Piper's Price

by D. A. Maddox

  “You,” she seethed. “What are you doing here? Come to gloat over my son? What you did to him?”

  “I…” Maddy stammered, completely off her guard. Under normal circumstances, she’d defend herself. She wasn’t the one caught crawling around in the attic ceiling of a freakin’ gymnasium. But these circumstances were as far from normal as they got, in Maddy’s experience, and she found herself unable to say another word.

  There were two police officers in the room. One of them stepped forward with the obvious intent of bringing a swift, polite end to the confrontation.

  Mrs. McNeal, however, only had this left to say. “I hope you’re happy.”

  Then she was through the door to the visiting booths.

  The door to the outside was straight ahead. There was a fancy Lexus standing out among the far more ordinary cars in the lot. Probably expensive as hell, and yet nowhere close to the level of fancy she might have guessed for a senator’s wife. Practical flash.

  Parked at the curb was her ride back to the rest of the prison facility, where Robbie—and she—were being quartered until the weekend. At the door of the transport van stood her escort back to Jasmine and Heather.

  She rushed outside without looking back.

  Why did you do it? a voice in her head demanded of her. You didn’t have to do it, but you did. You’re going to get what’s coming to you, too, Maddy. Count on it.

  Somehow, she kept herself from crying in front of Officer Jenny.

  ****

  Robbie watched his mother come in, prim and collected. She was wearing the same suit she had worn at his father’s last victory rally five years ago when he was thirteen. And that wasn’t like her. Mom was always up to date with her wardrobe.

  Five years ago, he thought. He had been a golden scion of American politics in those days, and the cameras had loved him. Life was so much simpler, back then.

  He hadn’t loved the cameras, though, and he loved them considerably less now. As his mother sat in front of him, he gestured to the one currently filming them. “We’re on TV, Mom,” he said.

  “Nothing new for us,” she distractedly replied, fishing her purse for tissues and coming up with one. She dabbed a tear away, took in a breath. “How are you holding up?”

  “Not so bad,” he said, forcing the words and only half-believing them. “It’s protective custody, Mom. Not like I have to worry about getting shivved or anything. How are you?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” she said. “All that matters is you. I’m just sick about all this.”

  She didn’t look so bad, though. She’d recovered significantly since yesterday, he was relieved to note. He didn’t know if he could weather another maternal freak out on top of everything else.

  “It’s over in two days,” he said. “All I have to do is get through it without getting myself into any more trouble.” And all you have to do is wait, he thought. But he finished with, “How’s Dad?”

  She snorted. “Your father will be fine, Robbie. He always is. You wait and see. These people, they don’t know it, but they’ve messed with the wrong—”

  “Then why isn’t he here?”

  It was the first thing he could think of to keep her from finishing the thought in front of a live television audience—and he’d been late on the draw. Those words would not play well with the people she privately referred to as “the peasantry”.

  “Are you joking?” she asked. “Robbie, he can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She gave him a longsuffering look, and—finally—the cameras a sidelong one. “He’s arranging his defense. He’s fighting these ridiculous charges the prosecutor and that grandstanding judge brought against him. Taking care of business. Besides,” she added in a lower voice, “he’s the author of the bill, Robbie. Think about it.”

  The bill. Which had become law. The one Robbie was feeling with its full weight firsthand. Dad’s presence here would be even more media fodder, more fuel to keep the story burning in the public eye.

  Fine. He wasn’t much in the mood for his old man’s company, anyway. It wasn’t lost on him that Mom hadn’t said anything about any strategy to get him out of here, to spare him the rest of his sentence. Just as well, he reminded himself. Better to finish and not have to deal with the public backlash if Daddy bails his spoiled little boy out early.

  And yet it stung to think that, in the wake of his father’s personal troubles, they’d given up on fixing his.

  “Try to understand,” she said. “You’ll be out of here soon, just like you said. You’ll be back at school where you belong. This will be over, and then you’ll have a break at Thanksgiving. You’ll be home.”

  Home, he thought. Where Dad can push me around. Where half the women I see every day will look at me funny and whisper behind my back about what they did to me.

