The Destruction of April - Ch. 01

Flash Forward:

"Not there! Please, not there," I beg, my hoarse throat struggling to form the words as I plead in abject terror as the cold metal tip of the cheap ballpoint pen pokes the opening to my urethra. I cannot hope to stop the inevitable defilement of this final threshold; I am bound across his desk doing the splits, each ankle secured with zip ties and cord to the opposite side of the desk. My wrists are flexi-cuffed in a reverse prayer position behind my back. I am wearing nothing except for my plain white socks and my cheer skirt, though the latter is bunched around my waist, keeping nothing private but my navel. My sneakers, bra, and top are all scattered across the floor of the dingy security office.

And as if all of this did not make me vulnerable enough already, my labia have been spread with binder clips taped to my thighs, stretching the delicate pink skin of my sex so that everything is accessible, from the dripping, slightly gape opening of my well-used vagina to the swollen red ring of my abused anus. And, notably, the tiny and yet-innocent pucker of my piss hole. It had never even occurred to me before this moment that I could be penetrated there, but I have learned many things today.

Mostly, I have learned just how responsive my body is to pain. Even after everything I have been through, my body soaked in sweat and my face soaked in tears, my pussy is also sopping wet, my clit engorged and, though exhausted, still clearly up for another orgasm. As one of Clint's hands steadies the pen against my opening, the other reaches up and pinches my clit firmly between his fingers, hard enough to elicit a whimper. That whimper becomes a wail as I feel the head of the pen slide into my opening, the metal tip warming against my body as I can still feel it enter me. The plastic behind it is rough, and though lubricated with vaseline the taper of it is still uncomfortable as it passes inside of me. I can't see it from this angle, but I feel when the tapered tip ends.

It takes a bit more pressure for Clint to get the shaft of the pen started, as its diameter is slightly wider than my urethra wants to be. For a few moments I think that he will fail, that there's no way my pisshole could possibly accommodate a standard-sized ballpoint pen, but the uncomfortable pressure eventually makes my body yield to him and the pen slides in a centimeter or so. I howl in pain, my thighs straining helplessly, but ultimately I can do nothing to prevent this unspeakable assault on my final orifice.

.....

Earlier today, I never could have imagined something like this happening. I came to the mall right before lunch with some friends from the cheer squad, just another college freshman out to socialize, grab some sushi in the food court, and maybe do a little shopping. In most ways I'm an ordinary student, a nineteen-year-old biology major with a couple thousand instagram followers and not nearly enough free time between my sorority, being on the cheer squad, and trying to maintain a 3.5 GPA to keep my scholarships. I'm pretty in the usual petite cheer squad way, with shoulder-length hair dyed a fashionable ashen blonde and big, doe-like brown eyes, and a tan that I maintain with hours in a bikini around the sorority house pool.

I'm not usually free this time on a Saturday, but the coach canceled practice at the last minute so Josie suggested going to the Rolling Hills mall. Now here we are. I pick at my black rice salmon roll, not entirely sure I like it but not wanting to look basic or uncultured in front of the older, more sophisticated girls. I'm mostly listening to the others gossip but also watching the new security guy out of the corner of my eye. He's not bad looking, for a mall cop. Too old for me by far, there's a lot of grey hair at his temples and a slight paunch that the blue uniform doesn't hide, but he wears it well despite that. I can see the muscles in his forearms as he rests his arm on his taser in a way that makes it obvious he's an ex-cop, a real one. He has a short, military-style haircut, but his short beard definitely isn't regulation - it suits him though. I glance away as he looks our way, embarrassed when Josie wiggles her eyebrows at me as if to ask if I was checking him out.

I shake my head and, luckily, conversation moves on until we're chatting idly about which football players have the cutest butts or which sororities have the most fake tits. They settle on Kappa Phi Rho, which is mine, but I honestly agree with them. I joined it specifically because it's well known to be the place to be if you want to make connections, party hard, drink harder, have the nastiest sex, and look good doing it. Honestly I'd get a boob job too, if I had the money for it.

But unlike most of my sorority sisters, I don't come from money. I was lucky to get in despite it, but it's hard explaining away why I have an iphone three generations old and haven't really bought any new clothes to speak of all semester long. Luckily I have a plan. Not a great plan, but one that's worked for me in the past. Security at this mall is super lax, and although I know that stealing is wrong and the consequences of getting caught are dire, I also know I can get away with it. Shoplifting got me gifts for our Christmas exchange, new accessories, a rabbit vibe I use almost every night, brands of makeup that I would never be able to afford on my shoestring student budget, all kinds of things.

