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Subject: {ASSM} PARKER02: Orlando's Call
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PARKER2.TXT
ORLANDO'S CALL
By Parker
an210088@anon.penet.fi
WARNING: This story contains bondage, S/M, non-consensual
intercourse, D/S and all that sort of good stuff. If you do
not want to read this kind of material, it would be best if
you stopped now. I mean it. This story is NOT POLITICALLY
CORRECT (although, I hope that it is grammatically correct).
Copyright 1993 by Parker (me). Feel free to distribute
this story as you wish, but be discreet. Obviously, it
is not suitable for all BBSs.
=================================================================
The old man, shoulders aching, sat slowly back in his chair and rubbed his
tired eyes. The dim light from the battered desk lamp no longer provided him
with sufficient lumination as it had some twenty years ago when he had first
brought it to the office. Still, it was eminently preferable to the sterile
glare of the flourecent lights set in the ceiling. And the small pool of
illumination on the desk did give his after-hours presence in the office a
sense of comfortable isolation; at times like this - 6:30 on a Friday afternoon
- with the central office empty and dark behind the bare panes of his office
door, he could imagine himself stranded alone in a pool of light. The lonely
silence of the empty office soothed him.
He sighed and shook his head, smiling to himself. Utter nonsense. He was
just an overly-imaginative old man - barely a year away from retirement -
working late on a Friday afternoon because he was too slow and inefficient to
get his work done during regular office hours.
And this was work that had to be done.
The file sat open on his desk, contents exposed for his inspection. It
concerned one Theodore "Teddy" Grant, convicted of two counts of armed robbery
and one count of kidnapping. Grant had been an inmate of the Point Hope Maximum
Security Facility for over twelve years now, and had finally come up for
parole. The board had approved his application, but only by a three to two
margin; California state law required the approval of the Prison Warden before
the prisoner could be released.
A quick perusal of the relevant documents showed that Grant had been a
model prisoner for the last several years - no fights (that the prison
officials knew of, anyway); no confrontations with the guard; he had completed
three years of course work for a degree in the liberal arts...
The old man snorted. Liberal arts. He recognized the advice of a clever
lawyer there.
Still...
The old man knew what prison was like. He had worked at one facility or
another for most of his adult life and had actually been Warden of this
particular penitentiary for over twenty years. He knew what prison was like; it
was not the kind of place one kept a man unless it was absolutely necessary.
And some men deserved a second chance.
Sighing, he signed his name across the approval notice and slipped the
forms back into the folder. That was almost it; just one...
"Joe?"
The old man looked up, startled. It was Carol Jenson, the new Deputy
Supervisor of State Correctional Facilities. Well, not really new any more; she
had been at the job for almost a year now. Ever since Rachel had...
"This package was with the Benson parole application," she said, placing a
thick envelope on his desk. "It fell out of the file at the Records Desk; they
were going to throw it out."
He ignored the envelope for the moment, looking up at her as she stood,
barely illuminated at edge of the small pool of light thrown up by his desk
lamp. Her long, blonde hair framed a face that would have been pretty had not
her nose been broken and poorly set a number of years ago. He knew the story:
an abusive husband. Tragic, but she had divorced him a long time ago and moved
on with her life.
Suddenly, he found himself in need of company. Perhaps the isolation
wasn't what he needed just now.
"You're here late," he joked, trying to keep her talking. "And on a Friday
too. What's up?"
"Just tidying up," she answered, smiling a tired smile. She kept to
herself, generally. He was surprised to realize that he didn't really know her
at all; even after almost a full year. "Trying to clear off my desk. Besides,
it's kind of lonely at the apartment with Karen in Europe."
Karen? Who... ah, her daughter.
"Isn't she back yet?"
"Huh-huh. Her and Jennifer are camping somewhere in Scotland. She should
be back late next week." Carol shifted her purse up on her shoulder and turned
to go. "Don't be working too late now, alright?"
"This is the last one," he promised her, watching wearily as she
disappeared into the darkness. What must it be like, he thought, to have a
child... a family?
Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the envelope she had brought.
It was marked RB-006C; part of the Robert Benson file. Probably some sort of
discretionary comment, by the look of it. Obviously, someone had thought that
this material was relevant to the decision of whether or not to approve parole.
He tore it open.
A piece of paper slid out, followed by another, smaller envelope, and then
a pair of cassette tapes, labelled "A" and "B". He glanced at the paper,
skimming over the handwritten text and then down to the signature: "Burke".
Burke!
He felt his breath catch in his throat as he stared at the name. Harrison
Burke had been the chief liaison between the regional correctional facilities
and the state government. He had also been a good friend of the old man's.
He was also dead.
Cancer.
The body of the letter was uninformative. It simply read:
"Joe:
Before deciding on the Benson application, listen to these
tapes.
Burke."
The bastard always had been taciturn.
Hands shaking, the old man reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a
portable cassette deck, a holdover from the old days when he had been obliged
to interview the inmates directly. Now, of course, there were just too many
inmates, and one needed a masters degree in something or other before one could
so much as look at an inmate.
