Prisoners' Revenge Ch. 02

"You are such a tight-ass little bitch," Jack whispered into her ear, his hot breath all around where her locks of delicate hair swept over the cleft of her ear, "and trust me, I've had your ass, and I know - you are such a tight-ass, it's going to be HILARIOUS taking you out in public. Yes, ma'am. People are going to love you, Officer Carne, they are going to love every inch of you. Head to toe, and back again, Officer Carne."

He truly relished this part of the rape - degrading the honorific that she had so often heard voiced with respect and admiration.

This threat brought Veronique back to reality. What was he saying? How could they 'take her out in public'? To be offered to some wandering stranger? What a ridiculous risk - for all they knew, the stranger would help her, call the cops, help her escape. Were they mad? Well - 'they are stupid criminals', she reminded herself, with a rapid burst of hope. 'That stupid? Maybe, maybe. They'll regret it, the bastards'.

Unfortunately, being back in reality just led to Veronique being much more aware of the hard rod slowly pleasuring her from behind. This was the second cock in a row, after only a single orgasm, and her body was crying out to explode again, in a second rush like the first. With horror, she realized that she would start quivering and shaking again, so that everyone - even her sister - would know that she had gotten off on these criminal studs.

Quietly - too quietly for Veronique to even catch - the dark man whispered to Jennifer tempting words: "if you give in entirely, give us all the time of our lives without fighting, then we'll go easy on you. With her - she'll get abused anyway. But you - one good gangbang, and you can join our side. Admit it...admit it, she's your big sister, and you want to see her crawl, don't you? Want to see her bow to you? The stuck-up bitch - she probably treated you like shit as a kid. Want revenge? Help us ruin her, and you can control her - dominate her." Jenny almost felt the sneer of the man against her face, and heard it thick in his voice. She shivered, glancing down to where her sister was getting more cock. Jenny wondered - could she do that to this poor sister of hers? To save herself from being gang-raped?

Veronique glanced to her left, desperate to escape what she assumed would be the judging eyes of her sister, to avoid looking at the 'fifth man' who had rejected her pleas, made her plea in vain. She saw Uncle, kneeling, a digital video recorder in his hands. How long had he been recording? Had he captured every second of her reluctant pleasure? Had her face betrayed signs of enjoying this? "God damn it!" she cried, while the men laughed at what they called "the Christian's prude's little blasphemy". Uncle grinned oafishly. "We can edit this later," he said with what was meant to be a sly wink, "so it only has the bits where you enjoy yourself. So you'll look like a total slut."

"She IS a little slut," corrected Jack, going crazy inside her with his whole length. "And she knows it. A dear little slut." His fingers toyed with one nipple, while the other hand explored around her cunt, finding her clitoris easily, rolling that under his index finger. She involuntarily groaned, far more obviously than her previous noises of reluctant pleasure. "Sergeant, do you like your clit being stroked? I'm sorry we've neglected it," laughed Larry from the table.

"Yes, sergeant," Jack followed through, increasing the vigour of his assault, both on her tight box, and her relatively untouched clitoris. "I thought officers of the law didn't like getting fucked by the thugs they put away. Isn't that against your policies? But you're so wet...clearly you're enjoying this...I think you're breaking more rules, you naughty little whore!" Veronique moaned, long and vulnerably, unable to hold back any more. It was rising - rising. "Now cum for me, bitch," ordered Jack, sensing how close she was, and she had to obey. Veronique felt Jack's balls slapping up against her as he drove himself in to the hilt, moving faster now, although he was controlling his own orgasm much easier this time. The finger did not need to toy with her clit any more, and instead roamed through her thatch of pubic hair, not quite tugging it, but hinting that he might.

Jack's hand pushed Veronique's face forward as she screamed out her climax, pushing her face directly into Jennifer's pussy. In the meantime, the fifth man must have removed the crotch rope, for there was nothing between Veronique's open and howling mouth, and Jennifer's young sweet pussy, as Veronique's moaned and breathed great heaving breaths from her forced orgasm, snuffling against her own sister's twat. Veronique could smell her sister's musky odour - not unpleasant objectively, but to the sergeant this was nevertheless the greatest humiliation yet - and she felt the shame even in the great upheaval of these moments of thrashing pleasure. As she finished her orgasm, Jack's hand did not relent in pushing her into her sister, as though she was giving her sister oral sex. Nor did the big, thick cock stop banging into her, as she came down from her sexual high. She would just have to keep putting out, like it or not. Her own juices rolled down along Jack's length, but he was still dry, as though he did not care about this, as though he was just giving her what she wanted, what not moments ago her mind had been begging for, screaming for, praying for...

