Prisoners' Revenge Ch. 01

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Chaste officer gets gangbanged by vengeful convicts.
12.5k words
4.36
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99

Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 10/23/2022
Created 10/20/2009
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CHAPTER ONE: BUTTERFLY CAUGHT

"Perplexed and troubled at his bad success
The tempter stood, nor had what to reply,
Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope,
So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric
That sleeked his tongue, and won so much on Eve,
So little here, nay lost..." - John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book IV

Grinning, Jack Sines walked along the corridor to the motel room at end of the hall. He knocked twice, then paused, then knocked three times in succession. He waited. "Gypsy tears", he almost giggled as the password, and the door opened up, revealing a bull-headed giant of a man with somewhat sparse hair and a stern, almost 'reflective brute' appearance. 'Like a great, stupid simian', Jack thought, patting him on the shoulder on his way through. The great, stupid simian - nicknamed Uncle - followed him inside. The room stunk of beer and weed, and two other men were lounging about inside. One was a red-headed man who was watching Jeopardy and answering everything incorrectly - Larry Oldsman - and the other was playing darts, casting the darts towards a Polaroid of an attractive woman's face, each dart slamming into her cheek, her temple, and so forth. The dart playing man was a British fellow, a long time conman whose lengthy (and prison-free) criminal career had been suddenly shattered by his arrest by Officer Carne.

Uncle was the first to speak. "Won't be long", he said. "But we need a lot of stuff, first. Want to make this really perfect, don't we?"

"Fuck yeah!" replied Larry, flicking on the VCR, so that a pair of blonde lesbians could be seen ploughing one another with dildos. "Fuck yeah. God knows we've been waiting long enough, haven't we?"

The British man - Ike Redford - snickered, piercing the snapshot's pretty nose with a sudden and vicious dart. "Oh, God knows. And he'll deliver her up, if he knows what's good for her family."

There was a brief silence in the room, only punctured by the grunts and occasional squeals from the television. Larry reached over to nurse his growing erection, until Ike threw an ashtray at him. It struck Larry's head, and he whined, "what the fuck was that for, cunt?"

Ike rolled his eyes. "We don't want to watch you fap, asshole. Get your head in the game. We have preparations to get together. You working on the hardwear?"

Larry nodded. He whipped a cell phone out of his dirty trousers, and chattered away about stocks, harnesses and handcuffs to somebody called Willy.

Jack Sines sat down and lit up a joint. "It's going to be a long twenty-four hours for the madame, isn't it?" He said this as though sorrowful, although he snickered at the end, unable to keep the irony in its usual expression. His small mouth opened wide, and smoke billowed out, as though from a dragon's mouth.

***

Officer Veronique Carne was a stately woman of thirty years old. She was even-headed, polite, organized, methodical. Her mind was quick, some might say sharp, and betrayed none of the corruption so often cast upon the police force of her home city of New York. Veronique was also drop-dead gorgeous. Of a moderate height, her other features far transcended moderate - fairly long auburn hair, fiery green eyes, a fairly pale complexion, and a stunningly tanned body made many eyes long to see her out of uniform. None ever had. When she had joined the NYPD, the standards for a female officer joining the force were identical to the expectations for men - only more recently had the need for a more even gender distribution altered this ideal; in other words, she was just as tough as her fellow male officers. This gave her both a certain pride in her abilities, and of course guaranteed her body was toned and muscled into a distinctly tomboy form.

Her virginity was forged of the kind of certainty that made her seem invincible. Some people are virgins against their will; it seemed to Veronique that those who were virgins by choice were higher than the former group. Better. They had the choice, and said 'no'. Not to have had the choice at all - what was to be celebrated there? In high school and university, she had certainly been propositioned, by every offer was rejected, sometimes with kindness, sometimes scornfully, always with certainty. Raised French Catholic until she had moved with her family to New York in the '90s, the idea of 'sex after marriage' was firmly drilled into her philosophy.

Around the police station in her precinct, her virginity was not known, but she was considered a bit of a prude. Several officers had asked her out for dates, in the most sincere and pleasant of ways, and been turned down with a reprimand for "behaviour not fitting a fellow officer of the law". Veronique had not gone so far as to report them, but had threatened to do so if they every asked again.

