1.
“A toast, to John and Marsha. May they have the best of luck in their new adventure together.” The heavyset, balding man raised the champagne glass in the air and subsequently the entire marble-floored ballroom was filled the tinkling of glass against glass. Everyone in the firm had come out, the men in fancy black tuxedos, the women in sexy evening dress.
The speaker was Mr. Dulaney, the senior partner, and to his right were the guests of honor. After almost 20 years at Dulaney, Wallis, and Mitchell, John Hamilton and Marsha Greenman were leaving the 90-hour per week cut-throat world of corporate insurance law for a new life together. The attractive couple, both in their mid 40s, had sacrificed the pleasures of life for the prestige and monetary rewards of the law. Although married a decade and a half, John and Marsha never had the time to raise a family, go on vacations they could easily afford, or do much else except acquire a well-appointed house in an expensive suburb, a Lexus and a Hummer, and, most importantly, a sizable nest egg, enough to allow them the early retirement on which they were about to embark.
Even with a head of hair that had turned a premature gray, Marsha Greenman’s was a vibrant, youthful-looking woman. Her hair coupled with her small, gold-rimmed glasses, she believed, had always given an air of authority in the courtroom despite her relatively young age. That fact that she rarely lost a case stood as proof. Her skin, however, was that of a much younger woman, a fact which the black sleeveless, v-necked dress she wore demonstrated. She was not overly muscular, but fit, with slender legs and lithe arms.
John Hamilton stood with his arm around her waist. With his black-rimmed glasses, he looked like the class nerd grown up, although he had lost his pimply complexion, baby fat, and poor sense of fashion over the years. Years of defending insurance companies against workers’ bogus disability claims had given him the confidence he lacked when he was in school. He was too involved in his own thoughts to notice the flirtations of the young female clerks.
In a few moments, they would leave this world behind. Once they left the farewell party, a car would pick them up and take them off into their new lives. Their house and everything in it was sold and the cash invested. The plane tickets were purchased, and hotel reservations made. Although they were sad to see their colleagues go, they were thrilled to finally begin living.
After a round of teary farewells, they walked down to the lobby to await the arrival of their car.
“Wonderful bunch of people, that crew. I’m going to miss them,” John said, wistfully.
“I know,” Marsha replied. “That was our life for so long, it’s going to be weird not having to get up and get to court by 8 a.m. I don’t know what we’ll do with ourselves.”
“Oh, I think we can find some things do to,” John said. He looked over his shoulder, and when he was convinced no one was looking, he gave his wife’s bottom a playful squeeze. She gasped and then giggled girlishly.
“John and Marsha Hamilton?” a voice asked, jolting them out of their reverie.
“We’re John and Marsha,” Marsha replied, having made this explanation many, many times. “But I kept my name. I’m Marsha Greenman.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, ma’am.” The voice was that of a woman. She was dressed rather mannishly in a chauffeur’s uniform of black slacks, jacket, and tie with a white shirt. She wore a cap and dark sunglasses and held a small sign that read “Hamilton.” She was short, little overweight, but her body still had well-defined curves. “If you will follow me, please, the car is parked out front. Your bags are already loaded.”
The couple held hands as the dream they had had for so long seemed to be finally unfolding. Money can’t buy everything, John thought, but it can sure go a heck of a long way. The woman opened the door of the long black limousine and motioned her passengers to come inside. Marsha slid across the leather seat and John followed. The door was shut and locked.
The woman got into the passenger side of the car as there was a second driver already behind the wheel, a man. He wore the same uniform as his female counterpart. Very quickly, the two lawyers noticed that the atmosphere in the car was especially tense.
The car zoomed off in silence, the two drivers looking ahead determinedly.
“This is a nice car,” Marsha said, trying to be friendly with her drivers. “Do you get to drive the same one all the time?”
“Sometimes,” the woman said coolly.
After a few moments of more silence, it was John’s turn to try to warm things up. “I didn’t know they have two drivers for these cars. Is that standard?”
“Sometimes,” the woman replied. “If the trip is long”
“But we’re only going to the airport,” John stated. “That’s only 10 miles away from here.”
“Maybe they have another passenger, sweetie, after they drop us off,” Marsha surmised.
They thought they heard the man give a small guffaw, the first sound he had uttered. Then there was silence again.
“So,” asked the female driver. “What do you two do?”
“We’re lawyers,” Marsha replied.
“Actually,” added John. “We used to be lawyers. We’re retiring.”
“Oh, but you’re so young,” the woman replied. Was there a hint of sarcasm in her voice?
“You know,” the co-driver continued, “My husband was just in court recently.”
“That’s interesting,” Marsha said uncomfortably. She was used to being asked for legal advice once it was determined that she was a lawyer. Usually it entailed her finding out private things about people that she’s rather not know.
“Don’t worry,” the woman answered, sensing the couple’s unease. “He hadn’t committed a crime. No, he was completely innocent. He didn’t do anything at all. Except get himself hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” John said, trying to sound sympathetic. “I hope he’s okay.”
“Oh, he’s fine now,” she said. “A year ago, he was hurt while he was working. He used to make a good living at the Eastar warehouse, driving a forklift. Paid about 15 dollars an hour. Then one day on his shift, real late at night, a crate fell. A crate of winter coats, hit him right on the head.”
