Ayden
is forcefully dragged down a back hallway to a small room. The sign on the door reads, “Squeeze Girl
Room No. 26”. Inside; the room is
simple. There is a small bed against one
wall. In the far corner, next to a
window that overlooks the grape vats, is a comfortable looking chair positioned
next to a large wooden cross. The cross
is made of two sturdy pieces of dark wood that intersect diagonally at their
middle. Ayden cannot tell if the smooth
surface has been worn down through years of use or if it started out that way.
Struggling
is of no use and the tears have already begun to flow when the tall man marches
Ayden immediately across the room to the wooden cross. “Please listen to me,” she begs again, but he
does not seem to hear her pleas as he pulls one of her arms up over her head.
He
stops and seems perplexed looking from her wrists to the cross and back. “Where are your cuffs?” he asks. Ayden does not understand what he is asking
her. She stares at him silently; her
mind frantically searching for the answer.
When Ayden realizes she has allowed her mouth to fall open in surprise she
closes it quickly; shaking her head in disbelief. This cannot be happening to her.
“Your
cuffs?” he prods.
“I
… I don’t understand,” Ayden sniffs.
“What cuffs?”
“Oh, never mind,” he says without any
hint of exasperation. “Do not move,” he
adds, pointing at Ayden, while he rummages in a small chest next to the bed and
retrieves two black leather cuffs, from the top drawer. Each cuff is made of a wide leather strip and
a buckle that he uses to lock the strap in place around Ayden’s wrists. The cross is sturdy. One silver metal hook hangs loosely near the
end of each board; two at the top, well above Ayden’s head, and two at the
bottom, near her feet. The man attaches the
cuffs, on Ayden’s wrists, to the set of hooks at the top of the boards. Ayden is leaning slightly back, resting
against the cross, and her arms are stretched out, high above her head, but it
is not an uncomfortable position.
He
appraises her standing there with her arms clasped in the metal hooks. Ayden cannot help but feel a sense of vulnerability. His eyes wash over her and she tries to shift
her arms lower in a feeble attempt to hide herself. She watches the tall quiet man warily. He has barely uttered a word through all of
her pleading, but without warning he softens and tells her in a calm voice,
“You did very well in there today.”
He
continues politely, “Please, I am curious why you have run away from your
Master.”
“What?”
Ayden stammers. “No, I didn’t. I was
just hungry, so I went down for a piece of fruit, from the garden, that’s all,”
she blurts out in one quick breath.
“We
get runaways from time to time but most are wearing restraints,” he comments
while he tugs on the cuffs. He is testing
to be sure they are tight enough to hold her in place.
“But,
I am not a runaway,” Ayden pleads. “If
you will just find Master Hunter he will explain everything. Please,” she begs.
“Well there is a big part of your problem,”
the man explains. His hair falls over
his eyes as he continues to explain, “I am sure you heard what Miss Avishag
said. Hunter has been missing all day
and no one has been able to find him.
You are going to be taken to the Detention Center and if he wants you he
will be able to find you there.”
“What
is your name?” Ayden asks quietly. Her
mind will not accept what this man is telling her. She cannot be taken to a detention
center. She has a beautiful room
upstairs with a view of a private cove and a little tea set with pretty pink
flowers.
The
man smiles and runs the back of his finger along her cheek, “Richard. Why do you ask?”
Ayden
lowers her gaze to the floor. The blush
of red returns to her cheeks and she tries to shake it away. “I don’t know,” she replies, “I heard it
earlier and just could not remember it.”
Sliding
his single curled knuckle under her chin and raising her face to his, she can
smell the pleasant scent of his cologne, he assures her, “As soon as Hunter is
found I will make certain that he knows where you are. And I will check in on you too.”
Before
Ayden can respond there is a knock at the door and it opens revealing a tall
dark man, in a drab olive-tone uniform.
He has broad shoulders and thick muscular arms. His head is clean shaven, but his goatee
reveals a hint of grey. What catches
Ayden’s eye is his deep set brown eyes and gentle relaxed smile. He strides confidently across the room and
extends a hand to Richard, “How are you doing?
I was told you have a transport for me today.”