He shoved the "A" cassette in and punched the play button. The voice
emanating from the speaker was immediately recognizable:
<Hello Joe>
It was, indeed, Burke.
<If things go according to plan, you shouldn't be hearing this unless I'm
dead. If I'm still alive, I'd appreciate it if you would turn off the tape deck
and seal the tapes. OK? Do it now...>
Silence.
<Well, if you're still listening, then I guess I am dead now... Huh, how
about that, Joe? A real voice from beyond the grave... I hope I didn't suffer
too much. You know, with the cancer and...>
Silence.
The old man brought a hand up to his face and fought back the tears.
Burke's death hadn't been quick and it hadn't been painless. The memories...
<Well... anyway... I'm probably long buried by now, so there's no need to
get upset about it. Listen, Joe, I've got some stuff to tell you; stuff you
should know about regarding the Benson parole application. You've got a
decision to make. I'm sorry to have to dump this on you, but at the time, it
was all I could think of. Maybe it was stupid... hell, it was surely stupid -
and vindictive, to say the least - but it's done, and you're going to have to
deal with it now.
I guess the best way - the only way - to explain it to you is to go over
what happened from the beginning. It started with that prison riot last May.
You remember it...
*****
Rachel fought to draw in a breath - to struggle; to do anything - as she
was led down the long hallway towards the checkpoint, but the blow to her
stomach had completely winded her. Weakly, she tried to pull away, but Eckhart
seemed to be having no trouble controlling her. With one of his hands around
her shoulder to propel her forward as she stumbled along, she was helpless to
resist. He brought his other hand around to steady her as they stopped at the
checkpoint. The guard - he looked familiar, Rachel thought - stepped forward to
look at them.
'Surely he'll realize something's wrong,' Rachel thought, still trying
ineffectually to put up any kind of a fight. 'He must!' She felt a surge of
hope when the guard focused on her face and gave her an odd stare.
He knew something was wrong. He recognized her!
A queer smile crossed his face as he turned away. Stunned, Rachel could
only watch in horrified silence as the guard made a gesture to a colleague and
the prison gate slid open. Moving quickly, Eckhart half carried, half dragged
her through the gate. Her last view of salvation was abruptly cut off as they
turned a corner and moved into the section of the facility controlled by the
inmates.
She was lost now.
Her lungs heaved as the knot in her stomach eased up and she was finally
able to draw a deep breath. Eckhart stopped moving and leaned her up against
the wall as she gasped and sputtered, trying to get her strength back.
Eventually, she was able to stand on her own.
Eckhart leaned into her while Proxmire looked anxiously around. There were
no other inmates in sight.
"Listen Ms. Harding," Eckhart said, "you might want to start screaming
now, but it wouldn't be a good idea. As things stand, only Ben and I know
you're here." He glared down at her. "What do you think would happen if your
presence in the prison became general knowledge?"
Her eyes widened in fear. It didn't take much imagination to realize what
would become of her - a beautiful woman in an all- male maximum security
prison!
"So," he continued, bringing up a hand to squeeze her breast through the
prison coveralls, "I advise you to keep quiet and follow orders." She tried to
squirm away as he mauled her thinly- covered breast, but it was no use. He
grinned down at her, enjoying her fear and humiliation.
"After all," he said, smirking, "you're my bitch now."
His other hand reached down and began rubbing up and down the outside of
her crotch...
*****
...well enough, I suppose. It started in Cell Block H. They had taken a
number of guards hostage as well as the prison doctor. At first, we figured the
ringleaders to be Parsons and that biker guy who murdered those cops in LA.
Turned out we were wrong, but I guess it doesn't matter.
I was called in from LA because the cons didn't want to deal with anyone
from the local prison system. Can't say I blame them, I suppose, the way things
turned out. As I said earlier, you probably know a lot of what I'm about to
tell you, but I'll go over it anyway. The background will help you understand
what I did and why I did it. There's a lot you don't know.
I was called in to meet with the representatives of the rioters. We met in
the visitor's room, outside the area of the prison controlled by the inmates. I
had, however, given them my word that they would not be taken into custody
while negotiations continued, so they were safe. It was tense, though. I
remember the guards watching as the three inmates walked into the room; they
would have been happy for any excuse to blow these guys away, what with their
colleagues being held hostage and all.
As we had expected, they presented a list of their demands. The guy who
did all the talking for them was Ben Proxmire. He used to be a lawyer (before
he murdered his partner), so he was pretty slick. Their wish-list was well
drawn up.
I was surprised at some of the things they were complaining about, though.
According to them, conditions in the prison had become significantly worse over
the last several months. Proxmire listed things like lack of recreation time,
restricted access to facilities like the prison library and, most important, a
severe problem with the quality of the food. They were complaining about things
like rotten meat, and maggots and the like.