Plus, I like the rush. I spend all week being a good girl doing my coursework, my homework, going to office hours and study groups, volunteering with my sisters, and going to every football game... It feels good to do this one tiny thing for myself, when everything else I do for someone else. The other girls finish their sushi and we start to stroll through the mall, still in our practice uniforms, getting some glances from other students (and men old enough to be our fathers) as we stroll by. We visit a couple of shops, but I don't buy anything as the others do. Occasionally, as everyone's attention is elsewhere, I'll slip something into my purse. A pair of pink silk panties from Victoria's Secret, some earrings from Kohl's, a pair of Nike shorts... I'm not saying it's the reason I have a big purse, but it's also not a coincidence.

My pièce de résistance, though, is yet to come. I've had my eye on the new Kat Von D eyeliner for a while now, the one that the other girls swear will last through even the toughest, sweatiest day at practice. My drugstore formula hasn't been holding up lately as the weather warms up, so I desperately need it... but not enough to pay $36 for one small tube. All the others bought one when we were there, but I bided my time after noticing it was right next to a foundation and lipstick I'd also had my eyes on. A while later we're walking to Abercrombie & Fitch when I pretend to look through my bag for my phone.

"Crap, guys, hold on," I exclaim, bringing the group to a sudden stop. "I think I lost my phone, I can't find it anywhere." I inject some panic in my voice, and it works. Josie puts her hand comfortingly on my shoulder.

"Just think, April, where did you see it last?" she asks soothingly.

"Well I must have had it at Sephora, I was texting Jax back about the party on Thursday... I must have left it on the shelf when I was looking at that dry shampoo! I'll be right back, meet you guys at Abercrombie?" I ask, already starting to break away from the group.

"I'll go with you and help look," Sera offers. I try not to look disappointed.

"Nah, you stay with the group," I insist. "I'll just be a minute, I'll catch up with you guys in no time. Just don't leave without me, okay?"

"We won't. You sure you'll be okay on your own?" Josie reassures me. She drove us here, always a bit of a group mom. She would be so disappointed if she knew what I was planning to do... good thing she'll never know.

"I'll be fine. The mall is, like, the safest place in town," I reassure her, jogging away. "Seriously, I'll be back in just a minute!"

--

The shop attendants at Sephora are just as fooled as my friends. They all coo in concern and agree to help me look, scouring the shelves. They're all so caught in looking that none of them see me slip the eyeliner into my purse. Or the foundation. Or even an Urban Decay eyeshadow palette. Feeling almost giddy from the thrill of the steal, I pretend to pull my phone out from under a store display. "Found it!" I announce loudly, trying my best to look apologetic to the employees as I leave the store, acting like I'm late to catch up with my friends.

I'm halfway to Abercrombie and Fitch, still floating, when a strong hand grabs me by the upper arm and yanks me to a stop. "Hold it," a gruff voice says. I look up in alarm, but I know who it is before I ever see his bearded face. It's the new mall cop from earlier. My heart falls into my stomach as he pulls me into one of those creepy unmarked staff doors, marching me through a concrete hallway that doesn't look properly finished, exposed pipes and ductwork everywhere. I feel like I'm not somewhere I'm meant to see, the dirty underbelly of the mall which all the little people use to keep the shiny exterior free of garbage services and delivery men and all the other parts of keeping a mall running that we don't want to see.

"What are you doing? Let go of me," I insist, but you ignore me, and there's nothing I can do to escape your iron grip around my bicep. Your fingers are thick as hot dogs and completely encircle my arm, and your stride is so long I'm at a half-jog just to keep up and not get dragged. "Look, I don't know what you think you're doing, but there's some misunderstanding here-"

"Oh, I think I understand perfectly well," he insists sternly. "Now shut up." Normally I would never allow someone to speak to me this way, but in this case I decide to make an exception. I'm already starting to panic as I wonder how much of that he saw. Maybe I can just hand it all over, get banned from the mall or promise not to do it again or whatever, and come out of all this alright.

