Chapter 10
Ray Hickey had driven off to the prison shortly after having lunch at home on Saturday noon with his luscious brunette wife. He was still very much down in the dumps over having to postpone their celebration, but Irene teasingly consoled him by nibbling at his earlobe and whispering, "Cheer up, darling, we can always do it next Saturday and it'll be just as nice. And if you don't come back home too late, I'll wait up for you and we can have a little party in bed. Would you like that, lover?" And then she had blushed, for until Ray had bedded her, she had been a virgin, and yet now she adored him and despite her natural shyness, she had learned to give vent to all her passionate latencies in his arms when the lights were out.
He looked at her adoringly, and Irene Hickey blushed adorably and lowered her eyes. She was twenty-one, five feet five and a half inches in height, and a perfect 36-22-36. But those dimensions, which a beauty contest judge would exclaim over, were only abstractions until one saw Irene in all her mouthwatering loveliness. Her hair was almost bluish-black and extremely glossy, and she wore it in a thick ponytail with the curls combed away from the top of her forehead and with a little silver barrette just at the back of her head from which it swung down to her shoulderblades in a thick sheaf.
Her face was heartshaped, but there was a certain piquant sauciness to her features, exemplified in the coquettish dimples which came and went fascinatingly in her cheeks and her firm little rounded chin, and in the delicious uptilt of her small straight nose with its thin but widely flaring wings. Her eyes were an intense dark brown, set closely together, very large, with finely pencilled brows and short but very thick and curly lashes. She had no need of mascara to heighten the loveliness of her face, for her skin was a warm, creamy white that was extremely voluptuous.
Her figure was absolutely breathtaking, although she still had not progressed in the short term of their marriage to allow Ray to have the light on when she was naked and she invariably insisted upon wearing a nightie, though to be sure, his reverent fingers lifted it above her hips to bare the thick, crisp, curly triangle of her exciting cunt. Her breasts were highperched pears, set widely apart, with very wide pale coral aureolae and delicate little nipples which Ray had discovered were extremely sensitive during intercourse and which, at the slightest touch of his fingers or his mouth, instantly firmed as if in imitation of the male erection.
Her waist was quite slim, her bellybutton wide and shallow like a jewel set in a magnificent goblet. Her thighs were perfection themselves, sleek and gradually rounding columns, nervously muscled, with skin so flawless and smooth that one could see the delicate tracery of the pale blue veins. Irene's calves were those of a showgirl, high-set and sinuous, and she had very dainty feet with beautifully tapering toes and slim, chiseled ankles. Her buttocks would have tempted a flagellant, and rightly so, for they had a sensual and challenging jut to their spaciously but perfectly proportioned rotundities, with a very sinuous cleft whose mysterious shadows would surely have lured the sodomite to venture into that other crevice in his quest for a lust-chasm to receive his bubbling tribute.
She had an adorable little birthmark, a tiny oval brown patch, high on her left inner thigh near the groin. Ray was fond of tickling it with his finger and once or twice had grown so bold as to put his lips to it, though he had not yet taught her the sweet perversity of oral love.
She watched from the kitchen window as her brown-haired, sturdy young husband got into the car and drove away in the direction of Welfare Island, and then poured herself another cup of coffee, sat down at the table and blushingly smiled as she recalled the naughty promise she had made her husband about tonight.
She could not know that he would not come home that night but that he would see her all the same, and that he would endure the most diabolically torturing Tantalus which any virile and adoring young husband could endure...
It was midafternoon and the heat of the sun beat down upon the little bungalow. Irene had decided to take a nap for two reasons; first, because the heat was oppressive and sapped her energy, and secondly, because then she could stay up late tonight and wait for Ray in bed. She had fallen asleep dreaming of tonight, how she could sneak into bed before him in her nightie and lie there turned on her side, waiting for him to enter the bed and clear his throat and then timidly kiss her neck and tickle her armpits, a little trick he had which invariably made her giggle and turn swiftly to him to kiss him hotly and welcome his advances. Her nipples tingled at the thought of his fingers on her breasts, and her belly shivered as she seemingly anticipated the weight of his firm, lean belly grinding against hers while his virile manhood ploughed the tender, tight furrow between her squirming thighs.
She was having a lovely dream about it, and she moaned softly in her sleep, for it seemed that somewhere in the far distance a bell was ringing. It rang and rang again insistently, until she finally opened her eyes and realized that it was not a dream but her front door.
