-pow!  
Paul yelled out at a vicious sting just above his navel that 
broke the skin.  "Next time I'll pop your cock," she warned with 
a glare.  The chains did not rattle again.

Though she had killed her husband, she missed him terribly, and 
proceeded to seduce the servants and her son.  When the gardener 
tried to blackmail her for incest, mother and son together killed 
the man and served his torso at a barbecue.  Unfortunately the 
mother hinted too plainly at the source of the "fine fresh pork," 
forcing the son to kill all the remaining servants.  After 
carefully arranging the evidence, the forensically trained son 
set fire to the rural mansion, which had promptly burned to the 
ground, leaving investigators to find that the arsonist, a 
discharged servant, had suffered a change of heart and reentered 
the burning structure to awaken mother and son, but had been 
overcome by smoke before reaching the servants' quarters.

Amy had moved into a hotel, but six months later the woman in the 
adjacent suite died after being horribly mutilated.  Again her 
son provided an alibi that overcame the damning circumstantial 
evidence of Amy's purse found at the death scene with bloody 
fingerprints on it -- fortunately the victim's.  But now too many 
people were taking an interest in Amy.  Her thoughtful son 
purchased this warehouse in Bering and installed her in its well-
concealed luxurious internal apartment, where she had remained in 
hiding for almost 14 years.

She looked up with a smug smile.  "Thank god for my loving son.  
He knows my weakness and brings me entertaining diversions from 
time to time."


* * *


A winter storm swirled in the street behind Sonnenschein as he 
entered the cozy tea room in downtown Chicago.  Bobbie, obviously 
kneeling on her seat, caught his attention with a vigorous wave.  
At the sight of her pretty face the man felt a sudden emptiness 
in his entire torso.  He almost stumbled in his excitement as he 
moved across the room to where she waited with an old black woman 
in a booth near the front window of the shop.

"You must be Dr. Sonnenschein," the woman said graciously when he 
came up to the table.  "I'm Elsie Griswold, a friend of Alice."

"How do you do, Ms. Griswold?" Sonnenschein said, taking the 
woman's hand gently into his.  "Have you and Bobbie been enjoying 
this cold morning?"

"We were inside mostly," Bobbie piped up, "at a huge museum that 
had a lot of strange stuff."

"Yes, the Field Museum," the woman agreed.  "I must say it was 
rather tiring."

"Well, I'll be able to take her off your hands for the next few 
hours, Ms. Griswold.  You can catch your breath while Bobbie and 
I have a long talk in a relaxed atmosphere."

"I'm looking forward to a little nap, Dr. Sonnenschein.  My 
apartment is not far away.  Shall we meet back here, say at four 
thirty?"  The woman stood.

"Yes, of course, ma'am.  We'll be here promptly."

The woman gave Bobbie a gentle pat on the cheek and a smile, then 
turned away and departed.

"Talk!"  Bobbie pouted.  "Is that all we'll be doing?"

"Yes, Bobbie.  We have a lot to talk about, but you won't be 
disappointed."

"You don't need words for what I want, Dr. Sonnenschein."

"You may call me Barry, when we're alone, and yes, I understand 
what you mean.  But we'll actually have to discuss a few things, 
too."


* * *


"Where did you get those pretty clothes?" Sonnenschein asked 
after Bobbie shed her parka and tossed it on a nearby chair.  She 
was clad in a green woolen skirt and white blouse under a beige 
vest.  The garments did not match exactly, nor did they appear to 
be new.

"Mrs. Griswold gave them to me," the girl replied from the window 
where she gazed out at a panorama of Chicago and Lake Michigan 
from Sonnenschein's fortieth floor apartment.

"Come sit on the bed next to me," he suggested, patting the space 
beside him.

She turned and grinned.  "I'm eager too," she said and hurried 
over to him.

The only thought in his head was the certainty that he was going 
to undress and fuck this pretty girl who seemed to be so 
innocent.  The well-understood fact that she was not innocent at 
all eased his guilty conscience just marginally.  He rested a 
palm on her closest knee.

"Some grown ups like to pretend," she remarked slyly.

"Pretend what?"

"Some guys like to make believe I'm just a little girl who 
doesn't know what's going on.  Their hands get all wobbly and 
they often slobber."

"Well, I won't make believe, Bobbie, because we've already done 
it once before.  But we could play a game if you like."

"Games take too long, Barry.  I want to do it right away."

But he was in no hurry, now that his goal was so readily at hand.  
He took off her shoes and anklets, kissing and fondling her legs 
in the process.

"Hurry up," she demanded, removing the vest and unbuttoning her 
blouse.

