THE ADJUSTERS

48

Awhirl

The ward has gone dark for the night. Everyone’s asleep. I have my nightlight, of course, and I’m happy about that, because a soft light is what’s best for my mood right now.

Everything is quiet. Last week, they transferred me into a double room with the redhead girl called Allison. I like her. She’s smart, even through the slight dulling of the drugs they give us. It’s not too too difficult to guess what her particular kink is—she’s always sucking on a lollipop, and Cassandra’s nickname for her is Cock-Sucker. That Richard Sanderson sometimes blushes when Cassandra says that tells me that he’s partaken of Allison’s particular skills. Probably at the party thrown by that pig Gutierrez that he attended, that party where he first fucked me. Or where I first fucked him.

My name is Jennifer Hansen, and when I’m not drugged up to my eyeballs, I’m a raging slut that can’t control her cravings to be taken, and taken hard. Which is why I’m locked up in this insane asylum called the Institute. But I’ve got an escape plan.

The Pig is throwing a party tomorrow night. A party. That’s code for: he arranges for a bunch of us patients to be taken off our meds—with that cute side-effect of unleashing the full force of that Syndrome everyone here has that turns girls into sex-starved lunatics of one kind or another except for me because I don’t have that Syndrome but instead was programmed by that bastard Biff months ago to much the same effect—and then brought somewhere in the Institute and given to what I guess are friends of his for sexual favors. Basically, he turns us into whores for the night.

All of this is according to Sanderson, by the way, because while I know I’ve taken part of those parties, I can’t recall much from them. When I go full slut, my mind goes bye-bye. Thanks Biff. Fucker.

As I said, the Pig is throwing another party tomorrow night. And that’s when Sanderson and I will make our move. The Pig’s friends must enter the build somewhere—so it’s just a matter of finding out where, and then go out that way. Sounds simple enough. But it can’t be—I’m trying to think of all possible eventualities without actually being spooked by them. And sometimes I think it’s all silly: I’m not in a prison. I’m in a mental institution, which arguably is exactly where I belong, because let’s be honest, I’m not entirely normal right now. Not by a long shot. But not only have I read enough institutionalization horror stories to make me want to run away from here screaming, but the Pig also seems to have plans for me. It looks like he wants to sell me. And I’ve been asking around, asking Mouse, asking others, and indeed, girls have gone missing. But no one talks about it. And even if they did talk about it—who the hell listens to crazy girls?

So here I am, thinking of all possible eventualities, thinking that maybe we won’t be able to find our way to the exit, that maybe the Pig or one of his goons—does he even have goons? Doctor Agnieska? That large orderly, Rasmussen? Cassandra?—will catch us before we make it out, that maybe Institute security will be waiting for us right outside the door, or if not them then the police, that maybe we just won’t get an opportunity to get away at all, that we won’t be left alone, that there won’t be a way out, and that I’ll be trapped here forever.

I take a deep breath. I need to calm down.

Eventualities. Whatever happens, I have to make sure that there’s a trail that Daniel can follow to find me. And the only way I have of doing that, since Biff’s programming keeps me from getting in touch with him or anyone I know from my previous life, is to write a story that hopefully will give Daniel enough hints about my whereabouts.

Biff left that as a backdoor, once he discovered I had some talent in spinning tales. He would get me to write up stories, thinly veiled fictionalized versions of real events, so that he could not only read them himself as cheap porn, but also send them to Daniel to antagonize him, something Biff enjoyed doing almost more than he enjoyed fucking me.

And so here I am, putting the finishing touches on a new story, Charlie and the Convent of Oblivion, a recasting of the events that led me here, and trying to get the damn thing done before the party so that if everything goes to shit there and I end up back in a coma or whatever it was they did to me, I still have some hope that Daniel can find me. If only I could tell people who I am, or how to get in touch with Daniel or my mom or someone—anyone—none of this would be necessary.

I have to stop thinking like that. It’s not helping. It’s not helping at all. I close my eyes. Tears form underneath my eyelids.

Dammit! I don’t have time for this!

I get back to writing. It’s tough to write on a tablet—the stupid touchscreen keyboard is not as responsive as a real keyboard, and I can’t touch-type. Add to that the fact that whatever drugs they’re giving me that’s keeping most of my body urges at bay is muddling my brain a bit, and it’s no wonder it’s taking me forever. I only have a final scene to write, the one where my heroine escapes the clutches of the sisters of the Covenant of Whispered Inspiration—CWI, the Craven-Wilford Institute—and I can’t help but put a bit of an aggrandizing spin on it. I do have to make it dramatic. I want this to be published.

I don’t know how things are going to play out. In the past, before a party, Doctor Agnieska would show up during one of her rounds, and would tamper with the medication that kept me sedated. Now that I’m up and awake, I have no idea what the process will be. The uncertainty is not helping.

I can’t think about this now. I have to focus. I have to finish the story.

Three hours later, I’m still at it, cursing. I like writing, but not under pressure, and never to a deadline.

When Sanderson shows up, toward the beginning of his shift, he says hello, but all I do is grunt. He’s taken aback, and I have to reassure him that it’s not him, that it’s just me being stuck on the last few paragraphs. I know he doesn’t understand why I’m so hung up on the story. He doesn’t understand because I haven’t explained it to him, because I can’t explain it to him. All I can say is that it’s important. Because it is. It’s my lifeline to my past. The lifeline that will get Daniel back to me. I have to tell myself that, otherwise the darkness that is threatening to overpower me will do just that, drown me in a curtain of black.

I write the last sentence Where are you, Oliver? she thought. I need you! and feel it so much it hurts. Where are you Daniel? Are you still thinking of me? Are you still dreaming of me? Are you still looking for me? I was there at the Spirited Flesh, at that stupid Spring Amateur Show, sucking off the DJ or something backstage, when Daniel confronted Biff. I know that Daniel knows what happened to me. But maybe he’s figured that I wasn’t worth it. Maybe he’s figured that I’m damaged goods now, that Biff got his dirty paws on me and ruined me and frankly who would want me now? Or maybe he’s just given up.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Sanderson is at my bedside, looking concerned. He appears distorted through my tears, and that’s when I notice I’m crying. I wipe my eyes, sniffle.

“Jennie’s fine,” I reassure him. “It’s just… the story is a bit emotional, that’s all.”

“You’ve been going at this nonstop for the last three days,” he says. He doesn’t say what’s really on his mind: that I should be concentrating on the upcoming party. Not that he has any bright ideas on what I should be thinking about specifically—Sanderson is a sweet kid and a hell of a charmer in his own way, but he’s not the sharpest pencil in the drawer.

“Yes, and Jennie’s done,” I say, saving the work on my tablet, and handing it over to him. He grabs it with a confused look.

“Jennie would like you to send it off to the email address at the top of the file, with the attached cover letter.”

The tablet is not set up for communication. The wireless has been disabled. It’s really meant to be used as an e-reader. And to play games, of course. I suspect I’m the only one who’s ever used it for something productive. We do have access to a computer room with computers set up for email and the web and all the good stuff, but it requires prior authorization and a psychological assessment, and I don’t have time for any of that.

“Can I read it?” Sanderson asks. He’s been wondering about what I’ve been writing all week.

“If you want. But please send it out before anything else. Today. As soon as you can.”

“Perhaps we should worry about—”

“Richard,” I say, taking his hand in mine and bringing it to my lips, kissing it softly, looking deep into his blue eyes. “Please. Listen to Jennie: send it out before you do anything else. It’s very important. Please.”

“Huh—okay.”

“Promise Jennie.” Another kiss, this time on the tip of his index finger. “Promise Jennie.”

He nods. “Huh, I promise.”

I slide his finger between my lips, sucking on it softly. He moans.

“Good boy,” I smile at him after letting his hand go. “Thank you.”

* * *

Doctor Agnieska shows up later in the day, like I thought she might. She has made herself pretty scarce ever since Doctor Dante woke me up, but I’m still nominally her charge, and she takes care of my injections.