“Yes,”
Richard says with a nod. “Apparently she
was found wondering in the garden by a few of the boys and you know how Miss
Avishag feels about strays.”
“Oh,
I sure do,” the officer says with a chuckle.
“This
one does not have any cuffs and they flogged her earlier. She bore it well, but it may need to be cared
for when you get her to the Detention Center,” Richard instructs carefully.
Both
men are scrutinizing her as they speak.
They are talking to each other, but their eyes are on Ayden. She can feel the full weight of their watchful
attention. Ayden shifts nervously and
the chains that run between the cross and her wrists rattle against the hard
wood. The tall man that carried her to
the room, Richard, stands in front of her with his arms folded across his chest
and the new man rocks on his feet tipping between his toes and heels. He keeps his hands clasped tightly behind his
back. Ayden studies him. He is wearing thick olive colored pants held
up a braided black leather belt. His
shirt is a khaki color, but even it shows hints of olive tones. On his chest shines a silver badge that has
Mystic Cove Detention Center imprinted around a gold shield. Hanging from his belt, off his right hip, is
a long whip that has been coiled and is held in place by a leather loop with a
heavy metal clasp.
The
officer grunts thoughtfully and decides aloud, “Well, I guess I will just bind
her up tight and use a hood for good measure.”
Tracker
Jenkins heads to his car to retrieve the supplies he needs to transport Ayden
to the Detention Center. He grumbles on
his way out of room number twenty-six, because he is disappointed. He is missing the chance to enjoy the
delicious lunch that was being prepared for him. It is his favorite. And after lunch he had been hoping to enjoy a
bit of time with the new Squeeze Girl, Jenny, who had roused his attention almost
immediately.
Ayden
watches Tracker Jenkins leave. The door latch
clicks quietly behind him. Her eyes are
glued on the door that will lead her into an unknown future. She feels Richard step towards her. His hand is running over her thigh. She can feel his chest press against hers. His breath is in her ear. She can hear the words that are meant to
soothe her, “Don’t worry Tracker Jenkins is a good man. He will make sure you are well cared for.”
Ayden
mumbles a response, but she is distracted.
She feels his hands circle around and caress the marks left behind by
the leather tendrils of the flogger and he presses her against his body, so
that she can feel his growing desire to possess her. He plants a soft kiss at the base of her
neck. She does not resist. The bindings on her wrist keep her conscious
of her surroundings but her mind still wanders to the man in uniform.
Time
passes slowly until Tracker Jenkins returns carrying several items in a black
bag. He and Richard work silently in
unison. Their wordless directions to
each other indicate they have done this before.
They take Ayden off cross and remove the cuffs. Each man works proficiently on one of her wrist. When Ayden is free of the cuffs Richard
gently holds her arms behind her.
Tracker
Jenkins stands in front of Ayden and instructs, “Cross your arms behind you and
grab your elbows.” She moves slowly not
feeling confident in what she is doing, but Richard guides her into position
and spins her until she is facing the cross.
She
listens intently as the contents of the bag are dumped onto the bed. Tracker Jenkins rummages through the
items. Ayden can hear the clinking of the
metal buckles and rivets bumping into one another. Her arms are being held awkwardly behind her
and she stands taller straining to decipher what the items might be.
Tracker
Jenkins grasps her folded arms and works something made of leather over her
elbows. He slides it up until it encompasses
her arms like an envelope. The rigging
holds her arms snuggly behind her. She
can wiggle her fingers free through a small opening at the corner on either
side, near her elbows, but she feels more comfortable with her fingers tucked
inside the leather. There are several
quick tugs when Richard and Tracker Jenkins buckle her in tight. Ayden is barely acclimated to the wrenching
of the leather when straps are draped over her head. A strap settles on each of her
shoulders. They are thick straps with
heavy stitching. The straps meet between
her breasts where metal rivets hold a silver ring in place. Ayden can feel the chill of the metal through
her shirt. Her breathing quickens. There is something sexy about the leather and
metal so near her skin. Another strap attaches
to the bottom of the ring and travels down her belly to where it joins with a
second metal ring at Ayden’s waist. Two
more straps are attached to the bottom ring.