  “I know,” he said. “And I do understand. Just tell him I’m okay. And don’t watch TV, Mom. Promise?”

  She went for more tissues, hitched in a sob.

  Smooth move, Rob, he thought. Tactful.

  “I already have,” she blurted, teetering at the edge of a fresh blast of hysteria. “It’s so awful, what they’re doing to you. What our friends are doing. I’ll never speak to any of them again. But you—you’ve been so brave, Robbie.”

  Robbie’s heart dropped like a pair of boxers at a sports physical. His face suffused with hot blood even as the temperature seemed to drop all around him. “Why would you do that?” he whispered, finding his voice unsteady as well. “Why would you watch, Mama? Why would you want to see that?”

  “I didn’t want to watch, Robbie. None of this should be happening to you. This wasn’t meant for you. You’re a good boy.” She raised her face, glistening with mascara and tear tracks, until they were eye-to-eye. Then, more fiercely, she continued. “I’m cataloguing all of this. We’ll make them pay for it, for every second of it. They’ll escape nothing. They’ll rue the day—”

  “Stop,” Robbie said, and wondered to hear himself add, “Seriously, Mom, shut the fuck up.”

  She stared at him, thunderstruck.

  So, that’s the problem, he thought, his rarely-kindled temper suddenly spiking. These punishments were intended for the peasantry only, a defining line between those in power and the masses they considered their subjects. That the subjects should be allowed to see him in this way was unfathomable to her.

  “I’m guilty, okay?” he said. “Everything I was accused of, I did. You and Dad should have just let me cop to it in court. Things might be different if you had.”

  No answer from Mom. Her face was pure, frozen outrage and shock.

  “See you this weekend.”

  With that, he got up and left her. And although he didn’t know it—wouldn’t learn of it until much later—a large part of his prime-time nationwide audience stood up from their living room chairs and cheered.

  ****

  Officer Jenny escorted her halfway down the hall to her quarters. Then she stopped and took Maddy gently by the arm. “Hey,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  The question took Maddy by surprise. She thought she’d done a decent job of keeping her cool.

  “I know that face, Mads,” Officer Jenny said, brooking no room for argument. “That’s the same look new convicts have, first day in. We call that a ‘fresh fish’ face. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good look on you—but what gives?”

  You really want to know? she thought. Okay. Whatever.

  “Second guessing myself, I suppose. Feeling a little guilty about things.”

  She expected Officer Jenny to ask “What things?”—and then she’d have to decide whether or not to tell her. Doing so wouldn’t be of any benefit to Robbie, but she could easily end up getting herself into hot water. She could lose the contract—and maybe quite a lot more than that.

  “Oh,” Officer Jenny said instead. Then, inexplicably, “Well, listen. Your timing couldn’t be better. Off you get. You’ll feel better in the morning.
Go on. You’ll see.”

  She pointed to the closed door less than twenty feet away. The room she shared with Jasmine and Heather. Then Officer Jenny’s footsteps were receding, leaving her with nothing but questions that would taunt Maddy’s thoughts until she did as she’d been told.

  And so it was with a curious blend of anticipation and dread that she approached the door and, reluctantly, opened it. Jasmine and Heather were waiting for her.

  “Close the door,” Jasmine said.

  Only then did Maddy realize she was still lingering at the threshold, gawking at them. There was nothing noticeably different in Heather’s appearance, although her face was flushed pink and her clothes were rumpled. She may have been crying—or sweating, if that was possible in their climate-controlled quarters, or both.

  Jasmine, however, was dressed in full police regalia, complete with black boots, matching elbow-length gloves, and a badge. Her beautiful red hair must have been bound up under the uniform hat that she’d tilted just over one bright blue eye.

  Maddy shut the door and stepped full inside on legs that had gone strangely wobbly at some point in the last half minute.

  “Lock it,” Jasmine said. “Now, Miss Piper. Don’t just stand there. Do what I tell you.”