My medication regimen comes in two forms: pills every three days, and an injection every two weeks. I’m not entirely sure what does what, but Sanderson told me the pills are fairly standard psychiatric fare, while the injections pack the real punch—and indeed, they leave me fuzzy-headed for the rest of the day. Considering that I’m going to have to deal with those myself once I’m out of here, I should start paying more attention.

For the last couple of days, I’m pretty sure my pills have been sugar pills, or whatever placebos are made with. I feel much hornier, more easily aroused by external stimuli. I’ve caught myself looking at Sanderson, Rasmussen, even that pig Gutierrez with interest, imagining them pushing me down to the ground and spreading my legs wide like a good little slut and thrusting into me in one hard shove that takes my breath away. My inner slut is waking up, and she’s hungry. I don’t like it—I’m about to lose control, and losing control is bad.

Agnieska gives me a cursory inspection, asking the usual questions, pleasant, quiet, affable. She reminds me a lot of Mouse, except less extreme. Mouse always gives the impression that she’s expecting someone to hit her at any point, and that she would welcome it, if not actually relish it. Agnieska is more subdued. She just doesn’t have a lot of will. The part of me that Biff trained to be the perfect sexual toy can read through Agnieska like in a book written in big fat bold black letters: take me, I won’t put up a fight. I could break her like that, I know deep inside me—and that knowledge makes me wet. But I can’t afford to mess things up. I need her to get me to Gutierrez’s party tonight.

Agnieska’s more nervous than usual. She fumbles, and she pretty much refuses to look me in the eyes. I wonder if she’s picking up on the vibes I’m sending. Vibes which will only get worse if she does what I am certain she will do: inject me with something that is not my usual meds, something that will take me quickly to that place where poof, my mind is gone, and I’m the raging slut Biff wanted me to be.

She pulls out a syringe. “Come on, sweetie. You know the drill. It’s time.” Her voice is gentle, and just a tiny bit shaky.

I extend my arm.

And just at that moment, Doctor Dante enters the room. Agnieska freezes.

“Don’t stop on my account, doctor,” he says in his strong voice. “Carry on.”

Agnieska looks up at him, her hand not moving.

“I just wanted to see how the patient was doing. Don’t worry,” he says, genially, “I’m not checking up on your work.” I’m not sure I believe him, myself. “But everyone else is busy getting their own shots, so I figured I’d take advantage of it to see how your patient is adapting to the vertical world.”

Agnieska is trembling slightly as she wipes the pit of my arm with alcohol.

“So, Jennie,” he says, crouching before me, looking at me with clinical detachment. “How are you doing? Any problems? Anything off? You said you had headaches last week. How are they doing?”

He looks good, crouched before me, all manly and doable. Part of me wants to feel his strong hands on my body, caressing me, squeezing me.

“Jennie’s fine, doctor. A bit tired.” I don’t want to go through the interrogation. I don’t want him to take too much of an interest in me. I don’t want anything to disturb the plans for tomorrow.

Yes, I’ve been having headaches, and yes, they have been getting worse. And the reason why they’re bothering, beside the pain, is because of this tiny voice inside my head that reminds me of something Biff said way back when: that whatever he did to me had been done to this girl Marjorie that Biff’s fraternity snatched and programmed like I was—and that it had been an experiment by this guy that gave the frat the technology for programming people like computers. But she ended up getting a stroke or something; according to Biff, she was “a vegetable that’s been shipped far away to cater to sick fucks that like to bang dead-like chicks.”

So I can’t help but worry about my headaches suggesting that perhaps, just perhaps, I’m going to stroke as well.

And I can’t tell anyone. I know, I tried. All I can say is that my headaches are getting worse, and that I worry. But I can’t say that now. I have to make sure things go according to plan.

And then the plan derails, right before my eyes.

“Huh, Agnieska,” says Dante, looking at the woman. “What are you injecting her with?”

Agnieska does her best, I think, not to blush, but she stammers. “Her… well… her usual biweekly cocktail. As per her treatment plan.”

“The color seems… off.” He’s frowning.

In a second, he’s going to ask to see the syringe, I know. Fuck. Maybe he’s going to replace it with the real thing, and Agnieska will have to tell Gutierrez that I’ve not been prepared, and I’m pretty sure Gutierrez will not bring me to the party if I’m not in the throes of lust, and then everything goes to shit. Fuck!

Agnieska hesitates. She’s not good at confrontation, I know. “Really?” She looks at the syringe, which she was about to uncap, puts it up to the light coming from the ceiling. “Looks okay to me. Maybe a bit… paler than usual. But we’ve had batches like that in the past.”

Dante feels something’s wrong, I know. He’s reacting to a lot of things. I don’t know quite where that awareness is coming from, but it’s there. He’s reacting to Agnieska’s nervousness, but also to her submissiveness.

Just at that moment, Sanderson pokes his head through the door. He’s been dropping by every fifteen or twenty minutes to check up on me, clearly nervous about tomorrow night, unable to stay away, but also not wanting to ruin things himself.

We exchange glances. He looks from me to Dante to Agnieska and back to me, mouthing something that looks like “What’s going on?”

I mouth back, “Help!” glancing down at Dante, who’s now asking Agnieska for the syringe, as I feared.

Sanderson finally realizes what’s going on, and enters the room.

“Nurse Sanderson,” I say, with just a hint of forced enthusiasm.

Agnieska almost drops her syringe so startled she is, and Dante’s frown deepens.

“Huh… Hey Jennie,” Sanderson says, looking at me, a flickering smile on his face. “Medication time, I see. And you seem popular today, too. Doctor Agnieska, Doctor Dante.” He nods to the two of them. “Do you need a hand?”

Before Agnieska can answer, Dante responds through gritted teeth. “No thank you, nurse. We’re all good here.” Why does he seem so angry?

“Okay then.” Sanderson turns as if to leave. “By the way, Doctor Dante. Your name came up. I was out with Beatrice last week—she’s an actress, did you know? She won an award at some ceremony for amateur theater. Anyway, she said you two hang out sometimes.”

Dante’s jaw is so tight that you could probably crack open a walnut by smashing his chin into one. “She did, did she?” he almost growls. Even Agnieska is taken aback, and she looks from one man to the other.

“Huh… I mean to ask,” continues Sanderson, “how well do you…? I mean… look,” and he drops his voice and gets closer. “I kindda fancy her. Do you have a few minutes to talk? I’d like to get a bit of the dirt—you know, what she likes, what she doesn’t? If that’s not too much of a bother?”

Dante’s teeth grind together, and he stands up and gives Sanderson a long look and then stomps out of the room, telling Agnieska to take care of me.

Sanderson gives me a glance then turns to Agnieska. “Well… that was awkward,” he says to Agnieska. “Huh… you sure you don’t need help?”

“No, thank you, nurse,” she responds, not looking up at him. “It’s all under control here.”

“Okay then. Huh… Jennie, good to see you.” He gives a little waves before leaving.

Agnieska picks up the syringe again, the one that Dante said had an off color, and resumes her work.

Well done, Richard. Well done. I will have to kiss you for that.

* * *

It’s several hours before Sanderson shows up again.

“I’m so sorry! Crazy afternoon. Everyone’s on edge. And Sherri had a bit of a crisis in the workout room, and it took a while to calm her down. And I had to figure out a way to keep Allison busy so that she doesn’t show up here.” He closes the door behind him, then approaches the bed. “How are you feeling?”

That’s an excellent question. It’s pretty clear that whatever Agnieska gave me was not my usual medication, because not only am I feeling warm all over and my head is like warm marshmallow, but I can feel that hunger deep inside my soul, that hunger to be ravished, to be taken, to have cocks press against me, rub against me, push into me, over and over again, hard and fast and deep.

“Jennie?” Sanderson looks worried, and he leans over me to run his hand over my face.

I can’t help it—I pull him down to me and I kiss him, hard, my tongue invading his mouth, my hand grabbing his hair. My whole body lifts off the bed as if to seek the warm contact of his male body. My pussy is on fire. I want nothing else but to feel his hand sink deep inside it.

