by D. A. Maddox
“Anyway, Robbie doesn’t share your point of view, poor thing.”
Was she referring to “poor thing” Robbie or “poor thing” her?
Between them, on the wall opposite the studio window, footage of Robbie and his mother played, as if the wall itself were a theater-length projection screen. At present, it was Robbie speaking:
“Seriously, Mom, shut the fuck up. I’m guilty, okay? Everything I was accused of, I did. You and Dad should have just let me cop to it in court.”
More canned applause.
From there, the point of view turned onto the crowd gathered outside the prison complex, on the hundreds who had literally camped out to watch it play out of doors in the cold on a drive-in screen in the parking lot. They were cheering for Robbie, actually rooting for him, as though he were an emblematic figure representing the common folk. Some of the signs held aloft called for him to be released early: Let Robbie Go! was on prominent display, among others.
One of them, held high by an older woman in a winter coat, read, Let Robbie FUCK!
Seeing that made Heather giggle behind her hand. Jasmine laughed out loud.
Then, just as quickly as the footage had come on, it cut off, leaving the wall blank.
“There now,” Gloria said. “Does that help?”
Maddy wasn’t sure, but she knew there was no backing out—for a variety of reasons. Her ad lib of conscience had been risky enough. She didn’t like to think what might become of her if she tried to renege on her contract now.
She said, “Yes, Ms. Wholesome. It actually does.”
Gloria clapped her hands together. “Excellent,” she said. “Listen—no spoilers, now, but … can the audience maybe have the teensy-tiniest hint about tomorrow night?”
The three of them shared a look.
“Just a little tease. Please?”
Again, Jasmine took up the slack.
****
Fifteen minutes later, when a stagehand indicated the “Robbie cams” were about to light up again, the interview with Ms. Gloria Wholesome came to a polite, if abrupt, close. Officer Jenny led them swiftly away from the studio and its wall of monitor screens.
“Not even a peek?” Jasmine grumbled.
“Not yet,” she said. “Don’t want to ruin tomorrow for you.”
And we don’t want your friend Maddy to crack, she added in her mind. She might already be cracking.
If she did, she’d be charged for breach of contract. She might even end up appearing on Consequences, Live! in a whole different capacity. But she knew that. Didn’t she?
I’ll spell it out for her, if I have to. Not that she wouldn’t make the most darling of penitents, herself.
Evidently, Maddy remembered her way out of the studio just fine. She was ten steps ahead of the rest of them, already at the door behind the sound dampener and about to pass through it.
“Hold up, Maddy!” Heather called after her. “Why are you always in such a gosh-darn hurry?”
She waited, hand at the exit button.
Officer Jenny closed the distance with her, eased her hand from it. “You fret too much,” she said, turning her back around. “You should be enjoying this. He’s doing well, you know—not that you should be worried on his account. That’s our job, not yours.”
The last of him Officer Jenny had seen before coming here, over the live surveillance cam, had been his whipping. He’d gotten off easily at the end, but the first four women hadn’t held anything back at all—and that was rare. She’d been certain Nurse Reyes-Garcia was about to step in and call a halt to it when the final girl had come forward and given him a break.
His father’s fault, she thought. Not every day you get a go at a senator’s son.
If Maddy had seen that…
“I’m not fretting,” she said. Her voice was stiff, her eyes steady and sure. “Just never been on TV before. And I’d like to put some real clothes back on, if that’s okay.”
“Soon,” Officer Jenny said firmly. “Not yet. One more training session before lunch.”
****
Robbie’s world went from pitch black to a dull gray as Nurse Reyes-Garcia and Officer Kersey each took an arm and eased him into a sitting position, then off the table and onto his feet. He could not make out shapes in the blur, not even indistinct shadows. Had his Matron blinded him permanently by accident?
“You are frightened,” she said. “What troubles you, Robbie? You may speak.”
“I—I think I can make out some light,” he said, hitching breath, “but I still can’t see anything.”
Officer Kersey snorted. “It’s only been an hour, you wimp. Man up.”
Why are you like this? he wanted to ask her. What did I ever do to you? Instead, he asked, “May I have my clothes back, please?”
Nurse Reyes-Garcia took the hat from his head. “No,” she said. “You are a sweaty, ejaculate-spattered mess, and your buttocks could use some natural surface hydration. Do you not feel scummy? It is time to wash you.”
Oh, yeah, he thought. That.
He hadn’t been bathed by another person since he was a toddler, and then only by his own mother. Not even his nannies had ever done it. Now, grown to manhood, he was about to be scrubbed down by a bevy of strangers.
They led him, still holding his arms to either side, to the wall of showerheads. The tiles here remained wet and slippery from where three of the volunteers had cleaned up after Robbie had “serviced” them.
“I can … wash myself?” he ventured. There were men—hordes of them, he supposed—who would pay good money for this treatment. But Nurse Reyes-Garcia and the rest of the brain trust behind these punishments had interpreted Robbie’s psych profile only too well. For him, it was just one more humiliating episode piled on top of the last, another chance to appear as utterly helpless as he really was, all to an audience hungry for his continued debasement.
