Prisoners' Revenge Ch. 01

The junkie clasped Veronique's wrist suddenly from behind, and as she turned, she saw lust gleaming in his eyes. "You slut," he was saying - but suddenly noticed the gun. "Christ, she's got a gun!" he yelled to nobody in particular, and backed away, trembling, heading for a door at the end of the hall.

Jack whistled. "Hear that, boys? Maybe she was planning on taking me hostage, huh? Drop it, you stupid bitch."

Veronique could have torn out her hair in her frustration. She had been seconds away from seizing control. But she remained calm, aloof. "You said to bring my uniform, Mr. Sines. My gun is part of my uniform."

"Alright, alright. We aren't going to call and have Jennifer hung because you tried to shoot us. That was expected from Ms. Fascist Bitch. Just drop it, and any other weapons. No...funny business."

"Trying out for the Mafia, are we?" Veronique quipped, but dropped the pistol. The quiet clunk against the floor was deafening for her. She was damn near defenceless...and going into a den of thieves.

***

The room was filthy enough. There were several ashtrays, many snuffed-out joints, bags of discarded chips, pop cans, enough beer to drown an army...and so on. The predominant smell was of sex. Veronique knew it from a brief time with Vice Squad. The smell of a prostitute's den.

"The woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet, and adorned with gold and precious stones...having in her hand a golden cup full of...full of the filthiness of her fornication," Officer Carne mumbled, half-remembering the lines from Revelation about the Scarlet Woman. This place stank of her. Was this the end of the world, then? Veronique felt her mind drifting to verses, passages, cataclysms, apocalypse, angels, seals, trumpets, the earth cracking, the sinners plunging into great fires...NO. She shook her head. She had to remain alert. She still had a knife. She still had her wits, better than any dagger.

Jack Sines was walking backwards into the room, sitting down on a couch. "Make yourself comfortable," he was saying. Uncle had to be with Jennifer, from the phone call - and he had to be somewhere else. Ike and Larry came through presently, dragging through some heavy wooden 'thing'. Carne was not sure what it was, but it had holes in it.

The three of them manoeuvred themselves to be surrounding her. Ike was between her and the door. No one was speaking. Larry came very close, by her side, breathing against her neck. Veronique turned to keep him in front of her, preventing his getting a better angle on her. Eventually, Jack joined this game, approaching so that she became sandwiched between them.

"The filthiness of her fornication?" said Ike from the door, as though inquiringly. "Is that how you think of sex? Filthiness? This is going to be hard for you," he added almost sympathetically, scratching his hair beneath a cap he wore. "Um, Jack, tell her what we have planned for tonight."

"Well, it's still early," Jack said, his dark hair tumbling over his eyes as though he was telling a ghost story. "But okay, we'll start with a striptease. Partial striptease. Then the stocks. You know what stocks are, slut? In there, we'll double-team her, rotating a bit between us. That'll be Step One."

"Step One?" Veronique replied stupidly, before her eyes narrowed. "What the hell? So this whole thing is just to get sex? How pathetic is that?"

"No, no, no," Larry replied, breathing against her neck and causing her to flush more deeply. "This is for you. To give you pleasure. To see you happy. Is it true...we've heard you're a virgin? A true good Catholic girl?" His tongue flicked out and licked up Veronique's neck, right to the ear, brushing through strands of her beautiful auburn hair, flicking the lobe. "Well, we can help with that."

Aggressively, Veronique's arms came up and shoved the two men back. Both took several steps backwards, partially propelled, partially just exaggerating the force. They had both been surprised by her strength, especially sudden as it was. Jack was the first to recover. "Don't listen to Larry. It ain't for your pleasure. It's for ours. You are the stupid cunt who put us all away. Me for rape. Uncle for cocaine, or whatever it was he was carrying. We all hate you. You, specifically. We ain't redeemed from the pen. We don't feel sorry. But we want to feel you. Hear you beg. Hear you cry. See you cum again and again, slaves to our strength, slaves to our whims. Twenty-four hours. Hope we aren't interrupted."

Veronique thought of Dave, and almost smiled, feeling more confident. She managed to suppress the smile.

"No one told me she was here!" grumbled Uncle, the gargantuan man with the pathetic six hairs on his entire scalp. Veronique spun quickly, thrown off again. He was here? So was Jennifer here, too?

