‘Can I wait with you?’ she asked. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Of course not,’ Jo said. ‘Why don’t you stand here, behind me?’
She pushed in gratefully between Jo and a man who didn’t even seem to register her presence. Ruth scowled and it was clear she disapproved, but Jo was determined to do what she could to help the poor woman.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Jo,’ the plump woman said.
‘Really? Mine’s Jo too. Short for Josephine?’
The plump woman shook her head. ‘Joanna.’
She peeped anxiously around Jo’s shoulder, presumably looking to see if the runt and his pal were on the prowl. Jo hadn’t seen them, but that didn’t mean much as she’d quit the dayroom so late. The two men might be in the shower block right now, just waiting. ‘Pleased to meet you, Joanna,’ she said, holding out her hand.
The woman looked startled, but shook hands anyway. Jo heard Ruth swear softly, but she ignored her.
‘Have you been here long?’ Jo asked. ‘I only arrived yesterday. I can’t get over how hot it is.’ She chattered away inanely as the line progressed, trying to take Joanna’s mind off her troubles. She wasn’t entirely successful, though once or twice she drew an uncertain smile from the woman, so perhaps she helped a little. Then it was their turn to go in, and as feared, the two guards in question were waiting. She did her best to shield Joanna from their view, but it was no use. The runt spotted her and came straight over.
‘Hey, here she is!’ he cried. ‘Don’t worry, jugs, you don’t have to do a thing. I’ll wash you; I even got me a sponge, see?’
He had too, and when the water started he scrubbed Joanna vigorously, especially her breasts and between her legs. He was getting splashed in the process, but didn’t seem to mind. As for Joanna, she raised her hand once in the feeblest of protests, and after that just stood there under the spray, sobbing miserably.
The water cut off and they all trooped to the blowers, where the runt stood with the rest and dried his hair, though his uniform remained damp. His pal had his hands on Joanna’s shoulders, turning her this way and that as though she hadn’t the sense to dry herself unaided.
‘How we doing there?’ the runt enquired jovially. ‘Hair dry, is it? Let’s have a see.’ He felt Joanna’s groin as Jo watched, angry, but not foolhardy enough to try to intervene, but he was suddenly aware of her scrutiny and stared at her. ‘You got somethin’ to say to me, bitch?’
Jo shook her head, and turned away.
‘Come on, jugs,’ she heard him say. ‘It’s fucky-fucky time.’
As they started to leave Jo glanced up, and found herself staring straight into the runt’s eyes once more. She knew that wasn’t good and wasn’t wise, but right at that moment she hated and despised him too much to care. He didn’t say anything more; he just held Jo’s gaze a moment or two longer before leading his victim away, and the last thing Jo heard was him telling poor Joanna everything they were going to do to her. It was a long and sordid list.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ Ruth hissed. ‘Are you trying to bring them down on you or something?’
Jo’s anger was still there, coiling inside her like a serpent. ‘To hell with him,’ she said tightly. ‘He can go screw himself too.’
They retrieved their clothes and made their way back to the dayroom, and Jo’s rage began to subside, though it didn’t disappear entirely. She only had to think of Joanna, and how she had looked when the men were mauling her, for it to bubble up again.
A few yards from where they sat Nathaniel was combing Eli’s hair with his fingers. Jo saw he was straggling it deliberately as he dragged it over her face, and realised he was making her as unattractive as he could. He noticed her watching, and winked in a conspiratorial fashion.
‘You do what you can,’ he said, with a rueful smile. ‘Cover up her pretty face; make her a dress from a stolen grain sack; teach her to stand knock-kneed and round-shouldered when she’s waiting in line for a shower.’
Jo had never thought of Eli as pretty. All she had ever seen was a skinny-limbed ragamuffin with a rat’s nest of tangled hair. Which meant Nathaniel had done an excellent job on her disguise.
Chapter 16
The next few days were sheer misery. The work in the mine was hard, and Jo felt permanently shattered, even when she was off-shift. The one good thing was that Karlyn wasn’t there to abuse her. Apparently his previous visit was unauthorised, and soon after their confrontation he’d been spotted and sent packing by blue shift’s supervisor, which explained why he never returned to take his revenge. But that one bright note apart, things were pretty grim. The trustees’ lashes were rarely still, and Squires in particular took great delight in disciplining her for no reason, so that her buttocks burned constantly.
