The Lazarus Gambit

FIRST CONTACT

Oedipus "Fast Eddie" Cronejammer felt the icy wind against his neck as he waited for the transport vehicle. So far he had waited 20 minutes, and nothing. He leaned back against the side of the deserted shop, which was composed of crumbling red bricks and a broken picture window featuring decapitated manikins - in other words about what you might expect in such a deserted area along the northern shore of the Detroit River. Most of the former residents had of course long since heeded Mayor Coleman Young's suggestion that they cross Eight Mile Road and keep heading north. The north was now thriving and was sprouting shiny skyscrapers right and left.

Finally a car slowed and came to a stop. Eddie was expecting a standard-issue transport van, not the Crown Vic that pulled up (the flatfoot's answer to limos). The tint in the glass was so dark that he could not see the driver's face or even if there were any passengers inside.

The driver rolled down the window on the passenger side, her eyes hidden behind the dark blue lenses of her shades. She was chewing gum, reminding Eddie of one of the state police villains in a hillbilly flick like the Dukes of Hazard or one of those Burt Reynolds classics, like Stroker Ace or Smokey and the Bandit.

She pulled down her shades to give the perp a glimpse of her baby blues. Nobody could resist those peepers, especially if they wore a control bracelet on their ankles and an arrays of electrodes implanted in their brains.

"Don't be a stranger," she said. "Come on in. I won't bite. Not unless you want me to, that is, and then I will eat you down to the bone and I'll even swallow that, if that is your desire.

She stuck out her hand. "Hi there, my Parole Officer name is Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. Suck on those eggs, Xena! Actually, Xena is Hippolyta's daughter in Greek mythology.

"Butcha doesn't have to call me Hippolyta. Actually, I'm just li'l ole Andrea Cappelitti out of Teaneck, New Jersey. Consider it an honor that I am telling you this. Most POs don't use their real name because of the danger. Most of my friends just call me Dirty Andy and I kind of dig that name myself."

"Well my friends all call me 'Fast Eddie.' I prefer the moniker 'E Rex' myself. Get it? Its a cross between Oedipus Rex and T Rex , not to mention E-Rection. Get it?"

"Oh yea, I get it. Hard to miss it, really. All right, E Rex it is then!

"Well, hop in, baby, I won't bite, not unless you want me to, that is. I'm your parole officer, in case you haven't figured that out yet. I'm going to give you a ride to my office. You wouldn't want to be led there by your ankle bracelet or the electrodes implanted in your brain, trust me. That can get to be a bit painful at times."

"Whatever you say, boss," E Rex said. He presumptuously climbed into front passenger seat of the Crown Vic and slammed the door shut behind him. He waited for Dirty Andy to drive away. Instead, she peered over her blue shades and he followed her gaze. She was waiting for him to put on his seatbelt.

Seatbelts are totally Squaresville, he thought in the argot of the '50s beat generation, as immortalized by Maynard G. Krebs, the beatnik artfully portrayed by Bob "Gilligan" Denver in the Dobie Gillis TV show or by Edd "Kookie" Byrnes in Sunset Strip. E Rex knew that neither of the these references would be lost on Dirty Andy, an obvious Baby Boomer. He wasn't sure why he remembered them himself. Probably the result of spending 20 or more hours watching TV Land for over 20 hours a week during the past two years, he supposed..

But E Rex didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with the PO that had been assigned to him, so he clicked himself in. Didn't want to break any laws on his first ride. At least not until he had "felt out" his appointed guardian.

The Crown Vic was a ride truly befitting the notorious 'AARP Rapist,' as the media used to call him, but not as often as he would like nowadays. It was about time he was accorded the luxury befitting a criminal of his stature. It had been a long time in coming.

Dirty Andy turned on the ignition. "And away we go!" she said in a passible imitation of the great Jackie Gleason.

By the time they got to Five Mile Road, Dirty Andy had taken off her state fuzz Smokey hat. Her red hair was rich and luxurious. It held the sheen that exists only in commercials on TV. She shook it loose and he could see her hair falling in slow motion over her shoulders and then bouncing back only to settle once again.

By the time they got to Phoenix Avenue, E Rex's rod was solid wood and throbbing painfully despite the massive cocktail of anti-aphrodisiacs they had given him just before discharge (or were they in fact aphrodisiacs?). He figured that they would wear off sooner rather than later.