He slipped the blouse from her shoulders and paused to explore 
her incipient breasts with his mouth.  She pushed at his head 
impatiently.  He quickly removed her skirt and panties and 
scooted the naked girl to the middle of the large bed.  He stood 
to undress looking down at her.  Her knees were raised high and 
she fondled her inner thighs and labia in expectation of the 
impending pleasure.

"That's what I want!" she exclaimed in delight at the sight of 
his fat erection.  When he moved to lick on her, she protested, 
"I'm already wet."

He positioned his body between her welcoming, outspread legs.  
"Would you rather be on top, darling?" he asked solicitously.  
"You look so small beneath me."

"I like it down here, daddy," she almost whispered.  "I want you 
to be in charge of me."

He positioned himself and pressed slowly into the girl.  They 
both sighed in pleasure as their hips began to oscillate.  He 
relished the ecstatic tightness but found himself wishing 
contrarily that she were larger so he could kiss more than just 
the top of her flaxen head.

They fucked joyfully for an eternity, at least five or six 
minutes, before Bobbie's moans gave way to an orgasmic screech 
and she scratched his shoulders.  She came quickly again, before 
he began to pound her mercilessly at the approach and arrival of 
his own enormous, grunting climax.

"I can't breathe," she complained shortly after he had finished, 
so he rolled off her and took her into his arms.

"There, darling," he murmured into her ear, "do you feel more 
relaxed now?"

She cuddled to him and pressed her face to his neck.  "Can we do 
it some more?" she asked in a muffled voice.

"Of course, sweetheart," he cooed into her ear.  "In just a 
little while.  Would you like a coke?"

"Oh, yeah.  My mouth's dry."

She drank half of the tumbler when he returned, then sighed 
expansively.

"My, you were thirsty!" he exclaimed, removing the glass to the 
nightstand.  "You remember I said we had a lot to talk about?"

"And I said we don't need talking."

He smiled.  "Maybe if we talk, it will help me get ready to 
please you again."

"You mean your softie?  I know a faster way than talking."

As she spoke she rolled forward and fell upon his lap.  He jumped 
in shock when her mouth completely enclosed him.  His hands rose 
to interfere but froze near her head.  The table lamp shadowed 
the pink, healthy cheeks that collapsed in suction around him.  
Her eyes twinkled up at him and a chubby hand closed gently on 
his testicles.  He took a deep breath and stroked down her back 
into her buttocks cleft.  Two fingers probed her labia.  She 
arched her back, easing his access.

Shortly she raised her head proudly, licking her lips.  "See what 
I mean?"

"More than you know," he admitted with a sigh.  He lifted her 
armpits.  "Come up on top of me.  I can bear your weight a lot 
better than you can mine.  We can fuck and talk at the same time, 
you know."

Shortly she lay aligned atop him, his turgid manhood well 
engulfed between her legs, hips rolling gently.  She spread her 
elbows on his shoulders and propped her head up with a grin.  
"What did you want to talk about?"

"You remember the tape you made with Paul Lanning?"

"Yeah, I remember, only I think of him as Paul Smith."

"How real were those stories, Bobbie?"

"As real as your cock."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't lie.  Except when somebody is trying to make me do 
something I don't want."

He shook his head and declared soulfully, "You are such a 
remarkable person, sweetheart, really a very good girl despite 
the people all your life who have taken advantage of you, 
including me!"

She bounced her hips hard and laughed.  "Including you?  Remember 
who's on top."

He responded dryly, "I can't forget that!  Tell me something 
else, something you hardly mentioned on the tape.  How did you 
feel about all those things they made you do?"


* * *


Before leaving them after his regular visit, Calhoun had as usual 
played out enough chain to reach the carpet and extinguished the 
lights.  Past the need for words, they sank into each other's 
arms.  It seemed that they were hardly asleep, however, before 
the lights returned and a door crashed against its stop.  The 
couple jerked apart, rising to their feet and stared wide-eyed in 
expectation of a vengeful Amy.  But the big man returned their 
stare from the open outer door, one hand on the light switch, the 
other bracing a human body draped over his shoulder.

He kicked the door shut, set his burden on the floor propped 
against the wall, and proceeded to the control desk.  As their 
chains tightened, the couple studied the newcomer closely.  He 
was a white man with a beard, hatless, in ragged clothing and 
scuffed boots.  His head slumped on his chest.

With the couple erect but not so uncomfortable as he might have 
made them, Calhoun slung the man back over his shoulder and 
brought him to the tile, letting him down none too gently on the 
hard floor.

