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After minutes of observation, Kelly leads to the stairs. As they descend Mondiva spies the visitors and moves to greet them.
“Good afternoon Kelly. Back again. You enjoy the pump house now that you don’t need to bandage and offer care.”
Linda looks in awe, the woman brazenly exposing her sex, the long labial lips flopping about with each step.
“We’re interested in number 147, Mondiva.”
“Oh yes. The Director gave orders... special treatment for that one. Lots of cock sucking for him. And when we bend and spread him, he gets very frisky. I keep telling him to relax and take it... that the more he fights the more the boys enjoy fucking him. But he still resists. And the more he insults our gay members, the more they come back to fuck him. He not sleep much... either worked on a capstan or tummy down and spread, having his asshole stretched and his throat stuffed... ha, ha, ha.”
Mondiva gestures as she speaks, leading to an adjoining room.
“He’s already had his morning fucking. Resting with a well worn rectum and a butt full of sperm. We’ll put him back to work in an hour.”
Stepping through a door, Linda notes a set of sodomy frames, six... lined up like the hurdles of a track and field event. One
is occupied. Linda barely recognizes the naked hairless form from file photos and mug shots. The large, black the tattooed numerals 147 distract. Ankle bands secured to the base of the posts, elbow and wrist bands holding the arms tightly behind his back, the body trembles, the ordeal of being sodomized apparently recent.
“Michael Mansfield?” Deputy Marshal Linda Rankin inquires with her official stentorian voice.
“I am 147, here to serve and please,” 147 having undergone weeks of brainwashing.
“It’s his indoctrination,” Kelly explains.
Linda steps more proximate, noting indeed that a wad of thick spunk rolls down the inner thighs. She also notes the hands and fingers... nails missing... declawed in Nusquam parlance. Plus the fingers are sutured together... the thumbs grotesquely attached almost to the top of his hands.
“I’ll need fingerprints,” Linda proclaims, taking a small kit from her pocket. “If it really is Michael Mansfield in captivity here, I must file a report with the Marshal’s Service. Sorry, it’s my duty.”
The term ‘Marshal’ brings Muskrat Mike into reality, the delirium of his trauma quickly fading.
“I’ll serve my time... please... take me into custody... I’ll surrender to you,” the tone so pitiful.
Linda smiles with the plea. Put under the penis and sjambok, the con artist prefers 15 years of hard labor to life in the pump house. It is ironically amusing.
As Linda works, obtaining prints as best she can, Kelly steps to the rear. The buttocks, welted with frequent strokes of the sjambok, have been greased, the gluteal crevice gleaming with unguent. She reaches. Medical training, years of service at Nusquam, she handles the male genitals as one would inspect fruit at the produce market.
“He’s not been degloved, Mondiva. A new regimen?”
“He’s scheduled. New personnel in the infirmary. Seems they’re a little behind.”
“Or they don’t know how. Well Muskrat, your organs are intact. Seems you’re fortunate... for now.”
“You conned me, you bitch,” Mansfield’s grit reviving. “Gave up my life’s savings for this...”
“Savings yes. But the savings of others... stolen from the old and unwitting. You deserve a life of sucking cock... and that’s what you’ll have.”
Despite the trauma, the many weeks of chastity and denial, Kelly’s relatively soothing touch brings male reaction. Michael Mansfield slowly but steadily hardens. Kelly decides to amuse, her left hand pulling back on the firming cylinder of flesh as the right thumb rubs the super sensitive underside, circling methodically, encouraging a hard on as the organ fights the awkward angle. She is very much aware the that cumbersome bending, despite the joy of her manipulation, brings discomfort.
“Ah, you’d so much like to come for me, wouldn’t you Muskrat. But you won’t... not unless I want you to.”
Linda completes her task. Kelly abruptly releases the turgid penis and reaches lower, swiping the inner thigh with her index finger to gather a dollop of male essence. Stepping to the front she smears on the upper lip of the hardened thief and embezzler.
“You’ll learn to enjoy the taste of sperm here, Muskrat. You’ll be partaking a lot. And while ingesting, think of all the widows you conned out of their life savings.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
“I’ve researched that federal pensions for law enforcement personnel can be lucrative... and earned in as little as 25 years, Ms. Rankin. You’ve put in a few years. Earning full pension... is that your goal?” the raspy, genderless voice of the Director inquires.
“I have fifteen years in... need ten more... and yes it makes sense to stick it out.”