I remember your indignation and anger when I reported this to you, and I
knew where you were coming from. It was well known that you ran the most
inmate-friendly facility in the state. Your budget for food, for example, was
the highest, per capita, of any comparable facility in the country. According
to the cons, however, the food was barely edible. Yeah, they were in prison,
and things weren't supposed to be great, but apparently conditions had gotten a
lot worse in the last few months, to the point where they just weren't taking
it any more. At any rate, I took the list and promised to look into it.
You'll remember the two nights I spent going through the prison accounts.
That was where I first ran into problems with Rachel.
Yeah... that's what this is about, really. Rachel Harding; your
oh-so-efficient Deputy Supervisor. I think it would be fair to say that Rachel
and I had what was known as a "working relationship". We really didn't like
each other, but as long as we didn't spend too much time in each other's
company, we were cool. If we did have to spend too much time together... Well,
that was why I requested that transfer to State in the first place; I figured
two or three times a month was more than enough time to be spending with that
bitch.
I don't want you to think, though, that this had anything to do with what
happened. Well... maybe it did. A bit. But, really, I would never have done it
unless... but I'm getting ahead of myself.
As I said, Rachel got involved when I was going through the accounting
records...
*****
"...worth every penny," Phillips concluded, handing over a small roll of
bills.
"She's been a good bitch," Eckhart agreed. "Very easy to train. Loves to
be fucked."
Crouching below them on the floor of the cell, Rachel - the "good bitch" -
stared straight ahead, trying not to react. She was in what Eckhart called her
"welcome position": crouched on her heels, legs spread wide and hands behind
her neck. Her master liked this position; he said it emphasised her best
qualities. She was to assume it whenever he was with her in the cell. Frozen in
place, she kept her eyes turned downward, ignoring the commentary as she
ignored the thick wad of sperm dribbling down her cheeks from where Phillips
had dropped his load. He hadn't been able to afford a full fucking; just a blow
job.
Rachel felt her mind drift as the two men discussed her abilities as a
cocksucker. The last three months had been a pure, living hell for her. She
didn't know how he had managed it (maybe Burke was involved in some way), but
Eckhart had somehow arranged things so that the guards never came into his
particular area of Cell Block H. He kept her like a pet in his cell, usually
naked except for the rare occasions he gave her an oversized prison jacket to
wear. When he didn't want her in bed with him, she slept at the foot of his
bunk, on the cold, concrete floor.
With the exception of a few blowjobs for Proxmire, he had kept her to
himself for the first few weeks, fucking her two or three times a day. The
worst part of it - well, maybe not the worst, but a bad part of it - was the
fact that she had to suffer the constant rapings in silence. Eckhart held over
her the potential consequences of having her presence known to all the other
inmates. It was a potent threat; the prospect of literally being fucked to
death loomed as a real possibility.
So, she resolved herself to endure him.
That wasn't enough, though.
He wanted more.
So, after weeks of constant fucking, he began what he referred to as her
"training". It was no longer enough that she lay still, limp and unresisting as
he pistoned his large cock in and out of her raw pussy. No. Now she had to
react; co-operate. Actively take part in her own degradation.
He didn't just want a doll.
He wanted an active fuck-toy.
A sex-bitch who at least appeared to want him - to enjoy being fucked -
as much as he wanted her.
So she learned how to react. Of course, she had refused at first, but a
session with his cane - a long, thin piece of wood - soon convinced her
otherwise. With only a few days practice, she was moaning and panting in
simulated lust just like any experienced hooker. She learned the right words to
say; the right ways to squirm; the correct way to slide her tongue just so
along the underside of a cock.
In short, she learned how to be a whore.
Which is just what she became.
Eckhart's whore.
After less than two weeks of training, Eckhart declared her ready to open
shop. Within days, he had arranged for a steady stream of "customers". He was
careful, however, not to wear her out. He had promised Burke that she would
still be in one piece at the end of the year.
No more than ten customers a day, he decided.
So, Rachel - now the prison whore - had sex with ten different inmates
each day. She was fucked repeatedly in every orifice: her cunt, her mouth, her
ass. She quickly became even more proficient in simulating sexual excitement
(one of the her first customers had complained about her lack of response, and
Eckhart had again used the cane), and soon became well known as a hot little
bitch.
She was always Eckhart's bitch, though.
Eventually, to her shame, her responses to him became more than just
simulation. Rachel experienced her first prison orgasm - her first orgasm since
her early twenties - while crouched over the prison bunk with Eckhart's cock
buried deep inside her quivering ass.
Even with all the other inmates - with all the fucking and sucking she had
been doing - she had never felt as truly a whore as she did at that moment...
*****
... in the storage room. Of course, everything was on computer, but they
were down as usual. And I thought maybe I could find some stuff out from the
originals.
I had just pulled the expenditure file when she walked into the room. You
remember how she was... sexy as hell, but a real bitch (yeah, I know... you
never thought so: a bitch, that is). As usual, she had her blonde hair done up
in a tight, little bun, and was wearing a short skirt. Quite the little
cockteaser.