I’m still here, I’m still me, but I can’t help what I’m doing. Like it’s someone else acting, the slut inside me. I’m losing grip with reality and it scares me. And it’s just the beginning. I know.

Sanderson doesn’t really resist. He kisses me back forcefully, and I moan into his mouth. My body is sliding off the bed, ready to bring us both down the floor, and I have this image of straddling him and impaling myself on him, riding him like a fucking bronco until he jizzes deep inside me.

“Jennie, hold on…” he says, pushing me gently back down. I grab his hand and pull it to my mouth, wanting desperately to suck something, hoping that if I show him what I’m ready to do he’ll fuck me like the hungry slut I am.

He pulls out a vial and a syringe, and he lets me suck on his finger while he does whatever he does, and I try to make it as good as I can, to show him what a good cocksucker I can be.

“Okay, Jennie, I’m going to need my hands now. Look at me. Let it go, and I promise I’ll make you feel better.”

That gets my attention. He’s going to fuck me! He’s going to fuck me until I pass out, and then continue fucking me like a rag doll until he’s satiated. I moan again, and my hand drop down to my crotch, sliding underneath my pants and finding my pussy drenched and hungry for attention. I start frigging myself, my eyes locked on Sanderson’s.

“Jennie, give me your arm.”

“And then you’re gonna fuck Jennie? You gonna fuck her good like the fuck slut she is?”

He swallows. “I will make you feel better, I promise.”

I give him my arm, hanging on to the hope that he is going to make me feel better indeed.

The injection takes but three seconds, and its effects are almost immediate. I can feel the hunger scale back in a spreading pattern from my arm up and and down all across my body.

I’m still warm and tingly all over, and my head is still fuzzy, if not fuzzier.

“Better?”

I nod, my eyes closed. Suddenly, I’m exhausted.

“Jennie’s tired. And warm. So warm…” My words are muddled.

“I think there was some narcotics in whatever Agnieska gave you. Knock you out before tonight. Don’t fight it.”

“Okay…”

“I did as you asked. I gave you a half-dose of your meds just now. But I still don’t like it. It’s a bad idea. You need all your head. You should have a full dose.”

“Need… an edge… Jennie needs an edge…”

I don’t tell him the real reason: that I’m scared. Scared that with a full dose, I’ll chicken out and won’t be convincing. I’m hoping that with a half-dose, I can connect to my inner slut that Biff programmed, but still maintain some kind of control. It’s a risk, of course, but it’s a risk no matter what I decide to do: no meds, full meds, half-meds. I don’t know the right answer.

And I’m so tired now, I really can’t think things through as much as I’d like to.

“I’ll see you later,” are the last words I hear from Sanderson before I fall asleep.

* * *

I come to in a small room that is half-heartedly decorated with a narrow bookshelf and a low dresser with some stuffed animals on them, mostly pink. There are some boy band posters on the wall.

I’m on a bed tucked away in a corner of the room, underneath the covers. It’s actually quite comfortable and warm. My clothes fit weird, and when I look I note that I’m not wearing what I was before—now I have on pajama bottoms, and a silken camisole that feels soft against my skin.

I shake my head to clear it, my eyes still heavy from the narcotics.

The room feels familiar, like I’ve seen it before, or something close to it. Not the decor. But the room itself. Like a memory of a memory. I guess this is where I usually entertain Gutierrez’s guests.

I freely admit that I don’t have any great insight into how I’m going to get out of here. Sanderson told me that last time he was with me he found me tied up and hanging from the ceiling—it took everything for him to talk about it, like he was ashamed or something, and I guess I can understand that, but I’ve lived through so much worse already that I can’t really be baffled anymore. At least now whenever I go full-slut I barely remember a thing. That’s a blessing in disguise, all things considered.

For a second, I worry—worry that all that’s happened to me has fucked me up permanently. How could it not, for fuck’s sake?

And then I think that if I can worry about being fucked up, then I must not be as fucked up as I fear I might be.

And then I think that if I don’t move my ass, it’s all academic anyway.

I slide out of bed and put my feet on the floor. My pajama pants are white with pink polka dots. Someone painted my toenails bubblegum pink, and also my fingernails. My camisole is short; it barely reaches the bottom of my breasts. No bra. No panties either. Great. Running away like this is going to be fun. I fight off flash of panic. This is stupid, a voice inside growls. No, stupid would be staying. The Pig wants to sell you me. He wants to sell me.

Sitting up made my head spin, and I don’t trust myself to stand just yet.

And then the door opens.

“Oh, good,” a man’s voice rings out. “She’s awake.”

A small wiry man—middle-aged, brown receding hair, the one who spoke—comes in, followed by another man, taller and wider with a beer gut, of roughly the same age. I think of Laurel and Hardy, and I want to let out a small giggle, but I fight it. I guess I’m still loopy from the narcotics.

I try to maintain a neutral expression. I don’t know how to act. I don’t who these guys are. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I thought I’d have more time to figure things out. That maybe someone would have explained the events of the evening.

Wiry has a broad smile. Beer Gut looks serious but in his eyes there is a leer that I can’t mistake for anything else, having seen it often ever since Biff.

Wiry sits next to me, and puts his hand on my knee and rubs it slowly. His hand is hot and I can feel it through the thin material of the pajamas.

The shot Sanderson gave me seems to work—I’m clearly not going insane with lust, but I can feel my inner slut, right there, right beneath the thin surface, closer than ever, reacting to Wiry’s hand on my knee, to Beer Gut’s eyes on my nipples, wanting to be let out, wanting to go crazy. My pussy tingles and it takes a lot of willpower to keep from rubbing my thighs together.

My inner slut is so close, so real, that I almost feel like I ought to name her. And then it strikes me. Of course. She already has a name. Hello Jennie. Nice to see you again. Not.

“Didn’t I tell you my niece was hot?” Wiry tells Beer Gut, his voice full of pride.

Niece? What the hell is he talking about?

Beer Gut grunts and nods, his eyes latched on the bottom of my camisole, the spot where my breasts keep the material from falling back against my skin. It’s not just the cool air that ensures that my nipples are rock hard—Beer Gut’s gaze is intense, and Jennie knows what it means and she likes it. She likes it a lot.

Wiry turns to me, his hand now on my thigh, and I fight hard the urge to spread my legs and let him drive his hand into my crotch. Damn, I forgot how powerful Jennie is.

“Pumpkin,” Wiry says, “this here is Jimmy—he’s your Uncle Max’s friend from way back, and he was very interested when I told him about your little problem.”

Come on, Jenn, catch up. Who the fuck are these guys and what the hell are they talking about?

“Max, can we just cut the crap and fuck the cunt already?” Beer Gut is still looking straight at me, but speaking to Wiry—Uncle Max, I guess. And I can spot an obvious erection in his jeans and Jennie inside squeals and wants to reach over and grasp it.

Wiry groans and jumps up, shaking his head. “No, no, no…” He’s muttering and he grabs Beer Gut by the elbow and drags him to another corner of the room.

My head has stopped spinning, for which I’m grateful. And it gives me time to figure out what the hell is going on. The guys are speaking in a low voice, Wiry all agitated, and Beer Gut looking exasperated and ready to punch him.

Between the few words I can catch here and there and what happened already, it’s not too difficult to come up with the whole story.

Role-playing. Biff was big on that too—though his role-playing, like much else, focused intensely on Daniel as my fiancé. Wiry’s got a hard-on for his niece, or at least fantasizes about having a hard-on about a niece. And he’s brought a friend.

Wiry comes back to sit next to me. Without hardly noticing it, I’m hugging myself.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Pumpkin,” says Wiry, not worried yet, but certainly concerned. “You’re usually much more… enthusiastic when your Uncle Max visits. Don’t you like me anymore?”

Come on, Jenn. Get on with it. You knew the deal going in. You’ve done this before. You’ve done this often. This is no different than all the other times Biff made you fuck someone.