  Her instinct was to argue. She and Jasmine were equals in this venture. Hell, Maddy was the most important of them, to hear it from Counsellor Lavallee. And yet she complied, locking the door they had never manually locked since first arriving in this place, having deactivated the timer and leaving it open by default.

  “Madison Louise Piper,” Jasmine then said with slow relish, coming to her, circling her, “it’s come to my attention that you knew what Robbie was going to do before he did it. You were tipped off by a boy—a boy named Michael who had his own nefarious designs on the senator’s son. You knew this and did nothing to stop Robbie. You made sure he would be caught, instead.”

  Maddy opened her mouth in protest. That crime—there was no denying it was a crime, not now, not in light of all that had happened—had been all three of them, Jasmine included. But Maddy had expected his discipline to have been limited to a school punishment, and that would have served him right. It would have been more than appropriate, given what he’d been up to. When she’d learned he could face up to five years in prison, she’d nearly turned herself in and confessed everything.

  But she hadn’t. She’d been too scared. And now Robbie was paying a price that was preferable to the five years he could have gotten, yet still a thousand times worse than his actual offense. Her conscience couldn’t rest. However Jasmine and Heather were handling it, Maddy had been tormented for days.

  “What have you to say, Miss Piper?”

  Maddy looked to Heather, who offered no sign and only stared blankly back at her.

  “I-I did it, Miss Forshay,” she stammered.

  “That’s Officer Forshay to you,” Jasmine countered, stopping in front of her, leaning in close. “Say that again. Get it right this time.”

  “I’m … guilty, Officer Forshay.”

  “Right,” Jasmine curtly agreed. Then, to Heather, “Miss Westley?”

  Heather’s eyes came to life. Promptly, she responded, “Yes, Officer Forshay?”

  “Strip her.”

  “Yes, Officer Forshay.”

  Jasmine never backed off as Heather likewise converged on Maddy’s personal space and knelt at her feet. She started with Maddy’s shoes, undoing the laces with deft and delicate fingers. She lifted first Maddy’s left foot by the ankle, peeling the stocking and the shoe off together, and then the right, leaving her legs bare from the knees down.

  This is it? Maddy thought. Payday for me? What have they been doing while I’ve been away?

  But she thought she knew. Oh, yeah. She had a fair idea now.

  Heather ran her hand along Maddy’s side as she rose, and Jasmine retreated a few paces to make room. Her hand stopped on Maddy’s cheek, ever so briefly, before descending to the buttons of her blouse. “The cameras are off,” she whispered in Maddy’s ear. “It’s okay.”

  Maddy nodded, her eyes misting over. She wasn’t sure she wanted the cameras off. Robbie sure hadn’t been shown any such mercy. She should be made to endure every humiliation he had, after what she’d done.

  And yet she couldn’t stop her hands from closing over Heather’s as they reached the last button. Patiently, Heather straightened Maddy’s arms back to her sides and finished. The blouse slid off her shoulders and fell to the floor.

  They’d seen each other unclothed before—but those few times had been quick and utilitarian, each mindful to pay as little heed as possible to the others while they focused on cleaning up. This was different. Her clothes were being taken from her, as discipline, and the two of them were ogling her like a fancy dessert they’d never had.

  For the moment, Heather left Maddy in her bra. Her fingers went the fly of her jeans skirt. Unsnapped the top button. Unzipped. Maddy’s heart was going double time when her skirt joined her blouse on the floor. Heather was on her knees again, taking Maddy’s bra down as she descended, freeing her 34Bs until Maddy’s hands, again, reflexively moved to protect herself.

  And again, Heather eased them away—then behind her back, crossing them over each other.

  Her nipples, bright pink in the soft bedroom light, erected as though under a cool breeze.

  Jasmine had a pair of handcuffs ready. Maddy, unspeaking, watched her circle back behind. She felt the handcuffs go on as Heather tugged her snug white panties down to her thighs, and then off. She wore no jewelry. She was naked, clad only in handcuffs.

  Jasmine’s hand caressed her shoulders, the back of her neck. Sifted her long black hair. She pulled some back and sniffed it.