They had learned that questioning Calhoun when he was on his feet 
was a chancy and dangerous undertaking that could readily obtain 
a fist in the belly for answer.  So they hung quietly in their 
chains and watched.

Calhoun stripped the garments quickly off the body, apparently a 
man of the streets, probably homeless, a drifter.  He was almost 
skinny, seemingly in his thirties or early forties.  He had 
plenty of hair and accompanying body odor.  He had recently 
urinated into his clothing.  His arms and legs showed bruises but 
no blood.  He was pale, though not with the pallor of death.

Calhoun left him lying on the tile and went to a nearby closet, 
returning with several chains over his arm.  He began by clicking 
padded cuffs on the man's wrists and ankles.  Using his great 
strength freely, he soon chained the new victim erect by means of 
eyebolts set into floor and ceiling, previously unnoticed by Paul 
and Jenny.  These attachments were adjacent to but apart from the 
sliprings that admitted Paul and Jenny's chains.  Presumably the 
new victim would not enjoy the possibility of remote inversion.

Nose wrinkling from the odor, Calhoun fished into the man's 
pockets and produced a wallet.  Reading a card, he declared 
loudly, "Sir and Madam, I have the honor to introduce Mr. Harvey 
Wellington Moore, age 38, whose residence according to this is 
Buffalo, New York.  I believe Mr. Moore is suffering from an 
overdose of Kentucky's non-tax-paid finest.  I fear that he shall 
not have pleasant dreams."

Calhoun gathered up the man's clothing and departed through the 
interior door.

Paul called experimentally, "Mr. Moore! ...  Mr. Harvey Moore, do 
you hear me?"

When no response occurred, Jenny asked, "What do you think this 
means, Paul?"

"No good for Mr. Moore, I'm afraid."

"I don't smell any liquor."

"Above the piss?  Are you surprised?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if Calhoun had thumped his head.  And 
that worries me.  So far they haven't actually done anything 
irreversible.  But somehow I don't think Mr. Moore's visit will 
be a long one."

When Calhoun returned, Amy trailed just behind him.  Both wore 
their "working clothes," as Paul thought of them: bathrobes, 
belted only around Amy, and slippers.  Amy's BB rifle was tucked 
under her arm.  She studied the new prisoner while her son took 
the water hose from its cubby.

"Harvey, you say?  He'll be more fun awake," she remarked.

Swish-flack-pow!  Harvey twitched, but his drooping head did not 
rise.

"That might work eventually," Calhoun agreed, pointing the 
nozzle, "but let's see how he reacts to cold water."

The forceful stream played upon the man's head, chest and 
genitals, splashing also upon Paul and Jenny, who nevertheless 
watched for a reaction avidly as Calhoun and his mother.  
Harvey's shoulders and hips writhed.  "Oh, god!" he called, eyes 
blinking.  "Oh, god!"

Calhoun walked onto the tile behind the man, careful to keep the 
hose centered on the dangling body to prevent wetting the room 
beyond.

"Yee-ow!" cried Harvey as Calhoun thrust the nozzle into his 
anus.  The cry became a continuing scream as the nozzle lingered.  
When Calhoun removed it, the anus expelled a thick stream of 
stained water that Calhoun quickly washed down the drain.

"God damn!" cried Harvey, swiveling his head to regard Calhoun 
with wide eyes.  "God damn!"

Calhoun grinned at his mother, shutting off the water.  "Another 
vote for the cold enema as a reviver."

Her lip curled.  "Messy."

"So's childbirth."  He coiled the hose and restored it to the 
wall.  Returning before his prisoners, he asked with a grin, 
"How're you feeling, Mr. Moore, now that you're able to feel 
again?"

Harvey shook his head violently.  "Hurts!"

"More than a little hangover, Harvey?"

Harvey took a deep breath and looked around.  "You ain't the 
cops."

Calhoun chuckled.  "You might be surprised about that, Harvey.  
Well, Mom, what about him?"

"Oh, he'll do," the older woman responded irritably, "except how 
can I operate with him straight up and down like that?  Can't you 
chain him to a table?"

"Well, I could swap him with Ms. Collier, I suppose, and roll 
your cart in to put under his middle."  He looked at his 
wristwatch.  "But I don't have much time, Mom.  I've got to leave 
here in five minutes."

She sneered, "To see that woman of yours you won't tell me 
about?"

"What woman?" he asked too innocently.

She sniffed, nostrils flaring.  "Go on, then!  Get out of here.  
Don't let me waste any more of your precious time."

"Now, Mom --"

"Leave me alone, I tell you!  I'll make do with him like he is."  
She whirled about and almost ran out of the room.  Calhoun chased 
after her, "Mom, I'm sorry if --"  The door slammed behind them.

