FOREIGN PRISON

Chapter 28


Rachel relaxed in her cell, to the extent she could. She couldn't believe they all had the entire evening free... well, not free in the sense of freedom of movement. All of the women were locked in their cells, in the ever-present chains. But for some reason Rape Time and Play Time had been cancelled for tonight, the first time ever in Rachel's time here. She thought it might be reasonable that there would be occasional meetings of the entire prison staff. Probably it was something like that.

She wished she could talk to Anya, to the extent conversation was possible with their limited linguistic overlap, but there was still that listening device in her cell. She longed to hold hands with Anya between the cells as they had done long ago, but of course there was that tiny camera directly across the aisle, watching Rachel's cell.

The thought struck her then, for the first time, that there might have been a camera watching her in the window room as well. It might have caught her talking to Anya there, when she'd told Anya she loved her. It seemed unlikely, though. The camera Rachel knew about had been installed in the one place where she was otherwise free of observation, at night after the guards had left. There hadn't been a camera before that, or they wouldn't have needed to put this one in. So clearly there weren't cameras everywhere. In any case, that day with Anya in the window room had been a week ago. Certainly they would have done something about it by now if someone had seen that.

Rachel had passed up several opportunities for closer contact with Anya in the last week. While they were being led to work this morning, Rachel had considered taking a small risk. She hadn't touched Anya since the day of her big announcement, nor exchanged a word -- nothing at all, in fact, other than occasionally showing the Three Little Words hand sign, without looking at her. Anya had done the same several times. This morning, instead of keeping close watch on the members of Rachel's team as they walked, with Boris in front, Igor alongside, and Matt bringing up the rear, the guards had all got into an animated discussion up ahead, none of them looking back -- oh, hey, thought Rachel now, maybe that had something to do with whatever is happening tonight, I didn't think of that -- and Rachel had almost decided there was no danger in creeping up closer behind Anya, just enough so she could reach with her fingers -- the three involved in their signal -- and tap them in sequence against the small of Anya's back, I, love, you. But risk was out, for the present, unacceptably dangerous. Any real expression of love would have to wait for the future. Anya seemed to understand that as well.

Rachel sighed with frustration. If it's years before I get another chance to say anything freely or do anything freely with Anya, then I'll just wait. I've got all that time, and nothing more important to do.

Rachel jumped in startlement at the sound of the drawbridge being lowered. Her heart sank. The guards are all coming back, she thought. Rape Time after all.

She scrambled up to her knees and moved forward to the Present Breasts position, and saw that all the other women along the length of the line of cells -- at least the ones across from her, the only ones Rachel could see, had all had the same thought, some of them ready before Rachel.

Rachel was surprised to see a single man enter the aisle between cells, one she thought she had seen in the general's office. He was looking down at a clipboard. When he looked up, he looked directly at Rachel. And then bent down to unlock her cell door.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit! she thought, her bowels turning to water. He's been sent to get me.

Rachel remembered the last time she'd been taken out of the cell block by herself: when the general had sent her falling into total despair, telling her she had to betray Anya. For an instant that memory alone dominated her thoughts, and then she followed it to its corollary: Oh no, oh please no! she wailed inside. They did see something! And now I'm going to have to hurt Anya! Probably very badly. And I have to do it, I can't say no. I know how this works, because they told me. If I don't hurt her, they'll hurt her themselves, much worse.

The man made a Get Out gesture, and Rachel crawled out and stood, her whole body trembling, her lower lip quivering. She resisted looking at Anya, though out of the corner of her eye, she could see Anya's face, looking outward from the cell, but not up at Rachel.

Still silent, the man clipped the inevitable leash to her collar, and began walking away, Rachel having to follow. Just as she began moving, she saw Anya's hand below her, its fingers wrapped around the cell bar. Anya was tapping her index, middle, and ring fingers in sequence against the bar. Rachel, as she took her first steps, held her left hand against her thigh, three fingers extended, and drummed them against her thigh very quickly.

As they walked down the hallway, it took all of Rachel's concentration to keep from whimpering in fear. I'm so sorry, Anya, so sorry, so sorry. The words Anya had taught her for I'm Sorry somehow came back to her: Prastee meenya pozhalosta. Rachel repeated the words over and over in her head, convinced, though she knew it was irrational, that Anya could hear her thoughts because they were in Russian.

