Piper's Price

by D. A. Maddox

  She didn’t type the words, Help me, Mom. But she thought them.

  And Mom texted, All right sweetie. Back to bed for me, then. Stay safe.

  She answered, Will do.

  Seconds later, another message came in—this time from an unknown number.

  Normally, Maddy would never have considered opening it—but, then again, Maddy wasn’t normally vacationing in the protective custody wing of a penitentiary while making appearances on forbidden sexual punishment programs.

  It was a video file—grainy, taken within the prison. The freeze frame showed Robbie lying on a cot in a jail cell that didn’t look … too bad. A little sparse.

  The attached message read, “View in private. Only for you—N.R-G.”

  She didn’t know who “N.R-G” was, but she assumed prison staff. All that mattered was that it was a video of Robbie, and someone wanted her to see it. No time like the present, she thought, tapping the play arrow, listening to his small voice speak through her phone.

  “Tell her it’s okay…” he began.

  Maddy Piper’s mother hadn’t been able to “help” her in this situation. She didn’t know how much Maddy needed it—didn’t know anything—and if she did, it would have only been a nightmare. But Robbie’s message to her was all the help she could have asked for.

  Anyway, she thought, it was all she was going to get.

  Her finger lingered over the screen as the message played and played again, burning into her memory, fortifying her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  And thought with a guilty smile, a shake of her head, Boy are you gonna get it…

  She powered off the phone. She could hear stirring in the other room.

  ****

  Robbie slept late—late for him, anyway. When he rolled over on his cot, swung his legs over the side and sat up, one glance at the cell window told him it was seven in the morning, maybe seven-thirty. He blinked, yawned, scratched his head.

  One tentative scratch at his butt, though, and he quickly withdrew his hand. He’d been able to sleep just fine, but his cheeks were still a mite too sensitive for his standard morning scratches.

  When his head cleared, it came to him that he’d missed breakfast. No big deal. He wasn’t especially hungry.

  Still, they’d never let him sleep this late before. It was a little disconcerting, and it was frustrating not to be able to inquire about it. Hammering on the door would get him nothing, he was sure. He didn’t have his phone—nor a number that would provide any answers in any case. They could just leave him in here however long it suited them.

  It’s jail, and I’m a prisoner, he reminded himself again. One more day. Maybe they’ll let me go home after tonight’s session.

  Even in light of all that had happened since Intake, it remained a struggle for him to wrap his head around the concept of his actually being imprisoned. The first two days had been heavily structured and scheduled. The stretch of time beginning after last night’s dinner until this moment accounted for his longest continuous stay in the cell.

  How do people not go crazy in this place? he wondered. But he didn’t pursue the thought, remembering he shouldn’t be in such a hurry for them to come for him

  Eyes half-lidded, he tottered over to the sink. There was toothpaste and a toothbrush there, but nothing to shave with. Ruefully, he ran his hand over the morning stubble.

  Sheesh, couldn’t they at least trust me with a safety razor?

  No, Robbie. That’s part of it. Just deal.

  The door hissed and clicked open again just as he rinsed and spit. Predictably, his Matron stood in the doorframe, holding the hat out to him. Above him, the camera shifted from him to her, then back to him again.

  “Morning, Matron,” he said through another yawn.

  “Come here,” she said, cold and determined. Her tone was oddly like it had been on the first day, as if yesterday had never happened. Unnerving.

  He came to her, took his hat back. Drew a resigned breath and put it on.

  “They have saved leftovers for you at the cafeteria,” she said. “Something light, just a little oatmeal and orange juice. Your fellow prisoners in protective custody, those individuals whose company you find uncomfortable and who are not in the Controlled Judicial Humiliations Program, have already had their breakfast. You will not be required to speak with them—in fact, you are not permitted to, today—but many are still there.”

  “I’m not hungry, Matron,” Robbie said.

  “Get undressed, please.”

  You want me to eat in front of them naked? he thought. It sure wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to him. He unzipped the jumpsuit.