But it is different. I’m me now.

Hurry, he’s waiting. They’re waiting. If you don’t do something, they’ll go get Gutierrez, or Cassandra, or someone else, and your plan will go to shit.

I realize that I’m hoping that Sanderson, or Daniel—oh God yes, Daniel—comes crashing through the door in the nick of time, like in the movies, and saves me.

But no one is coming.

It’s just me.

Just me, and slutty Jennie inside, roaring to go, chocking with desire. And those two clowns here, looking at me like a piece of meat. And Jennie relishes it. She knows she’s a piece of meat, fat and juicy.

And that’s my way out, of course. I have to let Jennie inside come out—just a little bit, just a little while. Working together, in a way. And it scares the shit out of me. What if I don’t come back? What if I lose myself and Jennie takes over? She’s not going to want to leave with Sanderson. She’s going to jump on him and fuck him to death.

“Pumpkin?” Wiry’s voice has an edge of worry to it now.

“Sorry, Uncle Max,” I say in my best innocent voice. I take his hand and place it back down on my thigh, much higher this time, where I’m sure he can’t help but feel the heat from my pussy. “It’s… Jimmy there… he’s making me a bit shy…” I look at him from below, trying my best to look like the naughty ingénue.

I don’t know how well I pull it off, but it doesn’t seem to matter because Wiry’s smile returns, and his hand slides up my thigh and the side of his hand presses into my crotch through my pajama bottoms and I moan and twist my hips. Jennie is there, awake, aware, and she wants more. I have to let her have a way.

“It’s okay, Pumpkin. My friend Jimmy here is going to make you feel good. He’s going to make you feel real good.”

And that’s when I let Jennie through; it is not unlike diving—once the decision is made and the impulse to jump is given, it’s all out of your hands and into those of gravity. And gravity can be a bitch.

I press my thigh against Wiry, rubbing my shoulder against his, and lean down to muzzle the side of his face. “You promise, Uncle Max? You promise he’s going to make Pumpkin feel as good as you make her feel?”

I don’t know what Wiry was expecting but he swallows and nods excitedly. I can practically smell his arousal. Like I have done so many times in the past, I sit back and watch Jennie do her thing, and do it well. Except this time, I’m sure—Well, I’m pretty sure—I can jump in and stop, something I never could do with Biff.

I slide off the bed onto Wiry’s lap and wrap my arms around him, my breasts in his face. “Pumpkin’s so happy, Uncle Max. She gets really hot sometimes, you know? With that itch deep into her little cunny that you can scratch so well. Are you going to scratch Pumpkin’s little cunny, Uncle Max? It’s getting really wet and itchy and her titties are getting all tingly too.”

I cringe inside at the voice I’m taking and I can’t believe neither of the guys is laughing his head off. But Jennie knows what she’s doing—I can feel both Beer Gut’s eyes burning a hole through my ass, and Wiry’s dick trying to poke through his slacks and my pajamas.

I move my ass back and forth, rubbing against Wiry, and I drop down to kiss him, my tongue wasting no time to invest his mouth, and I moan, and the moan is authentic. I’m very turned on right now.

Wiry’s hands are on my back underneath my camisole, and he pulls me against him, and I grind my ass hard against his dick, and the desire to feel him hard inside me is overwhelming and I can hear Jennie whine in my inner ear that she wants to fuck him raw.

When I break out of the kiss, Wiry is all red. “Wow…” is all he can say for a moment. He looks over my shoulder to Beer Gut. “You should go introduce yourself to Uncle Jimmy, Pumpkin.”

I give Wiry a naughty smile and a big wink, and slide off his lap. Swaying my ass exaggeratedly, the most innocent look I can muster on my face, I step in front of Beer Gut. He’s taller than I am—would be even if I wore heels. Biff was taller than I was too, and my pussy gushes at the thought of Biff. Jennie loved Biff; he treated her just like she wants to be treated.

I shyly half look up to him. He’s staring down at my chest, of course, because given the camisole I have on, he must have an unimpeded view of my breasts, and my nipples get even harder under his lecherous stare. Having given free rein to Jennie, all I really want now is for Beer Gut to grab my breasts and squeeze and knead them, the way I can feel he wants to, and I also understand he’s trying to delay gratification.

“Uncle Jimmy?” I tell him, in a small voice. “Uncle Max says you can help me take care of these nasty desires I have deep inside…”

I run my hand down his large stomach, down to the front of his jeans, and against the cock that I can see outlined there—hard and throbbing and making me practically salivate. He feels large, very large.

Beer Gut then finally grins and it sends shivers down my spine and Jennie squeals with wanting.

“Oh, I’m sure I can, Pumpkin.”

And he grabs one of my breasts with his large hand, and roughly massages it, and Jennie inside growls, and my hand presses harder against his cock, and there’s a moan that escapes my lips, and in a flash, two realizations come to me: while Wiry is here for the fantasy aspect, Beer Gut is here exclusively for the sex, and he likes it hard and rough; and I’m not sure I can actually control Jennie if I let her go totally, and so I have to rein her in a little bit more.

I don’t have time to think about things further, because Beer Gut pulls me into him, his big arms engulfing me, and with one of his hands pushing my head up to him so that he can kiss me, full mouth, a harsh deep kiss that makes me weak in the knee, and the only reason I’m not dropping down to the floor—where I could suck him like nothing else and the image of him thrusting hard into my mouth, fucking it gleefully makes me even wetter—is because he’s got his other hand down into my pajama bottoms and is palming my ass fully with his fingers, massaging deeply and forcing my crotch into his jeans-covered erection.

I moan into his mouth like the wanton needy slut I am at the moment, and I rub my body against his, and he likes it because his hand is more insistent on my ass, and I want him to rip off my bottoms and spank me and scratch me and fuck me.

“Fuck you’re a hot bitch,” he growls.

“Didn’t I tell you she was sweet?” Wiry chimes in—and I know he’s caressing himself through his slacks. “You should feel how wet she gets too. It should be a river down there, man.”

“That true, Pumpkin? You hot and bothered by Big Jimmy’s pawing you.”

“Oh yes, Uncle Jimmy—Pumpkin’s little cunny’s all runny with goo.”

He seems to like that—while I don’t think the uncle thing does much for him, the bimbo talk does—Beer Gut likes them pretty and dumb, it seems. I take his hand that’s still holding my head and push it down the front of my pajama bottoms and he palms my pussy and finds it drenched, as I knew he would.

“Well, fuck me!” he exclaims, and wastes no time to roughly push two thick fingers inside me. It hurts and it feels amazing all at the same time, and Beer Gut likes that look on me, the tensing up from the pain and the gasp of arousal. Jennie is driving now, and she dances on Beer Gut’s fingers, swinging her hips to help his fingers thrust deeper into my pussy which happily clenches around them. Beer Gut grins knowingly.

“If you like that, baby, you gonna love what I got for you.”

He adds a third finger, and presses hard, and I see stars and my knees buckle, and Jennie wants it harder, so much harder—as hard as will get Beer Gut off.

“You have to try her mouth, Jimmy. It’s incredible…”

“Fuck that,” groans Jimmy, pulling his fingers out and pressing them to my lips and I suck them into my mouth, and the taste of my own juices hitting my tongue makes my head spin.

“Ready for some dick, baby?” he says, and it’s a rhetorical question, because he’s unbuckling his belt—with a heavy buckle, the kind that’d really hurt if he were to hit me with it, notices Jennie with a whine of arousal, and I realize that if I want to get out of this able to walk, I’ll have to really keep a tight leash on her.

“How do you wanna do this, Jimmy?” Wiry asks with almost childish delight in his voice—if not for everything else, that would be the creepiest.

“Take this shit off,” Beer Gut tells me, pulling on my bottoms waist elastic.

I do it with trembling hands, as Beer Gut ditches his jeans to reveal a short but freakishly thick dick that worries me but enchants Jennie.

My bottoms off, my camisole cannot hide anything, and I’m well aware that Wiry must be getting an eyeful of my ass and Beer Gut an eyeful of of my pussy. Including, of course, Biff’s signature.

