Message-ID: <20614eli$9903170433@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: MichaelD38@aol.com Subject: RP: {MichaelD} "The Subtleties of Justice" (nc, bd, viol, caution) (3/4) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <998249cd.36eeca9c@aol.com> ************************************************* The Subtleties of Justice Copyright 1998 by MichaelD38@aol.com Free redistribution permitted; no commericial use without authorization. ************************************************* VI. Bannock led Weasel was out of Sandhurst's office and walked her further down the hall to a row of elevators. The other prisoners Weasel had arrived with stood against one wall, wearing harnesses identical to hers. Bannock backed her up to the wall at one end of the line of prisoners, and Weasel felt the magnets on the back of the waistband and collar snapping against something on the wall. There she stood, quite restrained, for another ten minutes until the last of the new prisoners joined them. Sandhurst followed the guards into the room. He pointed to Weasel and the Latina girl. "Those two are going to SHU. The rest of them go down to Level 2." Two guards unlocked Weasel and the other girl from the wall, and led them to one of the elevators. They backed them up to the rear wall, where more magnets restrained them. Then the guards left and the doors slid shut. The elevator began descending smoothly. "What did you do?" Weasel said softly. "Killed my boyfriend and this bitch he was sleeping with. What about you?" "I was with the Widows." Weasel watched in sick satisfaction as the girl's face paled. "What's your name?" "Consuelo. But everyone calls me Random." "I'm Weasel." Weasel watched as the floors rolled past. Five, six, seven, eight--then the numbers stopped, replaced with the letters SHU. The elevator slid to a halt. When the door opened, Weasel couldn't immediately see what was outside. Unlike the elevator, lit by bright fluorescent lights, the lighting in SHU was dim. The air was cooler and noticeably damp. Two guards appeared, and in contrast to the crisp khaki uniforms above, these two men--if indeed they were men--wore bizarre black latex bodysuits, multi-layered and covered with straps and buckles. Even their heads were covered, mouths concealed by perforated plates, eyes shielded by luminescent yellow ovals, making them look almost insectile. They unlocked Weasel and Random and led them out of the elevator. Three hallways led away from them, one in front and two to each side, but Weasel could not make out where the hallways ended. The walls were painted flat black, the paint soaking up what little illumination existed. More of the black-suited guards moved slowly up and down the halls. Moans and occasional soft cries of pain filled the air. Unlike other prisons Weasel had been in, where the most noticeable feature was the rank odor, this place smelled cool and crisp, like a cold winter morning. One guard was walking toward them, and he wore a more elaborate bodysuit than the others did, with silver insignia on his shoulders. He stopped a few feet away from them. "Ladies, welcome to Hell. Or, as the upper management insists on calling it, the Special Housing Unit." His voice was thick, sonorous and seductive. "You are here because someone has determined that your offenses are too severe to be expiated in the upper levels of this facility. Specifically, because you have accumulated at least one hundred demerits. The only way out of SHU is to convince me that you deserve to leave. That means accumulating enough merits to drop your demerit total below one hundred. "You do not earn merits by doing what you are told. You earn them by demonstrating that you understand and agree with your punishments. If, at the end of the day, you have in the opinion of your supervisors demonstrated the proper attitude, you may earn one and only one merit for that day. You can, however, earn an unlimited number of demerits while you are here. What that means is that if you are not very, very good from the time you wake up until lights out, you are never going to get out of here. "If you look around, you can see the numerous video cameras mounted on the walls. Every square inch of SHU is under video surveillance at all times. Everything you do here is being watched by someone. Your behavior is being monitored every minute of every day, and it is quite possible for you to earn demerits for things you do while alone in your cell. "Assistant Warden Sandhurst may have told you that you have qualified for our most severe level of punishment. That is only for the prison at large. Down here, I have additional gradations. More