Veronique was proud of a few things - she tried to be proud in moderation, but did recognize self-esteem as psychologically healthy, after all. All things in moderation, and all that. Her Catholic upbringing brought her pride, for she felt it was the True Faith, and she had been a very faithful practitioner of the Pope's decrees ever since a streak of delinquency in elementary school. Her excellent grades throughout her education made her proud, as did her calm and (she thought) very pleasant way of rejecting male offers. Her family's successes in the business world made her proud, although she still felt that Justice was the ultimate pursuit of the true Catholic, the truly good person. She had read Aristotle quite thoroughly, and examined his Ethics with her eyes perpetually drawn to the notion of both the Golden Mean, as well as Justice as the best of virtues - the virtue that defended and kept the others sacrosanct.

There was only one thing of which she was ashamed, truly ashamed. She had a tendency to drift. Sometimes this was a boon, as when she chose to overlook the sexually derogatory comments crooks made while she dealt with them - being able to tune them out was rather nice. But it could almost be dangerous, as when she was interviewing a witness and felt her entire consciousness drifting away. Once or twice it had happened while driving. Doctor Steiner, a long time friend as well as general medical doctor, had suggested that this was due to insufficient sleep. Veronique tried to sleep more, but she was very busy and had little time for this remedy. The problem returned. Since she felt that her true duty in life was attention to reality, attention to the world around her, as a way to overcome the evils in the world, this was a source of great sorrow for Officer Carne.

***

"You must be careful in the forest," sang Ike, folding the girl's arms and legs behind her in the dark van. The rope emerged from the edges of the van and bound the limbs quickly, expertly. He had been well trained. He made sure that the girl would feel no pain, despite the awkwardness of her position. "Broken glass and rusty nails..." He was a great fan of Waits, and he felt the young lady needed some music to cheer her up. What was there more suited to the occasion than 'Just The Right Bullets'? That was exactly what Ike was collecting - just the right bullets for Officer Carne's fall. This girl was the future husband of Peter Jones (the most generically-named individual Ike had ever heard of), but at present she was Jennifer Carne, and an ideal target for kidnapping. What on earth would the officer not do for the safe return of Jennifer? Would she go through hell? Would she sell her soul?

'It's all on the table', thought Ike, and changed the tune he was singing to 'Black Rider'.

Jennifer wriggled about, neatly - almost beautifully, thought Ike - hogtied. Her breasts pressed against the hard floor of the van, painfully, though they would not yet bruise. Ike made sure that her blindfold was in place, and let loose his erection from his jeans. He rubbed it under her tiny nose, the sensitive skin of his penis's head rolling over her soft skin, and he was amused at the eighteen-year-old girl's squeamish (but clearly recognizing) reaction. A kind of little squeak. There was just a tiny trace of precum on Ike's erection, and he left it in a transparent trail under her nostrils, like a wet little moustache. Ike almost giggled, but checked himself.

The girl was sobbing, and finally Ike caught a few words - "I have to be somewhere, please let me go, I have to be somewhere..."

"Lay down in the web of the black spider - I'll drink your blood like wine," chanted Ike in a singsong kind of manner, mockingly. He sat on Jennifer's back. She was a rather attractive youth herself - good looks clearly ran in the family, even with the burning green eyes kept captive and hidden behind the leather blindfold. Wearing a white blouse and conservative black shirt, she looked the perfect schoolgirl. 'No stockings', Ike noted with irritation.

It made Ike sad that he was not allowed to rape her. Yet.

Getting himself into the front of the van, he laughed, crooning: "Come along with the black rider - I want your company...we'll have a gay old time! We'll have a gay - old - time!"

***

Veronique stood in front of the motel, wondering if this was wise. She felt vulnerable. She felt out of place in this dirty car park. "WASH ME", someone had scrawled onto a nearby van. The lights twinkled along the motel's few windows like little, laughing eyes. It was a strangely formed building: there was the usual front walkway, with rooms facing out over the carpark. But there was a second row of rooms behind the first, the two sets of rooms separated by a long hallway. Actually, she had already been in that hallway - but had retreated, too frightened to dive right into knocking at the shitty little door 212. Pulling back to the front of the building again, she shivered slightly. The order had been to come in her uniform, which struck Veronique as an odd request. She stood with her pistol in its holster. And more.

