Prisoners' Revenge

CHAPTER TWO: OUT OF EDEN

"Her rash hand in evil hour

Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat:

Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat,

Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe

That all was lost."

-- John Milton: Paradise Lost, Book IX

"Margaret came abruptly, the cry of pleasure seeming to be torn from somewhere deep inside her...he saw her face go slack as her orgasm swept through her, her head thrown back as she rode the wave of her pleasure. Then, curiously, a spasm of anger crossed her face, and she flushed with something like embarrassment, having been seen to lose control. To him it seemed that she was still fighting her body's needs."

- House Rules, G.C. Scott

- A brief note. Chapter one was largely set-up, so that the other chapters would be justified, and make sense. This one also has a fair amount of story, but follows a general trend of 'more sex as time goes on'. Feel free to skip ahead to the sexy parts, as I think they're quite strong this time (he humbly said). Also, Chapter one was all non-consent (rape), whereas this one does have a degree of 'only' reluctance, for variety's sake. So don't expect one big rape-fest; I'm looking for something to please everyone in this story category if I can.

- Note number two. In addition to voting and complimentary comments, I do also appreciate constructive criticism AND/OR recommendations for later chapters. I have one hell of a dirty mind, if I dare say so, but input from the audience really helps too. Thanks - enjoy!

The filthy little motel room had finally gone quiet. Sergeant Veronique Carne was panting, her face red, her wavy auburn hair plastered to her sweaty forehead, her neck at an awkwardly straight and constrained angle, pointing towards the nearby wall, her moderate-sized and flushed breasts hanging below and out of her sight. The wall's surface was still decorated with red graffiti images of her face being jabbed by phalluses. Normally, Veronique would look away from what she considered that hideous sight, but Officer Carne was still bound in wooden stocks, so that her keen green eyes had to remain open, taking in the vulgar portrait. Of course, she could have closed her eyes. But she had to keep all of her senses alert and active. She still intended to escape. And no matter how tightly shut she screwed her eyes, the images would still play out in her mind - much stronger than mere pictures - memories.

Her mind rushed over the events of the last hour or two. The call from the kidnappers of her sister. The demand that she come alone, as Jennifer was being held elsewhere - so bringing in police assistance would just result in bloodshed for kidnapper and kidnapped, alike. The panicked flight through the night to the motel. The approach, knife in hand. Losing her gun, losing control, being coaxed into stripping. The sudden flash of her knife, in futile struggle. A botched escape attempt. And then - a solid thirty minutes of having her dignity stripped away from her, along with the virginity of her mouth, pussy and ass.

The room was quiet because the men had flopped down hither and thither, just more flotsam and jetsam scattered with the rest of the room's refuse. Jack Sines' dark eyes were on Veronique from behind her, still taking her features in even as he sat spent, having orgasmed all over Veronique's flank moments after Veronique's own orgasm. She felt his cum, slimy and warm, running down across her stomach, dripping... dripping... dripping over her torn and largely demolished uniform: a lost symbol of her lost authority.

The other men were minding their own business, playing cards while they waited for their sexual appetites to re-emerge. Uncle, a great thick-skulled brute with a rapidly vanishing amount of thin black hair. Larry Oldsman, a red-headed, red-bearded, and usually red-faced fellow - looking rather pale from finally getting release on a rather attractive officer (any cop would have done for him). The last man was Ike Redford, who was still (on some level of his disturbed and broken mind) in love with Veronique, though he had simply vented his lusts all the more vigorously for it, in the gangbang that Carne had undergone. Ike saw no dissonance between loving a woman, and wanting to fuck her senseless along with his friends, to take her against her will - rather, his mind could hardly process 'love' without a good amount of squealing, teary-eyed, brutal ass-pounding.

Veronique thought and thought. She thought about how she might escape, how she might prevent her sister from being raped herself, as so far as she knew, Jennifer had only been touched by their fingers, which was at least something. How she might fight back, see these men really bleed. The pinpricks of her knife attack had been exaggerated at the time by an overactive imagination; Uncle's face-cuts were mere nicks, the others whined a bit as they lay idly around the room, nothing more. It was as though all of Veronique's sound and fury had signified nothing at all. 'Unless I can get a gun', Veronique processed, 'there's no point even trying to fight'. She knew that the men had a gun between them.