than one hundred and fifty demerits earn you additional punishment. More than two hundred earn you still more severe treatment. Beyond two hundred and fifty, I have defined something even worse, but so far no one has gotten that low. "Finally, I can tell you that I am not particularly fond of using your neural stimulators. Down here, we use them only to immobilize you in extreme cases, such as an assault on a guard. General misbehavior will simply earn you more demerits. You will learn, in time, that that is far worse. To put things in perspective, every demerit you earn means at least one more day down here. "Any questions?" Weasel glanced at Random, who merely stood there in fear. She looked back at the SHU Commander and glared at him. "Yeah. When's dinner? I'm hungry." The Commander stood there for a moment, then looked at Random. "Miss Lopez, you should be happy to know that you have only one hundred and twenty-six demerits. Behave yourself, and you may get out of here soon." He motioned to one of the guards, who led Random away. The Commander looked back at Weasel, and took a few steps closer. "You aren't the only Black Widow down here. We have one other, who is the only other prisoner with more than two hundred demerits. Bridget Tyler is her name. Remember her?" Weasel tried to return his stare, which was difficult since she couldn't see his eyes. She knew who he meant, but she wasn't going to answer him. Bridget's Widow nickname had been Needle. She was a lanky blonde who had hung out primarily with Freeway. She collected acupuncture needles, and liked to poke people with them. Weasel remembered a couple of the killings they had been involved in, both plump tourists from the Midwest. She had stuck so many of her needles into the victims that they no longer resembled human beings. Weasel remembered thinking afterward that the bodies looked more like weird sculptures than people. The thousands of needles sticking out of their bodies blended together into a fuzzy metallic halo, swirling over them in bizarre patterns. Weasel thought it looked pretty, and took some pictures. "We have been somewhat limited in our punishment of Miss Tyler," the Commander went on, "since no one else has so many demerits. Now that we have you, we can get more creative." He paused. "You get one demerit for that remark about dinner. You will eat when I say you can eat and not before." He motioned to the guard holding Weasel's arm. The guard led her down the hallway to her left, and the Commander followed. The hall was lit only by bare incandescent bulbs, one every twenty feet, creating dim yellow circles of light on the cement floor. They passed a long series of cell doors, and Weasel could hear things going on behind them, humming machinery, smacks of hard surfaces on bare flesh, moans, muffled cries of pain. Finally, they reached a door at the end of the hall. Someone had painted the words "The Pit" above the door in sloppy red paint. The door opened slowly as they approached, sliding back into the wall. The three of them entered a small cubicle with another door on the opposite wall. When the door behind them shut completely, that door opened, and they led Weasel into the Pit. The room was fairly large, laid out with what Weasel recognized as elaborate bondage equipment. Chains hung from the ceiling and walls, and three large laboratory slabs took up one end of the room. Several cabinets sat against the walls. One of them was open, displaying dozens of torture implements. What Weasel noticed right away, though, was Needle. Had she not known who she was she might not have recognized her. She had lost weight, and her skin had a pale, sickly pallor, as if she hadn't seen the sun in months, if not years (and Weasel suspected she hadn't). The fish-belly white of her skin highlighted dozens of welts and old bruises. Her hair was longer, hanging around her head in greasy strands. Long wires were clipped to the rings in her nipples and clitoris, leading to a box in the wall. Weasel's stomach turned as she realized what they were doing to her. She hung from the ceiling, parallel to the floor and face down, chains attached to the magnets at her wrists and ankles. She wore some kind of strange truss around her groin, and a mask over her lower face that seemed to brace her jaw and force her mouth open. In front of her stood a black-suited guard, holding her head between his hands. His penis stuck out of his suit, and he slowly thrust it back and forth through the hole in Needle's face mask. Needle glanced over, meeting Weasel's gaze, and the look of utter resignation to her predicament that Weasel saw in her eyes finally put a crack