She shook her head a few times because she was still drowsy and it was difficult to tear herself from that lovely dream in which Ray had been making love to her. She had a kind of trembling enervation along the cords of her inner thighs, and she shivered, biting her lips, at her awareness of how dependent she had become on her young husband. She, who had often slapped an overly impetuous suitor who had tried to be too free with her because of her stunning beauty. She hoped that one day they would have a child, on whom she could lavish much of her love, for it was really sinful, she thought, to love Ray so much. He was all she had.
She wasn't especially happy about this small Southern town, but then, if she hadn't come here, she wouldn't have met Ray.
She went to the door and slowly opened it. A wiry, bespectacled Japanese stood before her; not recognizing Judge Black's manservant Yoshio she was a little taken aback.
"Yes? May I help you?" she said politely.
"You are Mrs. Hickey?"
"Yes, I am."
"I'm very sorry, I have bad news for you."
"About Ray?" she gasped. "Oh tell me, please tell me, what's happened?"
"You must not worry. It will be all right. I drive you to the prison. Dr. Fenwick is looking after him. You come now, Mrs. Hickey," the Japanese valet urged.
Irene paused only to lock the front door of the house and then got into the limousine. Silently it rolled away towards the desolate creek in which the castle-like building known as Welfare Island rose to dominate the lonely landscape.
The valet got out of the limousine and opened the door. "The motor boat will come for you. They know I am bringing you," he explained. Courteously he helped her down the bank and she saw the motorboat setting out from the platform dock near the heavy pilings that supported the foundation of this remarkable structure. A flight of stone steps led from that dock to the huge and medieval door which was the main entrance of this fortress-like building. Two men were in the motorboat, neither of whom Irene Hickey recognized; one of them was the Negro guard Sam Talbot.
The motorboat turned back towards the dock, the two guards led her up the stairs and opened the heavy door and went down the corridor. There a third guard was waiting, also a man whom Irene Hickey did not recognize.
"This way, M'am," he told her. He led the way midway down the huge hall to a metal door which, when opened, exposed a flight of narrow stone steps. It was well lighted, for the Judge had had the building thoroughly modernized and an excellent conduit and electrical system installed, along with his own ingenious accoutrements for the edification and entertainment of his influential guests. The three guards led Irene down a narrower corridor, on each side of which, at wide intervals, were heavy metal doors... each of them leading to a specially furnished dungeon or to an elegant salon equipped with every convenience for the enjoyment of carnal passion.
At the end of the long corridor and at the left, the third guard opened the door and gestured for Irene to enter. No sooner had she done so than the two other men seized her by the elbows, and dragged her in, heedless of her struggles and screams.
Ray Hickey had been at work on his shift on the second floor of the building, where many of the more attractive and younger female prisoners of Welfare Island were incarcerated and, as already indicated, put through a very different regimen from that which the older and less attractive women, not at all of interest to the syndicate and the judge, followed. At about five o'clock he was relieved by Sam Talbot, and the brawny Negro guard grinned and winked and jerked his thumb towards the stairway, saying, "Doc Sayers wants to see you, boy. Front and center. You lucky stiff, you!"
"What are you talking about, Sam?"
"Huh! As if you didn't know, Ray boy. Why, everybody knows around here you're Doc Sayers' favorite errand boy for the nicest kind of errands, too. Don't I wish I was called on for this little chore! My oh my!"
"Make sense, Sam. What's it all about?"
"Okay, I'll tell you. Remember that snippy little blonde tramp they picked up at the bar a couple of weeks ago and sent here for three months and sent here on a vag charge? Myrtle Pellis, that's her name."
"Sure I remember her. She just about scratched my face when I put her in a cell," Ray chuckled reminiscently.
"That's sure the one, boy! Well, Doc Fenwick just examined that little bitch, and he told Doc Sayers she could stand a good whaling. So now Doc Sayers wants you to come down and take care of Myrtle good. And I do mean good! And that's why I say you're a lucky stiff. And you'd better be stiff, too, 'cause you're supposed to break her in. There's a rich customer paying a nice fat chunk of dough who's gonna be watching in the cell next to the one you're supposed to do Myrtle in. Get me?"
"One of those, huh? Well, some people get their kicks out of watching. Me, I'd rather perform," Ray Hickey chuckled and gave his Negro colleague a broad wink.