"What are you looking for Harry?" she asked. The bitch knew I hated being
called 'Harry'. I was determined to be polite, though. I had enough on my plate
without playing games. I thought maybe if I just didn't react, she'd go away.
"Accounting records," I told her, opening the file.
"Little old-fashioned, isn't it?" She gestured towards the rows of filing
cabinets. "This stuff is all on computer. The only reason paper records are
kept is because state regulations require certain forms."
I ignored her.
"Well, you won't find anything there," she went on. "All expenditures
regarding prison welfare are kept in the State office." She smirked at me. "You
should know that."
Something didn't seem quite right.
"How do you know what I'm looking for?" I asked.
That was it. I'd kept the inmate's allegations to myself, wanting to check
them out before making them public. I figured if there was anything in them,
you'd want to know about it first, Joe. No one should have known what I was
looking for.
Rachel just shrugged her shoulders and looked away.
"Just guessed," she muttered. She seemed suddenly uncomfortable. "Word
gets 'round."
She left the room and I went back to work. Sure enough, all records
regarding expenditures for things like food and medical supplies had been
removed. The place in the file where they should have been just contained a
reference to a State file at the LA offices.
That was where I looked next. I did a lot of thinking during the drive
back up to LA, and by the time I got there, I had a pretty good idea what I
would find when I checked things out. Sure enough, the records weren't there
either; just a reference note to check the files of each individual
institution.
All of the expenditure records for your prison were missing Joe. I'm sure
you have a pretty good idea of what that meant. I know I did.
Next stop was the Computer office at State.
I was able to access most of the records from my desk, but everything
there seemed in order. The statements indicated that expenditures regarding
prison upkeep had actually increased in the last several months. That didn't
sound right. If that were the case, why were the paper records missing? And
what were the inmates complaining about?
That's the problem with computer files Joe; they're just too easy to
change tracelessly.
Not so the tape backup.
Don't say it; I know what you're thinking: no one is supposed to have
access to the tape backup without a court order. Still, there are ways, and one
of those ways is a former girlfriend who works in the IT department at State.
We hadn't been going out for some time, but we had remained pretty good
friends, and I was able to convince her to make duplicate copies from the tape.
It was illegal as hell, but it worked.
The results were interesting, to say the least. It only took a couple of
hours work before I realized what the problem was. Someone had been skimming up
to 20% off the top of a number of welfare expenditures for the last several
months, including food purchases. The records I could access from my desk
showed no changes, but the tape records told a different story: someone was
robbing the state - and your facility - blind.
It didn't take long to realize who it was. I know you'll think it was just
personal animosity - and maybe you're accurate about that - but... well, I'll
just go over this as it happened.
She was cool about it, though; I'll say that for her.
"Oh no," she cried out, mocking me when I confronted her with my evidence,
"you've found me out. Whatever will I do?"
I kind of blew up. I'd been expecting denials or excuses maybe, but not
this.
"This isn't funny," I shouted, slamming the folder down on her desk. "This
is theft. When I go to..."
"Go where?" she laughed. "What do you think you'll do with these ILLEGAL
records? You never got a court order. I'd have heard if you'd applied for one.
If you try to use these, you'll be the one in trouble."
I fell silent.
She was right of course.
The bitch.
"And even if you could use them," she continued, "all of those expenditure
orders went through the Warden's office. Whose name do you think is on the
authorizations?"
I couldn't believe it.
"You mean..."
The bitch laughed again.
"Don't be such a jerk. Orlando's too fucking naive to get involved. He's
just stupid enough to sign the forms without looking. Asshole trusts me."
I swear that's what she said. I know this must be difficult for you to
hear, but... just listen.
It gets worse.
I left her office in a bit of a daze, leaving the useless records behind.
Even before I got down the hall, I heard the electric whine of her shredder
reducing my evidence to scrap. Not that it mattered. Even if I could have used
the records, she had covered her ass too well. I couldn't touch her. And worse,
I couldn't do anything about the inmates' problems. They would only keep the
hostages alive for so long.
It was then that I had the idea...
*****
"Noooo...."
Eckhart grinned down at her as she thrashed about.
It was futile, of course. Rachel had been securely fastened over the
small, metal table; her legs were strapped to the legs of the table and her
upper body was held down by two thin chains clipped to her shiny, silver nipple
rings and attached to the surface. It had been months since she had displayed
this kind of rebellion, and Eckhart was surprised to find how much he had
missed it.
Still, it wouldn't do to let her know this. He brought his hand down and
began administering a vicious spanking. It was nowhere near as bad as the cane,
but it was bad enough. She immediately stopped struggling and began babbling
out wild apologies. He slapped her exposed ass a few more times and then
stopped.
Reaching down, Eckhart gripped her blonde hair and pulled her face up.
"You're my bitch, aren't you?" he asked.
"Y-yes," she agreed, tears running down her beautiful face. "I'm your
bitch... your whore... your f-fuck-toy." By now, she knew what to say - what
was expected of her.