Part of her mind reflected how odd it was that it did not feel odd, at all, to shuffle down a hallway naked, in chains, led by a leash. It had happened so many times now. She could only dimly remember the feeling of being dressed, and being free to walk where she wanted unfettered.

Exactly as she feared, the man stopped at the general's office, that place of so many very bad memories. After the door was opened, he led her through the outer office, to the inner one, and through the door to the right she hadn't been beyond before, into what looked to be a conference room, judging from the long table with chairs around it.

Her eyes shot open when she saw the occupants of the room. The general was indeed there, seated on the near side of the table, but there were several unknown men, with several things about them Rachel couldn't account for. Beside the general sat a sixtyish man in a lab coat, wearing glasses and the somewhat spacy expression of a scientist. Rachel couldn't place where she had seen him before, then suddenly recalled him as the man who had picked up the snake inexplicably crawling around the shower room. Rachel immediately dubbed him The Professor.

Across from the general and the professor sat a handsome man, perhaps in his late forties, dressed in a non-military and expensive-looking suit. He exuded an air of casual authority. Standing against the far wall on that same side of the room were two large, muscular men wearing dark glasses, brush-cut hair, and no expressions at all. They stood with their hands clasped at their waists in front of them, and looked so much to Rachel like Secret Service agents that she decided they had to be bodyguards.

Rachel was led around the table, into the full view of the man in the suit.

The man looked Rachel up and down, slowly and seemingly with great attention to detail. She could see his eyes linger on her breasts -- she was very accustomed to that since long before she'd come here, though they were never bare in public until she came here -- her legs, and returning often to her face. Rachel could feel her face burning: nobody here had ever before focused so completely on her exclusively for such an extended period, as she stood there naked in front of him.

The man looked into her eyes and made a twirling gesture with his finger, which she easily understood: turn around. Feeling still more self-conscious, she turned to face away from him, and, knowing he was not touching her, still experienced a distinctly tactile sense of his eyes on her ass. She had long done exercises with, among other body parts, her ass in mind, and believed it looked very attractive, as asses go, but she had never wanted its attractiveness to imply that anyone was welcome to stare at it uncovered.

Rachel had a very frightening sense that she was being offered for sale.

She heard the man stand up behind her, and flinched only slightly when she felt his hand hook around her elbow -- gently, though, and she understood he wanted her to turn to face him again. She did so, and saw his eyes widen suddenly. He was of average male height, and apparently hadn't realized he was going to be seeing her eyes two inches above his.

The man smiled and nodded, and resumed his seat. The general said something to the man with the clipboard who had brought Rachel, who pulled a chair away from the wall -- a straight-backed, wooden-seated chair, not one of the plush leather ones from around the table -- facing it towards the man in the suit. The general then said to Rachel, "Sit."

She did so quickly. She no longer had any guesses as to what was happening, but the atmosphere of the room told her not to offend anyone.

The man in the suit spoke to the general, seeming also to include the professor in his conversation.

The general, who replied at some length, sounded... well, this is strange, thought Rachel, the general sounds worried. And very respectful. She heard that word "amyerikanski," and knew they were talking about her, though that wasn't a surprise. It became especially obvious when she heard the name "Preston."

Rachel's ears pricked up suddenly -- playing it back in her mind and working her way past the pronunciation and accent, there had been another word that sounded familiar: "praysidyent." Sounds a lot like "president," she thought.

And suddenly she understood. The general's deference to this man, the man's air of authority, the Secret Service types standing around, at the ready. She gasped.

Rachel knew she was looking at the president of Irkhetnia. Without a shred of doubt.

She ground her teeth. She had come to this room scared to death, feeling sure this was about her relationship with Anya, and her failure to follow the rules. That was all gone, now; this obviously had no connection with that.

Replacing the fear now was anger, hot and white. This was the man Mandy had come here to try to expose. This man, in response, had tortured and killed Mandy. He had thrown Rachel into this hellhole, because Rachel had helped Mandy try to bring this drug-dealing scum to justice.

If my hands were free right now, Rachel thought, I'd throw myself at him and put them around his neck.

She looked up at the bodyguards. Okay, she thought, maybe I wouldn't. But I should.

*   *   *   *   *

"General, I was hoping for both American girls. I am very disappointed you've already killed one of them."

General Karozki didn't like the undertone in the president's voice. There was some degree of threat involved.