Ike saw through this. He had always been methodically logical, in his own, depraved way. "Yup, she's here. But too late, right? You're already here. We wanted to have Uncle with Jenny elsewhere, for security's sake. But I realized it was enough just to have you think so, so that you wouldn't have the cops kick in the door."

Jack suddenly yelled "fuck!" and leapt for Veronique, surprising her enough that she put up a fight, grappling with him. Had he seen her knife? What was this? His hands scrabbled over her uniform, then dipped inside and felt around. Carne felt his rough hands rub against the plain black bra she had worn, skirting around to pinch her breasts momentarily, before resuming the hunt. He drew back, proceeding to pat down her thighs and her legs. Somehow he did not bother the boots. He must not have thought a wire would fit there.

"She isn't bugged. It was definitely possible," Jack was saying, "so the cops could keep tabs on her. Now we can speak plainly. Ike - Jesus, if they'd been listening, they'd come busting in round about now, if they knew the hostage was here."

"Can I see her?" Veronique asked from the floor. She brushed off what she hoped was a white salad dressing from her pant leg, where she had fallen, and looked up with eyes still demanding and harsh. "Can I see Jennifer? Otherwise, I see no reason to even consider - "

"'Even consider'?" mocked Ike. "Lady, you're in the web of sin here. We can bring you to heel whenever we want. You think what you want has any meaning here? You think we're negotiating. We say 'sit', you sit. We say 'swallow', you swallow. You might be a cop out there, but here, we're your boss, we're the superintendents, we're the police chiefs."

Veronique thought that she was reaching the point of no return. It was now or never. If they made her strip, the knife would be revealed. Who knew what trouble that would cause? She did not like her chances. Four of them. One of her. Still, she did not see any weapons on them.

"So, you can start the tease, now," Larry said, and stooped down to pull her to her feet. His hands roamed over her uniform bottom, feeling her smooth rump, grabbing them like a pair of fruits. "This is going to be good," he declared. He was close. He smelled like rot, like sweat. How long had it been since he had showered?

Veronique thought of various approaches. A knife to one of their dicks would be a damn fine state. Just press it there, threaten to stab if anyone made a bad move. The neck would be easier to get to...

"C'mon bitch," Jack jeered, "you still have your cap on and everything. Start by standing at attention."

Veronique dumbly took a proper saluting position, one hand raised, the other straight by her side. Her mind was whizzing. Positions. It would be easy to escape - plunge the knife through Ike as she tore past. The trouble was helping Jennifer out. That would require either killing them all, or else...

"Nice. Nice tits. They look so good in that uniform. Fucking A. Now dance a bit, dance around, touch yourself through the fabric, throw your hat to the guy you want to give your first blowjob to. Hah hah hah..."

Veronique nodded, complying slowly but fairly directly. She was not much of a dancer, but she realized that the longer she took, the better. She spun a great deal, which dizzied her a bit needlessly, and since everybody was a fan of her breasts, she cupped them through her uniform, focusing more on them than on her shapely legs. She rubbed herself, feeling nothing, feeling no arousal, just going through the emotions. Her face was a simple mask - pursed lips, distant look of enjoying herself. Good enough to keep the wolves at the door.

***

Jennifer writhed on the bed. Sweat ran all over her soft body, and she wondered if the bugs on the bed were attracted to body heat. The stress made the sweat come faster. She was still hogtied, face down into a pillow, and yet with her clothes removed in between tie-ups, it felt considerably different than Ike's first set of knots. An extra rope passed through her thighs, tightly, keeping something shoved inside her body - was that what people called a dildo? It was moving, vibrating, stimulating her pussy as she lay and fought against the ropes.

Slowly, she felt herself becoming almost...aroused by it? She had seen some pornographic films with friends at sleepovers - they laughed, because of the girl's sisters apparently watched these movies religiously. Women would always go through the same cycles. Flushing, moaning, then screaming, bodies getting increasingly worked up. Then they kind of shivered, almost, and screamed louder than at any time before...it was weird, because they were acting, weren't they? How did they fake it so well?

Ike had pushed the dildo in with a minimal amount of lubrication. When he had been binding the ropes, he had been cackling nearly constantly. "Uncle, look at this hot bitch. Beautiful hair, huh?" Jennifer liked her raven-colored hair, and had no idea that they were talking about her pubes. Naturally, she was confused when they said that they should make a 'landing strip' of her hair. What would be landing on her scalp? Was that some dirty joke?