At the start Jo broke more crystals than she recovered whole, so it was fortunate they gave her time to build up her skill as well as her strength, or she would have been punished for low-weight without a doubt. But after a while she seemed to develop the knack of teasing the gems out of their stone bed and her productivity increased, as did her stamina. It remained a gruelling, painful eight hours, however, and she slept the sleep of the dead each night.
Then, a week or so after she went solo, as gang four was waiting to go through into the dorm, the Harpy pack came hunting once more.
‘Oh Jesus,’ Ruth muttered, as they heard female laughter in the corridor, ‘it’s them.’
Once again the trio took their time, but eventually, inevitably, they came into gang four’s dayroom. It was the same as before with every woman keeping her head down, praying she wouldn’t be the one taken, and Jo no braver than the rest.
‘Hey, Ruthie!’ one exclaimed. ‘How’s that nice tight ass of yours? Still sore, is it?’
Ruth didn’t respond. Someone laughed – Jo thought it sounded like the redhead – and one of them came closer still.
‘Stand up, blondie.’
Trin’s voice. Jo climbed slowly to her feet and looked into the other woman’s eyes. Trin regarded her thoughtfully. Without a word she reached up and unzipped Jo’s coveralls to the waist, exposing her breasts.
‘Wow,’ the redhead said. ‘Great tits. Do you think she’s fun to play with?’
‘Hell, that’s easy,’ the tall one said. ‘Let’s try her and find out. She’s damn cute, ain’t she? Can’t imagine how I never noticed her before.’
‘Too busy looking up Ruthie’s skirt, I expect,’ the redhead said dryly.
‘Seems we have us a winner,’ Trin said. ‘Come on, blondie, I can hardly wait for your tongue and my snatch to get acquainted.’
It was strange, but from the moment she heard their voices Jo was never in any doubt she would be the one they’d pick. Trin had virtually promised as much, after all, and it made the whole thing somehow easier. She thought of Stella, who would probably have said she wanted to be picked. Jo couldn’t go that far, but calm acceptance was maybe a good halfway house.
They took her back to the hub. The cabin the three women shared was tidy, with clothes and other gear folded and stacked neatly. There were posters on the walls, mainly scenes of Earth’s mountains and rivers, and even a vase of paper flowers on the folding table. The one discordant note was a big poster over one of the bunks showing a heavily muscled man with tattoos, piercings, and a huge erect cock. She guessed it was tall one’s bunk.
‘Home sweet home,’ the redhead said. ‘Anyone thirsty?’
‘Me,’ the other two said simultaneously.
Jo was thirsty too, but said nothing, doubting that the offer extended to her. The redhead poured out three beakers from an insulated jug, and Jo guessed she would just have to stay thirsty. But then Trin brought her beaker over and held it up to Jo’s lips. It was plain water, but cooler than she was used to. As she drank gratefully Trin reache
d inside her coveralls, which were still unzipped, and stroked her nipple. Jo felt a flutter of anxiety, and her so-called ‘calm acceptance’ began to waver. The tall one pulled a mattress off one of the bunks and laid it on the floor, then stacked three pillows in the middle; and the retreat of Jo’s composure turned into a rout.
Don’t panic, she told herself. She tried to rationalise the situation, as she had with Mundell and the guys, but found it wasn’t so easy this time. Then it had been men lining up to fuck her, and hetero sex was at least natural. This wasn’t.
‘Your name’s Jo, right?’ Trin said. ‘Jo O’Donnell?’
‘Hell, Trin,’ the tall one said, ‘you sure got the hots for this one. Waddya do, sneak into Records and look her up?’
‘She asked Radcliffe,’ the redhead said. ‘She had to let him feel her snatch.’
The tall one hooted with laughter. ‘Ratty Radcliffe? Jesus, Trin!’
‘Hey, at least I got guys wanting to feel my snatch,’ Trin snapped, ‘unlike some others I could mention.’