He felt beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. It's like this when you deal with Dimitri Gerov, he reminded himself. Fifteen minutes ago he was thrilled with the work we'd done for the punishment of his wife and daughter. But let one little irritation creep in and his whole attitude turns on a dime.

"I assure you, Mr. President, we would have consulted with you if we'd had any idea at the time that you had any plans for them. You have made it clear in the past that we have the authority to deal with all condemned criminals in the time and manner we choose, but we have no problem at all yielding that authority back to you, if that is your preference."

"A little late for that, isn't it, general?"

The general stopped himself from wincing. Again the president had addressed him as "General." No "Vitaly Alexeyevich" now. I'd better really be careful here, he told himself. "Mr. President, it's probably worth mentioning that there is a reason we didn't keep the other girl with our general prison population as we have Miss Preston. She wasn't... well, we have a certain standard here. The vast majority of women sent here are executed immediately. But we do have various types of manual labor that needs to be done, of course, and using prisoners is very appropriate for that. For the benefit of the guards, whose jobs are otherwise unrewarding, we keep only the most... attractive of the women. Miss Preston represents that standard quite well, as you can easily see. The other girl... well, she really did not." He knew the president didn't want Preston only because she was American. The man had something in particular in mind for the girl, a role which a plain girl was insufficient to fill.

The president looked at him thoughtfully, to the general's immense relief. "I see your point, Vitaly Alexeyevich..."

Oh, praise Heaven, thought the general, he understands what I'm telling him!

"...and that would, under the circumstances, be an important issue." The president sat up, a decision made. "I can at least say I am very happy with this one, and I'd like you to go ahead with the project at once." He turned his gaze to the doctor. "Can you start immediately, Pyotr Ivanovich?"

Doctor Tourachev beamed at the president. "I can start first thing in the morning. This is an official go-ahead, then?" He glanced out of the side of his eyes at the general.

The president smiled. "Yes, yes, by all means."

The doctor nodded. "In that case, I have one bit of remaining work I can clear out of the way tonight, and then I will be ready to devote my full attention to this matter, as I said, first thing tomorrow." He looked at the president pointedly, and the president waved a gesture of dismissal at him.

As the doctor left, excitement suffusing his features, the president turned to General Karozki. "I'd like for you to leave the room for the time being as well, Vitaly Alexeyevich. And you too," he looked up at Captain Shevchenko. "I want a little private time with Miss Preston." He looked at the general again. "Stay nearby. You could just wait out there," he gestured towards the outer office.

The general looked curiously at the bodyguards. Apparently they would stay. The president, he decided, probably thinks of them as office furnishings. With a military salute, the general rose and left.

*   *   *   *   *

That was it! exulted the doctor. I've got permission now. The Preston girl hasn't left the facility yet, but it's been decided that she will, and under the circumstances there is clearly no longer a need for Miss Simonina.

Entering the infirmary, the doctor sent off one of his assistants to get the girl.

*   *   *   *   *

Anya remained on her knees, pressed up against the bars, for several minutes after the other women settled back to rest on the floors of their cells. She was desperate for Retchell to come back. She wanted to wait until she could see Retchell coming back down the aisle.

With a moan of misery, she finally sat down. What are they going to do to her? she wondered.

Anya had been suspecting there must be some big party going on tonight in the guards' quarters, wherever it was they stayed. Christmas? No, wait, she thought. I think it's only the middle of September. It's so hard to keep track. I feel like I've already been here for years.

Thoughts of a guards' party led then to a horrifying thought: What if they have decided to use Retchell for their entertainment? She's so beautiful. They haven't raped her that much lately. Maybe they were waiting for tonight. How many guards are there? How many teams? There might be fifty or sixty men!

Anya shuddered in agony. The thought of so many men doing that to Retchell.

She sat up suddenly and gasped: the drawbridge was coming down again.

She breathed out a sigh of relief, smiling. Retchell is back already! she told herself. I was worried for nothing.

Anya wanted to stand against the bars again, to see Retchell sooner, but reminded herself she had to pretend she had no particular interest in Retchell.

Footsteps approached and, as before, a man stopped more or less in front of her cage -- not the same man as before, but like him, this one also had a clipboard. He looked towards Retchell's cell... No! realized Anya suddenly. It's me he's looking at!

It was a repeat of the whole process that had happened earlier, but directed at Anya this time: the man unlocked her cell door, ordered her out, and clipped a leash to her collar as she stood in front of him, trembling, biting her lip.