She knew what he liked.
"Is there something you'd like to do to show how sorry you are?" She
strained to look up at his face, trying to guess what he wanted. Fortunately,
it wasn't at all difficult.
"P-please," she begged. "Let me suck your cock."
The large inmate nodded. That was the correct response. But there was
still one more thing.
"As you wish," he stated. "But only after you apologise to Mr. Trevor
here, and ask him to do what I've paid him to do."
Rachel chocked back a sob, but knew better than to resist.
"Mr. Trevor," she said, sniffling. "I'm sorry for m-making a fuss.
Please... please tattoo the words 'Eckhart's Bitch' on my ass. Make it as b-big
as possible."
Eckhart looked over to Frank Trevor, who stood grinning on the other side
of the table. He held a tattooing needle in his hand, ready to go. Rachel's ass
- the ass Eckhart had promised him the use of in return for doing the tattoo -
lay exposed on the small table in front of him.
"Mr. Trevor," Eckhart stated, pulling his cock out of his pants. "You
heard the lady. Don't keep her waiting."
He slid his cock into Rachel's open mouth. He had just plunged it down her
throat when she felt the first sting of the needle on her ass.
The needle that would permanently mark her as her master's possession...
*****
...which led to the making of this tape.
You'll remember a bit of what happened next. My unauthorized meeting with
the inmates; the release of two of the hostages. You chewed me out good for
ignoring proper channels, but I could tell you were happy to get two of your
people back. Or at least I thought you were. That was why you authorized the
next meeting, right? The one without the guards; the one that Rachel was to
attend.
Proxmire had done all the talking for the cons, but it turned out to be
Eckhart who was the real leader. Randy Eckhart. Big guy, beard and long scar
across his forehead; doing life for shooting three guys in a bar. He attended
that final meeting with Proxmire. Benson was there too.
Unless things have fucked up completely, you should be looking at his
folder right now. Five, five... hundred and ten pounds... short blond hair. A
real loser. Doing three to five for robbing a convenience store. He fit my
purposes perfectly, though. That's why he was there. I'd found his file before
the previous meeting and specifically requested him. Now that I saw him in
person, I knew I'd made the right choice. He was even dressed as I had
requested, in a prison coverall and jacket a couple of sizes too big for him.
And the baseball cap.
You'll remember that the meeting was set up without guards in the room.
The prisoners had agreed to meet in the area that we controlled, but only the
three of them, myself and Rachel were actually in the room. Of course, they had
been searched before being allowed in with us, and they had to go through a
checkpoint to get back into the inmate-controlled area of the prison, but
still, we were alone with them. That was also part of my plan.
Rachel never suspected a thing. She had even been flattered that the
inmates wanted to talk to her personally. I dunno... I think maybe she imagined
that she could singlehandedly bring an end to the riot and be a hero.
Particularly after I had failed to do so. Whatever the reason, she was there.
Beats me how usually intelligent people can do such stupid things sometimes.
The bitch really never suspected a thing.
Even when I pulled the knife - the guards never searched me - and held it
against her throat, she didn't really believe it what was happening. She just
tensed up, eyes widening in surprise. It wasn't until I ordered her to strip
that she really began to panic.
"Harrison..." My full name now. No more 'Harry'.
"Just strip, Rachel," I told her. My nerve was starting to slip, and I
wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Benson began to pace furiously back and forth around the room. Proxmire
had a nervous smile on his face. Eckhart just sat and stared, expressionless.
Shaking, Rachel began to strip. Slowly.
"Jeez, man," Benson whined, "get her to hurry up. Just get her naked." He
looked like he was about to panic. I knew what he was feeling.
"Relax," Eckhart ordered, the first words he had spoken since entering the
room. "We need her clothes intact." The big inmate nodded his head towards
where Rachel stood, frozen, half undressed.
"Continue, Ms. Harding," he said quietly. His voice was surprisingly high
and mild sounding.
Rachel continued taking off her clothes. First the sweater; then the
pants; then her shoes.
"That's enough." I was beginning to get even more nervous. Any moment now,
a guard might walk in the door. Besides, there was no need for her to take off
her bra and panties.
Not yet, anyway.
Rachel turned to face me. There was a look of intense hatred in her face.
"When I get out of here," she growled, "you are a dead man."
I didn't answer. I just continued to hold the knife to her throat. I
remember wondering just what she thought was going to happen? Did she imagine
that she would walk out of there?
Benson knew what he had to do. Moving quickly, the little rat shrugged off
the jacket and slipped out of the prison coveralls. In his underwear, he walked
over to where Rachel's clothes lay in a pile on the floor and began putting
them on. They were a tight fit, but he managed; I had chosen him because of his
size. Then came the wig and padded bra, both from my briefcase. Of course, he
looked nothing like Rachel, but he was about the same size, and - wearing the
same clothes and the wig - he could pass for her at a distance.
In fact, that's just what he did.