She would not go down without a fight. Stepping over to her car, she fished out a knife and slid it into her standard issue boots - a last resort weapon, but possibly one to save her life. This was obviously a trap. But specifically what kind of trap was ambiguous. Were they doing all of this just to rape her? The thought disgusted her, but she could not deny the possibility. They all hated her. They had taken pains to secure this encounter, without any demand of money, which her family had a lot of (her successful father in particular). What was all of this about?

***

The call had come to her cell phone at seven in the evening, just after her dinner. Preparing for another night alone, she had being grooming herself, mouthwash and toothpaste, and was naked for the shower - when Chopin had started to tinkle out from the little phone.

She snatched it up with a mumbled, "huh?" before she clarified with "hello, this is Officer Veronique Carne. To whom am I speaking?"

"To the four of us," came the reply, slightly enigmatically.

"Tell me who this is, or I'll hang up", she said, annoyed that the boys at HQ were messing with her again.

"Ike Redford, Jack Sines, Uncle, Larry Oldsman. Anything else you want to know, babe?"

Carne frowned. The four of them had never been in collusion. Had they met in prison. They would have all came out of prison without the last eight months, to the best of her knowledge. She had opposed their release at the parole board hearings. She had only succeeded with Uncle, but he would be out by now, certainly. "Really?" she asked, about to lead into something else when Jack interrupted.

"Yeah, really. Catch on fast, don't'cha? Oh, sorry. Five of us, I meant."

"Oh, really. Made some friends in the pen, did you?"

"You could say that, but not Jennifer here. Jennifer Carne was it? Or was that Jennifer Jones - I didn't catch that, Jenny?"

Carne's hands went to her face, and she nearly dropped the phone. "What...are you talking about?" she eventually managed to reply.

"Oh, ho, ho, don't worry," said Jack sarcastically. "She's not here with us, or we'd be too busy fucking her senseless to be talking to ya' on the phone. She's...otherwise occupied. This way, you can't just call your boys and crash in the door, right? Smart, right? Is that logical?"

"Right, of course." Carne's mind was reeling. How could she fight back, then? But wait - this could be a feint. "Well, how do I know you aren't bullshitting?" Ike was very good at deceit.

"You're at home?"

"Yes."

"The landline. Thirty seconds or so. In the meantime, let's chat..."

Carne cussed. They'd done their research enough to know her cell number, her landline number, the name of her kid sister, her soon-to-be brother-in-law...and they were organized, the four of them, the four biggest cases Carne had ever brought to ground. Jack the rapist and mugger, Uncle with a major assault case as well as many drug charges, Ike with major fraud, and that idiot Larry...well, he had not been a major case. Public indecency. He had flashed a bunch of people. Carne had shown up, and he'd tackled her, tried to kiss her, before she'd gotten mace in his eyes and handcuffs on his wrist. "Your first kiss?!" he'd been babbling, pulled away into her squad car by her partner Dave, while Veronique wiped her lips off with the back of her hand and spat...'a lucky guess'.

"About what?" was the best Veronique could come up with, stressed and flustered as she was.

"What are you wearing, pussycat?"

"Watch your filthy mouth," shot back Veronique, but all she got was laughter in response. "You'll be watching it soon," jeered the British thug, "watching it all over your tits, kissing, sucking, licking...I have such an imagination with that sort of thing, you know?"

"I thought rape was your buddy's forte. Don't you just bullshit a lot? Fraud - just being able to lie and deceive. So you're likely as not, just quoting from some porno you've wasted your hours away on."

"You'll see." The phone went dead.

The landline was ringing, and Veronique ran over to the phone, eschewing clothes in her haste, snatching it up, panting, her B-cup breasts heaving involuntarily as she listened.

It was Jennifer. "I'm sorry - they - they have me," Jenny was saying. "They stole me. I'm so sorry, sis, oh God, I think they're crazy..."

"Where are you? Speak quickly, maybe I'll catch some of it. Try your best."

"I'm - "

She suddenly started to gurgle on the other end of the line, and Uncle's rough voice came over the line. "Sorry bitch. Speakerphone. Wasn't that an obvious move? You losin' your cool, bitch?"

Veronique spoke rapidly, her words falling over one another - "please don't hurt her, please don't; look, I'll pay you what you want." She was quick to offer money, because frankly, her father could pay - money was so much less important than dear Jennifer. Jennifer, who loved the seaside. Jennifer, who was to move back to France with her adoring fiance, so soon. 'Why hadn't she just left?!' Veronique felt like screaming. 'She would be safe from these roguish hands.'