He’s got a weird expression on his face as he runs a big finger over the inked characters. I can’t help but blush—it’s so easy to forget that it’s there, that tattoo—I almost automatically not look at it when I’m naked, my own personal blind spot.

“Biff’s Cunt, eh? Boyfriend of yours?”

I blush redder, trying to make it look innocent and enticing. The blush is not difficult. “Just a friend, really.”

Beer Gut laughs. “Some friend. Well, you’re Jimmy’s Cunt tonight, Pumpkin.”

He grabs my hair and pulls my head back before diving in for another bruising kiss. I moan into his mouth, and smash my body into his. One hand still tangled in my hair, the other is back to pawing my ass. He slaps it twice for effect, and Jennie inside squeals and wants more.

Beer Gut lets me go. “Turn around, Pumpkin.”

“Yes Uncle Jimmy.”

I turn around to face Wiry, who’s still sitting on the bed, but he’s taken off his pants, and he’s stroking his own shaft. He’s looking at me, and I know from his look that it’s not the first time he has seen me like this, not the first time he has seen my naked body.

Beer Gut presses on my back while holding my hip steady with a large hand, and I lean forward, resting my hands on Wiry’s legs. His face is right there before mine, his eyes trying to take everything in from my face to my breasts visible through the low-cut camisole and my pussy between my parted legs.

Jennie tells me what to do, and it’s natural enough: I lean forward and kiss Wiry, and he responds with enthusiasm, his hand stroking his shaft faster while his other hand sneaks up to squeeze one of my breasts through my camisole. The feelings that shoot through me make me shiver, and Jennie takes over.

I kiss him but it’s Jennie kissing him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, hungry. I go with it, because it makes everything so much easier.

And Wiry responds to the kiss. He’s different from Beer Gut, which is not surprising. He is almost affectionate. I’m not even sure if that surprises me, and I don’t have time to dwell on it because Beer Gut, who’s been caressing my ass this whole time runs a hand between my legs, between my thighs, and slips two fingers inside me.

Jennie goes wild. She thrusts my ass, and my moans turn into groans. She loves everything—she loves Wiry’s hand on my breast, sliding underneath the camisole and touching my burning skin, playing with the hard nipple, she loves Beer Gut’s fingers thrusting into my pussy, his low laughter when he sees how much I like it, a conquering laughter tinged with superiority.

“You’re a hot little thing, baby,” he growls. “And I got just what you need right here.”

He shoves his fingers in hard, pushing me into Wiry, and if not for the fact that I had my hands on his thighs I would have tumbled down, and the image of me on the ground with my ass in the air, ready to be taken, overwhelms me.

I feel empty all of a sudden when Beer Gut slides his fingers out of my pussy, and I let out a little whimper of disappointment and need. And I want to be able to control it but I can’t. I tilt my ass, and I can just imagine the picture I’m making, between these two men, naked but for a tiny wisp of a camisole, kissing one, bent over and offering her ass to the other.

But again the thought gets essentially wiped as I feel Beer Gut’s cock pressing against my pussy and spreading the lips apart and invading me slowly but surely. I was expecting him to shove into me, but no, he’s slow, and inexorable.

I feel so full as Beer Gut drives his cock inside, so full that I can’t think about anything else anymore but that cock finally fucking me, and I push back against him and there’s resistance but it doesn’t hurt, or it does and that hurt is the same as pleasure and there’s a fleeting thought once again that Biff really fucked me up, drowned by Jennie’s insatiable hunger.

And then Beer Gut’s all the way inside me, and he lets out a deep sigh. “Oh yeah! Oh that’s good!”

“Didn’t I tell you?” quips Wiry, beaming with pride. “Isn’t she sweet?”

Beer Gut seems to just ignore him. “Fuck baby, you’re tight. Real tight. You sure you been fucked before?”

Not waiting for my answer, he starts fucking me, and it feels good, real good. Jennie’s right there, at the receiving end of his hard thrusts, and she wants more, so much more—she wants to open herself up to him, let him forage inside her soul, pulling out every gem of humiliation and every trace of wild desire, leaving her an empty doll with one goal in life: to satisfy his every dirty filthy need.

Beer Gut reaches over and grabs my hair and pulls me back, forcing my back into an arch. It hurts and it feels good and Jennie loves it all. Beer Gut notices. “Oh you like that, don’t you? I could feel your cunt squeeze me right there. You like it rough?”

He starts slamming into me hard, and I scream. Wiry is still jacking off, and still pawing my breasts. Jennie wants him to pinch my nipples, twist them, hurt them. He doesn’t. He’s not the type. He caresses them like prizes.

“So is Uncle Jimmy doing you good, Pumpkin? He’s making your little cunny all full? I told you he’d make you happy, Pumpkin. I told you.”

I’m having difficulty thinking with Beer Gut slamming into me and Jennie inside squealing with pleasure.

“Better than your stupid college boyfriend, right, Pumpkin?” Wiry continues, his eyes lost in whatever internal universe he lives in. “That idiot doesn’t fuck you as well as Uncle Jimmy and Uncle Max do, does he?”

Jennie knows exactly what to tell Wiry to get him even more into it, but she and I let out a yelp as Beer Gut sticks a thumb in my ass and hooks it in there as he keeps on fucking me without any interruption.

“Fuck!” he growls. “You got one tight ass there, Pumpkin. Pretty sure your college boyfriend hasn’t gone in there yet…” He means to mock Wiry that’s pretty clear, at least to me, but Wiry doesn’t seem fazed. He’s still got a little smile on his face, and looks content.

Beer Gut pulls his finger out of my ass after stroking it in and out a few times, and the slaps me on a cheek. “Get on the bed, baby. Gotta get me some leverage. That’s it, like that—on all four.”

I do as he tells me to, because Jennie wants me to. Beer Gut climbs on the bed behind me as well, and Wiry remains where he is, still jacking off, turning his head to look at me. My eyes trail down to his cock, long and thin, as Beer Gut slips inside me once again and picks up where he left off, slamming into me with renewed vigor.

“Hey Jimmy, do you mind if I use her mouth some?”

Jennie just revels in the fact that Wiry did not even bother asking her whether she minded—she’s just a fuck hole to him and to Beer Gut, just a piece of girl meat to satisfy their lust.

“Go ahead, man. Knock yourself out.” He doesn’t break rhythm. Jennie wants him to stick his thumb in my ass again, and I bite on my tongue not to succumb to the temptation. No point giving him ideas.

Wiry kneels in front of me, and cradles my head in his hands to guide it to his cock. He’s gentle, the opposite of Beer Gut. He shouldn’t bother. Jennie dives forward on a particular hard thrust by the man rutting behind me and takes the proffered shaft in her mouth, sucking hard without any preliminaries, letting the drool spill out the corner of my mouth on every thrust.

“Oh yeah,” Wiry moans, settling on the bed before letting out a long sigh of contentment.

I suck fervently, slobbering all over the thin cock, while Beer Gut fucks me. Jennie is in heaven—and her pleasure makes everything bearable so suffusing it is. I let go of my control a little further, settle back, letting Jennie’s simple uncomplicated joy fill my soul.

And then I feel a stab of pain and pleasure that knocks the breath out of me—both Jennie and I scream in unison as Beer Gut, who had slipped out of my pussy, slides his cock into my ass without warning.

“Fuck yeah!” he growls. “Jesus, that’s tight!”

Jennie is ecstatic—she’s screaming with unearthly pleasure, and if not for Wiry’s cock deep in my mouth, she’d beg Beer Gut to fuck her harder and deeper, to tear her slutty ass open. Beer Gut slipped in so easily, so effortlessly, that it’s pretty clear that I’ve been greased up back there earlier. Someone lubed up my ass while I was out earlier, and Jennie relishes the idea so much she squeals in delight. That’s what a fuck toy does—she gets herself ready for her man to take her however he wants, whenever he wants.