‘Radcliffe’s not a guy,’ the tall one jeered. ‘He’s a fucking rat. That’s why he’s called Ratty, you dumb dyke.’
Trin turned away from her with a snort, took a deep breath to calm herself, and addressed Jo once more. ‘I’m right, though, ain’t I? Jo O’Donnell. You’re a pilot or something.’
Jo nodded.
‘Flier,’ the redhead murmured. ‘Cool.’
‘Okay,’ Trin said, ‘I’m Trin. They’re Kym, and Fran.’
She indicated the redhead and the tall one, in that order. Jo glanced at them, but their eyes were on Trin. They seemed amused still. Trin didn’t. She was watching Jo intently. ‘Ever had sex with a woman before?’ she asked.
Jo shook her head, and Trin smiled. ‘A virgin. Shit, I reckon all my birthdays have come at once.’
The smile transformed her. She had looked decidedly plain before, with her pulled-back hair and a hangdog expression that turned the corners of her mouth down. Then she smiled and immediately she was attractive.
‘Okay, guys,’ Fran said, ‘let’s haul ass. I got me a real need to hear our girl-flier moan.’
She untied the cords that held the bone phallus in place, and took it off as the other two did the same. Fran collected them and put them away in a locker, and Jo realised they were only for show, intended, no doubt, to scare their victims witless. The relief she felt was short-lived, however, for Fran brought out their rubber equivalents; longer, thicker, double-ended and even more intimidating, and set them down on the table.
Jo gulped, and tried her ‘trick’ again, attempting to see these three not as predators but as people, individuals with their own problems and their own fears. Kym was the jester of the pack. She was also the most articulate, with none of the ‘gottas’ and ‘ain’ts’ of the other two. Fran obviously saw herself as the ‘hard man’ of the team, both physically and mentally. Trin was the most difficult of them to read. One minute she seemed cold and uncaring, the next she was being nice.
‘Time to get naked,’ Fran said. ‘You too, flier.’
The three began to undress; and precisely because she didn’t want to, Jo made herself watch. Naked, Trin proved to be narrow-waisted, with wide hips and full breasts that drooped somewhat. Her groin was shaved, and her slit showed pink beneath a slightly prominent belly. Fran displayed well-defined muscles, rather than the fat Jo had expected. She possessed numerous tattoos, the most spectacular of which was a snarling tiger in red and gold on her torso. Her breasts were small and she wore silver rings in her pierced nipples. Like Trin she had shaved her groin, and rings showed down there, too.
Kym was the surprise of the trio, for she had the sort of figure most women dream about. Most men too, come to that, but for a different reason. She was slender yet curvaceous, toned with pert breasts. She had a single small tattoo, a green butterfly, on her belly. Her groin was only partially shaved: her slit was naked but the hair on her mons was merely clipped short, and shaved into the shape of a heart.
The trio turned to Jo, and Fran scowled.
‘I thought I told you to strip, O’Dowell? You’re heading for some serious discomfort here—’
‘Her name’s O’Donnell,’ Trin cut in sharply, ‘and ease up on her, okay? She’s a little anxious, is all.’
‘I like to watch this part anyway,’ Kym said. ‘Go ahead, sweetie… show us what you’ve got.’
It wasn’t easy, with three pairs of eyes on her, but Jo shrugged the coveralls off her shoulders, pushed them down over her hips, and stepped out of them. Her slippers came off in the process, leaving just her pants. She took a deep breath and slipped those off too, then stood up straight for inspection.
‘Yeowch!’ Kym exclaimed. ‘Could you just eat that up, or what?’
‘She can eat me anytime,’ Fran muttered.
Trin said nothing. Instead she went to the mattress, took the top pillow off the pile then lay down on the remaining two. She shuffled back till the pillows were under her rump, then put the third pillow behind her head. After shuffling some more to get comfortable, she spread her legs and began stroking her slit. Her smile had been short-lived: she was back to the solemn look once more, watching Jo with that slightly scary intensity as she fondled herself.
Kym turned to Fran. ‘I’m getting a strong hint, here. You think Trin wants to go first, maybe?’
‘The kid’s in love, no doubt about it,’ Fran replied. ‘Guess you and me should tool-up.’