***

Dave Hollander moved into the station like a Greek god, tall, muscular, proud. He had a full head of somewhat curly brown hair, slightly childish, boyish blue eyes, and he wore his uniform with real dignity. Hollander rarely asked favours of anybody, but he readily provided them, being a decent, and occasionally church-attending Baptist. He saw a friend of his, Constable Matthew Grey, vanishing into a side office, and followed him - Matthew was just the man to speak to. A real whiz with the NYPD's exasperating database system, Matthew had been an officer for about twelve years, now in his early thirties.

"Can we keep this a little quiet?" Hollander asked, sliding a paper across the table to Matthew. The paper just contained the block letters and wide, sweeping numerals of the license plate. "I need to track this van. Might be something really serious. And I hope you know, I wouldn't keep it confidential if it hadn't been requested of me."

"Course, course," Matthew replied, smiling warmly, "I know you trust me; it's not a biggie. Okay, well this might take a bit. You can speed me up if you help out. I know you aren't a fan of computers post circa-1980s, or Pong, or shit like that, but the manpower will count for a lot." Matthew was himself fairly small for an officer, but had a considerable strength in his smaller frame. He was the top marksman for the precinct in the last four years, and had come second-place for the city-wide trophy - quite impressive, considering the hawkeye-shooting of New York's finest. Still, computers were his real passion, and Matthew was an absolute genius with this particular system.

Dave readily agreed to the deal, looking around the messy office with a wince around his left eye - that wince that always emerged when he knew that Time was mocking him, that someone was being victimized because Dave could not travel at the speed of light. He found himself checking his watch more and more often. The blue lights of the racing second-hand glowed terribly in the dark office chamber, glowing like a cold blue fire.

***

Jack had finally came, and Larry and Uncle had gone through their turns before they were done with Veronique for a time. She almost smiled, grateful as she was for the end to the seemingly endless pounding. She lay at Jennifer's feet, feeling too exhausted and weak in the knees to move, or even protect herself. Why bother covering up? Not only had everyone in the room seen all there was to see, but they seen those parts in operation, seen her at her most private moment - of climaxing - the thing she had wanted to preserve only for the dearest partner she ever met, and only for one man in her life.

"Can I - sleep?" she asked softly, to no one in particular. Larry just chuckled. Jack spoke a little further - "no, slut, you can't sleep. You haven't banged everyone in the room yet, let alone everyone on the planet. So your life purpose is not fulfilled. I mean..." he looked down at her with his smouldering dark eyes, like the eyes of the devil himself, and his thick eyebrows rose, "...we haven't even taken you for a walk around the lot. Who knows how many people would be willing to lend you a bit of cock to pass the evening by? Priorities, slut. Pleasures before rest. And pearls before swine - at least, your pretty little pearl."

Veronique closed her eyes, although in truth she was not sleepy - her muscles were just tired, worn out. But how could she sleep, even if they let her? God only knew what they would do to her while she slept. Well - God only knew, along with the Devil.

"Get your clothes on, woman," Jack was now saying, gesturing to the ruined pile of her uniform. "Or did you want to stroll out there stark naked, huh?"

In truth, Veronique might have rather gone out naked. She did not dare to say so. Hustling over to the pile, she pulled her trousers back on along with her panties, her boots almost tearing them further as they passed through. It wasn't so bad, was it? Just a few stains over the trousers, revealingly white as they were, and the black cotton panties a little ripped. Jack was smiling. He knew very well what was coming, with a clarity of mind that Veronique had simply lost from shellshock. She tugged on her uniform shirt directly over her chest, after finding the bra essentially useless from having been ripped - but found that it did not come together properly. When whoever had ripped it, it must have torn! Now, it only buttoned up about halfway, so that no matter how often she corrected it, her luscious breasts were almost entirely falling out, the nipples only millimetres away from showing. Worse, it was coated with lines of cum - far more than she could rub off - so it looked as though she had been fucked while wearing it, and quite often, and quite recently. She did not even bother trying to remove the cum-stains. Strangely, she felt more naked with the uniform on, than off.