Beer Gut pulls out before pushing more forcefully this time, sinking almost all the way in, and I scream even harder, and at that moment Wiry thrusts into my mouth and his cock slides down my throat, completely choking me.

“Oh shit! Shit! Shit!” Wiry’s clutching my hair now, his eyes wide open. “Oh Alice! That feels so good! Take it! Take it all!” He presses his cock further in, deeper, forcing me to deepthroat him as his friend fucks me.

It’s too much—way too much—and I pull back behind the curtain, letting Jennie take center stage. She loves it, completely loves it, and she pushes my ass back against Beer Gut’s assault while pumping Wiry’s cock with her throat, the hacking wet sounds providing the soundtrack to the event.

When Beer Gut finally explodes inside me a few minutes later, Jennie, who had been playing with my pussy the whole time, goes over the edge and comes. She comes hard, she comes loud, and her ass clamps down on Beer Gut’s cock as she swallows Wiry’s cock back into her throat, her hands pulling on his ass to drive him deeper.

Jennie comes, and I blank out.

Jennie is left in charge.

* * *

I come to with a groan. The light stings my eyes when I open them. The light, and the sticky coating that can only be semen covering them and the rest of my face. Jennie’s satiated and I’m back in control, but she stirs inside at the thought of having been facialed, of her face dripping with cum.

I’m not sure what happened to me. The last thing I remember was being taken by Wiry and Beer Gut, and then Jennie went crazy, and I must have blanked out inside, somehow, as Jennie took over completely. That such a thing can happen is frightening.

I try to move, and everything hurts. My pussy hurts, my ass hurts, my legs hurt, my breasts hurt. And my throat is killing me. I can just imagine what I’ve gone through while I was gone. I have no idea what time it is, no idea how long those two guys ravaged me.

I try to move, despite the pain, and that’s when I realize that my left hand is shackled to the wooden headboard.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

As I pull on the shackles, going out of my mind at the realization that it’s going to ruin everything, I hear someone clapping from the door.

My head jerks in that direction—the movement making me wince so sore is my neck—and there’s Cassandra, leaning against the door frame, clapping slowly. She’s dressed in a tight leather corset that pushes out her breasts, with what I can only call hooker boots on, the kind that goes up to your thighs with a nasty metal stiletto heel to them. I can feel my mouth start to water as Jennie imagines wrapping my lips around her dark nipples, and my pussy gushes. I can tune her out, but Jennie’s still there distracting me, begging me to let go and savor the long-legged brunette that’s currently watching me with a smirk on her face.

“Nicely done,” Cassandra purrs, her hands together. She stays by the door, watching me. “Quite the performance. Especially that bit there at the end? When the large one just shoved himself hard in your cunt while the thin one plowed your ass? You came so hard, babe, your shrieks sent chills down my spine.”

She takes a step toward me. I pull on the shackle again, ineffectually.

“What’s especially impressive is that I know for a fact that you’re not really hyped on anything right now. You’ve got happy juice in you right now, isn’t that right? That Young Thing Sanderson sneaked you some before they brought you here, so that you’d be aware? Calm down those urges of yours? No need to tell me—I can see it in your eyes. It’s you in there, ain’t it? Not that out-of-her-mind slut that half the guys here come to see and fuck.”

She’s at the foot of the bed now, and I see that she’s got something in her hands that she keeps half hidden behind her back. There are dangling straps. Jennie shifts at the sight, and my pussy gushes—she knows what it is.

“Must have been tough to put on the slut act—I’ve seen you when you go crazy, Sweet Cheeks, and it’s quite a sight. Gets me soaking wet every time. You’re just so… insatiable. Always ready to go, ready to be used and abused. The little Energizer Bunny fuck machine.”

Between Jennie stirring inside of me, the mute pain throughout my body, and Cassandra before me seeming to know more than she ought to, fear finally descend upon me, and I fight it back and I pull on my hand again and the shackles clangs against the wooden headboard and I pull on them again and fear gives way to terror.

Cassandra watches my struggles with a little smile. “Oh yes, sorry about that. I asked the guys to tie you up when they were done. You know, considering that you were planning on skipping out on us? Can’t have that, Sweet Cheeks. I got plans for you. And that you’re actually you tonight is just going to make it that much sweeter.”

She finally shows me what she’s been keeping behind her. It’s a strap-on dildo, a huge dark rubber cock with the largest bulbous head I’ve ever seen. Jennie squirms at the thought of that… thing ripping inside of me, stretching me out, and I have to fight back a moan. I thought she was satiated, but I was wrong. The small dosage of meds that Sanderson gave me before I came here is the only thing that keeps me from sinking into depravity again, but I can feel it right there below the surface, bubbling, wanting—needing!—to burst out and wallow in abuse.

“This is Kong,” Cassandra says calmly, as she slips the strap-on in place and tightens it about her waist. “Kong’s gonna teach you a thing or two about fucking. After he’s done, I don’t think the guys are gonna enjoy your holes quite as much. They’ll barely feel a thing.”

Her smile turns into a sneer as she says that, and there are a lot of things in her eyes that I cannot help but see. Rage and something like envy—though why she might be angry at me, or envious for that matter, is completely beyond me—but also something else, a desire, a hunger for something. Jennie stirs inside, fascinated by the huge black cock that’s about to overpower her, craving the pain that is sure to follow.

“Please…” I manage to croak out—my throat is killing me. What did those guys do to me?

Cassandra gets on the bed, on her knees, one hand on the dildo, stroking it as if it were a real cock. “No need to beg. You’ll get it soon enough. Fact is, because you’ve already been warmed up, I’m not even gonna lube Kong. It’s gonna be a lot more fun.”

There’s a challenge in her eyes, underneath the anger, underneath the hate, a challenge that fuels her lust. Jennie’s reacting to that almost more than she’s reacting to the big cock dangling before her. She knows what’s going on. She’s amazing that way, being able to zero in on exactly what gets someone off. How Biff hammered that into her—into me—I have no clue. Maybe I always had that? Maybe everyone has it?

I feel this surge of energy from Jennie inside—she’s rearing to go, and it feels utterly and completely different from before with Wiry and Beer Gut. There is strength and power there, and strength and power is what I need right now.

And then, just like that, I know. I know I need to unleash Jennie again. Like I did before. Then, it was to shield myself. Now, it is to save myself. I just know.

I can tell what Cassandra is thinking as puts her hands on my legs to spread them out. She’s going to fuck me with that thing, rip me open, spear me to death, and she’s going to enjoy every single fucking minute of it.

I let Jennie break through the surface of my control, and try to hang on to her as she roars past.

Cassandra’s looking straight at me, in my eyes, and she must see something, because her face flushes in an instant, and her hands clench on my thighs. Her eyes are dark, rimmed with the black eyeliner she favors, her makeup heavy. The challenge in her eyes is still there, going from a simmer to a boil to match the flush of her face.

I strike without warning and twist myself up to wrap my legs around her chest. She’s not expecting it, so it takes a few seconds before she struggles. I’m strong—more accurately, Jennie is strong—and I squeeze my legs as hard as I can, tilting Cassandra to bring her down. I squeeze harder still, and the effort sends spikes of pleasure through my pussy, and I can feel myself leak all over the sheets.

“You bitch!” Cassandra tries to scream, but she’s running out of air. She tries to free herself, tries to reach for my face, for something to grab, but I hold on, my legs shaking from the effort, muscles trained by half a life of dancing and yoga responding as requested despite my long inactivity.

With a roar that surprises even me—Jennie is fully in control right now, and what she wants seems to be eminently aggressive—I grab the wooden pole to which I’m shackled and pull, and with a loud croak it breaks off, and I’m left with a jagged stick of wood in my hand, and for a second I worry that Jennie is going to make me stab Cassandra with it, and Cassandra clearly fears the same because her eyes go wide and she stiffens and stops struggling.

But no. Jennie has something else in mind. I toss the stick away, and grab a handful of Cassandra long black hair and pull, making her shriek in pain as I twist her head off to the side. I force her to look up at me.