They've never done anything like this to me before, she reminded herself. I can't even guess what's happening -- if it's some big party, I could understand them wanting Retchell, but not me -- but I know for sure I won't like it. Nothing good has ever happened to me here. Except Retchell.

Anya followed the man on weak, shaky legs. There's no point in asking where we're going, she thought. He won't tell me.

The man stopped in front of a door marked "Infirmary." Anya blinked in astonishment. This doesn't make sense, she thought. I'm not sick. And I didn't tell anybody I was.

Opening the door, the man ushered her in. She saw a couple of beds, and shuddered when she saw straps attached to rails at the sides of them. There was another man, gray-haired, this one in a lab coat, who looked up at her arrival. He was a blur to her at this distance, but she didn't sense any friendly intent from him. She finally had to ask, her voice shaking, "Please, why am I here? W-what are you going to do?"

Then, as the man in the lab coat came closer, now just a meter away, she recognized him. She had seen him in the shower room, dealing with the snake.

And she saw, now, that he was holding a huge hypodermic needle.

The man who had led her here, now behind her, suddenly grabbed her arms and spun her around. Panicked, she shouted, "No, stop! Don't! Please!"

There was a sting in her buttock. She tried to fight, to get her arms free, to get away. Within seconds she was starting to feel dizzy, and heard a buzzing sound in her ears. A soft white cloud seemed to fill her field of vision, thicker by the second. She felt herself floating. She thought: I'm...

*   *   *   *   *

Rachel heard the president's voice turn a little more friendly to the general, almost cordial now. He spoke to both the general and the professor, the latter replying happily. When the president nodded to the professor, the professor nodded back gratefully, seeming excited, and he rose and left the room.

The president then turned back to the general, and said something that seemingly took the general a little by surprise. The general, saluting, also left, along with the man who had brought Rachel here.

The president returned his full attention to Rachel. I wish, thought Rachel, he'd just rape me and get it over with.

She blinked when the president suddenly said, in English, "You are Miss Rachel Preston, are you not?"

The undercurrent of anger in Rachel was still running near the surface. "You can't tell me you don't know that."

The president rolled his eyes. "This is an introduction. I am Dimitri Alexandrovich Gerov, the president of Irkhetnia. You know something about me, I believe. That is why you are here in this prison."

In a sulky growl, Rachel responded, "Not as much as you probably think. But I don't suppose that matters."

The president snorted. "You are trying to be a tough one. That is good, for me." His English, Rachel observed, was adequate and understandable. More basic than the general's, with a slightly heavier accent. Better than Alina's. Far superior to Boris's.

The president went on, "I just wanted to speak to you briefly, so I can remember later that I did so. To see you move, hear you speak."

A wave of horror swept through Rachel. Is this it, then? she thought. They're going to execute me now? He wanted to be here for it?

The president's eyebrows went up. "Oh, I think you misunderstand. We are not going to kill you."

Rachel blinked. He seems very good at reading people, she thought. Of course, maybe that's exactly why he's the president of a country.

Gerov shook his head. "No, that is not the plan at all."

*   *   *   *   *

On the monitor in his office, the doctor saw Anya Simonina in a standing position, sagging in unconsciousness -- not sagging much, actually, as her standing spread-eagle was quite taut, but her head was down, her neck limp. Like the president's daughter before her, she was in Torture Room C, her feet apart and held immovably to the floor, covered in sand to her ankles. Her arms were held spread apart over her head. The same tubes used for Marya now held open Anya's vaginal lips and anus, and the same ring gag, with the extra projection into her mouth that held her tongue down, was in place. As with Marya, a cloth supporting Anya's weight circled her waist, in place of the chain that had been there, and it would be removed as soon as she regained consciousness -- the doctor didn't want any hurdles on her body for the snakes to cross, so the chain was gone. For a similar reason, he'd removed her collar: He didn't want it to interfere with a snake choking her.

He'd changed only some minor details from Marya's bondage. Marya had been able to twist her body to some extent, because the spreader bar to which her wrists were secured could rotate around its center point. The doctor had redesigned the overhead restraint system as a rigid bar held at both ends by pipes coming down from the ceiling. He'd also located the overhead bar a little higher relative to the girl's height, so that she was more stretched than Marya had been. Marya had had only very minimal freedom of movement in any part of her body, but Simonina really had none at all. She was purely a tree for the snakes to climb.