  “Everything but the hat and socks, Robbie. No covering up. We’re going straight from the cafeteria to Preparation and Grooming. Fresh treatments so you look your best for your Volunteer Humiliators later tonight. You will see a physical trainer three different times today as well. She will make sure that you are good and limbered up to avoid any serious injury this evening.”

  Robbie was down to his boxers. Numbly, he shucked them off and kicked them behind him.

  “Walk in front of me, Robbie. By now you know the way.”

  Robbie walked.

  ****

  “Oh, man, poor kid.”

  That was a fellow inmate, chatting it up with one of the guards.

  “Na, if there’s one thing the kid ain’t, it’s poor.”

  “Yeah, but that’s gotta suck right there, bein’ marched all over the joint like that. Jesus, he’s getting’ a fuckin’ boner.”

  Then, one guard to another: “They ever do this on the show before, Herb? I never saw them do this.”

  “Don’t know. Only been here a month longer than you, and I don’t have cable.”

  Robbie was at the serving line, wearing only his cap, socks, and the transparent wrist bracelet that monitored his vitals. But there was no line. There was only him, standing on the side facing the glass-enclosed breakfast buffet—and the volunteer server.

  “Cinnamon flavor or apple sprinkles?” she asked coyly, her greenish-blue eyes alternating between his face and genitals. She was Robbie’s own age. She was blushing hot pink. The color accentuated her blonde curls, even without any makeup. Chances were, this was another one of those educational moments, a first glance at the male anatomy, courtesy of Robert McNeal and the American System of Justice.

  He didn’t answer, and she pouted at him.

  “He does not have permission to speak at present,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said from behind him, making a quick check of his vitals before pocketing her palm com. “No sweeteners for him today. He is already agitated, and he has a long day in front of him.”

  Agitated, Robbie thought, as the girl ladled oatmeal into a metal bowl for him, almost spilling it as her eyes continued to roam him. That’s the word.

  The men who’d been allowed to linger after their own breakfasts laughed and guffawed at him. Robbie looked down on his penis and found it standing straight up, the eye in the helmet wide with anticipation.

  Son of a bitch. Why do you keep doing this to me?

  “Here you go, Robbie,” said the girl.

  Her usage of his name reminded him, again, that she was no stranger to him.

  “You may thank the young lady,” said his Matron, adopting a tone that made it an order. “Her parents drove her twenty-five miles to serve you breakfast.”

  They’d gone to high school together. Robbie had hardly known her, but in phys-ed class as a senior, in one of the rare lessons that were co-ed, the new twelfth graders had been taught ballroom dancing—and Theresa had been paired with him. Neither she nor Robbie had gotten the hang of it over the two-day crash course prior to the actual school dance—which Robbie had skipped—and yet it had been one of the highlights of his year.

  “Thank you, Theresa,” he said, receiving the bowl, setting it on the tray next to his small carton of OJ. He then lifted the tray, made as though to turn from her and sit down with
it. As far away as possible, he thought, picking out the farthest table he could find where no one else was sitting.

  “Wait,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said, now standing alongside him, hand on his shoulder. She addressed Theresa. “You may come around and handle him, if you like. Just briefly, so as to avoid any inadvertent man splatter.”

  “Oh, God, no,” she quickly said, giggling. “I’m afraid it’ll bite me, or something.”

  She smiled at the younger woman. “I have handled it several times. I assure you, his penis is quite harmless, even erect.”

  She hesitated. Took a breath. “All right, then. So glad Mom and Dad didn’t come inside for this.”

  Bet they’re watching from the visitors’ waiting room, Robbie thought. You really think they’re not?

  “Put the tray down, Robbie,” said Nurse Reyes-Garcia.

  Robbie put the tray back on the thin metal slide rack that ran the length of the counter. Theresa came around, still giggling, and grabbed one of the plastic-backed chairs from a cafeteria table. She sat.

  “Face away from the buffet glass, Robbie. Hands on your head in the display position.”