The cell phone rang again, and Uncle cut his line. Suddenly cold, goosebumps rising all over her fair skin, Veronique went back to the warm light of the bathroom, scooping on a towel as she answered the cell. "Okay, you got me. What, then?"

"We're staying at a motel. Come speak to us. Wear your uniform. Do your hair up nice and pretty. Take a shower or bath. Wear perfume. Nice shampoo. Smell good." - this was Larry, at his finest. "You deserve another kiss. Your second kiss ever."

The phone was snatched away. Jack this time. "Don't mind him. But do yourself up like he said. We want to take our time with you, and it should be a fun time for us. You aren't just sewer scum, sexy. You're dazzling. A fall from grace should be drastic." He gave the motel's address.

"What the hell are you on about? Why don't you just fire a prostitute and leave my family alone, for God's sake?" Veronique fired at him, and she heard the line go dead.

***

The door said '212'. The paint was peeling off of it. The entire hallway, a kind of dentist green, made her feel ill, and the smell from under the door was hardly improving things. Veronique held her Glock behind her back, sidling up to the door. If she managed to get a gun to a head, perhaps she could bargain for her sister with no further costs. All it would take was a moment of foolishness, and these criminals were very good at being foolish. Just one little chance.

She prayed: "Restore us, O God; Cause Your face to shine, And we shall be saved." Some old Psalm. Her hand tightened on the gun, her whispered prayer sent out without response. She knocked as commanded. "It's me. Open up."

"Password?"

They had issued this moments before her arrival, with a great deal of childish laughter from the caller - Larry.

"Cumbucket," she said plainly, trying to take the undertone out of it, trying to make it 'just a word'.

"No."

"Jesus Christ, you're hung up on this? Let me in!"

The voice again. "No."

Her face flushed slightly. She would have folded her arms, were it not for the pistol she needed to obfuscate. "I'm a cumbucket."

"Better. Louder. Make it sound like you believe it."

Veronique cussed again. She kicked the door a couple of times. There was laughter from behind. "Wait 'til someone comes along," they demanded from the other side. "Wait 'til someone's in the hallway."

Veronique kicked at the door a few more times, before turning around and waiting for someone to come and satiate these idiots' petty little whims. She did not care, not deep down inside. They were just words. She would never mean it. So what did it matter?

She cut an attractive figure. Her uniform seemed almost to exaggerate her proud bosom, and with a pistol lingering by her side, she seemed dangerous and sexy. A rugged woman - dangerous and sleek, even in this repulsive setting. Her slight flush only made her face all the more charming. Besides, she had done as commanded - there was no harm in using shampoo or soap; she would have regardless. She had even found a bottle of perfume, or at least Eau De Cologne, and applied it conservatively to her chest. Carne knew that these people were petty. They would hurt Jennifer over a pale nothing. She had to be bloody careful.

Of course, she had phoned a friend with the police. Told him all. Told him to keep it quiet. Her partner, Dave. He had offered to come with her, but she had imagined they would be watching the motel lot. He was thinking up a plan, something to save her ass. And he was trying to follow the trail left by whoever Jennifer's kidnappers were, to find out where it might lead. Dave was a sensible man, and even by himself, Veronique knew that he would solve this matter.

Finally, someone appeared down the hall, a slightly paranoid and mad looking junkie wearing a ragged coat and torn jeans. He scratched at his head incessantly.

"Go on," said Jack from the other side.

"I'm a cumbucket!" Veronique almost shouted, though without much sincerity.

"Put some purr into it, pussycat," Jack snickered. The junkie had turned to look at Veronique with the bulging eyes growing all the larger. "Huh?" he asked.

"I am a cumbucket!" the officer announced again, putting more inflection into it. "Happy?"

"Not happy enough, but getting there. Beg for some hot cum from 'someone, anyone'...you know. Improvise a bit."

Veronique began to pound on the door, her temper roused. "Look asshole, I'm not going to beg for anybody's - as you say, 'cum'."

The junkie wandered closer. "Ma'am, can I help you?" he asked. Veronique glanced down. Did he have an erection? Jesus...

Veronique tried to just get this over with. "I need cum. I want cum. I love it. I want it on my face, in my hair, because I'm just a hungry cumbucket...happy?" The 'happy' came rapidly on the trail of the other words, which were mashed together to obscure them. Jack laughed. "If you insist," he was saying. The door was rattling.