By the time they crossed Albuquerque, Oedipus "E Rex" Cronejammer's "mental state" was reduced to that of his throbbing johnson.

By the time they got to Oklahoma Road, E Rex's prefrontal cortex was sound asleep and there was no longer anything holding back his baser urges, which the psychoanalysts called the id, may their discipline rest in peace.

"Well, don't be a stranger, honey," Dirty Andy said, patting the foot of Corinthian leather that separated their thighs . "I ordered up a rapist, baby. Now are you going to fill the bill or not?"

In response, E Rex's left hand finger-walked across the plush bucket seat and came to rest against Dirty Andy's standard issue khaki PO pants. He thought he might be pushing the boundaries governing the relationships between POs and their assigned pervs, but he had essentially lost voluntary control of his left arm. His hand travelled up Dirty Andy's thigh, which he began to squeeze and tease. He ran his hand up and down Andy's quivering leg, and she began to shudder and cry out softly.

He slid his hand up and over her inner thigh until it rested over her coochie. He could feel her dampness right through her cotton PO khakis. He cupped her nether mouth with his hand and began to squeeze it rhythmically. She cried out softly: "Yes, yes, yes, ohmigod. Don't stop, baby. Please don't stop."

He grabbed the key on her zipper and slid it open. Now nothing but her panties stood between his craving fingers and her precious, albeit post middle-age skin. He slipped his hand underneath her lace panties and began to run his fingers around her wet, wet labia. He found her throbbing clit at the apex of her vulva and teased it unmercifully.

Her breathing got deeper and faster, and she slid her right hand up E Rex's thigh. She curled her hand around his aching, yearning phallus. She now had complete control of her new client, as if his shaft were the stick shift of a stock-racing car.

She pulled down his zipper and ran her fingers over the damp spot in his jockeys. She well knew the source of that precious rain. She ran her thumb up and down the length of his cruelly clothed and straining shaft. She wrapped her hand around his rock-hard barrel and began to pump it slowly as she worked the underside of its hood with her right thumb, feeling the urgency of his imminent discharge and the trembling of his legs.

She bent her fingers so that her sharp nails bit into the tender skin of the AARP Rapist's straining phallus. She then slid them down his precious johnson, ripping his undies and casting them aside, exposing his naked schwantz to the cruel ministrations of her hungry right hand. Dirty Andy's eyes shifted to watch the thin lines of blood opening on E Rex's tantalized phallus. She then began to pump him in earnest. Just as he was about ready to shoot his seed all over the Crown Vic's windshield, she whispered, "Don't come."

E Rex suddenly felt a hollowness come over him. His tortured organ cried out for a little fire hydrant time, but to no avail.

"Stroke me, baby! I'm all yours," Dirty Andy said. "You can come as soon as I do. Just get me off, baby and you can shoot."

E Rex redoubled his efforts on Dirty Andy's slit. He inserted four fingers of his left hand into his parole officer's gash and began to finger-fuck her like there was no tomorrow. The way she was driving, there probably would be no tomorrow, he thought.

She let out scream after scream as she repeatedly crossed the median into the oncoming traffic. She grabbed E Rex's cock and began to pump it with the same brutality that the inserted four fingers of his left hand was raping her cunt. She cried out time after time as her right hand pumped his johnson at an increasing feverish clip. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop!" she implored her handpicked rapist.

"Oh, oh, oh, I'm coming. OK, shoot baby, shoot!"

E Rex's johnson needed no such encouragement. It shot vast torrents of hot seed all over the front window and ceiling of the Crown Vic.

Fortunately, they could not see their vehicle's masterful execution of a 720-degree turn. It came to rest perfectly parallel-parked in a space designated for "Hippolyta Jones Only."

"OK chief, we have arrived." she told her shaken and well-stirred client, opened her door and stepped out of the Crown Vic.

INTO THE PARLOR

Dirty Andy crossed the street and headed for a brownstone on the other side. She motioned him to follow her. He could not resist her direction. It was almost as though he was watching his own body from above and had no control over it. Based on his vast knowledge of Psychology 101, a course that he almost passed at Henry Ford Community College, he knew that he was in a state of depersonalization. Nothing that a few quaaludes and a handful of Ambiens couldn't cure.

Dirty Andy unlocked the front door of the brownstone and beckoned E Rex to precede her up the steps. By the time they climbed to the fourth riser, she had ripped his shirt right off his body. Suddenly, he felt her hot breasts on his naked back. He looked down and saw that her shirt had joined his on the stairway.