But if not, if the cops get called... I feel panic rise in my chest. I could lose my scholarships over this, lose my place on the cheer squad and in Kappa Phi Rho. I could even get expelled! I chew my lower lip nervously, tasting my cherry chapstick. This is bad, really bad. If I can't think of some way to convince this guy to take pity on me, I could be in deep shit.

He guides me through an unmarked door to a room that must be the security office. There's one desk with a bunch of screens showing various security camera feeds, and another with an old computer and a new nameplate inscribed as Clint McDermott. The other three desks are empty and dusty, clearly unoccupied. Are they really running a one man show here? No wonder I've been getting away with this for so long, the last guy was a useless tub of lard. Just my luck that my biggest day yet would be after they finally hire a competent security guy. He plops me down in front of the desk with the computer and nameplate and sits down across from me.

I notice that his nametag also reads Clint and decide to take a gamble. "Look, Clint, I know you're just doing your job, but I have rights-"

"Show me your ID," he demands, cutting me off again. What is his deal with not letting me finish a sentence? I frown a little as I reach into my purse for my wallet, trying to keep most of my attitude off my face as I fumble for the ID, distracted by his icy blue eyes on me. Wolf eyes, my momma would have called them, the eyes of a predator. I feel the hair on the back of my neck prickle, but my nipples also firm up. I find the wallet at long last and pull it out, but Clint reaches across the desk and pulls on a loose corner of fabric, extracting the purloined Nike shorts from my bag.

"You have a receipt for these?" he asks dubiously.

"It's not what it looks like," I protest weakly as I pull my driver's license out and slide it across the table to him. He snorts derisively and studies my ID at arm's length, then starts typing into his computer. He reads the screen for a long time, typing something new every so often. Five minutes pass, then ten. I squirm uncomfortably in the uncomfortable folding chair, but he gives me a hard look every time I do so I quickly freeze every time.

Finally, once I've had a good long time to sit there and sweat and stew, he turns to me. "April Jenkins, 19, freshman and cheer squad member. Not many freshmen on the cheer squad," he observes. "Your daddy must be very proud."

I don't know how I expected this conversation to start, but this isn't it. I stare at him for a moment. "My dad's dead," I say awkwardly. "I never knew him. I hope he is though."

"Shame about that," Clint says in a tone that suggests he really doesn't care very much about it at all. "Little girls need a strong father figure in their lives to develop their morals properly. Is that why you're a fucking thief, April?"

"I'm not-"

"Don't be a liar too, little girl, it's not a cute look," he scolds me. "Here's how this is going to work. If you lie to me again, I call the police and file charges. If you try to run away or sneak out, I call the police and file charges. If you're disrespectful to me at any point, I call the police and file charges. Do you understand, April?"

I can tell by his tone that he's dead serious. But, more importantly, he's only threatening to call the cops. That means there is a chance that he won't! I nod eagerly, hoping to make good on that chance. "Yes, understood," I agree quickly.

"Yes Sir," he corrects me. "Show some respect."

I hesitate for a moment. "Yes Sir, I understand," I repeat after a moment, choosing my phrasing more carefully. This seems to satisfy him and he nods.

"Look, April. We have you dead to rights, caught on camera stealing hundreds of dollars worth of merchandise. That's a class A misdemeanor, which could mean a fine of $4,000 and a year in jail. Hard to attend football games when you're in jail. Catching charges would ruin your life, wouldn't it?" he asks.

Clearly, he knows the answer already, but I nod my head emphatically anyway. I can feel tears welling up in my big brown eyes at the thought. "Please, Sir, you know it would. I have scholarships, I'm in a sorority, I'm on the cheer squad... please, I can't throw all that away over one stupid mistake," I plead.

It seems to work. He lifts an eyebrow and I can see him soften up a little. "Well, there is one other option. The mall does have a procedure for handling this in-house. You'd have to cooperate fully with the investigation, consent to the full disciplinary process and be banned for life from Rolling Hills Mall. And all the merchandise would have to be returned in like-new condition," he says, leaning onto the desk and giving me a serious look. "I won't go easy on you just because it's your first time. Bad girls deserve to be punished, April. But if you accept your punishment, this doesn't have to ruin your entire life. The choice is yours."