They each took one of the rubber monstrosities – Kym’s pink, Fran’s black – and began to put them on. Colour apart they were virtually identical. Each consisted of a pair of phalluses joined together at the base in a V-shape, with a pair of straps looped into a figure of eight at the bottom of the V.
The two women each had their own technique for ‘tooling-up’, as Fran put it. She adopted an ungainly squat, inserted one of the phalluses into her vagina, then worked it in and out vigorously for several seconds before standing up straight to fasten the straps around her upper thighs. Kym put her left foot on a chair and teased her clitoris briefly with the tip of the phallus before inserting it very slowly.
‘Oh yes,’ she crooned, as the thing slid inside her. ‘Make me have it, big boy.’ She fastened the straps and rotated her hips first one way and then the other, the pink phallus protruding obscenely.
‘Come on then, Jo O’Donnell,’ Trin said. ‘Time to lose your cherry.’
All eyes were now on Jo, and she started to panic again. She had to take a firm grip, reminding herself that this was routine for them; that’s why they were so casual about it. They were accustomed to it even if she wasn’t, so on legs that felt strangely remote from the rest of her body she moved to the mattress and knelt between Trin’s parted thighs. And there she stalled, unable to move.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said plaintively. ‘I’m just telling you this so you’ll know, okay? You can slap my breasts all you like, I still won’t know.’
‘Christ!’ Fran said. ‘It speaks!’
‘Who said anything about slapping breasts?’ Kym asked with a frown.
‘Well, no one,’ Jo said, ‘but you did it to Ruth, didn’t you? She was black and blue; I saw her in the shower. She said it was a punishment for giving lousy head.’
‘Why don’t I know about this?’ Kym said, looking at the other two sharply. ‘I thought we’d agreed on joint decisions?’
‘You weren’t around,’ Fran said. ‘And the little bitch deserved it. She did give lousy head.’
‘Don’t get mad, Kym,’ Trin chipped in. ‘Fran and me agreed, so it was a majority decision anyway. Let’s not spoil the mood here, okay? We got ourselves a virgin cutie on her hands and knees, for Christ’s sake. We should be having the time of our lives, not squabbling.’
‘She’s right,’ Fran said. ‘I say we put our girl-flier t
o work and have us some fun.’
Kym nodded slowly. ‘Okay, you’re right.’
‘And just so you know,’ Fran said, turning on Jo as though the tiff was all her fault, ‘a tit-slap ain’t the only punishment for girlies who don’t work hard enough. Sometimes we smack ‘em here…’ she spanked Jo’s buttocks, ‘…and sometimes here.’ She struck Jo’s pudenda, who wasn’t expecting it and gasped.
‘Fran just loves smacking snatches,’ Trin confided solemnly.
‘And when they’re really bad,’ the tall woman went on, ‘we don’t smack ‘em at all. Instead we subject ‘em to a marathon ass-fuck, which is ten times worse than any slapping, believe me. After six hours it feels like a red-hot poker up your poop. I been there, so I know.’
Jo believed it. Her own sessions with Taks and Snake had been bad enough, and they were relatively brief.
‘I think she’s got the message, Fran,’ Kym said. ‘You say you don’t know what to do, sweetie?’ Jo shook her head. ‘Okay,’ Kym said, ‘let me explain. The first thing to realise is you don’t have to worry about this end.’ She patted Jo’s bottom. ‘Fran and I will take good care of it, trust me; all you have to think about is your tongue. Girl-sex might be new to you but you’ve done it with a man before, right? There’s no way someone as sexy as you is a virgin.’
‘With men, yes,’ Jo admitted.
‘Right. And these men; did any of them go down on you?’
‘Well, yes,’ Jo said, her cheeks a little warm. ‘All of them, in fact.’
There had only been three prior to her capture. A lot more since then, admittedly, but she didn’t think they counted. Three by choice, the last being Mike. She remembered his tongue between her legs, lively as an eel, and felt her blush deepening.
‘Of course they did,’ Kym said with a smile. ‘And who can blame them? So therefore you know what feels good… when someone’s tongue’s busy between your legs, I mean.’
Planet of Pain Page 15