“This is what you want, isn’t it, you little cunt?” I practically spit in her face. The challenge is still there in her eyes as she struggles to free herself from my legs, but I pull her hair harder, and I can smell it—Cassandra’s arousal, her lust, her desire—I can see her nipples like hard diamonds ready to cut through anything. With my free hand, I grab one of those nipples and twist and squeeze and Cassandra lets out a shout of pain and her smells gets stronger and Jennie laughs inside as she feels Cassandra juices leak onto my thigh.

I let go of her hair and shove my hand between us and without hesitation, I slip it through the harness, through her panties, and find her pussy, wet and welcoming. I press three fingers inside of her and they sink like a hot knife through butter, her pussy clenching around them.

Cassandra lets out a groan and shakes her head no and tries to move away but I grasp her nipple harder and squeeze it and her pussy spasms around my fingers as I pump them in and out.

“Look at you,” I sneer. “You love it!”

I pull my hand out and push those same three fingers into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself, and looking straight at me as I twist her nipple, she sucks on them, the lust in her eyes flaring bright. She’s trying to rub herself against me, the large strap-on dildo preventing her from doing so effectively.

“So what was it you wanted to do to Jennie? Fuck her with that black cock you got on now? Stretch her out? Hurt her? Make her your little bitch?” I press my fingers deeper into her mouth, and Cassandra gags loudly, the sound making Jennie squeal in delight.

Cassandra is no longer struggling. She has gone limp in my arms, but I keep my legs around her as I finger-fuck her throat. Her eyes are still locked onto mine, unblinking, wide, yearning.

I grab her hair again and pull her head back away from me, and I finally release her from my leg-hold long enough for me to dive in and take one of her nipples into my mouth, kneading her other breast with my free hand, roughly. Cassandra squeals as I suck hard, and lets out a scream of pain when I bite down. The taste of blood hits my tongue.

I release her, and slap her breasts, hard. And again. And again. Jennie loves the way they bounce about. “Jennie’s gonna make you her bitch. What do you say to that?”

Cassandra is just looking at me with a stunned expression on her face. Her eyes still hold their challenge, but it’s almost overwhelmed by need, a need I know full well, a need that Jennie inside drinks in like the finest nectar.

I slap her face—once, twice—then squeeze one of her breasts hard enough to make her winces. “Jennie asked—what do you say to that?”

“P… please!”

“Please what, you wet cunt?” I slap her breast once more, then reach down to unfasten the harness of her strap-on. My grip on her hair tightens. “Please fuck your holes until they can’t close anymore? Please shove Kong so far up your twat it slams against your teeth? Please destroy your tight ass? Please what, you worthless fuck hole?”

“P… please fuck me!”

I snatch off the dildo, and lift it up to her face—it’s one huge shaft, there’s no doubt about it. “Is this what you want, you sloppy cunt? Do you want to feel Kong tear you open?”

The lust in her eyes is irresistible, and she nods, her mouth open, staring at the huge shaft. She’s trembling, almost shivering, and without thinking about it—Jennie’s driving—I lean over and kiss Cassandra, a deep and aggressive kiss that feels more like claiming a prize than anything else. My tongue drives deep into her mouth and wrestles with hers. My teeth cut into her lips.

I don’t pull out of the kiss so much as pull her head back by the hair, forcing her to bend backward and thrust her chest out, and I follow her down and slide Kong between her lips and push it into her mouth.

Cassandra stiffens and whatever protest she may have had is smothered by the huge rubber cock pressing against her throat. I don’t stop when I encounter resistance. I don’t stop when her gagging starts. Jennie knows what she’s doing—knows what Cassandra really wants.

I piston the rubber cock in and out of Cassandra’s mouth, amazed at how wide she can open up to let the oversized shaft dig into her, wondering if it’s possible to break someone’s jaw that way. She looks like a snake swallowing a too large prey—albeit a hot and sexy snake with swaying tits and a cunt that smells of want.

Cassandra’s on her back, the dildo pushing deeper, and she makes those wet chocking sounds that have Jennie laughing in delight inside. For a second, I worry that I’m going to kill her, but amazingly—not amazing, obvious, I can hear Jennie retort with a lusty grin—Cassandra starts shivering in obvious pleasure, and spreads her legs wide and cups her own breasts and plays with them roughly, her moans of arousal broken up by the hacking of the dildo in her mouth.

I rip off her panties—a flimsy black affair—finding them a sodden mess. If I had any doubts she’s enjoying this, they’d be dispelled on the spot. And seeing her so turned on turns me on as well, and I go with it.

I free her mouth, and look at the dildo, shiny with her saliva. “Nice job, fuck mouth,” I tell the whimpering girl. “Good and lubed. Ready to be stretched out?”

Before she can answer, I slide the dildo between her pussy lips and push. Despite the thick coating of drool on the shaft, despite the abundant juices leaking out of her hole, there’s resistance right away. Jennie laughs out loud, and I think it actually comes out of me, because despite the tremors that are shaking her, Cassandra looks at me with widening eyes.

And then she screams as I force the shaft inside her as hard as I can, and it goes in almost reluctantly, and the only reason that those screams are not bringing down half the people on the floor to see who the hell is getting ripped open is because in a flash I’m on top of her kissing her screams away, soaking them up for Jennie’s own personal perverted pleasure.

In and out goes the dildo, forcing screams and shivers from the now helpless goth girl beneath me with her leather corset and her hooker boots and a submissive streak a mile wide. She writhes against me, and the feel of her tits rubbing against mine makes me want to claw at them, make her scream longer and harder.

And then, in a gorgeous spasm of release, her mouth opens wide and her screams turn into one long choked sob, and she comes. Her cunt opens up wide, and the dildo sinks an impossible inch deeper.

Cassandra’s eyes are wide open, she’s stiff as a board with her legs spread, her ass off the bed twisted upward, and she trembles uncontrollably, sobbing and gasping in the throes of the most amazing orgasm I’ve ever witnessed.

I ride the wave, and still thrusting the dildo in and out of her now spasmodic cunt, lean down and suck hard enough on one of her round tits to leave a hickey the size of a silver dollar.

Jennie is jubilant. And I think I blank out again.

* * *

When the world comes back into focus and I finally manage to regain some form of control over Jennie, I’m breathing hard, sweat is dripping down my face, and my heart is racing.

Cassandra is whimpering on the bed, the large dildo sticking out of her pussy, her legs twitching, groaning softly. Jennie is satiated once more, and I can push her down below the surface as before.

I look around for some clothes—sadly, the pajama bottoms and the camisole are all I have to go with, although I also grab Cassandra’s boots. Even stiletto heels are better than naked feet if I’m to be walking outside. Plus they should fit under my pajama bottoms despite their bulk. I don’t slip them on just yet though—they would clack on the floor.

I hesitate for a second to consider the shackles still dangling from my wrist. Not an actual problem right now, but once I’m outside, they’ll stick out like sort thumbs, and are bound to raise questions.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take me too long to find the key, attached to a small chain on Cassandra’s corset. And I ponder: corset or camisole? Neither is a particular good choice.

Enough dallying, Jenn! Get a move on!

I open the door, then run down the hallway after checking that the coast is clear. Sanderson sketched out the layout of the floor for me from memory. He told me to wait for him by what had to be a utility closet at one end of the long hallway.

As I make my way toward it, I pass many rooms, some of them with their door open. Each appears to be a typical hospital room, sort of like the one in which I woke up but undecorated. Other doors are closed, out of which I can hear moans and other shouts of pleasure and pain, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on in there.

I only cross paths with two other people, forcing me to hide into a room. It’s one of the patients on my ward, Jenaveve, hanging off the arm of a swarthy latino man. She’s a sweet girl. She’s looking down at the man with, over whom she towers in her platform shoes—with what can only be described as adoration, hanging on to his every word, the perfect toy. The main thing about Jenaveve is that she has a lot of difficulty saying no, no matter what the request is, no matter what is asked of her. As near as I can tell, that’s her Syndrome talking. And I shudder to imagine what the man will have her do, especially since Mouse told me that all of the girls that are down here have had their last doses of meds withheld. They are all fully in the throes of their Syndrome.