in the bravado she had carried in with her. "That is what you have to look forward to," the Commander said. "That, and oh so much more." VII. Weakened by the sight of the Pit, Weasel let the guard attach her to a pair of poles in one corner of the room. He clipped the magnets on her wrists and ankles to the poles, spreading her legs and arms. The Commander approached, holding a truss and facemask similar to what Needle wore. He held the mask up to her face, and she saw a short, one diameter inch plastic pipe sticking inward from the mouth hole. "Open your mouth." She kept her jaw tight, not moving. "That's one demerit. Open your mouth." Glancing at Needle again, she lowered her jaw. The Commander fitted the mask in place, sliding the plastic pipe between her teeth. The rest of the mask wrapped around her chin and jaw, and the guard locked it into place behind her head. The truss, she now saw, was little more than a curved triangle of latex or plastic, with several straps hanging from it. At the bottom of the triangle, she saw a long white plastic tube, sticking inward. Some sort of valve was at one end, and a narrow knob at the other. The tube was mounted on two wires that stuck down from the corner of the triangle. Two narrow straps hung down past the tube, one on either side, about eighteen inches long. Halfway down their length, they came together, attached to a circle of leather. As the Commander positioned the truss, she suddenly realized what it was for, and recoiled in horror. But she was too tightly restrained and could do nothing to resist him. He positioned the knob on the end of the tube between her plucked labia, and slowly slid it into her urethra. The pain was minor, nothing to the indignity of it. She tried to cry out, but the tube in her mouth reduced it to a gasp. Finally, as he pressed the truss against her groin, she felt the knob popping into her bladder. She expected her urine to come squirting out, but the valve was apparently closed. She could see now why the tube was mounted on the wires--the wires framed her clitoris, leaving it and the new ring exposed. The Commander strapped the truss in place, attaching it to her waistband. He passed the long straps at the bottom between her legs, attaching them in back. Then he handed the guard what looked to be a short length of black plastic pipe, similar to the one in her mouth but blocked at one end. A second later, she shrieked in outrage as she felt the guard shoving it into her anus. He got it in past her sphincter muscle, then attached it to the leather circle on the straps. She tried to force it out, but it was strapped too tightly in place. The Commander stepped back, checking the fit of her new equipment. Then he looked up. "Inside this room, you have forfeited the most basic human rights. You will not eat, you will not drink, you will not shit or piss, you will not sleep, you will not do anything unless you are first instructed to do so. Is that clear?" The reality of Weasel's predicament began to settle into her mind. Her most basic bodily functions had now been hijacked. They could truly do anything they wanted to her in here, except execute her, and she suspected they could probably get away with that too. "You will answer all questions put to you immediately. That is one demerit. I will ask you again, are you clear on your status here?" She nodded. "All right. You stated earlier that you were hungry. Would you like to eat or drink first?" She tried to answer, but was unable to form the words. "Eat? Or drink?" She nodded at the second one. She was still thirsty from her trip through the desert. The guard and the Commander unlocked her from the poles and led her to one of the slabs. They laid her on her back, locking her arms and legs tightly down with the magnets. She looked around, wondering what they had in mind. She got her answer quickly. The guard raping Needle withdrew, buttoning up his penis, and he and Weasel's guard swung her over toward Weasel. She saw now that Needle was hanging from a X-shaped rack, which itself hung from a track in the ceiling. The guards pulled Needle over until she was hanging directly over Weasel. Weasel saw the strained, sympathetic look in Needle's eyes, and realized something horrible was about to happen. The Commander appeared with a short plastic tube, with a circle of plastic near one end. He stuck the tube in Weasel's mouth, snapping the circle of plastic into her mouthpiece. The tube stuck back toward her throat, pressing her tongue down. He attached a piece flexible plastic tubing to end of the tube in Weasel's mouth, and the two guards swung Needle around until her crotch hung over