They hang loose brushing across her bare thighs. On her back buckles hang ready to secure the
straps to where her arms are held in the rigging.
The
two men work quickly in a flurry of fastening the buckles, tightening straps,
and the click of four metal locks until the only thing that Ayden can move are
the three middle fingers on either hand that she managed to stretch out of the
two opens near her elbows.
Ayden
takes in a deep breath and sighs contentedly realizing how secure she feels
trussed up. She marvels at how far she
has journeyed from the girl who fell into the ocean. Looking at the door she wonders what is in
store for her in Master Hunter does not come looking for her.
“Lift
your chin and do not move,” is the directive that breaks her reverie as she is
spun around to face her captors. Ayden
does as she is told. She stretches out
her neck and holds her chin high. Her
eyes are closed. She feels sensual bound
in the leather straps and wonders what will come next. She feels the cold steel against her chin,
but before she can react she hears the sound of the clippers cutting through
the lock that holds her collar in place.
Instinctively she tries to protect it, but her arms are useless behind
her.
She
watches as the delicate scrolls of gold that were her collar are discarded
carelessly onto the bed. She wants to
protest but something inside of her tells her she should keep silent. Tracker Jenkins retrieves a dull iron band
from the bed and fixes it around her neck.
He secures it into place with a fresh lock. It is simple and unadorned except for the
inscription that reads, “Mystic Cove Detainee”.
Ayden
looks at her beautiful collar. It looks
like an unadorned crown that is now laying abandoned on the dark green quilt. Ayden did not realize that she had grown
attached to it and a solitary tear slides down the side of her cheek. Richard begins to gather up the clippers, the
remains of the broken lock, and her beautiful collar while Tracker Jenkins retrieves
the bag from the end of the bed. Rather
than holding it out for Richard to fill he shakes the bag and with a flip lands
it over Ayden’s head.
She
is instantly plunged into darkness. Ayden
feels the draw string tightened around the edge of the new collar. Suddenly she is forced to rely on her other
senses. Tracker Jenkins slides his hand
under her arm and guides her to the door.
Outside
in the bright afternoon sun bits of scenery filter through the loose weave of
the fabric bag. Ayden can scarcely make out
more than elementary colors, but she can see the green of the hills and the
grays of the wine vats. She knows they
have led her to the rear of the Inn.
When they approach his vehicle she can hear the door opening in front of
her and suddenly there is a hand on her head pressing her gently down. She ducks her head and is guided into the back
seat.
“Just
do as you are told and I will be there to check on your tomorrow,” Richard
reassures her. Ayden turns her face in
the direction of his voice and nods silently.
There
is the sound of another door opening and closing and the engine roars to
life. Ayden is sitting in the back seat,
her hands are bound, her vision obscured, and she is heading into a mysterious future
that is completely out of her control and yet she feels exhilarated.
Inside
her hood Ayden is cut off from the outside world. She must rely on the man in the olive
uniform. She wonders what will happen to
her and how long it will be before Master Hunter can come and claim her. She bites on her lower lip wondering what
will happen to the beautiful collar he worked so diligently to make or if all
of his work on the box with the buttons and lights will have to be done anew.
“Um,
Sir?” Ayden stammers and waits wondering if the officer will respond to her
pleas.
“Yes?”
comes his distracted response.
Ayden
ponders her words and chooses them carefully.
“I was wondering what will become of Master Hunter’s collar,” she takes
a breath to bolster her courage and continues, “It is something that is very
important to him and I would not want it to get lost.” Ayden stops and listens, but decides to
quickly add, “I really did not steal it.”
Tracker
Jenkins’ smile can be heard in his voice.
His voice is calm and soothing.
“I have it here,” he reassures her.
“And for the record you seem like a nice girl, but I get paid by Miss
Avishag to keep the peace at her place, so if she says you go to the Detention
Center then I am going to take you there,” Jenkins says in a stern practical
tone.
Ayden
can hear the roar of the waves. She can
smell the sea air and knows she is near the beach. The tires make a loud rumbling noise that
nearly drowns out even the boom of the crashing waves. She is not sure that she has heard the
officer correctly. She wonders aloud,
“You believe me?”