Proxmire then made himself useful. He walked forward, picked up the
discarded prison coveralls and started forcibly dressing Rachel, manipulating
her arms and legs like one would a doll. She started to resist, but a small cut
from the knife convinced her otherwise. In moments, she was dressed in the
coveralls and jacket. Benson's baseball cap completed the ensemble, covering
her blonde hair.
"All done," Proxmire announced, a nervous giggle in his voice. He took the
opportunity to cop a quick feel of Rachel's breasts through the coveralls. She
jerked away from him.
Eckhart stood up. As I said, he was a big guy. I was holding the knife,
but it was clear who was in charge in the room. That was why I handed it to him
when he reached out his hand. The other hand grabbed hold of Rachel's collar
and pulled her close to him. She gasped and started to struggle in his grip,
but it was no use; he just dragged her up by the collar and shook her until she
fell limp.
"That's better," he said, lowering his prisoner to her unsteady feet.
"I'll expect better co-operation from you Ms. Harding. You belong to me now."
Rachel moaned and looked over at me.
"Mr. Burke," Eckhart said, "it seems you've kept your end of the bargain.
She's the one responsible?"
I nodded. "Once she's out of the picture, the food and other welfare
expenditures should return to their normal levels."
He nodded.
"We're finished here, then," he announced. "The hostages will be released
within the hour, and the riot will end soon after."
Still holding Rachel by the collar, he turned to his companion. "Let's
go." Proxmire obeyed immediately.
I wasn't finished yet.
"Just a second," I called out. "I want a word with Rachel."
*****
The cell doors slammed open and Rachel automatically assumed the "welcome"
position. Eyes down, hands clasped behind her head, and crouching with her legs
spread, she waited anxiously. It was Eckhart; she could tell that much from
what she could see of the lower part of his body. 'Oh god,' she thought,
'please let him be in a good mood.'
She felt him clasp her chin and turn her head up to face him as he towered
over her. She smiled and tried to look sexy; he like that.
"Ms. Harding," he announced in his soft voice, "How are you feeling?"
"Horny," she answered, again automatically. "Please fuck me, sir."
He grinned down at her. She almost collapsed with relief; her rear end was
still sore from the last time he had been in one of his rages. She had fucked
and sucked so many guys by now that the sex meant nothing to her; it was just
something she got through as best she could. But the pain...
That was a different matter.
And so was the sex with Eckhart, though she hated to admit it.
Eckhart reached down, gripped her nipple rings and pulled her to her feet.
"You like it here, don't you?" he asked, guiding her painfully to the cell
bunk.
"Yes sir," she answered quietly, moving as he directed. It was best not to
disagree with Eckhart.
"You've been my bitch for almost a year now." He released his grip on the
nipple rings with a painful twist and sat her down on his lap. One hand reached
down and began to play with her shaved pussy. Submissively, she moved her legs
apart to give him easier access. "You know what that means."
Rachel fought to ignore his fingers and concentrated on his words. One
year? That meant...
"Benson's going to be paroled," he continued. "That means you'll be set
free. Unless..."
"Unless?" She couldn't keep the note of hope and longing out of her voice.
Eckhart grinned at her. She still wasn't entirely broken; after all this
time.
"Unless the Warden decides otherwise. He has the final say in all parole
applications."
Joe! He'd approve the application. He almost always did.
"Your friend Burke has muddied the water a bit, though."
Rachel felt the familiar sense of burning anger course through her at the
sound of that man's name. Burke! He was the one responsible for where she was
now. He was the one responsible for her being turned into a... a fuck-toy for
the inmates. She had been both pleased and disappointed to learn of his
impending death from cancer. Pleased because his dying was proving to be long
and painful; disappointed because she would be denied the pleasure of killing
him herself.
He wasn't expected to last through the next month.
"He's arranging for the Warden to get the real story of what happened to
you." He reached up and tweaked her nipple ring and laughed as she flinched.
"The true story of what happened to his favourite assistant." Still laughing he
dropped his hand to her crotch and began playing with her again. By now, she
was wet down there. She hated it, and hated her reactions more than anything,
but she was powerless to stop herself. After all this time, her body was
dealing with the constant sexual activity as best it could.
"He asked for some final proof of your condition and I've decided to make
a tape for him. And for the Warden."
"A t-tape?"
Gripping her cheeks, he turned her frightened face around until he could
stare straight into her wide, blue eyes. Slowly, he brought his lips to hers
and invaded her mouth with his tongue. Rachel squirmed, humiliated, on his lap,
but still returned the kiss. She knew better than to do otherwise. By the time
their faces broke apart, she was panting with lust.
Damn her traitorous body to hell!
"A tape," he whispered, his face close enough to hers that she could smell
his odious breath. "A tape in which you're going to tell the Warden just how
much you like it here. How much you want to stay."
Rachel fought back the urge to pull away from his rough embrace. Joe would
never believe...
"He won't buy it," Eckhart smirked, reading her mind, "but that's not
really the point, is it?"