Weasel's face. Now, at last, she realized what they were about to do. She thrashed on the slab, trying to get free, but it was impossible. "That's another demerit," the Commander said. "Sit still." The Commander attached the tubing to tube in Needle's truss and opened the valve. In horror, Weasel saw Needle's urine flowing down toward her. A second later, it was flowing into her mouth. She coughed, trying to stop the revolting, salty fluid. But she couldn't do it, and she realized she was going to drown unless she started swallowing. She gulped, forcing Needle's piss down her throat. On and on it came, an endless stream of foulness. She gulped until she felt her stomach swelling, and still it flowed into her mouth. They must have kept Needle from urinating for most of the day, knowing Weasel was arriving. Finally, the stream of urine slowed, then stopped. Weasel gulped down the last of it, wanting to cry at what they had made her do. No one had yet made Weasel cry and lived to tell about it, but it looked like this might be the first time. The fetid, cloying taste of Needle's piss refused to leave her mouth, no matter how she tried to work it out with her tongue. The Commander closed Needle's valve and detached the tube. The two guards attached chains to Weasel's wrists, freeing her from the slab and pulling her upright. Then they swung Needle around, lowering her face to Weasel's crotch. Needle merely looked up at her sadly, and that scared Weasel more than anything else so far. Clearly, this was nothing unusual to her. Closing her eyes, Weasel sat limply on the slab as the Commander attached the tubing to her truss, then opened the valve. She felt her urine flowing out of her, unable to stop it because of the tube in her urethra, not wanting to think about where it was going. Near the end, she looked down, seeing Needle, blank-faced, gulping down her piss. When she was done, they detached the tube and closed her valve. They swung Needle back away from the slab, then attached chains to Weasel's ankles. A moment later, she was hanging face down from the ceiling beside Needle. The awkward position arched her back, stretching out her breasts and making her shoulders ache. Her brown hair hung down in her face, and she tried to shake it away where it stuck to the sweat on her forehead. The Commander approached, opening a gap in his suit and freeing his penis. He was already erect, and Weasel could do nothing as he took her head in his hands and thrust into her mouth. She fought with all her strength to bite him, but the tube between her teeth was too strong. She gagged when he bottomed out, reaching her throat. Weasel had sucked only one cock in her life before tonight, and the owner of that organ was now dead. It might take years, she thought, but she was not going to let this one off the hook either. He thrust in and out of her rapidly, stroking himself against her tongue and mouth. She glanced over, seeing one of the guards raping Needle the same way. But Needle seemed not to care, and if Weasel wasn't seeing things, Needle was trying to help him get off. Weasel went limp again, letting the Commander do what he wanted, fighting off a flashback to a part of her life she desperately wanted to forget. A few minutes later, the Commander's semen spurted into her mouth. She was unable to spit it out, and it oozed down her throat. She gulped once, sending it down to mix with the heavy, bloated load of urine in her stomach. At least rank odor of his come helped drive out the taste of the piss. Weasel's resolve finally broke, and she began to sob in disgust and frustration. The tears ran down her face, and she watched them dripping to the floor, making small dark spots in the cement. The Commander returned to her a few minutes later, jerking Weasel's head up by her hair. "Are you done? You're enjoying this, are you? Did any of your victims cry like that when you and your friends sliced them to pieces?" Weasel sniffed, trying to force the anguished look off her face. "Are you hungry? Would you like to eat now?" Her eyes bulged, suspecting what would happen if she said yes. She squealed, shaking her head. "All right, then. It's getting late, and I think that concludes the entertainment for tonight. Bridget, I think you have earned a merit today. That brings you down to two hundred and nineteen. Wendy, my goodness, you've been down here less than an hour and you've already earned four demerits. That takes you up to two hundred and seven. At this rate, you're going to be here forever, which would suit me just fine." He motioned to the guards, who adjusted the chains and swung the two girls upright until they were on their