She
can hear his pleasant chuckle. “I do not
see any flaws in your story and you have no reason to lie to me,” he says. He
pauses a moment thinking and then adds, “Do you?”
The
car comes to a stop and she can hear the squeak as he shifts in his seat. He has turned around and is facing her. “Look Trackers work on commission,” he
explains and sounds to Ayden like he is trying to justify his motives. “I get paid for every legitimate girl I bring
in and Miss Avishag makes sure I take home plenty from her Inn. She pays me a little extra and lets me enjoy
the company of a Squeeze Girl when I like, so it is a nice deal all
around.”
“Yes,
I see, Sir, but I did not do anything wrong.
I was just hungry,” Ayden tries to explain.
“Look,
I keep the rowdies under control around Reclaiming Day,” Tracker Jenkins tenor
changes, “and Miss Avishag needed the extra help after a couple of guys got too
drunk and wandered off.”
Just
before the car door opens Ayden, again, hears the familiar squeak of something
smooth catching against cheap car seats and she knows Tracker Jenkins has turned
back around and is getting out. Seconds
later her door opens and his hand is guiding her out of the car. The pavement is hot under her bare feet. It is only a few steps across loose gravel to
a loud metal door. Tracker Jenkins
unlocks the door and guides Ayden inside where the air is refreshing and the
stones under her feet are almost chilly.
When
the metal door closes Ayden is plunged into complete darkness inside of her
hood. A feeling of apprehension settles
over her in the dark. Tracker Jenkins
moves her forward, but Ayden’s footsteps are hesitant. She wants to check her footing with her toes
at each step but the tug on her leash hurries her along. The sounds of his footsteps echo off the
walls of the long narrow room and they drown out the soft plodding of her feet
against the cobblestones.
Tracker
Jenkins abruptly stops his forward march and Ayden runs directly into his
outstretched palm. He rests his hands on
her shoulders, gently turning her, and tells her to sit down. Ayden shifts in the leather bindings that hold
her arms. She struggles to keep her
balance as she blindly lowers her body down to a wooden bench against a stone
wall. Before Ayden can get comfortable
in her new accommodations Tracker Jenkins places his hand on the back of her
neck and forces her to fold forward into her lap.
“Hey!”
she cries out in surprise, but immediately regrets her outburst. She does not resist. Tracker Jenkins pulls her back up by the
harness that is snuggly strapped to her arms.
There is a metal ring that hangs loose off the back. He attaches that to a clasp on the wall. There is only a small amount of room to
wiggle from one side to the other. It
essentially immobilizes her.
“Lift
your head,” he tells her in the unequivocal manner to which she is beginning to
grow accustomed. Ayden lifts her head
cautiously. She flinches but the wall
keeps her from backing away. She
remembers the clippers from the Inn and is afraid of what he is going to do
this time. To Ayden’s surprise he simply
unties the dark bag and removes it from her head. She blinks trying to adjust her eyes even in
the dim light of the room. The only
light is a single beam coming from a small window near the door.
She
looks around in horror. She is chained
to a stone wall in a corridor with 3 barred rooms. Tracker Jenkins is squatting on the floor in
front of her so that his eyes are level with hers. “It is not much but it will be okay,” he
tries to reassure her.
Ayden
can barely keep her eyes on the officer with the gentle smile. She desperately searches the room for some
sign that he could be right and that it will actually be okay.
“I need to fill out some paperwork
before I can take you upstairs and check you in,” he tells her. “With Reclaiming Day over it will be quieter
down here,” he says cocking his head to one side scrutinizing the panic
beginning to show in Ayden’s face.
He
stands and smiles down at her, pats her softly on the head, and he disappears
up the dark staircase. The clatter of a
large metal door closing and locking behind him tells Ayden that she is alone
in this dreadful prison. She watches the
stairs willing Tracker Jenkins to return but only the silent shadows stare back
at her. She can hear the quiet moans of
the long forgotten prisoners in their cells.
In the dark corners of the corridor Ayden can hear the scurrying of a
small creature moving quickly through the bits of straw scattered around the
floor.