Before she could formulate an answer, the large man had shifted her off
his lap and over the edge of the bunk. Automatically, she spread her legs and
gripped the sides of the thin mattress. She knew this position well.
Eckhart reached over and placed a small tape recorder in front of her
face. "Just remember," he told her, slipping his pants down. "You like it here.
You want to stay. Anything else earns you a new tattoo and a caning."
Rachel shuddered. She had the words "ECKHART'S BITCH" tattooed in large,
garish letters across her left buttock.
Numbly, she nodded her understanding.
Eckhart hit the record button and then positioned himself behind her. With
one vicious thrust, he buried his large cock into her damp pussy.
At first, she was unable to speak. The feel of him inside her was, as
usual, overwhelming. It was never like this with anyone else; just him.
She hated that.
Involuntarily, she started to moan, but fell abruptly silent when he
grabbed her hair and jerked her face towards the recorder. The tape.
"Joe," she gasped. "Joe... I just want you to..."
She fell silent as Eckhart reached his hands around and began to maul at
her breasts.
"Oh... oh... oh..."
Trying to ignore the sensations surging through her abused body, Rachel
tried to complete the message to Joe. She didn't want even to consider the cost
of failure.
"Joe... I just have to... w-want to tell you how much I..." She groaned,
momentarily unable to continue as a small orgasm rippled through her body.
Behind her, Eckhart stepped up the pace.
"H-how much I... I like it h-here."
The large man was now fucking her so hard that the sound of his crotch
impacting against her ass was clearly audible. Rachel hoped that it wouldn't be
picked up by the tape recorder. She sniffled as tears of frustration and
humiliation began to run down her face.
"P-please, Joe," she continued, almost sobbing. Please. "Please...
d-don't approve B-Benson's application. Please... let me s-stay here. I love it
so much... Ah... ah..."
She stopped speaking, the sensations radiating out from her sopping pussy
too much for her. Behind her, Eckhart's breathing indicated that he too was
just about finished. Overcome with lust, Rachel madly humped her ass back
against his cock, screaming her short, clipped scream as they came together in
a frenzy of passion.
Exhausted, she fell forward on the bed, Eckhart on top of her. She opened
her eyes to see the mechanism of the tape recorder, only a few inches from her
face, spinning the cassette tape around and around...
The tape! What would Joe think? She had experienced a loud orgasm on
tape. He musn't believe it; he couldn't. She had to let him know. Panicking,
Rachel clutched at the recorder.
"Joe!" she screamed. "Help me! Help..."
Eckhart's large, muscular hand reached around, jerked the recorder from
her grasp and hit the stop button. Sobbing, she tried to bury her face in the
thin, prison blanket, but he denied her even that privacy. Rachel felt his hand
grip her hair and pull her face up to meet his angry gaze.
He was mad now.
"What would you like first, Ms. Harding?" he asked in that deceptively
mild voice she knew as well in her nightmares as in her waking hours. "The
caning or the tattoo?"
*****
Eckhart turned and looked back at me. For a moment, I thought he was going
to refuse, but he just shrugged his massive shoulders and jerked her around to
face me. She still had the dazed look on her features. I walked up until I was
staring her straight in the face. Her blue eyes widened in fear as I began to
speak.
"Rachel. You were right about the records. There was nothing I could do
with them that wouldn't fuck Orlando worse than it would fuck you. So I decided
to take a different approach. Since it's been the inmates who have been
suffering so you could make a few extra bucks, I felt that you should be making
it up to them. Personally. So that's what you'll be doing."
"You..."
"I've sold you to Eckhart here. Or, traded is more accurate. In exchange
for you joining the prison population, Eckhart will release the hostages and
bring the riot to an end."
She began to struggle furiously, but in vain.
"Sounds like a good deal to me.
"Burke, if you..."
"Benson's up for parole in one year. Eckhart here has promised that you'll
still be alive then, so you should be set free then."
"Nooooo..."
"If, of course, there's anything left of you to set free." Maybe that last
bit was a bit too much, but I'm a vindictive person. Rachel started to struggle
and thrash about, but Eckhart just brought a fist around and punched her
heavily in the stomach. She fell silent as the wind rushed out of her, and
would have doubled over had not the massive inmate held her up.
"That's enough," he grunted. "You haven't made things any easier for me."
I just shrugged. I'd said what I had to say.
Keeping one arm around her shoulder, he turned and guided the gasping
Rachel out of the room and down the hallway towards the checkpoint. This was
the risky part of my plan; or, at least, the most risky part.
The guard on duty, however, was Myers. You remember; the one who you had
been forced to put on three month suspension after Rachel made that complaint
of sexual harassment? I can't say for sure that this was the reason they got
through, but maybe it had something to do with it. It was dark, and the guards
were more concerned with people getting out rather then getting in. Myers gave
them a good look, but quickly waved them through.
It was no accident that Myers was the guard on duty at that particular
time.