Uncle grunted. "Officer Carne will be here, soon. You guys let me know when she gets here." "Yeah, yeah," came Ike's response, as he sauntered out. "British fag," Uncle was saying once the door closed, and he knelt by Jennifer as she wriggled and twisted on the bed. "Do you like it?" the brutish man asked. The blindfold had been removed, and Jenn saw Uncle's simple brown eyes gazing into hers, judging her. She was gagged, and tried to deny any pleasure she was feeling from the incessant wriggling of the dildo. Uncle laughed, taking this as moaning - which behind the ball gag, it did rather sound like. "Baby girl likes it," he smiled, and slapped her bare ass - one cheek, then the other. "Lovely. Can't wait."

Jennifer shed a single tear against the pillow, the moisture soon drawn into the fabric and irrevocably lost. She turned her face towards the window, that peeked out over a clump of trees. Focusing on the trees, she tried to remove herself from what she felt, but it was just so constant, so determined to please her, that she felt herself pulled back again and again...if she could only detach herself from situations, like clever Veronique could. Sometimes she hated her sister for that ability of hers. Envied hers.

She bit down on the gag as the vibrator suddenly began to move faster, going through a speed cycle of some kind. Drool began to leak out around the edges of the gag, wetting the pillow further. God, it was insistent!

Uncle lay down on the neighbouring bed, flicked on the television. It was too early to start filming. If she did not look into it, it wouldn't sell anyway. Nor would it be good blackmail material. Even Uncle knew this, thick as two short planks.

Jennifer heard someone yelling from outside the room. "I'm a cumbucket!"

'What the heck?' she wondered.

***

The rooms were simple enough. There was the main room - couch, television, looked like a bomb had gone off quite recently. An attached room to the left, which Uncle had emerged from - Veronique took this to be where Jennifer was being kept hostage. To the right, another door, where Ike and that retard Larry had been staying until their sudden emergence. A closet with blinders. This room had no window, and was lit by a few freestanding lamps.

Despite herself, Veronique felt embarrassed to be dancing for these ex-prisoners, these drooling convicts. It was a disgrace to her uniform. A disgrace to her honor. To be touching herself...even in pantomime, it was disgusting. She would save herself from their paws, save her virginity for a chaste, good man. All of her virginities...she had often heard from laughing, idiot officers about a woman's 'three virginities', her mouth, her vagina, her anus. These thugs would never touch any part of her in these ways, or others they might dream up. The police had such imaginations...perhaps they caught this from the perverts they hunted. Another virginity was between the breasts, a 'titty fuck'...apparently, the armpits were a legitimate place to slide the penis...apparently, the necrophilia-worshipping freaks they sometimes caught liked the idea of a penis through the ear into the skull. Men had such...imaginations, Veronique thought again.

She tried to flick her cap at Ike, as he appeared to be a leader of sorts, though she had kept the rest of her clothes on so far. Just a stupid imitation of a movie she had seen once with Courtney Cox as a stripper. She slipped up, and it just tilted down over her head, cocked at a weird angle. The men laughed. "Try again!" yelled Jack. Ike shook his head - "no, no. Leave it like that. Really cute. Choose your man wisely."

Veronique stopped for a moment, to take in what they really wanted.

Ike Redford stood up. "You know, I offered myself to you once, Officer Carne. You won't remember. Long before you caught me. We went to the same university. I was in your Criminology class."

Veronique was literally stunned. She had never been asked out by anyone called Ike. But wait - maybe he had used an alias then...or now? No, the courts would have found his real name, wouldn't they?

"Yeah, I came up to you in class. I looked different. My hair was neat and blond. I wasn't wearing contacts. I was dressed preppy. God, I admired you. I looked at you every class. Pure admiration. No sex in my head, even. You don't remember me, do you."

"No," Carne replied honestly. "I'm sorry, I don't."

Ike spat onto the floor, though it made little enough difference to the filthy mess already in place. "Yeah, well. I was respectful and all. Wrote you poems."

It all flashed back to her. Yes. The poems. "I remember the poems," she said.