“That’s a shame,” John said, still attempting to sound engaged.
“Yes, a shame,” she continued. “Was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. Then when he got out the doctors told him he couldn’t work anymore. He couldn’t focus his mind as well anymore, and they don’t need forklift drivers that can’t think right. But he had disability insurance that would have kept him from starving. Not living well, mind you, but living humble. But then the insurance company got their lawyers on the case.”
Marsha Greenman started shifting uncomfortably in her seat. This story was starting to sound familiar.
“There was one lawyer in particular. A lady. She went after him and you know how much money he got?”
The couple was silent.
“I think Miss Greenman would remember,” the woman said sharply. “Wouldn’t she?”
“Duane Phillips,” Marsha replied. “That’s his name right?”
“No, Miss Greenman,” the woman said, her voice getting angrier. “Dave Phillips. You can’t even remember his name can you? But you knew him well enough to ruin him and make yourself a shitload of money in the process.”
“I was just doing my job,” Marsha defended. “He didn’t have a very good case.”
“Just doing her job,” the woman said to the driver. “Didn’t have a good enough case, did you Dave?”
The driver suddenly turned around and pulled of his dark glasses. Marsha could now see the familiar scar on his forehead. She had seen this man many, many times. It was Dave Phillips.
“No, I guess I didn’t have enough of a case, Karen, because of this…lady,” Dave Phillips sneered.
“Listen,” John interjected. “She didn’t mean anything personal. It was just business you know. She doesn’t even do that anymore.”
“I know she doesn’t,” the co-driver who it was now determined was named Karen, and was Dave Phillip’s wife. “Things are going to be a lot different for her starting today.” With that, she pulled a handgun from her jacket pocket and turned it on the couple in the backseat.
“Please, don’t” Marsha pleaded, her voice shaking. “Do you want money? We have money. Just stop that car now and let us out. Drive us to the ATM machine if you want.”
“Drive you to the ATM, huh?” Karen said, her voice becoming more menacing. “What, you going to give us 20 bucks? We have a plenty of money now. At least we will have money, as long as we have you two.”
The couple sat in silent terror.
“Dave’s new job pays a heck of a lot better than driving a forklift. All we have to do is make sure you are delivered to our employer. We’re getting a lot of money for you. Your profile is just perfect. Attractive, healthy, no family, no jobs, no one will be looking for you. That adds up to a lot of loot.”
“But, we have plane tickets,” shot back John, trying to gain a higher ground. “We have hotel reservations. People will know to look for us.”
“Oh?” said Karen with a chuckle. “Those have been taken care of. You see, our employer has a lot of money and a lot of power. Right now, there are a couple of our associates getting reading to get on a plane to Helena, Montana, to the Big Pines Hotel. No, you two are as good as gone.”
Marsha looked at the gun. “Please, don’t kill us.”
Dave chuckled. Karen the driver replied. “Please, don’t worry; we have no intention of killing you. However, we’re not beyond blowing off a finger or two if you don’t follow our every order to the letter. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” the two lawyers muttered in reply.
“Good. Now, we have a long trip ahead of us, and I don’t want to have to hold this gun on you the whole time.” She grabbed an item from the glove compartment and threw it to Marsha. It was a pair of leather restraints.
“Here,” she ordered Marsha. “Put these on him. Now.”
Marsha, afraid for her safety, managed to buckle the restraints onto John’s wrists with fumbling fingers.
“Be sure to make them tight.”
Marsha made the restraints tighter.
Karen threw another set of restraints at Marsha.
“These are for his ankles. Put them on him.”
She obeyed.
Once John was restrained in the back seat, a third pair of restraints went sent back. This time, Marsha was ordered to place a pair on her own ankles, which she did. Then, the gun still pointed menacingly at her, Marsha was ordered to bring her wrists to the front seat. The driver secured another pair of restraints to her wrists.
“Now, that looks a lot better, and I feel a lot safer,” Karen laughed.
“Please, what are you going to do to us?” John asked. “If you hurt us, I’ll…sue you.”
“It’s part of Dave’s new job to keep you as comfortable as possible,” Karen said with a chuckle. Her husband laughed along. “Of course, your definition of comfortable may have to change a bit over the next few days.”
“Please, let her go,” John pleaded, eyeing his frightened wife on the seat next to him. “Keep me and let her go.”
“How cute and chivalrous,” Karen taunted. “No, I’m afraid you travel as a couple. And The Company is especially interested in your very pretty wife and you together. Things are lot more interesting with a couple. Now, if you want to stay unhurt, I suggest you be quiet for the rest of the drive. Or I do have to make you shut up?”
For the rest of the ride, the two drivers and the two captives rode in silence.
2.
“Here we are, boys and girls,” said Karen. The drive had taken about three hours, and the car was now parked outside of a small house in the middle of the country. For as far as either John or Marsha could see in the blackness, there was nothing but miles and miles of cornfields.
“Get out, now,” Dave ordered, the first word he had said in hours.
Their movements greatly restricted by their restraints, John and Marsha awkwardly wiggled their way out of the back seat and out the door. Dave reached in and pulled each of the captives to their feet while Karen held her gun at them.