Six months of marriage had given Ray Hickey a greater self-assurance, and to be sure, his work at the prison had forced him into taking part in many punishments of particularly attractive young girls and women. Now that his sensuality had had free rein with his beautiful bride Irene, he was, to quote his own private expression, "more pussy-conscious" than he had ever been before. And remembering the blonde spitfire whose voluptuous young body he had felt struggling against his hands and who had indeed scratched his face as he had shoved her rather roughly into her cell, he began to experience a delicious anticipatory itching in his private parts.
"Don't stand there dreaming about Myrtle, boy.
Hurry down to Doc Sayers and find out what she wants you to do to that little hell-cat. If you need help, tell Doc Sayers I'm ready," Sam Talbot lecherously intimated.
Ray Hickey clapped the Negro on the back, affably countered, "Fat chance, Sam! They sent for a man to do the job, not a boy," and went whistling down the stairs on his way to the red-haired Lesbian superintendent of Welfare Island.
Dr. Marjorie Sayers was studying a sheaf of papers as Ray Hickey entered. She kept him waiting a moment, then put aside the papers and stared insolently at him as she remarked, "You took your time, Mr. Hickey. However, I have a task for you to perform which I hope you will execute a little more efficiently than you've just done in following an order to report to my office."
"Excuse me, Dr. Sayers. Sam Talbot held me up a bit."
"Let me remind you that I am your superior, not Mr. Talbot. Now then, you will go to Cell D in the lower level, where you will find the girl Myrtle. Yesterday, when Matron Matthews brought her her lunch, she actually dared attack her. We can't have that, Mr. Hickey. Insubordination and mutinous conduct are immediately punishable, and as it happens, there is a buyer who has agreed to take Myrtle on parole from this institution and give her a job as servant in his household. He's an elderly man, you see, Mr. Hickey, and he wants the girl to be gentled a little so the lesson will last once she starts to work for him. You understand?"
Ray flushed and lowered his eyes. "Yes, Dr. Sayers, I understand."
"I don't wish to hear the details. However, officially I am ordering you to give the girl a good whipping. Dr. Fenwick has just examined her and tells me that she's quite able to stand a sound thrashing. However, don't mark the skin permanently. And as to the rest, you needn't report to me what you've done but simply do it. You may go now, Mr. Hickey, and I trust you will carry out this order efficiently and quickly."
He gulped, nodded, and left the office of the red-haired Lesbian superintendent. By now, having participated in several such scenes, Ray Hickey understood perfectly what was meant: this young prisoner was a troublemaker and had probably been purchased either for a brothel or for a private buyer who wished to have a lust-slave. Since her sentence had been a mild one for vagrancy or a similar inconsequential charge, just enough to jail her, probation could be easily granted and release made at once to a responsible citizen. This was how the syndicate operated and how Judge Austin W. Black was able to amass huge profits which went into the coffers of the crime-linked network. By "gentling," Marjorie Sayers had given him an unqualified freedom with the defiant blonde teenager: freedom to fuck!
He was remembering his beautiful wife and her whispered promise to him to be waiting tonight so they could have a "party." He only hoped that the business with Myrtle Pellis wouldn't tax his virility too much, so that he could give his lovely black-haired darling all she wanted. He'd heard that sometimes if a man got some extra pussy on the side, he wasn't quite up to snuff when it came to taking care of his home duties. Not that Irene was experienced enough to be able to tell if he was cheating, but just the same he didn't want to go limp on her, not with that sweet, tight little snatch of hers already to welcome him. The very thought of this made Ray Hickey's prick stiffen with longing anticipation.
He went down the stone stairway, where he met Sam Talbot who clapped him on the back and enviously wished him luck. Descending to the lower level and going down the long corridor with its rows of steel doors, all alike, he arrived at last at Cell D. It was on the left side of the corridor, the next to last door. About his belt was fixed a key-chain, and he chose the master key to this tier of cells, inserted it in the lock, turned it and let the door clang shut behind him.
Myrtle Pellis uttered a piercing cry as she saw Ray Hickey enter. At eighteen, she was magnificently developed, and it was plain to see why she had interested wealthy prospective buyers who, as in days of yore when women could be acquired much like slaves on the auction block through the legal practice of indenture, could obtain for themselves all the conveniences and comforts of having a combination maid-of-all-work and bed companion by paying a fee and obtaining the girl's services for a stipulated period of years. In this case, the buyer of Myrtle Pellis would enjoy her until he tired of her, and then the syndicate would offer to buy her back-naturally at a reduced price because of "depreciation" and send her to one of the larger houses where the clientele was not so discriminating and the fees not so high as for the fresh merchandise.