“Shush, you,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said. “By now you know better than that. Do not fear. All five of our guests will make sure you are squeaky clean from stem to stern for your afternoon session.”
“Afternoon session?” He’d dared to hope this would be it for today.
“Yes. There is a special visitor who is eager to play with your body, once your testicles have had sufficient recovery time to make fresh baby batter. After our last success at auction, we have decided to take another sample from you. And so you must be at your best. After that, there will be nothing more until tomorrow—a nice, long break before your final session. You are going to need it, I think.”
“No doubt,” he muttered.
“When they come to you, you must consider your permission to speak once again on hold. I am about to call them in. We have permitted them to wear swimsuits for this so as to ensure all would contribute.”
Oh, Robbie thought, his disconsolate penis limp and turtled and open to appraisal. That’s considerate of you.
“Two of them are quite modest.”
“I remember modesty.”
Nurse Reyes-Garcia snickered. “Excellent. And I am sure that it is a happy memory. So, you understand. They still have a right to modesty. No shielding yourself, my little flesh luffa. There is no more pain on your schedule for today, not unless you make it for yourself—so turn that frown upside-down.”
They let his arms go, and Robbie let them hang.
“Allow the volunteers back in, Officer Kersey.”
****
There was no telling one of them from another during his shower, no way to ascertain if it was the one he thought of as “Angel” who lathered his last bit of pubic hair or “Slut” who creviced her soaped hand between his sensitive butt cheeks. But they took turns holding his limbs, steadying him, at times lifting a leg ninety degrees for access to his undercarriage or placing his hands behind his head to take care of his armpits.
They didn’t speak.
They got him back down on his hands and knees to scrub his back and shampoo his hair. They did the soles
of his feet, and Robbie’s tickle defenses caused his legs to involuntarily jerk. He did hear Angel laugh then, just that once, but there was no malice in it. She remained determined, running her slippery fingers through the gaps in his toes several times to make sure they were pristine.
Apart from that, they were ten invisible hands that may as well have been disembodied, cleansing and exploring him so thoroughly that, by the time they were done, they might have known Robbie’s body better than he knew it himself. Certainly, they’d seen it from more angles than he ever would.
He remained stoic all through it, although the burn of shame doubtless still lit his cheeks. His penis stayed flaccid. If this treatment had been his first stop in today’s humiliations, he’d have blown his wad for sure—but by the time it did happen, he was too wiped out for his unit to offer even a half-mast salute out of plain courtesy.
“I think we killed it,” one of the women whispered in mock solemnity, lifting it between her fingers and letting it flop back down. And, of course, there was some tittering at that.
Finally, Nurse Reyes-Garcia called in, “Arms straight up, Robbie. Put your feet apart. Ladies, rinse him down.”
Some of the shower nozzles must have been detachable, because Robbie heard several of them unsnapped from their moorings, uncoiling toward him. Fresh, warm water came at him from all directions. He closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the sensation of the last of today’s filth being run off his body in a multi-angle car wash of spray.
They toweled him off until all but his feet were completely dry. One of them combed the hair on his head, while another gently twisted something like a curling brush into his small thatch of pubic hair until she found it suitably springy. At the last, a single kiss—a quick one, and to his lips this time.
“Goodbye, Robbie. I’ll never forget.”
Then their feet pattered away from him. Chatter resumed but quickly receded as they shared their reflections on today’s experiences among themselves.
Robbie waited for his sight to return, and for the jumpsuit to be returned to him.
Neither of those things happened.
Nurse Reyes-Garcia put the hat back on his head. “We are going back to the preparation and grooming facility,” she said. “It has been refitted for the remainder of your sessions, the penultimate of which happens this afternoon.”
Robbie opened his mouth to speak. His clothes—
“Be silent. I will take you there, and you will remain in the nude for the duration of the walk. You will not be required to do anything other than to go where I tell you, but I think it will be comforting to you that your eyesight has not yet fully returned.”
God, he thought, tears of pure frustration held barely in check, what are you putting me through now?
“There is a program in our system for at-risk young people that may be known to you. It is called Scared Stiff. Its purpose is to dissuade transitionals who are bordering on wayward from actual criminal behavior. Before they end up in situations like yours, if you understand. It is a public service for the community good.”
Robbie knew all about it. One of his friends went through it right after graduation. Sammy Blake, scion of representative Digory Blake, had been testing his father’s patience from the age of fifteen—but getting caught sharing his dad’s whiskey with a girl had been the final straw. He hadn’t much wanted to talk about it afterward.
“You get a tour of the local jail,” he’d said at last, reluctant to divulge anything further and annoyed at the pestering. “Some other crap. Awkward as hell, but no big whup. Let it go.”
Officer Kersey placed Robbie’s hands behind his back and cuffed him, tugging at the connecting chain to make certain they were snug.
“It is an important visual aid,” said Nurse Reyes-Garcia. “Makes it real for them. These young men have not seen Consequences, Live! You should have been so fortunate as to have been identified for a Scared Stiff intervention prior to your own poor decision—but that is neither here nor there at this point.”
“But they could be guys from school—” Robbie started, shocked between outrage and protest.