A moment of stupidity - an opportunity so sweet as they had provided her before - and her hand on a gun. Everything would change, then. Veronique knew that she would make them suffer for what they had done. Visions of it played out before her eyes, and she had to struggle as much as ever before to hold them back. She had to remain attentive. She had to remain smart. Or all was lost.

There were worse things that they could do to her, than to have had her orgasm. Being the officer who had arrested each of them, she had at least a small idea of what those things might be, and shivered in horror at wondering what things she could not even guess. Goosebumps rose on the smooth, but cum-crusted skin of the young police officer. Carne's toes curled inside the boots that the men had curiously left on, rubbing against one another as though this might comfort her.

***

Jennifer was the fiancée to a charming young man who lived elsewhere in New York City. It was true that she was an experienced girl, at least from how she had always spoken to Veronique, with a tone of superiority, with the assumption that experience made a girl into a woman. But she had never even thought about the sorts of things that had just played out before her, done to her poor sister. She had watched as the orgy had played out. Jennifer was not a prude like Veronique, did not turn up her nose at the sexual requests of her eight or nine life-time boyfriends - which at the age of eighteen she considered quite a few, but was not shy about. She had gone through the pains of anal, the panic of deep-throating, and had only ever drawn the line at outright bondage. Some of the ideas that her friends had whispered to her in passing - in jokes - without a trace of seriousness - thrilled her on a level those empty-headed friends could not have imagined. Being tied up and taken against her will - well, Jennifer had fantasized about it, in any case. She was not invincible, like Veronique; not a statue, like Veronique; not cold, like Veronique. In the deepest pit of her soul, Jennifer enjoyed seeing Veronique taken down a notch - although of course the predominant part of her choked at the bit, rejecting what the men were doing as filthy rape, no better than murder, really.

She also knew what Veronique did not know, and deeply wished that she could find some way of warning her. Jennifer knew Veronique, and knew that she would fight back if she could, if an opportunity arose. Through the cloud of explosive vibrator-induced orgasms moments ago, tied up on the neighbouring bed, she remembered her sister trying to rescue her - pushing her out into the night. It had been a failed attempt, of course; but deep inside, Jennifer knew that her 'crazy sister' would try again. But this fifth man could really cause problems.

Right now, the other man stood behind Jennifer, out of sight. Now and then, his hands moved over her bare ass, just lightly feeling. He had the smoothest hands that Jennifer had ever felt. Uncle had shuffled over here for a time, joining this mysterious 'extra man' in tying Jennifer's hands securely behind her back, along with an unnecessary 'crotch line' with a knot in it to push into Jennifer's aroused pussy. These ties mostly served to keep Jennifer in place - her ankles were too tied-up to be mobile beyond shuffle-steps - and to keep her hands out of the way, so that this man could feel Jennifer up to his heart's content, cupping her buttocks, and rubbing along her back until she shivered almost violently.

Aside from sharing 'the family eyes', Jennifer and Veronique did not look alike at all. Veronique's red-brown hair was not at all like Jennifer's mane of long black raven hair. Veronique's body was toned, muscled, firm; Jennifer's was slim, skinny almost to the point of her ribs jutting, with smaller breasts and a shy, mousier face. The personality matched - Veronique was fierce when she could be, though methodical; Jennifer was impulsive but often socially awkward, cracking a bad dirty joke and looking down as she laughed - her boyfriends had simply 'caught on', seeing what the jokes were really saying. Once she was behind closed doors with them, Jennifer was quite a sexual animal. And she felt that instinct rising in her now, despite the fear it aroused of being raped in front of Veronique. It was a well-trained response in her, becoming aroused with a handsome man's touch - too well trained.

***

Constable Dave Hollander was on the case. He had received the panicked call from his superior and long-time partner, Veronique, not so very long ago - a matter of minutes. Already, he was closing in on his prey. He would get his damned revenge, on Veronique's behalf. The prey: whichever meathead had gone after Veronique's dear sister.