"Is Princess ready?" asked Uncle, but Jack shook his head. "Not quite," he said, and stepped over to her. He pushed an ear-bud into her left ear, pushing the hair back over her ear in a creepily delicate motion to get access. She twitched and jerked her head away a few times before he succeeded. "Now," he said, "we'll be listening from nearby. Following you, like, in case you try to bolt. You do exactly as we say over the radio. Basically, you're going to look like a total slut, and go get us some beers. You remember the store?"

She nodded briskly.

"Well, we want lots of beer. I guess you might have to ask for help carrying it back here. Hmm, I hope that doesn't lead to anything too - stimulating for you. Those grocer-boys at this time of night...well, they can have itches to scratch, see?"

She nodded again, standing suddenly at attention. One of her boobs fell out in the process. This got a guffaw out of Jack, which was exactly what Veronique had intended. While he laughed, he turned to the others to share the joke, and Veronique snatched a pen and shoved it into her back pocket. The uniform had already been searched for anything like that, by one of the guys, somewhat earlier. This was the only weapon she would need.

What she had not exactly wanted, was Jack stepping up, and feeling her nipple a little too energetically, while pushing it back inside her shirt. "Thank you," she spat at him, and he nodded with a lilting half-smile. "Yup, yup. You're welcome. And thank YOU for getting the beer, honey-pot. Now get the fuck out of here. Show that hot cop's body all around the place. No one should be neglected, guys or gals. Everyone wants to see what a little slut you cops can be once your uniforms get a little ripped."

***

Another man drove along a distant street, looking out at the streetlamps he was passing by with a certain curiosity. He was fairly tall, and very slender, with a buzz cut of blonde hair and eyes that were grey and apathetic- unless he was looking at the bright fluorescent bulbs of a New York City street, which seemed to enliven him, and gave his eyes a golden tint. It was one of the few things that enlivened him, these lights, short of the fantasies that he indulged in - daydreams of himself as a great success, a man on top of the world. And another dream that he nursed in his heart, of two forms becoming one, until there was no line between them any longer. He drove along, knowing full well that his dreams had a funny way of becoming reality. His car's clock read 11:26 in glaring red numbers, and he smiled down at it. "Not late yet. Quite a drive. Quite - quite a drive."

The man was enervated by truth, and other agents of ugly reality, and plagued by it, as though the facts of his life were each a Fury, flocking together to blot out the sun. But he had a weapon against the Furies now - something that would pluck their wings bare, so that they could not fly. As a child, he had always enjoyed pulling the wings off of flies or flying ants, seeming them struggle to manage without them. Even with a child's idiot brain, he had known full well that nothing but misery would await them thereafter. But he had done it all the same, and smiled a secret smile.

"I am a dreaming man, and the world is my oyster," he said slowly, in a seductive, drawling voice. "Yes, yes, that's good." He scratched it into a journal he kept for these little spontaneous thoughts, for he was a songwriter by trade. He would need these thoughts later. Seeing the lights buzz by his car like dive-bombing UFOs, he thought of how the world would be, if it really was his oyster. He envisioned two forms becoming one, and his smile grew terribly wide. His grey eyes were golden, in New York's light, with greed and hunger.

"By midnight, I'll arrive, with all the timing of theatre," he said quite earnestly, before realizing that this might work as a line somewhere too, and once again scratching the words into the little brown faux-leather book, clasped with a little golden 'PJ'.

***

With a long sigh, and one last threat to the men - "don't you dare touch my sister, or I have no reason to comply any longer. I will fucking kill you if you touch a hair on her head!" - Veronique left the motel room, and started along the hallway to the end of it. There was no immediate guiding voice from the ear-bud, but she remembered the store they were referring to: a little one, that primarily serviced the motel itself, as well as passer-by motorists. Reaching the end of the hallway, she wondered if she really was being shadowed - then someone (she was not sure who) slipped out into the hall, and she saw that he carried a portable radio of some kind.