feet facing each other. One guard replaced the tubes in their mouths, then ran two lengths of tubing from each truss valve to the other girl's mouth tube. Finally he reached down and opened both valves. He chuckled. "Just in case you get thirsty during the night." The Commander and the guards left the room, leaving the two girls alone. Weasel looked up at Needle. Her blue eyes had none of the fierce, sadistic glee Weasel had always seen in them. Instead, she saw only sad sympathy. Weasel tried to say something, but could manage only a few squawks. Needle's eyes bulged open, and she shook her head frantically. Okay. Weasel got the message. No talking. No noise. No nothing. She sagged against her chains, looking down. Slowly, reality settled in. How long had Needle been down here, alone, without another human face to look at? Weasel desperately wanted to talk to her, to ask her what they had done to her, what they would do to them. All she could do was stare at her, trying to find some message in her eyes beyond resignation. She jerked at her restraints, trying in vain to get loose, and Needle began shaking her head again, staring at Weasel in fear. Weasel closed her eyes, trying desperately to drive all of this out of her head, trying to find some pleasant thought to sustain her, but she couldn't. Her shoulders ached, and her stomach felt bloated and acidic. She could still taste Needle's piss in her mouth. When she opened her eyes again a few minutes later, she saw a few inches of urine already filling the tube attached to her truss. She realized now what the guard had really done to them. Weasel was already passing the load of piss she had swallowed, passing it back to Needle. Needle would have to swallow it, and would eventually pass it back to Weasel. Through the night, they would be passing this foulness back and forth, and each time their bodies would draw more water out of it, refining it down to some purer, more concentrated form. A piss refinery, she thought. That was what she had been reduced to. The tears returned, and this time she let them come, thinking bitterly that she was probably crying out some of Needle's piss. She hung limply against her chains as the sobs wracked her body. VIII. San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles July 23, 2006 "Anybody hungry?" "I don't know," Freeway said. "I could go for a soda." Razor twisted around in the driver's seat. "Anybody else?" Weasel shifted against the wall of Razor's battered Dodge van. She shrugged. "I'm thirsty." Needle got up, climbing between Razor and Freeway to look out the windshield. "There's an AM/PM a couple of blocks over. Let's pull in there." "Cool." Razor turned back toward the road, swinging her raven tresses around behind the headrest. Weasel watched her driving, wondering how she could love someone so much. She had to share Razor with the rest of the gang, but she knew Razor felt something special for her, had known it since they had met in juvi two years before. Razor had murdered her parents like Weasel had, only she had gotten away with it. She could still remember that first night they had sat up talking in their bunks, Razor explaining why she had done it. Weasel understood. She had been only twelve then, just a kid really, and that was the first time she had felt a connection with anyone. Then they had made love, her first time, if you didn't count her father's attentions, which she didn't. He was dead now, in Hell where he belonged. Weasel rubbed at her arm. Her latest spider, the fifth, was still sore. She picked at the scab, peeling it off. It started to bleed. She sucked at the wound, spreading the metallic taste of blood around her mouth. She would do anything for Razor. Absolutely anything. They pulled into the lot of the AM/PM, and the girls hopped out of the van. They stalked into the store, throwing dirty looks and sneers at the other customers. Freeway tripped a middle-aged woman who was walking out, causing her to spill her drink all over the floor. "Uh, sorry." She snickered, glancing at the other girls. The woman looked up at Freeway in anger, an emotion that quickly evaporated as she saw the other Widows around her. She got to her feet and left quickly. Weasel pulled a Snapple from the refrigerator case, then palmed a few bags of M&M's, slipping them into the loose pockets of her pants. Around the store, she saw the other girls filling up on shoplifted merchandise. She glanced at the clerk, seeing he could tell what was going on. The girls finally regrouped at the front counter, piling up the few items they intended to pay for. The clerk looked like he wanted to say something until he looked