“To the house,” instructed Karen. The house was at the end of a long dirt driveway. The two hobbled as much as their ankle restraints would allow them, a process made even more difficult by the poor condition of the muddy, potholed driveway. Although it was early summer, the air was cooler out here in the country. Marsha wished she had worn a warmer dress. Goose pimples soon covered her bare arms and legs.
After many minutes, the two prisoners somehow made it to side of the house without falling on their faces. They were led to a pair cellar doors, the kinds used for tornado shelters. Pulling a key from his shirt pocket, Dave Phillips opened the heavy padlock which secured the two doors while Karen jabbed the pistol into the couple’s backs. It was difficult for them to make it down the old stone steps without losing their balance, but the couple made it without hurting themselves. The two captors followed and flipped on a light switch.
Once their eyes adjusted to the light, John and Marsha could see that they were in what appeared to be an old basement workshop. A wooden bench covered with woodworking tools stood up against the far wall. Scraps of wood of various sizes and shapes stood in the corner. A small wooden bench stood on the wall closest the stairs.
The heavy metallic sound of the cellar door slamming made the couple jump in fear, their nerves already on edge. Karen came around and faced them. She pulled off her cap. Her long, dark-brown hair spilled out around her shoulders. Next she took off her sunglasses. Once she was out of her uniform, she looked a lot less intimidating; plain, but pretty. The gun in her hand, however, made it clear that she was still a force worthy of respect.
“Dave is going to release you now,” she said. “Don’t get any notion that you will turn the tables on us since I’m quite a good shot with this thing. I’d hate to have to put a hole in your pretty legs since our paycheck goes down in price if you’re injured. Dave is armed, too.”
To make the point, Dave, who had also removed his cap and glasses, displayed a large, shiny hunting knife that had heretofore been concealed.
“Please, let us go,” Dave pleaded again. “We won’t say a thing, and I think we might be able to make the money worth your while.”
“No,” Karen replied with a laugh. “You’re here now. And you’ll be with us for about a week before they come for you. But I think it will be a very interesting time, don’t you agree, dear?”
Dave responded by running a rough, calloused fingertip down the flesh of Marsha’s back. Marsha shut her eyes tightly, trying to shut it out.
“The good thing about this house is,” Karen explained, “Is that you can make as much noise as you want and no one will hear you. Scream your heads off and nothing will happen. No help is ever coming. But now it is time for a little justice. Probably not the kind you’re used to, though. Something a little older. Do you know what prisons were like in the olden days?”
The couple was silent.
“They were dark, scary places. Prisoners had no dignity. They were chained and tortured. But not to reform or redeem them, no. They were tortured because they could be, endlessly. And a modern prison cell is a suite at the Waldorf compared to a dungeon cell. There was no proper bedding, or running water.”
She paused a moment to let her words sink in, then continued. “But enough speeches,” Karen said after a pause to let her words sink in. “It’s time for both of you to strip naked for me.”
“Please,” John begged, “We can offer you money.”
“Sorry, but no thanks,” Karen said, moving closer to John, her gun pointed directly at his head. “Undress. Now.”
Dave Philips made a mocking laugh – a cold, merciless sound -- from the corner of the room.
In fear for their safety, the couple started the humiliating task of removing their clothes. The shoes were the first to go. John removed his tuxedo jacket, bow tie, cufflinks, and dress shirt. Marsha had a little less to work with, and after her black ballet slippers were off, she had little choice but to remove her black evening dress, leaving her standing in a matching black bra and panties and hose. The cellar floor felt dirty and cold against their feet.
Karen waved the gun, and it was clear that they were to continue without protest. In a few moments, John was left with nothing on but his wristwatch and light blue boxer shorts. Marsha reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. The undergarment fell away from her body revealing her small, round breasts. Her coral-colored nipples stood upright in the chill air. She bent over, removed her hose and stepped out of her panties. Although gray-haired, her public hair still displayed the light brown of her younger days. John stepped out his boxer shorts. Under a tuft of thick, brown hair, his penis hung shriveled and limp in the shadow of the gun.
“Jewelry, too,” Karen ordered. “You won’t need that where you’re going. Although you may keep your wedding rings. And your glasses. Things won’t be nearly as interesting if you can’t see what’s going to happen to you.”
Karen removed the thin gold chain from around her neck and her wristwatch. John removed his watch, a heavy gold Rolex a client had given to him.
The two captors let their prisoners bask in the humiliation of their nudity. Dave and Karen could see why The Company was interested in these two. They were attractive people, especially unclothed. The Company had clients who were especially interested in Actors in their 40s and 50s. These two sit the bill nicely.
“Good,” Karen continued. “You won’t have to bother with clothes ever again. Such nice bodies. It will be a shame to hurt you. Dave, secure them.”
Dave took two pairs of heavy manacles from a drawer in the wooden tool bench and hung them over a thick metal pipe which ran along the middle of the ceiling. Under the threat of the gun, the two prisoners were each led to their respective restraints. Each of their wrists was locked into the metal cuffs. They felt cold and heavy around their wrists. Now they stood naked, facing each other, their arms stretched high above their heads. The tension in their arms and chest made their ribs prominent and caused them to breathe short, quick breaths. The two lawyers looked at each other, at their helpless naked bodies, and wondered what indignities were in store for them.
“Now I can put this away,” Karen stated as she placed her gun onto the tool bench.