  He turned to her, and again found himself cock-and-eyeball level with a pretty young woman. He put his hands on his head, elbows akimbo, feet shoulder-width apart. Well, I think this is the “display position”, he thought. If it isn’t, I’m sure Matron will correct me.

  She didn’t.

  Theresa put her finger on the tip of his organ, bent it to ninety degrees, and let it bounce back up.

  Again, the men who were observing Robbie’s latest debasement laughed. He could do nothing, only stand there, feeling both ridiculous and newly ashamed. All his life, he had wanted attention from the opposite sex. And now you’ve got it, he reflected, from women and men both.

  Theresa, however, wasn’t the least bit shy about rebuking them. “Stop gawking!” she scolded them over her shoulder. “I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

  Surprisingly, they turned away. Some of the guards even looked guilty. Most resumed their small talk, enjoying the extra time away from their cells.

  Theresa cupped Robbie’s balls, gave them a jiggle. “I thought these would be looser,” she said. “The skin’s so tight here.” She let go of his testicles, turned his penis right and left.

  That’s because they’re fully loaded, Robbie thought. Careful, Theresa—it might … attack after all.

  “Note the change in texture midway up the shaft,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said.

  Theresa ran her lightly closed palm up and down him.

  “The unwrinkled skin at the base above the scrotum is—” his Matron continued, but she didn’t get to finish. Just five seconds into his “handling” and without so much as a stifled grunt for a warning, Robbie ejaculated.

  It was a perfect kill shot, right between the eyes. Two jets of semen, in rapid succession, squirted onto Theresa’s face with enough propulsion to actually splash. Whatever Theresa had in the way of prior knowledge of the male anatomy hadn’t prepared her for it. For a moment she only sat there, mouth agape, one eye squinted shut, the tip of her nose dripping sticky white ejaculate, cock still in hand, aghast.

  Robbie regarded his Matron, who was no less taken aback than Theresa, her mouth opening and closing in pure stupefaction.

  Satisfying.

  Theresa bolted, stumbling out of the plastic chair and upending it. She ran from them at a full sprint, both hands over her mouth, howling through her fingers and gagging. Once more, laughter filled the room.

  Robbie, ignoring his semen-smeared genitalia, let his arms down, recovered his tray, and moved for the table he had selected. He noted the cameras only followed him after Theresa had slammed the exit door behind her. Once they were back on him, though, he waved good-naturedly to his invisible audience and thought, Take that, America.

  After his bare ass was in a chair of its own, he saw that his Matron had not yet decided whether to go after Theresa or follow up with him. He was not much surprised when she settled on the latter. It would not do to leave her charge unattended, and anyway, what could she say to an inexperienced young woman who had just taken a facial on live television?

  First, she went around the table and calmly poured herself a bowl of oatmeal. She considered, then sprinkled in a pinch of cinnamon. She took a banana, too, then came to Robbie’s table and sat opposite him. As she did, Officer Kersey entered the cafeteria through the same door Theresa had slammed in exit, and the other officers in attendance began ushering the rest of the protective custody prisoners out.

  One of them, a bearded man with a ponytail, made a point of passing Robbie as he left. “Good for you, silver spoon,” he said, heedless of Nurse Reyes-Garcia. “This system’s all kinds of fucked up. Keep ’em guessing.”

  Robbie wasn’t much of an oatmeal guy. But even though he still wasn’t very hungry, he obediently made himself put down one mouthful. Then he tilted his head expectantly and waited for his Matron to say something.

  She peeled the banana, thumb-cutting small portions into her bowl with a plastic knife. “Misbehaving twat monger,” she eventually muttered, dropping the last two banana slices into Robbie’s breakfast. “And you are already on schedule for punishments today. What am I to do with you?”

  Had he permission to speak freely, he would have answered, You tracked down the girl I danced with last year and talked her into giving me a hand-job. I’m eighteen. What did you expect?

  Instead, he winked at her, and continued his breakfast.