When I make it to the utility closet, it’s larger than I thought it’d be, with plenty of room for me to hide behind one of the shelves. Cleaning supplies, it looks like. Some of which may actually come in handy if someone shows up. I grab a broom and pull out the wooden shaft. It’s not great, but it’ll do.

I settle down, and wait. And it is the hardest thing to do for me right now. I want to move, run, do anything but remain in place. I feel exposed, vulnerable, trapped. I take a deep breath, and move through a few breathing forms to center myself.

After I don’t know how long—I have nothing to tell me the time and it’s dark and quiet—I hear a voice from behind the closet door, and I hold my breath. Sanderson would not be talking out loud.

“I guess we should do this, then.” It’s not Sanderson. It’s the Pig—Gutierrez. And he sounds nervous, worried.

“I’m going to need to see her first, of course.”

I can’t place that last voice, although I’m pretty sure I heard it before. Jennie, dormant until now, stirs up. She recognizes him. This must be the man here to buy me. He’s probably had me before.

“Of course,” says Gutierrez. “Look, I need to know something before anything else. Why do you want her?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It actually is. If I’m going to do this, I need to know.”

“You’re getting good money out of this deal.” The man sounds annoyed.

“It’s not the money. It’s that I need to watch my ass. I can’t afford to get in trouble.”

The man lets out a chuckle of amusement. “Do you consider this little setup here watching your ass? I mean, this is likely to get you in trouble, no?”

“Is that a threat? Listen, I’m protected here. I got friends. Good friends. Friends with reach. I keep things in-house, and everything’s peachy. But I can’t afford for someone outside to realize that this chick that should be here isn’t anymore because she’s shaking her ass in some strip club in Florida. You want her? Tell me why, or no deal.”

The other man pauses, as if gauging Gutierrez’s intent. “Fine. Look, don’t worry. She won’t show up in a club in Florida. Or anywhere else for that matter. She won’t be seen. Let’s just say that the people I work for have a history with your girl here. Some debts to settle, if you will. And she will repay them… how did you put it?… purely in-house.”

“What did she do to get in trouble with the Connelly brothers? Oh, don’t look so surprised. What did you think, that I wouldn’t ask around? Do you think I’m an idiot? Yeah, you work for the Connelly brothers.”

Another silence, longer this one. Meanwhile, I rack my brain to try and think why the Connelly brothers might want me. I’ve never heard of them. What’s that about a debt to settle?

“Let’s just say that when she was in the DA’s office in DC, she caused no small amount of trouble for my bosses. They were quite happy when she dropped off the face of the earth a couple of years back, you can imagine, but they never really got their payback. This deals will help with… redress.”

What?

“So they’re gonna—”

“What they do exactly is irrelevant. But I can assure you that when Lillian Shepard gets in my bosses’ hands, she won’t be seeing the light of day. As I said, she’s in for some payback.”

There is something in his voice that Jennie must recognize before it makes her stir with perverted interest, which by itself sends chills down my spine. Knowing what Mouse is like, I fear I know what the man talking to Gutierrez might mean by payback.

For of course it is Mouse they’re talking about. Lillian Shepard, ex-assistant DA in DC. Difficult to imagine the little thing of a woman almost at the head of a prosecution office, but I’m well placed to appreciate how fucked up your life can become in a split second—especially if the Syndrome is part of the narrative.

“So are you satisfied?” the man asks Gutierrez. “Shall we proceed?”

Gutierrez sighs. “Fine. But don’t make me regret this.”

“I’ve got two hundred fifty thousand reasons why you won’t.”

“When do you want to make the… exchange?”

“I’ve got a fifty thousand now, the rest upon delivery.”

“Sounds good. But there are still some details to arrange. I have to fake a worsening of her condition, and that can’t be too fast or it’ll be suspicious.”

“How much time do you need?”

“Two weeks at least. I can arrange to have her ready at the next gathering, which should be in three weeks.”

“That’s acceptable.”

“Okay. Also, all I can do is get her ready and bring her to the door. You’ll have to arrange transportation from there on.”

“Not a problem.”

At that point, I guess that the two of them walk away, because their voices fade away, and I’m left in the silence of the utility closet.

Mouse. It was her all along that Gutierrez was selling. Not me. Mouse.

I feel an odd and disturbing mixture of relief and horror. It’s not me they’re after. But now Mouse is in trouble. She’s been in trouble all along.

The news take the wind out of my sails in a flash. Somehow, all the urgency is gone, even though my situation is still as dangerous as before.

I’m in the midst of these thoughts when there’s a soft knock on the door, and all my senses wake up on the spot—even Jennie springs to life and I feel a spike of arousal that I have to snuff out.

The door opens and I grab the broom handle. I tense up, getting ready to drive it into the stomach of whomever is trying to get in if he’s not Sanderson. When I recognize his voice whispering “Jennie?” I relax.

He comes in, and closes the door behind him. He sees me, comes close. He looks relieved. I release the breath I did not even realize I was holding. I crouch on the floor, suddenly feeling woozy. My head is killing me all of a sudden.

“Jennie, are you okay?” Sanderson crouches down next me.

“Jennie's fine, but what happened to you?” I’m staring at his right eye, which is almost swelled shut by an angry shiner.

He touches it with the tip of two fingers, and winces. “Nothing. Just… a disagreement with a colleague.” He makes a face. “Come on, we have to get you out of here. I brought you some clothes and some shoes.”

He hands me a bundle. Bless him; he thought about it. Then he sees the black leather hooker boots by my feet. “Unless you want to wear those, of course,” he says with a smile.

I punch him on the shoulder.

“Come on,” he adds, standing up. “We have to go. I know where the exit is.” He turns his back to me, giving me some space to get changed.

I look at the clothes, look at him, back at the clothes.

I shake my head. “Wait,” I say, after a long silence.

“The road’s clear now, but I don’t know how long it’ll stay that way.”

“Wait,” I repeat. “Jennie can’t go.”

He turns around, looks at me. “What?”

“Jennie can’t go.”

He crouches back next to me. “What do you mean you can’t go? What happened? What’s wrong?”

I’m torn, but I can’t do this to Mouse. She’s a friend—she helped me. And I would have to live with myself if I let her fall in the hands of those men that want her. A mental hospital is one thing, even considering Gutierrez and Cassandra and whatnot, but being given to men that seek payback, men to whom the DA office caused problems? Nothing good can come out of it.

I know I would have liked someone to help when Biff got his hands on me.

Beside, it’s what Daniel would want me to do. Always needing to do the right thing, that’s Daniel all right.

Sanderson is looking at me, so like Daniel, so unlike him. “Jennie can’t go. It’s not her they’re after. It’s not her he wants to sell. It’s Mouse.”

“Mouse?”

“Yeah. And Jennie can’t let it happen.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Jennie’ll explain later. But Jennie has to figure out a new plan. And she's not going anywhere.”

I think he’s surprised at the resolve in my voice. Join the club, baby.

Jennie, wonderful simple fuck-my-brains out Jennie, cares not about any of this. She feels Sanderson close, and she’s getting hungry again. Later, I tell her.

We stay in the utility closet like that, crouched against the wall behind some shelving, silent, each of us in our own thoughts—Sanderson confused, me finding some inner calm.

That’s when we hear the wail in the distance. A wail that sends shivers down my spine, and not the kind that Jennie enjoys.

Sanderson pales as he looks up.

The lingering wail is coming from a distance—above, below, who knows?

“What… what’s that?” Sanderson asks.

I shake my head. I have no idea.

Sanderson’s eyes widen, and he twists to look up right above our heads. There’s a crucifix on the wall.

“The ghosts,” he says in a blank voice.

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“It’s something that Beatrice told me on my first day. About this place being haunted.”

Ghosts. Great. What else?

The wail picks up in the distance, as if laughing at me.