“Look at the back of the room. See that door?” Karen asked her captives. She circled the couple as she spoke, using their immobility as an excuse to molest their bodies. At times she would lightly caress their buttocks; other times she would slowly twist their nipples until their faces winced in pain.
“That door is the entrance to your home for the coming days,” she continued. “It’s very old-fashioned, as you will see. Once the door is locked, you’re not coming out. But like in the olden days, you’ll see a small door cut into the bottom of the door. Do you know what that’s for?
Karen punctuated this last query by cupping her hand around John’s balls, and squeezing. He gasped loudly.
Not waiting for an answer, she continued. “That door is your only contact to the outside world. Water and whatever sort of food we decide to feed you goes in. Your shit and piss comes out, at least whenever we feel it is a good time to clean out your slop bucket. But my guess is that it will probably stink a lot more in there before it will out here, so we might forget sometimes.”
Dave chuckled again, his evil chuckle. It bespoke so much pent-up rage that the couple was rightfully frightened.
“But before we check you in, I believe Dave has a score to settle. Isn’t that right?”
Dave murmured a curt “yes” under his breath. From the tool bench drawer that held the manacles beneath, he removed a thick, leather strap. He whipped it through the air. It let out a sharp, piercing swish which made the helpless captives’ blood run cold.
“Please, please,” Marsha said, her voice cracking, tears starting to run down her face. “I am so, so sorry about your settlement. Please, I’ll help with your appeal myself, I’ll work pro bono. Just don’t hurt the both of us.”
“Oh, I’m not going to hurt the both you,” Dave laughed to Marsha. Then staring at the helpless woman, he spat. “I’m going to hurt you: only you.”
With that, he struck the lawyer, remembering all of her sarcastic barbs in the courtroom. At first, his blows were not too hard as he swung the strap across her thighs and between her shoulder blades. When John tried to protest, his words were met by a Karen’s knee, which delivered a short, sharp blow to his naked groin. The blow winded him, yet he was unable to double over as the restraints kept him upright.
As Dave continued tormenting his enemy, it became clear that it was his intent to hurt all of her. Heavy blows on her back were accompanied by lighter slaps of the strap across her breasts, stomach, and calves. He lifted each of her legs let the strap fall on the soles of her feet. Holding the thigh of her right leg, he even let a few weaker whacks attack her pussy. The blows were met with a variety of cries, screams, gasps, and moans depending on the body part struck. Any of John’s objections, soon fewer and fewer, were met by more kicks to his naked genitals.
Then it stopped. The poor woman stood naked and sweating. Her limp body hung in the metal bonds and the edges dug into her wrists.
“Not so powerful now, Miss Attorney, are we?” Karen mocked. “It’s a shame that your pretty white skin is so red. You look like you haven’t been wearing your sun block.”
The couple hurt too much to respond to their tormentor’s words.
“Help me get her down and over to the bench,” Dave ordered his spouse. “I’m not done with her yet.”
The tormented woman was released from her bonds as her own husband watched. John was too preoccupied with the pain in his own balls to offer any comments. He only wished he could just curl up into a ball in the corner and cup his hands over his tortured genitals, protect them.
Weakened by the beating, Marsha was easy to move across the room to the low narrow wooden bench that Dave had moved to the middle of the room. She was made to lay the sore, naked flesh of her breasts and stomach against the old, splintery wood of the bench. Once in position, her knees and arms easily touched the cold stone floor. Leather restraints were used to secure her wrists and ankles to hooks driven into the four legs of the bench. Obviously, this bench was modified to fit such a purpose. A large leather belt around her middle kept her torso immobile.
“Now, to hurt all of you,” Dave Phillips taunted.
Marsha heard the unmistakable sound of the ripping of tape. She felt a rough hand place what felt like duct tape on her right buttock, then roughly pull it away from the left one, pulling her cheek uncomfortably to the right. Once she was stretched to his satisfaction, Dave secured the tape to the skin of her thigh. After the process was repeated with her left buttock, she realized that her cheeks were now stretched wide apart, leaving her previously safe asshole unprotected and available for view. Try as she might, she could not clench her buttocks together
“It’s so cute and brown, your little hole,” Karen said in a voice reserved for your children. “I’m sure you keep her nice and clean and safe.”
Karen kneeled down and blew a sharp stream of warm air on Marsha’s naked hole. It responded with a round of uncontrollable twitching. Like a child playing with a trapped, helpless animal, Karen playfully tormented Marsha’s sphincter, alternately running a finger over it, letting her long brown hair tickle it, and blowing lightly on it until it seemed to be in constant motion. Marsha moaned. Was it a moan of pain, of frustration? Or pleasure?
Dave motioned his wife Karen to move aside. He had removed a long leather thong from the same drawer that held the dreaded leather strap. He swung the thin strand of leather it past Marsha’s head, ensuring that she made the dreadful connection between the whistling of this new instrument and her vulnerable ass.
With expert precision, Dave flicked the end of the thong against Marsha’s puckered hole. A hissing gasp, as is she had been dropped into a tub of ice water, escaped from the tormented woman’s lips. After he struck her, he then let the end of the thong playfully tickle her hole, causing Marsha to twitch involuntarily. This cycle of light whipping, followed by gentle torment, continued for several minutes until Marsha was openly weeping and begging her torturer to stop.