On another monitor, several different views of the girl shared the screen, from the many different cameras pointed at her. The doctor could make adjustments in their angles of view using his keyboard. All were pointed exactly as he wanted them, except for the close-up of her face. He wanted to wait until she awakened and could hold her head up, to make sure her face was exactly centered.

The camera looking up at her crotch from below, he thought, was a brilliant addition.

His breath caught in his throat. There, he thought, she's starting to move! I'll give her a few minutes to become fully alert.

*   *   *   *   *

Anya felt confused as she gradually, a bit at a time, became aware of her surroundings. This is not where I was, she thought. I was in the infirmary, and that old guy stuck a needle in me...

A little more conscious of her body now, she felt as though she had just leapt into the air, arms and legs spread wide, and for some reason wasn't moving, as if she'd somehow been frozen in mid-air.

Wait, no, she thought, my feet are on the floor.

She tried to lift her right foot, and discovered it was stuck fast to the floor, as if glued there, as was her left also. And there was sand all around it. Bending her head to look, she couldn't even see her foot. But she could feel it was there. She wriggled her toes, feeling the gritty sand sift down between them.

She winced as she became more aware of a steady pain from her bottom. She was sure she had just been raped -- her vagina and her butt seemed to be telling her that. Except it felt like the rape was still going on. Both holes felt like they were full now. Something was in them.

She squeaked with alarm as she felt something pop near her waist. She realized there was a cloth wrapped around it, not a chain -- and not wrapped there anymore either, as the pressure circling her waist vanished and the cloth, hanging loose beside her now, was whisked up to the ceiling and vanished through a hole there. She felt herself falling forward, the support of her balance at her waist now gone, but the fall was stopped before it started, the muscles in her already taut arms stretching and stopping her motion with a sharp jerk.

The various pains in her body continued resolving themselves, alerting her to exactly where they were. Her mouth was wide open, and she couldn't close it. She was very familiar with ring gags, but this one had something more: instinctively trying to push it out with her tongue, she found that her tongue was held down somehow. She'd never experienced that before.

She started to cry. She hadn't been so scared since she saw Kalina coming at her with that whip. Or no, she remembered, since I fell, outside in the snow, and got stuck and couldn't get up. When Retchell came out to save me.

Anya was sure, as much as her bottom was hurting, as much as her mouth was hurting, as much as her stretched muscles, especially in her arms, were hurting, that it was going to be much worse soon. She didn't know what they were going to do to her, or why, but she was sure a lot of pain was coming. It probably involved those two boxes hanging side by side in front of her, just above eye level.

Retchell, she thought, trying desperately to project it outward, Help me! Help, Retchell, please! She wished she knew how to say "help" in Retchell's language.

*   *   *   *   *

There! The doctor looked at the image on the screen, satisfied. The Simonina girl's face was exactly centered in the close-up view.

The doctor nodded, smiling. Time to start, he told himself. Time to tell her what was in the boxes, tell her how long she had before there were snakes climbing all over her. Tell her how much longer she had to live. He had realized, after his initial thoughts, that he did need to tell her the reason for the devices holding the three entries into her body open. It was important to maximize her terror, and giving her mental images beforehand of snakes entering her in one or more of those places would surely accomplish that. He would give her fifteen minutes of anticipating the horror. In the future, he would let the condemned women think it over for an hour, but for tonight there was, regrettably, not enough time.

He looked at the display of camera images, his finger poised over the key that would activate the microphone to carry his voice into the room.

He blinked suddenly, and pounded his palm against his head, thinking: A still camera! Damn! I never thought of that! I need a high-resolution camera!

Motion video was all very well, and the cameras he was using were state of the art. But some high-resolution photos would be a perfect addition! He could set a camera on a tripod a couple of meters in front of her, and it could get full length shots of her body so detailed, so clear, that they would show each individual hair on her arms standing on end, each pore in her skin, just as the sweat started welling up out of them. Much better resolution than you could get with a video cam.

He nodded to himself. Not a problem, he told himself. I'll get one out of the audio/visual supply room. Several good ones to choose from. And the girl is not going anywhere.

Pushing himself away from his desk and the laptop, he hurried out of the room.



Click Here to Go To Chapter 29


Go to Foreign Prison Table of Contents page


MAIN STORY PAGE        HOME