She
closes her eyes in an effort to block out her new captivity, but as she does
something small brushes against her foot tickling the flesh at the back of her
ankle. She shrieks and pulls her feet up
onto the bench and tucks then in beside her.
The metal hook on the wall prevents her from leaning forward to see what
it was, but after a bit of effort she thinks it might be best if she does not
know.
Ayden
drifts between feelings of panic and crying uselessly over her situation. She calls out, “Hello,” to the sounds coming
from the three rooms with the barred doors, but there is no reply. After several attempts her quiet entreaties are
simply met with a muffled snort of disdain, but nothing more.
She
must have fallen asleep because Ayden awakens to the sound of the metal door at
the top of the stairs opening. She tries
to blink the drowsiness away and looks around the new backdrop of her
existence. It was not a dream. What was once a narrow beam of bright light
peeking through the window is now a hazy bit of filtered sunlight. The dust dances like tiny fairies near the
window and it casts deeper shadows where they waltz away towards the walls. Tracker Jenkins clomps down the stairs and
with a veiled smile he asks, “Did you miss me?”
Ayden does not have time to respond before he reaches her. He is carrying a long chain. At the midpoint of the length is a clasp. When he releases Ayden from the wall he
fastens the clasp to the collar around her neck like a double handed leash.
With
a gentle tug Tracker Jenkins pulls her towards the stairwell, “Come on. Let’s get you processed so that we can have
you in your cell before dinnertime.”
Ayden follows him obediently up the stairs to a small landing where the
stairs turn and continue up to a second landing just in front of the large
metal door. Tracker Jenkins unlocks the
door and Ayden follows him into a brightly light room. She is stunned by the sudden explosion of
light. They are standing in a long,
narrow room with white tiles covering every surface except the ceiling. As the metal door closes behind her the
automatic locking mechanism echoes off the porcelain. Tracker Jenkins hands one of the ends of the
double handed leash to another officer that is waiting just inside the room.
Tracker
Jenkins directs Ayden to step out of the way of the door and turn to face
him. He grasps her tether where the lead
connects to her collar and she looks up into his calm face. Ayden detects a hint of wearisomeness in
his eyes and she wonders how often he brings girls through here. Agile hands move skillfully through the locks
of the restraints on her arms until the leather straps slide from her shoulders
and the officer behind her frees her arms.
It feels good to stretch out her limbs and wiggle her fingers again.
Having
discarded her restraint into a bin just inside the metal doorway the officer
grabs a handful of her shirt and in one quick movement he slices through the
material from the hem to the collar cutting it from her body. Tracker Jenkins who had been focused on his
watch wrenches the shirt forward; pulling it off her arms leaving her stunned,
wearing only her bikini. Before Ayden
catches her breath and begins to comprehend what has happened both the bow at
the nape of her neck and the straps tied across her back are pulled allowing
her top to fall free. The neck straps
rest limp across her shoulders and the strings that had been tied so carefully
around her ribs now dangle loose at her sides. The bikini top is barely held in
place by the buoyancy of her supple breasts.
Ayden
swiftly crosses her arms to keep the top from falling away. She feels the fire in her cheeks at the same
time a tingling begins to erupt between her thighs. She defiantly declares, “Okay, that’s not
funny.” With one arm still planted across her breasts she reaches up with the
other and grabs the straps that lay slack at the back of her neck. She begins to tie them again, but before she
can make much progress the officer behind her cuts through both sides of the fabric
of the bikini bottom where it rises over her hips. It snaps free as she instinctively clenches
her knees together and bends forward in a vain attempt to keep it from flying
free of her body
“Enough
of this! The cloth goes in the bin to
your left,” the officer behind her announces as he reaches over and snips off
the shoulder straps where they meet the small triangle of fabric effectively
rendering them useless.
Ayden
still clings to the scraps of feeble bits of cloth, but they no longer hide her
innocence. The officer behind her tugs
at the thin chain, that secures her between the two men, in her crouched and
vulnerable position she easily catches her by surprise and knocks her off
balance. What remains of her bikini
falls to the floor as her arms and legs splay to keep her from toppling to the
floor. Tracker Jenkins scoops them up
and deposits them into the bin of dirty, discarded clothes and leather
harnesses.