Once it did stop, Marsha had little time for rest before she was shocked by the ripping of the tape from her buttocks. She screamed. Her husband’s protests were once again met with promptly by Karen’s knee. Dave picked up the larger strap again and proceeded to give Karen’s bottom the whipping it had been spared until now.
The blows were light at first, but quickly built in intensity until they were very, very hard. After years or arguing important cases concerning the most esoteric points of law, Marsha was reduced to a blubbering, begging, incoherent mess of a person. Karen’s training at The Company had prepared her for this, and she was able to watch and feel very little sympathy for the helpless woman. Dave Phillips, who had had his life ruined by his accident and the legal expertise of the woman who now suffered under his lash, felt justified in his punishment.
Finally, it stopped. Marsha had little time to catch her breath before she was released from her bonds and pulled roughly to her feet. The soles of her feet still stung from the strapping they had received. She noticed that the cell door she was shown earlier was now opened. She was led to it and then pushed inside. Luckily, something soft in the darkness broke her fall. Soon, she felt another body fall in top of hers: John’s. The door slammed closed, clanging as it was locked.
3.
In a few moments, a light was turned on. John Hamilton looked down to see his wife on an old mattress. She was not bleeding, but he could see that she was definitely hurt. The only parts of her back that were not red and raw were those covered with painful-looking purple bruises. He wanted to touch her, but he soon realized that any contact with her flesh would just make her pain greater.
He looked about the room. That woman had not kidded them. There was something positively medieval about the place. The room smelled old and musty and the stone walls were far from clean. There were no windows: only a locked heavy wooden door that would be their only contact with the world. The only furnishings were the old mattress, and the metal pail that would serve as their toilet. They did provide a roll of toilet paper; at least that part wasn’t medieval. The room was illuminated by a bare bulb in the center of the ceiling. If that their captors stood to earn as much money as they said, John reasoned, it seemed probable that they would have to feed them and keep them relatively healthy.
His attention turned to his wife, who still lay face down on the mattress.
“Sweetie, are you okay?”
“I hurt,” was the only response from the body which lay face down on the mattress. “But, I’m alive.”
“That’s good,” John replied. “Would you like me to help you up?”
“Yes, please.”
John pulled his wife to a sitting position. As she moved up, different parts of her naked body would hurt as they moved against the stone wall into a sitting position on the mattress. He straightened her glasses and pushed the sweaty gray hair from her eyes. Her hands lay limply on her naked lap.
“John,” Marsha asked her husband. “What’s happening to us?”
“I don’t know, but it looks like we’re the captives of a couple of sickos who make their living capturing and selling human beings,” he explained, trying his best to adopt a confident air. “The good thing is that we’re worth too much to them for them to really hurt or kill us. Since someone is paying a lot money for us, I can’t imagine that anyone wants anything bad to happen to us.”
“You certainly know how to put a good spin on things,” Marsha said with a forced smile. “You should work for the White House.”
“You look exhausted,” John remarked. “You should rest.”
John moved to the far edge of the bed. Then, carefully, he lowered his wife’s body toward him until her head rested on his lap. He slipped off her glasses and placed them on the floor, and then gently stroked her hair, one of the few parts of her tired body that hadn’t felt Dave Phillip’s vengeful strap.
“How are you doing, baby?” Marsha inquired.
“Oh, guy parts seem sensitive, but they bounce back really quickly.” It was true. His balls only slightly hurt from the punishment they had received earlier. “Now try to rest.”
In a few moments, the small cell was filled with his wife’s light snoring. John looked down at her naked, bruised body. For a second, he almost felt aroused seeing her condition, but soon mentally talked himself out of it. As he played with her soft gray hair, he too fell asleep.
The First Day of the Rest of Your Life (part 2)
With no clock or watches, it was impossible to tell at what hour breakfast was slipped under their door. The sound of the small inner door being opened and closed awakened them. Yes, it was real. It had not been a nightmare. They were still here.
Next to the door were two small bowls of oatmeal and two glasses of orange juice. John moved his wife into a sitting position. John lifted his own stiff body from the mattress and picked up breakfast and split the bowls and glasses between them. Their ordeal had in actuality made them quite hungry. The oatmeal was a little on the cold side, but tasted good. The juice was sweet and cool and refreshing. They ate in silence on the bed, their sides touching. When they were done, they instinctively placed the food next to the door.
Now, the first major discomfort of their cell became apparent to them. With no sink, there was no morning ritual of tooth brushing, washing, and shaving to look forward to. In a few short hours, they already felt dirty and sticky.
“I’m sorry,” Marsha said sadly. “I must really stink.”
“That’s okay, sweetie,” John said. “I can’t smell any better.”
“My teeth feel fuzzy,” Marsha complained.
“Mine, too”
After a few moments of silence, Marsha spoke. “John, I really have to pee, bad.”
“Then go ahead. I’ll be okay.”
“But I don’t think I can, not like this, not with someone here.”
It was true. In all of their years of marriage, John could not recall a time when either of them had used the toilet in front of each other.
“Sweetie, it’ll be okay. I love you.”