  ****

  The voices behind Jasmine’s door kept whispering well after the sun was up, then quieted again. Neither she nor Heather emerged until Officer Jenny wheeled in the morning meal on a trolley. Only then did Jasmine coming bounding out of the room, radiant and naked. “Morning!” she chirped. “What’s cookin’?”

  “Um, Jas—” Maddy started, sitting back in surprise.

  “You are,” Officer Jenny answered brightly, looking her up and down. “Otherwise, just scrambled eggs and toast. Some fruit on the side, I think.”

  Jasmine stretched her arms out and yawned.

  Maddy put her face in her hands. Then she freed up one of them to point at the camera, which was practically vibrating with excitement, its focus ring auto-adjusting, its lens zooming in and out.

  Jasmine swallowed the yawn and gulped.

  “Problem?” Officer Jenny innocently asked.

  “Oh, shit!” Jasmine blurted—and retreated back to the bedroom, pulling the door shut as she went.

  That’s a cute butt, Maddy thought, trying not to laugh. People are going to fall in love with that butt.

  But the laugh broke free when her friend’s muffled voice called back out to them:

  “We’re on delay, right?”

  Officer Jenny answered: “Depends on if anything’s going on with Robbie. I can radio down and see, if you want.”

  “Yes, please.”

  She stepped out into the hall to do it.

  Jasmine, unaware she had gone, “Kinda hoping we can edit that out.”

  Maddy tightened the sash on her robe before getting up to serve herself breakfast. She kept it light. She told herself she’d have a regular meal at lunch and skip dinner, maybe grab something late when it was all said and done. If she was in the mood for anything.

  Jasmine and Heather, both in PJs, came out just as she was sitting back down.

  “Go ahead,” Maddy said, taking a sip of her coffee. “I’ll wait for you.”

  Jasmine remained rather flustered, probably made more so by the continuing absence of Officer Jenny. She kept casting glances at the camera while putting an equally light helping of food onto her plate. She didn’t say anything.

  “Serves you right,” said Heather. “Maybe look before you leap once in your life?”

  “Shut it.”

  But when Officer Jenny returned to them, palm up in reassurance, the tension lifted immediately. “Taken care of,” she said. “I buzzed the st
udio cutting room. Your modesty is saved.”

  Modesty, Maddy thought. Didn’t know she had any, until today.

  “I could hug you,” Jasmine said, pressing her hands flat together, steepling her fingers.

  Officer Jenny shrugged. “It’s all eyes on Robbie for another hour at least.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Warmups

  9 AM.

  The normal bed, the one upon which Michael had accosted him, was gone. In its place had been returned the X-frame. He was going to be shaved again.

  “This time we will have you stomach-down first,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said.

  It was the Preparation and Grooming room just as Robbie had seen it the first time: no soft light, no candelabra, no carpeting. And no Michael, he thought. Whatever else happens, that’s over.

  Robbie lay down, spreading himself without complaint, resting his chin in the strap and not questioning when his matron strapped him tight at the wrists and ankles. His face remained upright. He could turn his head and see most of what was going on.

  “Your buttocks are still slightly inflamed. Nothing I cannot handle.”

  Officer Kersey raised the neck of the tripod until the camera had been raised out of his field of vision. She locked the wheels in place behind him, between his legs, then passed out of sight. Moments later, she returned, bearing an opaque glass bottle with a cork on the top. This Nurse Reyes-Garcia took, popping the cork with her thumb. She pulled up a folding metal chair, setting the bottle on the tray and sitting down at Robbie’s middle.

  “You are a fast healer,” his Matron said. “Yesterday’s flogger brigade was far more enthusiastic with you than is normal for inexperienced young adults dispensing their first punishments. And yet I think this perky, impertinent ass of yours would be fine on its own in another day or so.” Her hand went to a dampened white washcloth on the tray. “The only problem is, we do not have a day. Your buttocks need to be punishment-ready by tonight, and no one leaves this program with permanent scarring under my watch. Have you any questions, Robbie? You may speak, but keep the conversation on-topic.”