“She
looks better already. Doesn’t she, Joe?”
laughs the officer with the shears. His callused
hand rubs across the welts that have formed under her bikini.
Tracker
Jenkins sighs, “Damn it, Frank, I don’t want to be here all day. Let’s just get her scrubbed and into the exam
room so that I can get out of here on time for once.” He then directs his attention to Ayden, “We
are going to get you washed and in to the doctor for your examination. We don’t need any trouble from you, so
c’mon.” Impatiently he strides forward
and Frank reluctantly follows the pair.
The
two officers spread out to opposite sides of the room. It is not so much a room as it is three
separate hallways. The two outer
passages are white tile like the rest of the room and do not appear to be
anything more than a hall. The middle
chamber has water spraying out from jets in every direction and there are
strips of cloth that hang from the ceiling.
They sway back and forth flinging droplets of water off their frayed
tips. The walls that separate the three
halls are not really walls at all. As
Ayden approaches the entrance she can see that the upper section of the wall
extends down from the ceiling and the lower partition rises up from the floor,
but stops barely a palms width below the section above. There are thick glass windows on the two
upper walls. It reminds Ayden of the car
wash behind the old gas station near her father’s office. When she was a little
girl her Dad would take her there for some shaved ice and they would sit
together watching through the window as her Dad’s car was sent through the
washers. At the entrance the officers
thread the chain, connected to her collar, between the upper and lower barriers
on either side of the middle passage.
The officers now stand safe and dry outside of the middle corridor and
Ayden is held in the middle of the room, naked and restrained and they are
drawing her into the jets of warm water just like her Dad’s dirty car.
Ayden
pulls at her shackles and tries to resist entering the sprays, but the effort
is futile. The officers pull her forward
and she enters the warm deluge. The
water coats her skin and drips from the tip of her ponytail and runs down her
bare back. Once she enters she tries to
move quickly to the other end but the officers keep a steady pace, slowly
working their way down the hall. As a
kid she had always wondered what it would be like to be inside the carwash, but
as a jet suddenly catches her by surprise and sprays her in the face she decides
to rethink that idea. She sputters and
wipes the water from her eyes, but manages to shield her face the rest of the
way through. She passes through the
strips of cloth that had looked as if they were swaying gently, but the first
time the wet corner of one snaps against her dripping, bare skin it stings,
making her flinch trying to keep away from the worst of the assault. Eventually, they reach the end and she is
brought out of the sluice.
“Now
doesn’t that feel good?” asks the officer named Frank.
“Not
really,” Ayden sputters incredulously with a hint of sarcasm.
He
chuckles in response to Ayden’s blank stare and then continues, “Well, then you
are going to love the dipping pool.” He
turns and continues his trek through the white porcelain abyss.
This time Ayden truly considers all
out defiance, but the officers do not give her the opportunity. Both officers pull her lead, tilting her off
balance and sending her stumbling forward.
The next implement to her utter devastation is a long deep pool of
water. There are steps at the far end,
but the leading edge of the pool is a sheer drop-off. With her balance already unsteady Ayden’s
momentary hesitation at the water’s edge, is met with a sudden jerk of the
chain by both officers and she easily topples headlong into the frigid water. The freezing water sucks the life from her
lungs. Ayden struggles to right herself
and the tips of her toes barely graze the floor below. She breaks the surface
and comes up alternating between screaming and gasping for air.
They allow her a moment to gather her
wits and then begin to tug at the chains again.
The water is cold and thick like freshly prepared gelatin. Struggling to walk through the liquid Ayden
finds it is easier if she pushes herself forward using her arms to guide her. Midway through the pool, just as she is
getting accustomed to her technique Tracker Jenkins takes a long pole from the
wall. One end has a square block of wood
with long coils of thick strings that looks like a cross between a broom and a
mop. They stop her in the middle and Tracker
Jenkins pushes the long handled implement against her skin. He is obviously trying to scrub her, but with
her feet off of the ground all it succeeds in doing is pushing her around in
the watery goo. In exasperation he places the broom-mop on her head and
submerges her into the slime. Images of the waves the day the ocean brought her
here come to her mind. Fighting free of
the downward motion she breaks the surface only to be pushed under a second
time. When she comes up again and clears
the moisture from her eyes Tracker Jenkins has replaced the tool on the wall hooks. By the time her breathing is returning to
normal she is crawling up the stairs; pulling her body from the clear, cool
molasses that still coats her naked body in a thin layer of lumpy ooze.