Marsha resignedly walked her sore body the few steps to the metal bucket. For a few moments she just stared at, trying to figure out how she would fit herself over it. Then, turning her back to her husband, she gently squatted her body over the pail and after a few moments, let loose a stream of water. It echoed loudly against the metal pail, which, John felt certain, their captors had chosen just for the fact that it was so loud.
After cleaning herself with a wad of toilet paper, it was John’s turn. He moved the bucket into the corner and, standing with his back to Marsha, urinated into it. He shut his eyes, not wanting to see the pail’s contents. He dabbed the tip of his penis with a sheet of toilet paper, and threw it into the pail, then moved the receptacle by the old food bowls by the door.
In a short while, the small door opened and a man’s hand removed the bowls, glasses, and pail. After a brief time, the door opened again and the pail, now clean, was replaced.
And, with no real interruptions, this routine continued day after day. Of course, as they days passed, they felt dirtier and stickier. On the morning of the second day, which they assumed was morning because a breakfast of cold cereal in milk was served. Marsha quietly made an announcement.
“John, I’ve really got to go.”
“That’s okay, go ahead.”
“No, you don’t understand. This time I have to poop.”
Both of them knew this moment would come and had dreaded it. This was a deeply private act which would now be stripped of all dignity, not to mention its noisome aftermath.
“It’s okay. It’s not the last time we’ll have to.”
As she did last time, Marsha silently made her way over to the empty pail and moved it as far from the bed as would be possible and squatted over it. It took a while, but eventually the sounds of nature were clear in the tiny room. As she relieved herself, John heard Marsha’s body let loose a quiet sob. Soon, the smell of her waste was added to the odors of their unbrushed teeth and undeodorized armpits. It was terribly unpleasant.
Hours passed before the offensive pail was removed. The couple wished for fresh air and a hot shower, but none would be forthcoming.
Although the couple was spared further bodily torments at the hands of their captors, their captors nonetheless cruel new ways of tormenting them. If their lack of running water and proper toilet facilities were not enough, special foods were introduced to their diet to create varying degrees of gastric distress. Beans were added to induce the inevitable bloating and gas. High fiber cereals were served to keep the slop pail full. When they were feeling especially wicked, their captors would lace the food with a little castor oil. This last measure would keep the two captives taking turns on the pail until their bottoms were marked with the metal rim of the pail and the odor of their waste was overwhelming.
Their days were reduced to sitting on the mattress, waiting for the next meal to come, and trying to live with the dirt and filth of their surroundings. John, although he logically knew otherwise, was surprised that his wife could smell so bad. The sensual fragrance of Marsha’s perfume, the sweet smell of her breath, were replaced by the grungy smells of life. Sometimes each of them would sit there, stunned, unable to believe their misfortune. Whenever their complaints escalated to loud protest, their captors would tame them by threatening to withhold food or by extending their captivity.
Finally, just when they thought they would lose their minds from the endless boredom and tedium of their existence as caged naked animals, they heard the sound of key entering a lock. Judging by the cycle of three daily meals, they had languished in their cell for five days, and now the door was finally being opened. Their captors were there, Karen with her gun, Dave and his scarred face. The captors had smeared a mentholated gel under their own nostrils to mask the smell of their captives and the filthy cell.
John and Marsha were ordered to leave the room. Surprisingly, the air in the main part of the cellar which had seemed so damp and musty when they were first captured and tortured now seemed refreshing to them. The thought that they would soon leave through the cellar door into the fresh air seemed almost a miracle.
The outside air was cool and clear. Suddenly, they felt terribly naked when made to walk outside, but they could see that their captors had told them the truth: they were miles from any other human being. No one was there to witness their humiliation except their captors. This was the first John and Marsha had seen them out of their driver’s uniforms. Dave dressed simply in heavy denim pants, boots, and a light flannel shirt. Karen was dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt which greatly outlined her ample bosom.
“Welcome to the world again,” Karen mocked. “I hope you enjoyed your time away.”
“You people are monsters,” Marsha stated angrily. “Animals are treated better.”
“Yes, that’s probably true,” Karen agreed. “But right now, animals are little bit higher on the food chain than a couple of filthy, smelly lawyers. Luckily for you, though, The Company is going to be coming for you soon, so we have to make you a little more presentable. Just think of it, what you’ve dreamed of for days. Nice clean water, sweet-smelling soap. But, like anything around here, there’s a catch.”
Marsha and John had lost the will to fight and accepted Karen’s words without protest.
“No, you’re going to have to earn it. You’re going to give us a little show to repay us for our generosity,” Karen laughed. “A little sex show. You see, we like nothing more than watching a cute couple like you fuck. And with the shape you’re in, that’s going to be really nasty.”
“Please,” John protested. “We’ll do what you want. Just let us clean up first.”
“Nothing doing,” Karen replied. “Why don’t we start with a little kissing. Tongues.”
The couple approached each other, horrified at the prospect of tasting each other’s dirty mouths. The sight of Karen’s pistol motivated them and soon their mouths were locked together. The smell of several days’ morning breath made both of them gag at first, but they kept at it. The feel of each other’s naked bodies felt good, even under these circumstances. They were compelled to make out for what seemed like many minutes.
“Lick his nipples. You had better entertain us.”