"Don't worry about them," Dirty Andy told her client. "Nobody's going to take them. We'll get them later."

She reached into E Rex's pants to grab his shaft and balls. Amazingly, E Rex was already hard again. The good folks in the Jackson State Prison cafeteria must have been lacing his milk with anti-saltpeter. But why? It could only increase his recidivism rate.

"Oh honey, you have such big hot balls. I am going to have a lot of fun playing with them," Dirty Andy cooed. "You rapists get all the good stuff."

"I'm not a rapist," E Rex protested. "All I am is a home invader and a peeping tom. I've never raped anybody."

"Oh, you will, once we train you, honey. You will learn to rape and like it. With big balls like you have, there is simply no other way, no other release from the Emptiness, no other way to end the Hunger in those big hot pulsing orbs of yours."

She unlocked the front door to her consulting room, bent down to run her tongue up and down E Rex's crack, and gave him a little push on the ass, propelling him into her consulting chamber.

When E Rex's eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out an array of instruments of torture adorning the walls of the next room. He somehow knew the names of many of them: the Judas Cradle, the Rack, the Wheel, and the Iron Maiden. Dirty Andy's interior decorator had left no stone unturned.

"Jesus, who's your office mate - the Spanish Inquisition?" he asked his court-appointed guardian.

"Submitting to torture is purest way to show your love," Dirty Andy informed her unschooled charge. "Only by submitting completely to your lover's basest instincts, can you ever hope to experience the unity of all created beings. Come on, I'll show you."

She beckoned him into her museum of medieval implements of torture.

"Do you recognize any of these?"

"Not too many. Just the Rack, the Wheel, the Judas Cradle and the Iron Maiden. I believe that Joan of Arc was tortured on the rack and the wheel."

"Actually, the Inquisition decided that it would be counterproductive to torture Joan, unless you count getting burned at the stake, but this would not even be considered cruel and unusual punishment in those glorious Dark Ages. There were few bleeding-heart opponents of the death penalty in those enlightened times, I can tell you that, and those who did speak out were quickly burned at the stake.

"So what do you think, E Rex? Want to take a spin on the Wheel? I am just dying to torture you. It would be heaven to know your pain, to know that you give your body to me completely and without reservation or restriction. That we are truly One."

E Rex's johnson snapped to the upright and locked position at the thought of such possession and enforced intimacy. He wanted her to possess him completely, to please her in any way. "OK," he said but I don't have my Dramamine with me. I might ralph if you spin me on the Wheel. I'm not too crazy about the Iron Maiden either. It's a little too spiky for my taste. I have always had a phobia of porcupines, so maybe some other time. How about the Rack, my high school guidance counselor was always telling me to stretch myself."

"The Rack it is then," Dirty Andy proclaimed. "But I get to go first."

She stripped the remaining garments from her body and gestured for E Rex to follow suit. He did so with urgency, as if his clothing were a stinging jellyfish wrapped around his body. He felt a sense of absolute purity and peace as he pitched the offending garments against the wall.

She climbed up on the infernal torture device and stretchered her limbs out so that her charge could buckle the leather straps around her wrists and ankles. She assumed the prone position, her luscious breasts pressed hard against the cold brown leather of the Rack. Her delightful booty rose like a soft mountain from the small of her back before falling once again in to the valley of her thighs. She looked back at him with a salacious smile and said, "Would you be a dear and strap me in, my lovely peeping Tom? It's going to be a bumpy ride."

E Rex stretched across her naked back. His shaft was already throbbing at the sight of her naked skin spread helplessly before him. He pulled the leather strap closed over her left wrist, his hard, hot cock pressing against her ribcage. He then strapped her ankles and right wrist in and stood back to admire his handiwork, his rock-hard tool jutting eight inches into the cold air.

"It's a Rack, baby. I need you to stretch me out. The lever's right there."

E Rex grabbed the joy stick that was attached to the Rack. He gave lever a 20 degree turn and her body was stretched taut. "A little more to the starboard, big guy. I'm a hot and hungry woman, not some fragile glass flower."

He gave the level an additional 10 degree turn. Dirty Andy's body went taut, tightly suspended a good two inches above the frame of the Rack. He listened for the popping of dislocated joints, but heard only Andy's lustful sighs. Somehow he knew she was in control and safe. She was still the mistress and he the slave.