Harvey looked Jenny up and down.  "Nice tits."

"You son of a bitch," Paul murmured viciously, "you'd better 
think about your own situation."

"What for?  I've been in worse places."

"No, you haven't, Harvey," Paul retorted implacably.  "You're 
going to die in this one."

"Who says?"

Jenny interrupted, "Maybe you won't.  If you survive this, tell 
the cops to come to 608 Harget Street.  Tell the _state_ cops!"

"Is that where we are?" asked Paul in wonder.  "How do you know?"

"Because I paid attention," she snapped with asperity.  "608 
Harget Street.  Please remember that, Harvey."

"But what's going on?  Who are these people?"

"People out of a nightmare," said Jenny.

"What do you mean?"

When she only turned her face away, Paul took up the 
conversation, relating many of their adventures since arriving.  
Harvey displayed wide-eyed interest.  Paul was still talking when 
the interior door opened and Amy pushed her cart through it.

Apparently Paul had failed to communicate the essentially random 
nature of Harvey's imprisonment.  As Amy positioned her cart on 
the tile before him and turned back for her chair, Harvey 
declared mournfully, "Lady, you've got the wrong man, you know."

Fetching the chair, the woman chuckled.  "No, Harvey.  Mr. 
Lanning is the wrong man.  You're the right one."

"The right one for what?"

"Sex reassignment."

"Say what?"

"You mean, say it differently?"  Her hand lifted his sunken 
manhood.  "It means turning this little doodle inside out."

"Wh-what?"

"Doing fully what you only begin when you skin it back like this 
--  Shit!"  She snatched her hand away.  "No, you aren't the 
right man, either!"

"Huh?"

"You have a huge chancroid covering almost the whole glans!  God 
damn it, I told him somebody with a _healthy_ cock!"

Harvey's expression changed.  "You mean you'll let me go?"

She smiled in a manner that seared away his hopefulness.  
Rummaging in the drawer of her cart, she found and unfolded a 
straight razor, then took out a Mason jar.  "I shall do you a big 
favor, Harvey."  She unscrewed the lid on the Mason jar and let 
it sit open.

He eyed the straight razor.  "A big _favor_?"

She unrolled a latex glove onto her left hand and grasped his 
testicles with it.  The razor flashed around and upward.  Harvey 
screamed, as full-throated a sound as any woman might produce.  
With her gloved hand she transferred his intact genitalia from 
his groin to the Mason jar, calmly lowering the bloody razor to 
the cart top and screwing the lid on the jar.

The arteries that serve the male genitals are far from the 
largest in the human body.  Nevertheless they readily 
exsanguinate it if they are opened without staunching.  Thin 
streams of blood squirted from the man's groin with each 
heartbeat, falling thickly on the tile, lesser streams running 
down his legs.

He twisted fiercely, causing his even simpler set of chains to 
rattle.  "You cut it off!" he accused shrilly.  "You cut it off!"  
His scream was one of incredulous pain.

"Now it won't infect you," she said with a superior smile, 
closing up her cart.

"Well, for God's sake, stop the blood!" he cried, eyes bulging.

She retorted, "I do nothing for God's sake."

"Please, lady, please don't kill me!"

"Why not?" she sniffed.  "What use is a man without cock and 
balls?"

"Oh, god, please!  _Please_!"

But she turned the cart around, pushed it to the door accompanied 
by his agonizing entreaties, and passed beyond, slamming the door 
behind her with her foot.

Harvey rolled his eyes wildly at Paul, then Jenny.

"For God's sake, _do_ something!  I'm bleeding to death."

Paul shook his head.  "I'm truly sorry, Harvey, but you can 
plainly see we can do nothing.  If it had been me instead of you, 
it would be all the same except I'd be the one dying."

Jenny observed quietly, "That woman is truly a monster."

"I went to jail for stealing, that's all.  I never hurt anyone.  
Please, God, help me, please, God!"

Harvey continued in that manner for a while, voice and struggles 
growing weaker, until he finally sagged, quiet in his chains.  
Now the blood only dripped.  Now his pallor was deathly.  The 
tile around him was bright red.

Jenny was crying silently.  She murmured through her tears, "At 
least they say bleeding to death is painless."

"You think so?" Paul retorted through clenched teeth.  "I think 
not when you don't want it to happen."

"If you want to think about something," she noted, her own voice 
firming, "try thinking about what this means for us."

Paul sighed.  "I know.  I can't say I'm surprised."



NEXT:  Chapter 29: Ruth
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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