The cell was large, naturally soundproofed, and it had only two articles of furniture in it-if a whipping post could be so designated. The other was a low, wide couch, beautifully upholstered and comfortably inviting. But the whipping post was in the center of the stone floor, a round wooden stake which rose about eight feet high with a metal ring set into the wood about a foot from its top. There, her wrists corded to that ring and drawn up on tiptoe, Myrtle Pellis stood, her insolently pointed, widely spaced titties pressed hard against the unyielding wood, clad only in a white cotton slip and, beneath it, white nylon panties. Her legs were bare.
Her honey-colored hair was disheveled, and there were bruises on the soft pink flesh of her arms where the angry matron had gripped her after Myrtle's attack upon her. She was about five feet seven, slim and agile and lithe, with a beautifully supple waist and deeply hollowed slim back. Her buttocks were broad ovals, very tightly set together, and her long thighs and sinuous calves made Ray Hickey think of the lovely litheness of his bride. Tractioned and on tiptoe as she was at the post, Myrtle's body was mouthwateringly delineated by the clinging slip and the tight diaphanous panties under it.
On the couch there lay a broad black leather strap, a leather paddle and a slim murderously flexible rattan cane, with curved cane-like grip for the wielder's hand.
Ray Hickey took off his guard's cap and tossed it onto the couch. Myrtle, her face turned over her shoulder, stared fearfully at him, her nostrils dilating and shrinking, her lips parted, but as yet she had spoken not a word. Her face was delightfully mutinous, with a turned-up nose, an insolent, small, ripe mouth, highset cheekbones, and a high-arching forehead. She had run away from home a few months ago when her sluttish mother had remarried, first having had a procession of casual lovers, all of whom had attempted to enjoy the daughter's charms on the sly. And she had seen the lust in her stepfather's eyes just before he had gone into the bedroom to claim his marital rights of her buxom, amoral mother. The next day, when her mother had gone into town to shop, her stepfather had cornered her in her room and wheedlingly tried to make love to her, squeezing her bottom and titties, trying to slip his hand under her dress to feel her pussy. Myrtle had kneed him in the groin, and run away. She had been apprehended by one of Sheriff Dawson's deputies and brought before Judge Black as a vagrant.
The Judge's investigation had indicated what kind of home she had fled from, and he was certain that her parents would hardly press a claim to have her back. Consequently, the sheriff's deputy was dispatched to the stepfather and mother of the girl with an offer of a thousand dollars in return for which Myrtle would be made a ward of the state... a euphemistic term which in reality meant she would be sold to carnal bondage. The greed of Myrtle's parents led them to haggle with the deputy, who had been authorized to raise the price to fifteen hundred dollars and not a penny more, and on that price Myrtle's mother and her new husband cheerfully abandoned the lovely teenager...
Ray Hickey wore a blue coat with silver buttons and matching trousers, the obligatory uniform of all male guards, while the matrons wore blue cotton dresses with very short sleeves to allow freedom of movement-especially useful when it came to subduing a rebel like Myrtle Pellis.
He unbuttoned the coat and laid it down on the couch while Myrtle continued to watch him with growing apprehension in her dilated hazel eyes. Then he glanced back at her tethered body straining at the post, and picked up the rectangular leather paddle, considering this the best instrument for the firm, beautifully muscled, spacious ovals of that luscious bottom which awaited punishment.
"Oh no! You aren't going to whip me? But it's not fair! Matron Matthews said something nasty to me and then she tried to slap me. I don't deserve to be whipped for that-she's the one who ought to be punished!" Myrtle passionately declared as she tugged uselessly at her bound wrists high above her head.
Ray Hickey did not think this comment worthy of an answer. Transferring the paddle to his left hand, he approached the shuddering teenager, set / his right hand to the neck of the slip and ripped it off her body. The sight of her almost naked loveliness, covered only by that diaphanous pair of clinging white nylon panties which shaped out the luscious cheeks of her bottom and even the very narrow crease between those sweet globes, made his prick harden with ferocity.
Then he put his hand to the waistband of the panties and ripped them off, and Myrtle Pellis was naked. His eyes fixed on the contracting globes of her behind as the young girl ground herself against the whipping post and uttered a hoarse cry of shame and anguish: "OHH NOO! OH, PLEASE DON'T! I don't deserve it at all, truly I don't. I ran away because my stepfather wanted to have me! It's not fair, I tell you! I want to see the superintendent, you haven't got any right to do this to me!"