" Well don't just stand there lollygagging around, big guy," Dirty Andy said. " I need to be fucked like a dog. Do you think you can fuck me like a dog, you little wimp? Do you think you can pound me like I am a helpless rag doll? Or are you going to be worthless, like the filthy little sexual miscreant that you are?

"Spread me, you worthless peeping tom. Yank the lever. Go ahead, do it."

E Rex pulled a second lever, and Dirty Andy's legs were spread violently apart. "Am I helpless enough for you now? Can a parole officer get a table dance around here? Just push the red button, you pathetic virgin."

E Rex pushed the button with more than a little anger. The Rack spun downward, bringing Dirty Andy's rear end to E Rex's waist level.

"Come on Cowboy, ram yourself into me. Full speed ahead, me hearty, Tear me apart you pathetic little wimp."

Them was fightin' words. E Rex's love pillar began to throb as never before, growing to an unprecedented ten inches, longer even than his boners when he woke up from a wet dream about Momma. E Rex hauled back and rammed himself into Dirty Andy's snatch. (Better to take the easier target first, he thought. Her proffered anus would have to wait for a later round, assuming that they both survived the coming onslaught.)

Dirty Andy cried out when E Rex's shaft violated her body. She strained against the leather cuffs that bound her to the Rack. Her spine was stretched to the max and she was totally helpless. "Is that all you got, little boy?" she taunted him. "I'll bet your momma hungered for more that that."

Infuriated, E Rex stammered, "D-Don't you be talking about my M-Momma!" He began to pound into Dirty Andy's powerless body with a frenzy that revealed his hidden anger. "Take that, Mommy!" he cried out with each thrust. "Take that you stupid bitch."

Each thrust drove the wind out of Dirty Andy's lungs. E Rex put his hands around her neck in an attempt to strangle her for once and all.

Totally getting off on the erotic asphyxiation, Dirty Andy came over and over again, her precious waters flowing over E Rex's pulsing balls. "Don't! Stop!," she told her newly paroled client just as he was about to shoot his seed into the dark heaven of her pulsating quim.

Suddenly, E Rex felt a black emptiness overcoming him at this violation of the terms of his parole. He had failed his mistress, and could not bear the shame.

He pulled out of her, his shaft fading from its magnificent glory of only moments ago .

"Did I say 'Don't! Stop!'?" Andy asked her charge. "Sorry, I meant to say 'Don't Stop!'

"Cornhole, me you fucking felon."

E Rex looked down at Dirty Andy's dimly-lit freckled back. He pulled off her red wig, exposing her shoulder-length white hair. Unlike fucking, he knew a thing or two about cornholing from his days in Jackson State Prison, where he had been sentenced for ten years to life because the cops found two ounces of marijuana in his car.

CELL BLOCK NUMBER NINE

E Rex's mind harked back to the halcyon days of his imprisonment in the sex offender ward at Jackson State Prison, where Harley Brown and his band of renown paid him a daily visit during rec-and-ed hour without fail. Brown was the leader of the distinguished Aryan Brotherhood. He and his merry men would tie E Rex to his bunk with ripped-up bed sheets.

Harley would always do the first honors. He would open a fresh can of 10-40 motor oil, which he purloined from the motor pool (no questions asked). Then he would take out a funnel and pour almost the whole quart into E Rex's colon, a "hydrocarbon enema" he liked to call it, with his usual smirk on his face. Hambone McGoonski always guffawed at that, cretin that he was. Harley would rub the overflow up and down E Rex's crack and over his balls, which he liked to squeeze until E Rex cried out in pain.

"Just a taste of what you're gonna get, you fucking pervert, for breaking into old ladies' houses and scaring the shit out of them." This would always elicit a second guffaw from McGoonski.

Harley would then rub the oil into every crevice and cranny of E Rex's ass and then over his balls gently as though he wanted to soothe him and give him some pleasure before the assembled Hitler youth tore him apart. He would even curl his hand and apply the oil to E Rex's cock, pumping it to give him a frisson of pleasure before the pain to come.

Harley always grabbed E Rex's shoulders before violating him. Despite the magnitude of Harley's organ, he always managed to bury it up to the hilt on the first try. He would then grab E Rex's hair and pull his head into the locked and upright position so that McGoonski could slide his long, thick, and oozing cock all over E Rex's face. He especially liked to rub its hood over his victim's eyes. White tears he called it, this witticism eliciting another crude guffaw from the assembled reprobates.