Hollander acted swiftly, wisely, with the seasoned experience of a man who had been through tougher times even than these, and emerged scarred but all the stronger for it. Acting alone was unnerving at night, but Veronique had specifically asked not to get the NYPD into it, or anyone else for that matter. Dave saw why. The police chief was jumpy whenever something involved a cop being endangered, and would probably be just as jumpy with their family being involved. Being jumpy meant making bad decisions. Kicking in the door and asking questions later. From the set-up that Carne had been told about, such tactics might seal Jennifer's fate with the kidnappers. After all, the NYPD would be kicking in the wrong door if they went to the address Veronique was tackling. Which was why Hollander was going to ensure that the right address was found.

The initial interviews went well. There had been witnesses, and somebody coughed up a license plate on a suspicious van. Easy - too easy, really. But Hollander noted it all down dutifully. One older woman, who clearly did not understand what trouble the poor sister was in, began to rant about what a 'little tramp' Jennifer was, because she apparently dated various boyfriends before her sudden engagement - and "I damn well heard them making them noises upstairs", she declared in a rage. Dave mentioned the kidnapping, and the woman became quieter, suddenly repentant. "So sorry to hear that...I spoke out of my place," she said, closing the door again.

Hollander knew that a plate would not be a lot of help. He checked his watch. Veronique would be inside the motel by now, most likely. Cussing, he watched a few seconds tick by on the bright blue neon of his watch, which seemed so interesting in the dark. An annoying habit of his, his fascination with time. Blinking furiously, he started paying closer attention to the road - he was heading back to the station. He almost never asked for favours, so this was a pain in the neck. But the lights of the station warmed his heart as he pulled into the lot, reminding him that there was certainly hope for his partner and her dear sister, who he knew well.

***

Ike was the first to move. Jack had ceased looking at Veronique, and had joined in the improvised game of five-card draw that was beginning to involve a great deal more than money chips - more along the lines of who would 'rule the roost' with Veronique for the next few hours. Ike had just stared, unblinking, at the bound and shackled woman - her head and hands bound by wood, her ankles by cuffs. He licked his lips occasionally, such dry lips that they often cracked in winter, and seemed very much entranced by every small motion she made. The feeling of the bastard eyeballing her in her moment of humiliation just made Carne's flesh crawl. Could he not give her five seconds of privacy, pinned by the bondage device, oozing with their cum? What she would pay for a curtain to hide her, or to rise like Diana and turn these buffoons into deer to be torn apart by hunting animals.

Ike began to hum, standing up, approaching the captive woman. In a flash, he had unlatched the stocks, and Veronique fell out of it rather quickly, her chin going over the rest in just a moment, slumping into the softness of her damaged uniform, curling around it pitifully. In the shadow of the stocks she lay, and Ike hummed, watching her, looking down upon her as though upon a child. He sang a little more Waits, and Jack Sines enjoyed the irony of it from his corner of the table, although Ike was entirely sincere and earnest. "It's such a sad old feeling, the fields are soft and green, it's memories that I'm stealing...but you're innocent when you dream..."

Veronique looked up at him, and for a moment her lips moved strangely, as though forming a plea for mercy. But the shadow of the stocks passed as Uncle trundled it out of the way, and in the direct harsh light of the kitchen lamps, Veronique's face hardened and she resumed her stony expression. As though she was denying that the men had beaten her once - had forced the pleasure that she had sought to deny. There was a kernel of strength in that, and she clung to it. Ike smiled a small smile. He liked her all the more for a moment like this. The swell of her breasts, almost strong under the harsh lights; the strong lines of her face, all the more beautiful because Ike thought he could see how they would break down into the snarl of a whimper.

Shoving her over to one side of the room, over to a corner, he brought her to her hands and knees, with rough hands that guided more than they compelled. Seeing no reason to resist, she complied. Ike noticed something odd - she had a tattoo, that showed a hand stretching to thunderclouds, and the word ST. DEODATUS. Ignoring this for the time being, he sculpted her into a doggie style position against the cracked wall that was pitted, as though little asteroids had occasionally collided with it. She was a beauty, even in this rude position, her breasts tender and inviting, her rear offered to whoever would grab it. She waited, face unchanging and Stoic, and with a grunt of irritation, he spat upon the flesh between her two openings, so that it trickled down over her cunt. He rubbed his cock against her slit, almost tenderly, and spoke slowly, as though trying to hypnotize her: "beg for it. Beg for a cock deep in your pretty little pussy."