at Razor. She stared at him, daring him to call them out on the stuff they had stolen. He looked back toward the register and totaled the bill. "Five thirty-nine." Razor tossed a five and a one at him. "Keep the change." The other girls all snickered, and began filing out of the store. Weasel walked around the van, taking a swig of her drink. At the corner of the store were a pair of pay phones, and next to them stood a pretty, fresh-faced blonde girl of about sixteen. She wore denim shorts and a striped T-shirt, and had a frustrated look on her face. Razor took one look at her and moved in. "Hey." The girl regarded her warily. "Hey." "You look lost." The girl glanced at the other Widows, then back at Razor. "I sorta need a ride. Back over the hill. My mom was supposed to come get me, but she's stuck at work and I can't get a hold of any of my friends." "Where do you need to go?" "Venice." "Hey, we're headed that way. Want a lift?" Weasel glanced at Needle, watching the anticipation growing in her eyes. "Uh. I don't know. It's a ways. You're sure it's no trouble?" "No. I told you, we were about to head back that way anyway." "Um. Okay. That would be really cool of you." "No problem. Hop in." Razor climbed in the driver's seat and the girl followed Weasel and Needle into the back. Razor started the engine and pulled out. "What's your name?" "Jenny." "I'm Kathy. That's Lisa, Bridget, and Wendy." Weasel nodded to Jenny as she glanced around. "Hi." As they neared the 101, Weasel looked up toward the front of the van. She saw Freeway slipping a small white pill out of her jeans. She lifted the top off her drink and crushed the pill into it, then replaced the top and swirled it around. She held it up to her mouth, pretending to take a drink, then glanced around at Jenny. "Want some?" "Sure." Freeway held out the drink. Jenny took it and took a couple of swallows. She handed it back to Freeway, who pretended to take another sip. Weasel glanced at Needle, then at Freeway. Everyone seemed to know what was going on, except the girl. A few minutes later, Jenny appeared to be getting dizzy. "You okay?" Weasel asked. "Uh, I don't know. I don't feel so good." Freeway turned around. "Something wrong?" Jenny put her hand to her forehead. "I feel really lightheaded." "It might be the heat. Drink some more." She held out her soda, and Jenny took another sip. About a minute later, Jenny's eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell over to the floor of the van. Weasel poked Jenny's leg with her foot. The girl didn't move. "She out?" Razor asked. "Looks like it." Needle crawled over, pulling some rope out of a box near the back of the van. She quickly trussed the girl up. "Where do you want to go?" Freeway asked. "I'm thinking that place near LAX we scoped out last week," Razor said. "I want to take my time with this one." "Good idea. Fucking surfer brat." "Want to call anyone else about it?" Needle asked. "I could call Gopher and have her pick up my needles." "Yeah, let's do that." They met two other members of the gang, Gopher and Redwood, waiting at the place off Century Boulevard. Gopher pulled a big mayonnaise jar out of her bag and handed it to Needle. "All I could find." Needle hefted the jar, which was stuffed with long acupuncture needles. "Should be plenty." Watching for witnesses, Razor snapped the chains off the warehouse door with a pair of bolt cutters. Redwood and Freeway carried the girl inside, and the rest of them followed. The vast room was completely empty except for some scattered piles of trash. Needle found a spot in one corner where they could work and prepared to tie the girl up. "Hey, look at this." Weasel kicked a cardboard box she had found laying against the wall. It was full of rusty steel chains, and she bent down and pulled one out. Razor grinned. "Great. Let's use those instead." Freeway and Needle dragged the box of chains over to the girl and began restraining her. Without padlocks, they had to tie the chains around the girl's wrists and ankles, which was harder than they expected. It took them about ten minutes to get her secure, but Jenny remained unconscious. They ran the chains out to the I-beams holding up the warehouse roof, and tied those down as well. Razor watched them. When they were done, she pulled her straight razor out of her back pocket and began stropping it on her jeans. ************************************************* The Subtleties of Justice Copyright 1998 by MichaelD38@aol.com Free redistribution permitted; no commericial use without authorization. ************************************************* -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----