'Won't make a difference', thought Veronique, 'my plan is so simple, and so obvious, there's no way it can go wrong. What could go wrong in it? And the joke is, all the effort they've put into making me look disgusting and slutty, only helps this succeed. They dug their own fucking graves...' Profanity had slipped into her thoughts, and despite being an unwelcome guest, it had locked itself in and was not soon leaving.

As she descended the stairwell to the parking lot, the shadow slipped along behind her, always just out of sight, behind cars and vans. And as the shadow crept along behind the degraded officer, other shadows flickered in the motel room itself. The voice was like a shadow in Jennifer's ear, now speaking simply, knowing that elaboration was unnecessary, "so, you heard the deal. Going to put out?"

Jennifer had finally been properly released. She stood, free as a (caged) bird within the room, arms across her chest, and looked at the eight eyes staring her down. There was a long, tall, and incredibly dusty mirror across the room, capturing her downcast face, her fragile appearance, and the parts of her anatomy that she did not have hands enough to cover. The man was finally visible - a clean-shaven black man with a head of straight black hair, a stern and uncompromising expression across his handsome face, and eyes that seemed to take Jennifer into them entirely. She felt that his eyes saw more than mortal eyes could see. In the same way that Veronique felt unnerved by Jack Sines, Jennifer felt unwrapped by this man, who wore a pair of tight jeans and stood very straight, gazing at her.

"Yes," she choked out, finding herself on the verge of tears. Her emotions were running out of line, and she felt that the longer she stood here, the more worked-up she would become, unless - unless -

The black man approached her, and brought her face against his chest. Jenny cried lightly against his black-and-grey striped t-shirt, leaving small marks on him, and he whispered "sssh, sssh," wrapping his arms around her and shaking her slightly, like a baby given comforting rocking. The others approached, reaching their fingers out, and the man just stared them down until they retreated a little. 'Give her time', his eyes were calmly saying, 'and it'll be worth it. So very worth it.'

Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away from the stern man, and simply asked, "what is your name?" He shook his head gently, before answering, "you can call me Gregory. You can't have my name." Jennifer looked at him strangely, but understood, and backed up another step, suddenly feeling a hand on her back. She spun - Larry's hands were outstretched to feel her beautiful skin, and as she turned, his fingers swiped across her breasts, feeling at the strawberry-shaped nipples. Ike was to the side, hands across his chest. He simply nodded his head up and down, approvingly, and Jennifer felt herself shiver all over, seeing how perverted his gaze had become. Like the Big Bad Wolf, from the high school production of Into the Woods that they had performed at Jennifer's school not two years ago. The actor they had chosen for it had been such a stud, and the girls had thought he was hot with the wolf costume - Jennifer more than the others, had been squirming in the audience, placing herself in that red riding hood, growing wet seeing handsome Kevin strutting about on stage. Ike's lips were pulled into a lusty smile, wet, like that of a freshly-fed wolf. Something stirred in Jenny. These predatory men aroused her against her will.

"I'll give you guys what you want," she said nervously, trembling over each word, "I'll join you guys. Vero - my sister, I mean, she - she should be taken down a notch. This is wrong, but in a way, it's kind of good for her. Isn't that weird?"

"You could not even say her name," stated Gregory softly. "Do you have the guts to do this? Could you even face her?"

"I could face her. After all, it makes...sense, doesn't it? You'll molest her anyway. But this way, you won't hurt me, right?"

Gregory nodded slowly. "Still, for all we know, you'll backstab us when the chance comes."

Jennifer's green eyes focused in on the man she knew was the smallest - Larry. She had seen that his penis was shorter than the others, and figured she could deal with him the easiest. She approached him as sexily as possible, with long, graceful strides, although it was difficult without flirtatious clothes to make her alluring - just her raw body, nude and unaided. As she sank to her knees, she shifted left and right, like a snake slithering down his front. Repulsed by how dirty his pants were - almost as bad as Veronique's trousers, really - she nuzzled her face against his groin, where his - 'his parts', Jennifer thought - package pushed out. She licked and lapped at the pants around the slowly growing bulge, trying to remember to look up now and then, at where his eyes were gazing down hungrily at her. The stain of her saliva joined the other, less innocent stains.