She had never liked the poems. They were dark poems, brooding, 'deep' perhaps, but so full of pain and almost...devilish ideas. Wicked ideas. About the darkness of the universe, things like that. Brooding on death. She had come into it as a kind of angel; he had cast her as the only light he saw. Veronique had rejected it partially as trite, partially as opposed to her religious ideals. She said so to Ike, cap over her left eye, using much the same words as before.

"I know. I scared you. And you thought I was scary, or boring. Or both. How the fuck do those mix, anyway?"

Nervously, she shrugged. "They do mix. You were talking about great things, but it didn't sound like you knew what you were dealing with. And without the light of God, the conclusions you were reaching...I mean, calling me an angel is such blasphemy. Such blasphemy." She had to admit, a part of her liked it. Being glorified, being on a pedestal.

"It was honest. I honestly felt so much for you."

The other men exchanged glances. What the fuck was up with Ike? He was normally such a charming sadist, a dastardly torturer. Was he playing favourites?

Jack spoke up. "Keep stripping, whore. Toss that cap." His dark, almost black eyes flashed over Ike, as though expecting objection, the order to be belayed. It went unchallenged.

Veronique kept dancing as before, feeling at her breasts through the thick cloth of the uniform, stroking her belly and her thighs. She turned about, bending over to show her ass against the trousers. Hands on her belt, she did small rotations, not really committed to this. Her hair was behind her head in a bun. She intended to suddenly loosen this, as a form of misdirection, and approach them, drawing the knife with the other hand...attacking suddenly, cutting each of them enough to give her time to get to the hostage-room with Jennifer.

"I felt so much for you," Ike almost shouted.

"I don't believe you. Look what you're having me do, now. Is that what someone who loves a girl does? Has the girl strip for his buddies? Perplexed and troubled at his bad success, The tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discovered in his fraud". That's what happened. Your romance was just another cheap trick to get a girl in bed. Men are full of them."

Turning, she pretended to throw her cap to Ike, but changed at the last second to throw it to Jack. This was political. Her reason was returning. Multifoliate, steps of her plan were assembling. Jack caught it in his lap, and looked up, glancing at Ike Redford. He didn't blink. He walked behind the couch, as though to get a vantage point to watch. The men were all bunched together now, gathered around Jack as though he was the Birthday Boy.

"Get over here and start sucking then, babe. Let's see if you're sincere. Your pathetic tease didn't even get me hard, so you got some work to do."

Veronique smiled as though he had amused or aroused her, reached to her hairbun and released it, so her hair blossomed out like an auburn fountain. She sauntered over towards him. She had gotten the knife up her sleeve while stooping at one point. It could flash out at any point.

She was thinking rapidly: Jack first, because I'll be close to him; then Uncle, fast and hard because he's tough enough to take it unless he's surprised...back up to the door, slashing at anyone who gets close...that door better have a blasted bolt. Then out the window. Those side rooms have windows. They looked fairly big. Hope Jennifer can be untied quickly - the knife will help.

The men gazed up at her. All of them lower than her, even lumbering Uncle, for they knelt in anticipation. She stalked closer, tall and lithe in her close-fitting uniform, one hand plucking open the top bottom, teasing...

She wasn't bad at this, for a first-timer.

Fast as lightning, the blade was out into her hand, slashing Jack's grinning face - a flash of red - spinning so quickly her arm would ache afterwards for it - slashslashslashslash across Uncle's chest and briefly over his chin - only the last slash garnering any red - the other attacks seemingly absorbed into his bulk - and she was running backwards - Ike getting close - slashing his all-too-close hand - Larry suddenly with a gun (he was packing?!) - but she was through the door.

She slammed it closed. In mute surprise, she saw the knife was gone. Had she dropped it? A bolt - there was a crash against the door, and she flung the bolt through while pushing back against it herself. More crashes - bang bang bang.

"Nowhere to go, you crazy bitch! Nowhere to go! Uncle, go out the back, make sure she don't crawl out somehow. This door's coming down! We've got your cutesy little knife!"

She spun around. The room was dark. A television was playing some awful pornographic film, with a girl giving a hulking black man the blowjob of his life, deepthroating it eagerly. Did she enjoy that? What the hell? Veronique raced to the bed, and suddenly the shadows and the light revealed what she was seeing: her nude and tied-up sister, wriggling against her bonds. There was a rope up against her vagina, and she was shaking as though she was being tickled. The girl's face was buried against the pillow. She was grunting through the gag, trying to speak, Veronique incorrectly guessed.