The choice? I don't have a choice. Being banned won't be easy to hide from my sorority sisters, but that's a whole hell of a lot better than having to explain to them why I have a class A misdemeanor! "I'll do it," I blurt out immediately. "The in-house method, that is. Sir. That's what I want to do."

He scoffs like he's not entirely convinced, but reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a stack of paperwork. "Sign this," he instructs. "This is just a bunch of lawyer mumbo-jumbo staying that you'll give back all the stolen goods, you'll be trespassing if you ever set foot on mall property again, you consent to a search, all of the legal stuff." he slides it across the table, along with a cheap ballpoint pen.

I pick up the pen and start reading the contract. It's fine print and very, very long, and I'm only halfway through the first paragraph when he taps the paper impatiently. "This isn't a negotiation, girl. Are you signing or not?" Clint demands.

Not wanting to tick him off further, I flip to the last page and sign. He seems satisfied and files the paperwork away before rising to his feet. "Stand up," he orders me next.

I comply quickly, still clutching my purse. He holds out his hand and I reluctantly hand it over. He tips it out onto one of the empty desks and starts pulling out various items: the makeup, the earrings, some tampons... I blush as the whole story of my life is spilled out onto the desk, from my preferred chapstick to the shameful midnight McDonald's receipts to the vitamin drinks I use to cope with hangovers. He puts the stuff from today to the side. "Is this all the stolen property?" he asks once he's finished sorting everything.

"Yes sir," I confirm quietly. He doesn't look convinced.

"Stand over there, in front of that white wall," he orders, pointing to an empty part of the room. "I have to take photos of you for the mall blacklist." I comply, but quietly wonder if that term is racist. Probably not the right time to ask. He approaches me with his cell phone in camera mode and I almost laugh at his confused squint as he dons a pair of reading glasses to see the screen clearly. He looks almost like someone's dad trying to figure out technology.

Then he turns that gaze on me, as though sensing my amusement, and I straighten up immediately. If someone's dad looked at me that way... I feel butterflies in my stomach at the hunger in his eyes, like he was looking for any excuse to get angry with me. He figures out the camera and snaps a picture before I'm ready. I can hear the shutter sound. I wonder if I should smile, but that doesn't seem appropriate. Hopefully surprised and distant will do just fine for these pictures.

"Turn so your right side is facing me," he orders. I comply and hear the shutter sound again. "Now your left side." I turn around. "Now turn and face the wall so I can see your backside." I blush a little at his phrasing, wondering if he did that on purpose, but I turn to face the wall. I hear the shutter click and start to turn around, but he stops me. "Stay facing the wall. Clasp your hands together behind your head."

I don't really get why that's necessary, but I don't dare argue with him so I put my arms up like requested and keep facing the wall as I hear him approach until he's standing right behind me. Then I hear the camera shutter again - but from down low this time! Did this pervert just snap an upskirt panty shot of me? I turn around, outraged, but he grabs my wrist as I bring my hands down. "I gave you simple instructions," he scolds me. "But since you can't follow them, I have no choice but to cuff you instead." And sure enough I feel the soft plastic of flexi-cuffs, those glorified zip tie thingies, slip around one wrist and then the other, holding them in place behind my back.

"Is this necessary?" I demand, my cheeks still on fire from the probable panty shot. What was this guy, some kind of pervert? I can't prove it, but I know what I heard, and I'm not happy about it. He puts hand on my back and pushes me against the wall.

"It's for your safety and mine," he replies calmly. "If you resist the search, it could escalate the situation. Since I can't trust you to hold your hands up like a good girl, I have to cuff you like a bad one."

I have a few comments to make about this, ones I know my gender studies professor would be all over if she was here, but I bite them back. If I antagonize this guy he could ruin my life, so I just have to take it I guess. Maybe I misinterpreted the shutter snap? I don't know what to think, but I don't have long to think about it because he's kneeling down behind me. "I'm going to take your shoes off now so I can search them for stolen items," he explains.

I don't like having him kneeling down there behind me, his face only a few inches from the bottom of my skirt, but I don't have much choice. "Okay," I agree reluctantly. The word hasn't completely left my mouth before he takes my foot, pulling it backward so suddenly that I lose balance and have to support myself against the wall, my small tits pressing into it since my hands are bound behind my back. He unlaces my shoe and slips it off, then does the same to the other foot. I notice that he stays kneeling behind me while 'searching' my shoes and I try to turn my head to watch him.