  Turned her around. Gazed upon her. Batted her eyes, smiling. Her tongue clicked, “Tchock, tchock,” as she cupped Maddy’s right breast in her left hand, running her thumb over the nipple. Then her eyes turned downward. “Aw, you shaved. Was that for me?”

  Maddy shook her head. Her cheeks flamed with shame. “No, Officer Forshay. I’m sorry. I … didn’t know what to expect here, so…”

  This isn’t me, she thought. I don’t do this … I—I don’t think I do.

  She’d never done much of anything, really, with anyone. But she allowed Jasmine to do it, and Heather.

  “I’m going to search every inch of you,” Jasmine said. “Can’t be too careful, Miss Piper.”

  “Yes, Officer Forshay. I won’t be any trouble.”

  “And then Miss Westley is going to go down on you—on the sofa, while I get the bed ready. Won’t you, Miss Westley?”

  Heather’s hand traced up her inner thigh. “Yes, Officer Forshay. Put your legs apart, Maddy.”

  Maddy obeyed. She closed her eyes as Heather’s fingers went to her most private folds and spread them.

  “You’re so cute,” she said, stroking, her palm upturned, coaxing fluid. “You’re so wet.”

  “Open your eyes,” Jasmine said. “Watch her lick your slit, Miss Piper. First time for you, I bet—second time for you, Miss Westley. I expect to see improvement.”

  Maddy obeyed, and let the tears fall.

  ****

  To America, and to the world, the cameras were effectively off.

  But to Officer Jenny, in the comfort of her private office, they were on. Her ass was in the seat of the recliner, but her legs were up on the desk, her finger jammed up her cunt to the knuckle. Her eyes were wide, impressed with the action on screen, coming as it did from such newcomers.

  There was no digital-vaginal penetration—Maddy had stopped Jasmine from going there shortly after they’d gotten in bed together, claiming virginity. Doubtless the truth. But right now, she was consenting to a cavity probe up the other end, while Heather stroked her lower back and caressed her. She cried out, bit some pillow, then softly moaned—a long, drawn out wordless utterance rife with discovery and distress.

  Then Jasmine withdrew, peeled off her soiled
glove, and swatted Maddy’s ass with it. Maddy howled, eyes scrunched tight. She sobbed, heaving breaths. Jasmine swatted her again, and then a third time—and then switched to her bare hand, alternated spanking her and massaging her clit. “Bad girl,” she said. “Don’t you know what a bad girl you’ve been?”

  “Y-yes … Officer Forsh—ow!”

  Heather watched from the side of the bed as the punishment wore on, hand down the front of her pants, eyes wide.

  Your innocence is melting away, Officer Jenny thought, masturbating in time with Heather. Can you feel your inner child dying? Doesn’t it feel great?

  This was only the beginning. It was nice, letting it happen among friends.

  Contemplating these things, Officer Jenny came all over her leather seat and didn’t care.

  My little instrument of justice, she thought. My little criminal. Was it good for you, as well?

  ****

  Jasmine ran her hands through Maddy’s hair. She just couldn’t get enough of it. “That’s you and Heather sorted,” she purred, eyes narrowed. “But I still haven’t paid yet. Care to settle my account, Officer Piper? There’s a fresh uniform for you, back there in the room.”

  Maddy rolled over onto her side. “Oh, yes,” she said, propping herself on an elbow, and leaned in to kiss her. “Least I can do, Miss Forshay.”

  Part Three:

  The Virtues of Service

  Chapter Twelve

  Anonymous

  In the dream, Robbie was playing Chutes and Ladders with his babysitter, Maureen. He was five years old. She called him a “cutie-patootie”, and she always let him win…

  He was strapped standing to an X-frame, wearing less than a loincloth, as Maureen brushed a lock of dark hair from her eyes, took off her glasses and breathed on them. Polished them with a tissue. Put them back on. Looked at him.

  Then he was eleven, maybe twelve, playing video games with Ashton Fenwick on a rainy summer day. Ashton’s mother came into the room and gave them both lunch: sandwiches and sodas and chips. She ruffled his hair, like a second mom of his own…