Chapter 8: Detention

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.