"Please," Veronique said, and then faltered. Redford rubbed a little more firmly, as though to egg her on. "Please," Veronique began again, and then looked up and saw Jennifer standing bound, with hands wrapped around her narrow hips. Black hands. None of the men had been black! 'A fifth man', she realized, and a stupid, desperate hope crept into her, as she transformed her plea into one for help. "Please - please, you, behind my sister, whoever you are, help me, don't let them ravish me, please have mercy - I am a good woman, a Christian woman, and if you help me, God will preserve you for the rest of your days - "

Ike decided to give up on having the woman beg for it, and finally pushed inside her, driving deep inside her smooth cunt with his eight inches of rock-hard meat. In shock, Veronique's plea was broken off with a feminine cry - "oh!" - and almost comically, she tried to crawl towards the stranger behind Jennifer, still begging, with Ike all the while behind her pounding into her whenever he could. She would manage a few crawled steps, Ike dropping out of her in the process, before he caught up, grabbing her hair to freeze her again, and tugging her head back as his dick slammed back into her again and again, always finding its path deep inside her groove every time. Eventually she reached the feet of Jennifer, and her hands scrabbled past her sister's ankles, at the pant-leg of the trousers the man was wearing.

The man ignored her. She could not see his face, but Veronique was fairly certain that the man was black, and quite tall, with the stature of a soldier. Now that Veronique had stopped wriggling, Ike held her waist and pistoned her back onto him, again and again, muttering, "you little fucktoy, take it, take it...you like your sister watching, do you? Want her to see this pussy get its exercise? Well it's going to get a good workout, bitch. You tight little bitch - uh - uh."

Veronique's head was spinning. The men were jeering from the table, and the light above them swung as Uncle stood up and knocked it. A beer glass fell over, and trickled to the edge of the table before dribbling over the edge like a little waterfall. Jack was just laughing, but Larry was pulling his dick out - it looked stiff once more - and was masturbating to the sight of Carne's doggie-style fuck. The purple of his cockhead flashed under the crazy light, and Veronique suddenly felt a stab of fear regarding him, even with the smaller size of his penis, and her head bowed. "I'm sorry Jenny, I'm sorry Jenny," she was panting as she was ploughed from behind, feeling the hands creep around her tits. Jennifer blinked down at her, feeling hypnotized herself, unable to look away. Veronique never called her 'Jenny'; always Jennifer. What was happening to her?

"Don't say sorry," Jack laughed from the table, "she likes to watch. Look at those bulging eyeballs. Veronique, look up, your sister's loving it, she's loving it, hah hah hah hah! Love - true love! Who wouldn't love to see Ike at work on a nice piece of ass, hah hah hah!"

A pair of strong arms grasped Veronique's wrists as the dark man stooped down to her, and they pulled her up while Ike continued the fuck-frenzy without slowing. The hands forced Veronique's own palms onto Jennifer's hips, pulling her up straight so that she was looking directly at the rope-knot pushing into Jenny's slit, Veronique's sister dripping around it with her own scarcely repressed excitement. Ike grunted as he finally came inside Veronique, long pulses deep into her, and Veronique felt as though it was piercing fully inside her, flooding through her whole system - Ike's toxic slime, pouring into her pure innards.

The man behind Jennifer was silent.

Jack came along as well, his seven inches of thick dick waving threateningly as Veronique's turned her head to see him approach. She was dazed, and felt weak, too weak to remove her hands from her sister's waist, let alone struggle. She had turned her head mostly to avoid having too intimate of an embrace with her staring sister. In fact, the kidnapped cop felt a stab of anger - why was Jennifer not screaming and shouting, fighting in Veronique's moment of weakness? Did the struggling always have to come from Veronique, just because she was so much older? 'What a stupid little brat, the selfish bitch', Veronique thought in a flash of incredible irritation.

Jack pushed into her, but really took his time in bringing all seven inches into her, in long thrusts that took almost ten seconds for a single push. She felt his head touching every part of her love channel, like a velvet glove stroking every inch of the walls of her pussy. Up it went, until it was penetrating her fully, and Veronique was grunting a little herself, hating how degrading it was to grunt like a bitch - like a dog wanting to be fucked - a dog in heat. But Jack mercilessly tormented her by taking his time, occasionally just stopping entirely, so that she could feel filled up by him, without any powerful stimulation.