Part 22
…When she awoke, for a moment she had no idea where she was. Then the reality came rushing back to her, and she groaned. Her jaw felt stiff, and her nose was sore. She tried to raise her hand to her face, but the clink of chain stopped her – of course, her hands were still chained to her waist. She was alone in her cell, and gradually realized that the cell door was open. No-one was outside in the corridor either, as far as she could tell. She carefully swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Each leg still bore its heavy metal cuff, but they were not chained together. Her feet were still sore, but she thought they would take her weight.
She stood up, went to the piss bucket and relieved herself. Still no-one around. Nervously she approached the open cell door, suspecting a trap. Another psychologist’s mind game, no doubt. For several minutes she stood there, just inside her cell, looking around and listening. Nothing happened. Her mind began to work furiously. Could she actually remember the way back to the garage? There had been a lot of corners, and doors. Of course, the doors. They would all be locked, escape was as impossible as ever.
She looked round the cell block, eventually plucking up the courage to leave her cell and walk up and down, peering into the other cells. Each contained a bed, like hers, though none of the others had a cage or a whipping frame. Nothing of any use. A heavy door at the end of the block was locked shut. She ended up at the other door, leading to the neighbouring cell block, which had a tiny reinforced-glass window set into it. Carefully so as not to be seen, she peeped through, seeing as she expected a double row of cells, still occupied by male prisoners. These men were clothed in orange uniforms, and did not seem to be wearing sensor harnesses. Whether they were volunteers like her, or genuine convicts, she had no way of knowing.
Suddenly she saw the door at the far end of the male cell block swing open, and she quickly ran back to her cell, wondering if she should close the door or just leave it. She decided to leave it as it was, and ran back to her bed, hastily lying down and pretending to be asleep. A few moments later she heard the cell block door open, and someone entered. She heard a few footsteps, seemingly approaching her cell, then silence.
She lay still, feeling breathless with apprehension. Whoever had come into the block, it was unlikely to be Dane, who would have swaggered straight in and woken her up. This person seemed furtive somehow. She listened, but there was no noise, not even a footstep. Was someone there, watching her? The tension she felt was unbearable.
She made a sort of sleepy noise and rolled on to her side, snatching a peek through one half-opened eye.
It was Paulson, standing in the open cell door, staring at her.
“I knew you were just pretending to be asleep, you fucking bitch,” he said, approaching the bed. The prisoner opened her eyes and rolled back on to her back, hardly in a position to deny it, or to say anything for that matter. The athletic-looking man stood over her, examining her head-harness.
“So this is what the Doctor’s been working on, the perverted fuck.” He hooked a finger under the strap that connected her nose-hook to the top of her harness and pulled upwards, lifting her head off the bed, stretching her nostrils and forcing the hooks painfully deeper into her nose. The prisoner cried out, and was immediately shocked, causing another cry, and another shock, before she regained control, sobbing gently. Paulson released the strap, letting her head fall back on to the bed.
“That’s fucking insane,” he whispered, though whether in disgust or admiration, she couldn’t tell. Paulson looked round the cell.
“Why is your cell door open?” he suddenly demanded, “Oh, you can’t talk. Do you know why your cell door is open?” she shook her head. “Did you open it somehow?” she shook her head again. “Who was last in here with you – was it Dane, the shaved head guy?”
She hesitated – was she about to get Dane into trouble? Not that she owed him anything – he had raped and beaten her, locked her in a cage, sodomized her with a piece of metal, violated her with his baton, and treated her with continual scorn and spite. Yet… she didn’t know what this was all about, and that made it hard to…
“Answer me, bitch! Was it Dane?” She nodded; it was hardly likely to be anyone else, except the Doctor, and anyway, what difference did it make…
“That fucker. Getting the only girl prisoner, then forgetting to lock her up. Seems like he doesn’t appreciate the quality cunt he’s got right here.” He leaned forward and placed both hands on her breasts, and began to knead them, squeezing them painfully. She struggled to stay quiet, though her hands twitched nervously in their shackles. “The only fucking pair of tits in the whole facility, and he leaves the door open! I’m going to have a quiet word upstairs about your fucking boyfriend, darling. And then, with any luck… you’ll be mine. I always wanted my own fuck slave. And I think I know someone who would pay a lot for you. So when I’m bored of fucking your brains out, I’ll be rich! Won’t that be fucking great!”