Officer Kersey slapped the back of his head. “Shut it.”
“Not from your college,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia calmly said, not deigning to correct Robbie herself. “As I have told you, we have done what we can—for the most part—to make sure your return to academic life goes as smoothly as possible. None of them are from Eastern Covenant.”
Robbie bit his lip against any further outburst.
Matron’s strong fingers encircled his right bicep. “You need only walk. You need not do or say anything. Come, Robbie. Let us get this done.”
****
They were shadows against the walls, twin lines of them, indistinct in a visual sense but plainly audible. The first thing that hit Robbie was their collective gasp, ten or fifteen sets of lungs strong. After their initial shock, emotional reactions varied:
From the mildly amused: “Holy shit, dude, that poor son of a bitch is buck-ass naked.”
To the astonished: “With a … female police escort. Oh, God, that’s got to be embarrassing.”
To the startlement of celebrity recognition: “Isn’t that the McNeal kid from TV?”
To the grimly-spoken: “Yup, and his junk’s right out there.”
And over them, the voice of Officer Bernie Davies from Intake, slightly amplified, probably from a vest mic: “When a transitional commits a crime that qualifies as ‘sexually mischievous’ or a ‘misdemeanor deviance,’ sentencing guidelines allow the convicted offender to apply for a shortened stay under Controlled Judicial Humiliations. More than half of the applicants are rejected, though—’specially if their profile suggests such punishments would be counter-effective as a deterrent.”
Robbie wouldn’t have argued even if he could have. Of all the uncertainties in his life at present, this much he was sure of: his ceiling-crawling days were over.
One foot in front of the other, Robbie, he said to himself. Just power through.
And he did. More than half of the young men watching him were content to keep their mouths shut. But there were jokers in every crowd, it seemed, and he could almost—not quite—see the delight in their eyes as they stood witness at his latest shaming.
“Somebody lit his ass up,” one said, sounding at once aghast and impressed.
“Punishment isn’t meant to be pleasant, punks. Bear it in mind. This could be you.”
“Got himself a buff and wax job, too…”
Nurse Reyes-Garcia led him on, and together they made it through to the Preparation and Grooming room without speaking a syllable.
****
I have to do this. For both of us. I’m sorry, Robbie.
She did it again. Harder this time
Fred, the animatronic training doll, groaned.
It’s not so bad, Maddy said to herself, reaching out to the thing, scooping its stiffened cock in her hand, massaging its underside with her thumb. Picturing Robbie in the thing’s place.
He’d be … really cute like this, wouldn’t he? So … defenseless.
She’d never imagined anything like this before.
Then again, she’d never imagined herself arrested before either, until her pow-wow with Officer Jenny a few minutes ago. She’d be processed, like a farm animal. Paraded in court, publicly judged, same as Robbie had been.
She pumped the doll’s penis, squoozing from the tip a tiny dollop of pre-cum that smelled like New England clam chowder.
Not so bad.
And, if she wimped out, Robbie would be transferred from the protective wing to the general population of the main prison.
She stood up and did it again, teeth gritted.
The training doll trembled from where it hung just above her, turning circles.
Not so bad. Kind of sexy.
Her free hand strayed between her legs, even knowing Officer Jenny stood nearby, watching her every move.
If Jasmine
and Heather could have fun with all this, why not her?
She did it again, making the doll scream. Its tears landed on her upturned face.
She saw the money, and it wasn’t greed that spoke to her or encouraged her—not in the classic sense—but rather the prospect of an end to so many problems she’d known all her life.
Not so bad.
From behind her, from her friends as well as her trainer, applause.
Chapter Fifteen
Permission
“Lie down,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said. “Relax, Robbie. Today’s travails are nearly at an end.”
He did as he was told. He lay back. He was rested, fed, and—to the extent he could be in this place—trusting. He’d already been humiliated in every way he could think of. His Matron had promised there was no more pain on the schedule for today. What more could they do to him?
“The Girl Scouts will be here any minute,” said Nurse Reyes-Garcia. “I have told them you are ticklish.”
Robbie sat bolt upright.
But she laughed, easing him back down onto the bed. “I am kidding, silly melon head. We would never ask such a thing of Girl Scouts.” She strapped his left wrist to a bedpost, then his right. She stood, and her shadow passed along the side of the bed to his feet. She patted his knee. “Some people fall for anything.”
He tried to focus his sight, but it was still mostly a murky gray. He was naked again. Had been since just after lunch, which had been delivered: a simple B.L.T. on rye with chips and milk. He was glad he hadn’t been taken to the cafeteria, to the other prisoners in protective custody. They would have wanted him to talk. There just wasn’t much else to do, for them.
He’d been told he was back in the Preparation and Grooming room, but apart from the starkness of the walls, he couldn’t make out anything familiar. The bed was new. It was comfortable enough, but minus the pillow under his head, it had been stripped.
She secured his feet.
Here I am, splayed out again like a dead frog in biology class, ready to be dissected by … somebody.
She laid a long, soft blanket horizontally over his privates. “It will be some time yet before your next visitor arrives,” she said. “Do you feel all right? You may speak.”