As for Benson and I, it was a simple matter to slip him out the side door
and straight to Rachel's car without anyone getting too close a look. He was
gone within minutes, and by the time the chaos from the hostage release and the
ending of the riot had died down, her car was in the river and Benson long
gone.
You know they never found Rachel's body in the river. Now you know why.
That's really about all there is to tell. Eckhart kept his end of the
bargain; he sent me proof of Rachel's well-being (or, at least, continued
existence), and even sent a tape near the end. The proof is in the envelope and
the recording is on the other tape. I guess you should check them out, but just
let me finish first. I'm almost done.
Listen, Joe, I'm sorry for dumping this on you, but what else could I have
done? Rachel was fucking you and she was fucking the whole facility, and there
was nothing I could do to stop her short of violence. I won't deny that I
enjoyed what happened to her, 'cause I did. Still...
I know what you must think of me. If there's anything I regret, it's that
you're the one who has to make this decision. If you approve Benson's parole
application, Rachel will be set free and you'll have to deal with the
consequences. It doesn't matter to me; I'm dead. If you deny the application...
well, Rachel will likely be right where she is for at least another two
years...
It's up to you, Joe; it's your call...>
The tape fell silent, except for a quiet hissing.
The old man reached over and hit the stop button. He sat there in silence
for a few moments, face expressionless as he tried to digest what he had just
heard. Then he reached over and pulled open the smaller envelope.
Eleven pictures; polaroids.
They were numbered. The first one featured Rachel - it WAS Rachel -
crouching on a prison bunk, holding a newspaper from last June: proof of when
the picture had been taken. She was dressed in loose-fitting prison fatigues.
Her usually neat blonde hair was in disarray, and her blue eyes were wide with
fear.
He flipped quickly through the pictures, never dwelling for too long on
any one image. It was just too painful.
Number three: August. Rachel was wearing only a pair of panties in this
one. The paper sat beside her on the bunk while she cupped her ample breasts
towards the camera, as if offering them to the viewer.
Number five: October. Her face was visible only in profile as it nuzzled
against an unidentifiable man's crotch. Only the base of his penis was visible,
but one could clearly see the bulge in her throat as she accommodated its bulk.
A thin line of drool dangled from her lower lip and onto her naked breast.
Number nine: February. This one was taken from behind as she was obviously
being sodomized, again by an unidentifiable man. She had her face turned back
over her shoulder towards the camera. Her mouth was open and she appeared to be
panting, although whether it was in fear or lust he couldn't really say.
Number ten: March...
The old man threw down the pictures in disgust. He felt a catch in his
throat and was forced to swallow back the tears.
"Burke," he muttered, "you asshole." What have you done?
He took a deep breath.
Emotions again under control,the old man reached over to exchange tapes.
He hit the play button:
<There was the sound of some heavy breathing... and then some moaning. It
sounded like woman. It must be...
"Joe." It was; it was Rachel!
"Joe... I just want you to..." Her sentence dribbled off into a series of
rhythmic gasps. "Oh... oh... oh...">
The old man leaned forward in his chair turned up the volume on the tape
deck. Was she being...
<"Joe... I just have to... w-want to tell you how much I..." She groaned.
"H-how much I... I like it h-here." A rhythmic slapping sound could be
heard in the background. He could hear her sniffling as she tried to speak her
lines.
"P-please, Joe... please. D-don't approve B-Benson's application.
Please... let me s-stay here. I love it so much... Ah... ah..."
Her moans grew in strength and volume until finally they peaked in a
series of short, staccato screams, which quickly died away. There were a few
moments of silence, with only heavy breathing and then: "Joe!!! Help me!
Help..."
Her voice was cut off suddenly as someone brought the recording to an
abrupt end.>
The old man - Joeseph Orlando, Head Warden of the Point Hope Maximum
Security Facility - sat in stunned silence while the tape deck hissed
impotently on his desk. The glow of the desk lamp, which had seemed so dim and
inadequate only one hour earlier, now seemed to him to be all too bright; he
felt exposed and vulnerable.
A target.
What should he do?
Free Rachel and take the consequences? He couldn't prove anything, but he
now had no doubts regarding her guilt in embezzling prison funds; Burke's story
had rung true on that point. But that didn't mean she deserved what had
happened to her. Still, if her situation was brought to light, he knew that he
would have trouble proving his ignorance; in all likelihood, the best that
would happen would be that his career would be ruined and pension lost.
The worst? Well, he didn't want even to consider it.
Leave her there? Was that really an option? How would he sleep at night if
he did that? How could he ever forget her final, pathetic cry as the recording
was cut off? He and Rachel had been friends once; or, at least, he had
considered her a friend. Evidently, she had held a different view on the
matter.
It was an agonizing decision to make.
Still...
Still and all, Joeseph Orlando had not reached his present position by
being unable to make tough decisions. This was one of the hardest, but he had
to face facts and do the best he could.
He straightened up in his chair, his mind made up.
Really, he had little choice.
Moving slowly, he reached down and...
THE END
==================================================================
All comments are welcome. I can be reached as P or Parker.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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