Marsha lowered her head to John’s chest and kissed his nipples, which soon stiffened to tight little buds. She made circles around them with her tongue, then licked them with the flat of her tongue. To his own embarrassment, John could feel his cock stiffen while his captors looked on. He cursed his own body. Even with the filth, the gun pointed at them, and the uncertainty of their situation, he could feel the first signs of being turned on.
“Suck her tits.”
John lowered his head to Marsha’s breasts. In the sunlight, he was surprised to see that all of the bruises of the first night had faded from her pale skin. Her chest smelled strongly of sweat, but it still felt good to have her in his mouth. She was so round, so soft. He never grew tired of the way her nipples would wrinkle as his saliva dried upon them and her nipples would rise up as if begging for more attention.
“Eat her, and you better make her come. And she better not be faking it, because I’ll know.”
Marsha lay on her back on the dry grass and he lowered himself to her crotch. He had never smelled a woman who smelled so strong. Her crotch was a blend of sweat, her piss, her natural lubrication, not to mention the heady scent which drifted up from her asshole. But somehow, the smell was so animalistic that it was simultaneously repulsive and arousing. Doing his best to shut out his audience, John buried his face into her loins, licking the insides of her thighs, then running his tongue rhythmically up and down her labia, and finally thrusting his tongue in and out of her pussy as if it were a small cock.
Marsha cursed her body’s own stupidity as it grew excited as they were forced to humiliate themselves in this cruel show. As John’s tongue found a satisfying rhythm on her clitoris, she felt an orgasm begin to build as a small shudder deep within her belly. In spite of herself, her hips began to move rhythmically against his face. A moan spontaneously escaped her mouth as she came.
“Looks like she liked that way too much,” Karen laughed. “Suck his dick.”
John rolled over onto his back. Marsha gently bit his right nipple, then slowly kissed her way down to his penis. It didn’t smell good, yet something about the odor turned her on. She held it gently in her right hand and planted small kisses up and down his shaft. She could hear a small moan come from his mouth. As she carefully tugged his foreskin up and down in a steady rhythm, she used her tongue to gently explore the head of his penis. She couldn’t believe she was being forced to perform this intensely private act for her captors’ amusement, but she knew she must, for their own safety, do a good job.
Keeping up the slow and steady rhythm with her hand and the gentle licking with her tongue, John’s cock was now very stiff and red. Finally, with a grunt, he came into her open mouth.
“Very, very nice,” Karen approved. “I think The Company will be very pleased with you two. I think you fuck in front of other people like pros. You’re sure you haven’t done this before?”
“Like pros,” Dave repeated.
At long last, the soap and water were provided. But as John and Marsha suspected, there would be strings attached. First, they were made to remove their glasses. Then, under threat of the gun, the couple was suspended by heavy ropes secured to their ankles from the branch of an old tree in the back of the house. Upside down and helpless, their naked bodies were blasted with cold water from a garden hose, the shock of which made both of them scream.
Then Karen scrubbed their bodies with the combination of a rough pumice soap and a stiff-bristled bath brush. No parts of their bodies were spared this harsh scrubbing. In fact, Karen seemed to spend extra time on those parts she thought would hurt the most: the soles of their feet, their nipples, their armpits, their stomachs, and their genitals. Thick layers of grime and sweat were washed from their bodies as they screamed and groaned.
Moving down to their heads, the tops of which hung about a foot from the ground, Karen used a sweet-smelling baby shampoo to scrub each of their hair. Karen couldn’t help smiling as she looked into their upside down faces, both a deep red with the blood that rushed to their heads.
She toweled them dry, then Dave approached them menacingly with a straight razor.
“Time for your shaving,” he laughed. Marsha looked up at her legs and saw that they had sprouted a crop of light brown hair in the days since the party and their capture. Dave slathered her legs with a soothing foam then proceeded to shave her legs with the sharp razor. For all his burliness and intimidating demeanor, Dave, Marsha found, was surprisingly gentle with her as he shaved her legs and stubbly armpits. Next, John’s five-day-old beard was shaved until his cheeks were smooth to the touch. Dave was gentle with him too; there was very little blood.
Once they were released, the couple were given back their glasses and allowed a few moments to get over the dizziness of being held upside-down for many minutes. Again, Dave’s knife was displayed as an incentive to keep them from escaping, as Karen toweled their hair dry, and then brushed it. Finally, a pail of water, a couple of new toothbrushes, and toothpaste were brought over, and John and Marsha were allowed to clean their teeth and mouths by themselves. They were grateful because they had only imagined the indignities a forced tooth brushing might entail.
To dry their bodies, the captives were staked out spread-eagled on the grass in the warm sun. The sun and air felt good on their freshly cleaned bodies, but their taught limbs quickly became uncomfortable as there was no way to shift their bodies to relieve the pressure the ropes made upon their joints.
John reached out a finger and found that he could just barely touch the side of Marsha’s outstretched hand. It was just a little contact, but it felt satisfying to those whose bodies had been subject to so many torments and indignities over the past few days.
“How are you doing, John?” Marsha asked.
“I ache a little, but I think I’m okay,” he answered.
“I love you.”
“I know”
“I wish I could hold you now.”
“I’m sure you will. Soon. They can’t leave us like this forever.”