At this point, Ray decided to speak: "The superintendent was the one who had me come here to give your bottom a good sound smacking, Myrtle. You've been sentenced to prison, and prisoners do not strike a guard or a matron, not here they don't. I'm sorry, but I've got my orders."
So saying, he placed himself to the girl's left, and drawing back his right hand, swept the leather paddle across the fullest curves of both huddling bare pink buttocks. The sonorous crack of the polished leather implement against naked, firm young flesh made him shiver with mounting lust, which Myrtle's naked beauty had already so keenly incited. The victim uttered a piercing cry of pain, twisted her face back towards him, and sobbingly implored, "Oh my Lord, it hurts, it hurts! Please, please don't do it to me!"
The smooth pink flesh was instantly marked by the outline of the fustigatory implement, and Myrtle ground herself against the hard wooden post, her eyes blurred with tears and very wide in anguish.
Ray Hickey applied a second stroke, a little lower down, against both globes, and again a strident, agonized wail was wrested from the young sufferer. And seeing those marks, watching the magnificently contoured naked bottom ovals of the teenager convulsively jerk and tighten and then relax in the inevitable choreography of flagellation, tore away Ray Hickey's tenderness and idealistic nature, and became a kind of insidious cantharide in his system which made him as unscrupulously lustful as Judge Black himself.
His arm swept down repeatedly, spacing the blows about ten seconds apart, laying a broad horizontal pattern of red splotches across both huddling bottomglobes, then attacking each cheek in turn from right to left and starting from the tops of Myrtle's hips to descend to the bottoms of her long, supple thighs. Her shrieks and tears, her babbled and incoherent supplications for mercy only added fuel to the flame of his inordinate and perverse rut, for by now his prick was straining viciously at the fly of his uniform trousers.
"There!" he panted, dripping with sweat, after he had given the shrieking, naked girl about thirty-two vigorous strokes and left her bottom furiously inflamed and a darkening red, "Maybe that will teach you not to go around hitting guards and matrons!"
He flung the paddle aside and then, taking out a jackknife from the pocket of his trousers, cut Myrtle's wrist ropes.
Sobbing hysterically, the naked young girl crumpled to her knees, and then began to rub her inflamed bottom feverishly. Ray Hickey stood above her, his face dark and twisted with rut as he drew down the zipper of his trouser fly, unbuttoned his shorts and let his virile prick emerge, throbbing and swollen with lust. The meatus was elongated and narrow, like a kind of singular spear point affixed to a dark veined shaft by a narrow, circumcisional groove, and it was as turgid as it had ever been when the young guard made love to his beautiful brunette wife.
He stood for a moment contemplating the weeping, half-fainting girl crouched on her knees with her head pressed against the whipping post, her slim fingers still frantically rubbing the reddened, swollen, pain-seared bottomglobes. Then with a muttered oath, he lifted Myrtle Pellis up by the armpits and dragged her over to the couch and flung her down upon her back.
"Oh no! Oh Lord no! What are you going to do-oh please-Mom, help me-OWWWW-Oh don't-I don't want you to-EEEYEOWWWW- Oh please!"
For Ray Hickey had kneed apart her struggling thighs, clamped her chafed wrists with his left hand and pinned them behind her back, his right hand cupping one of her perky titties and, his handsome face contorted with a demoniac lust, had thrust his prick through the soft pink lips of her virgin vulva and, violently surging forward, burst through the hymeneal seal of her maidenhead...
In the cell at the very end of this corridor, next to the one in which Ray Hickey had carried out the perfidious orders given him by the Lesbian dominatress, Irene Hickey stood transfixed with an incredulous horror and stupefaction. She was fully clothed, tied with her back against the wall of her cell, her wrists pulled high above her head and locked into metal gyves which were fixed into the wall. Behind her, the wall at which she stared connected with the cell in which Myrtle Pellis was undergoing her punishment for rebellion. A one-way opaque glass panel, five feet square, enabled her to see but without being seen, all that was transpiring in that other cell. It was her husband whom she beheld whipping the naked blonde runaway and then fucking her. She could not believe her eyes at first, and no sounds were transmitted from the other cell. But at the very last, when she saw her husband's handsome face twisted in that infernal mask of sadistic rut, she nearly swooned and yet it was with a kind of vague sensual sublimation, mingled with the overweening horror of what she beheld, that made her own breath come more quickly now, her thighs tremble and twitch, and the lips of her own delicious and passionate pussy moisten with a feverish yearning! It was the beginning of the night of Tantalus.