Walking away from the pool her
footsteps leave behind small piles of residue as it slips away from her
body. She is tempted to shake the film
from her hands in the direction of her captors, especially after they tried to
drown her, but her bravery is fleeting.
Ayden is standing in the middle of the tiled floor. There is a drain near her feet where she
begins to skim the thickest of what is left off onto the floor near the
drain. The two officers appear to be
carefully keeping their distance. The
have tied the chain to hitches in the walls on opposite sides of the room so
that she cannot move in either direction or get closer to either of them. Tracker Jenkins is looking at his watch
again, but Frank is leaning against the wall with his arms folded, watching her
with a contented smirk on his face.
“Frank, come on,” Tracker Jenkins
says, the exasperation clear in his voice as he points to his watch.
Frank sighs and leaves the room only
to return again a moment later carrying an armload of white industrial towels. Tracker Jenkins catches the towel that is
tossed to him as both men edge closer to the middle of the room and where Ayden
is standing. Tracker Jenkins throws the
towel he is holding over her head and begins to vigorously rub it through her
tangled hair. Her head is swinging from
side to side under his powerful hands when she feels another towel start at her
throat and slide out along her collar bones and around the outer edges of her
breasts. The hands inside the towel
slither under her breasts, squeeze them firmly, and linger. She can hear Frank’s breathing slowly, but
the onslaught to her hair still has her head spinning. The vice like grip leisurely releases and
Ayden can feel both hands roughly grab her right breast and crush the flesh as if
the liquid needs to be wrung out from the inside. Ayden holds her breath fighting the urge to
whimper.
The towel on her head slides to her
shoulders and Frank is inches from her face and clearly enjoying his
duties. Tracker Jenkins grips her
shoulders near the nape of her neck and scrapes the towel down to the small of
her back. Wordlessly, Frank lifts her
arms, his chest hardly a deep breath away from hers. Ayden understands she is to hold them out
from her body and not to resist their efforts to dry her. Tracker Jenkins concentrates on drying her
arms while Frank is still focused on circling her nipples with the corner of
the towel. She does not want to and she
tries to fight it but despite her best efforts they betray and harden under the
harsh fabric. Frank smiles up at her but
she does not see it. Her eyes are
focused on the ceiling and he leers at her; his hands forcing the towel down
her ribs, holding it taut against her belly.
A boot slides in between her feet
pinching her skin and instinctually she looks down into the face that is
reveling in her discomfort. “Spread
them,” he says, nudging her toes again.
Behind her Tracker Jenkins has worked
his way down and is drying off her thighs.
He is quick and thorough, but when his hands slip between her thighs and
brush against the delicate folds of skin she draws in a quick breath and stands
a little taller, making Frank cackle.
Frank presses his chest against hers and draws his face close to
hers. Ayden turns her head, but she can
feel his hot breath slide along her neck.
She can smell the onions he had for lunch. His towel sweeps between her legs but one of
his callused fingers manages to escape its covering, plunging into her; the remnants
of the gel making his entry effortless.
He slowly scrubs her pubis forcing first one and then adding a second
finger over her tiny clit that is helpless in its obligatory response.
“Damn it, Frank! Knock it off!
You know the Doc wants to exam her.
And if you get written up one more time….” Tracker Jenkins voice trails
off and he never finishes his sentence.
He simple tosses his towel at Frank and stomps to where the chain
connects Ayden to the hitch on the far wall.
He deftly unties it and crosses behind her, gently flipping the chain
over her head, landing it between Ayden and Frank before unhooking the second
bond.
Frank is left standing in the middle
of the white porcelain room holding the wet towels as Tracker Jenkins leads an releaved
Ayden towards the doorway at the end of the room.