John’s thought was true. It has hard to tell how long they had been bound on the grass, but eventually they heard the sound of what sounded like a truck. First it was very far away and then it seemed to get closer and closer. This must be The Company, whatever that was, coming for them. Undoubtedly, a new group of torments and tormenters awaited them. The thought that strangers would soon see them, bound nude on the grass, filled them with dread. But it seemed like their own dignity was something from another time, another life that was ages ago.
They heard a truck park and a door slam, and then a new voice: a man’s. They were able to overhear some snippets of conversation: where is the couple…money transferred into your account by midnight…any injuries or freak outs. Karen and Dave’s demeanor changed greatly. They were subservient, and their tone respectful to this man.
Soon a new face, a woman’s, appeared over them. She looked like a rugged, outdoorsy type. Her ruddy cheeks were freckled and she wore her long hair in a ponytail. The laugh lines on her face indicated that she was in her late 30s at least. She was wearing what appeared to be a uniform: olive green pants, a short-sleeved light blue shirt, and a navy blue necktie. She smiled and looked at them almost maternally.
“How are you two doing?” she asked, as if finding two naked people staked out on the ground was the most normal thing in the world.
“Help us, please,” Marsha begged.
“Sorry, honey, but I can’t do that,” the uniformed woman replied. “It’s my job to get you to The Center. I know, sometimes these first line Abductors can be a little uncouth. This is only their second assignment, so I’d expect they’re a little rough.”
“They locked us up,” John confessed. “There was no water, no toilet. They fed us worse than dogs. And then they made us humiliate ourselves for their pleasure.”
“Sounds pretty much par for the course,” the woman replied, shaking her head. “If not a little rough. Here, I’ve got something to give you.”
She reached into a bag which hung across her shoulder and took out what seemed like two wristbands.
“These are GPS devices,” she explained. “I’m going to lock one on each of your ankles. They don’t hurt and they can’t hurt you. But if you try to get away, we’ll be able to find you very quickly. And what happens to you then,” she added, her face becoming suddenly firmer, “Is not the favorite part of my job.”
“You coming Amanda?” called a man’s voice, most likely the driver of the truck. John and Marsha looked up to see an attractive young man in his mid-20s with dirty- blond curly hair. He wore the same uniform that the woman called Amanda wore, and seemed to take no particular notice of the naked captives bound helplessly at his feet. It seemed as if he did this all the time.
“I’m just slapping the bracelets on these two, Curt,” she replied. She slid the cuffs around each of their ankles and then snapped them shut. Addressing the two captives, she said, “Now that shouldn’t be too tight. Don’t try taking them off because we’ll find out right away. You don’t want that to happen. Now, let’s untie you two.”
Amanda took a knife from her shirt pocket and cut the ropes away. Although free, it was immediately hard to move their stiff limbs.
“Now, when you’re ready, I want you to follow us to the truck,” Amanda instructed. “Please do not try running away because I’d hate to have to hurt you. There’s really no way for you to get away anyhow.”
“Can’t we please have our clothes back,” Marsha pleaded.
“No, honey,” Amanda answered. “Company policy is that all Actors are to be kept naked throughout their transport and tenure. Don’t feel embarrassed around Curt and me. We see lots of Actors all the time. And you’ll soon get used to it. Just think, no more fitting rooms or clothes that make you look too fat.”
Marsha could not immediately share Amanda’s enthusiasm.
Once they were able, John and Marsha were helped to their feet and ushered to the front of the house where are large truck was parked. Actually, the truck was a large touring bus, except all of the windows except the drivers’ were blacked out. As they walked, the captives – Actors, as they were now called -- passed the cellar door which was the original portal to their imprisonment. Looking up, they saw the faces of their captors staring at them through the windows. Don’t spend all of that money in one place, John thought. If they were like any other losers who suddenly come into a lot of money, they’d blow it fast on stupid things.
“Almost there, guys,” Amanda said, pleasantly, as if she were leading them on a tour of her garden.
A hydraulic platform, the sort used to raise and lower wheelchairs, was fastened to the back of the truck. It was lowered and John and Marsha were loaded onto it, Amanda at their side.
“Now, once we get up, I’m going to unlock the door,” Amanda instructed. “Then I want you to go in quietly without asking any questions. It’ll be a long trip to get where we’re going, so do your best to make yourself comfortable.”
As the ramp reached the door, John turned around and faced the afternoon sun. It felt warm on his face. Somehow he felt it would be the last time he would feel its rays for a while as he and his spouse began the next stage of their captivity as Actors, whatever that meant. The door was unlocked – more keys and locks – and Amanda pointed the way inside, giving each of them a warm, sisterly pat on their naked shoulders.
They stumbled in and the door quickly closed, and their eyes slowly adjusted to their surprising new surroundings.
The First Day of the Rest of Your Life three
John and Marsha could soon tell that this was no ordinary touring bus. First of all, there were no seats, making the inside look more like a long tunnel than a place for passengers. Second, the floor and walls were covered with a soft, white foam padding. Third, they were not alone.
The converted bus was filled with other naked captives. Besides a one-time, uncomfortable trip to a nude beach, neither John nor Marsha had seen so many naked people in one place at one time. And by the way many of the captives sat with their arms wrapped around their legs, or with hands cupped over breasts and genitals, it was obvious that this was a new experience for many of them, too. Some wept quietly in their shame, while others clung to each other for comfort.
Both of them were struck by the sheer variety of people making the trip with them. While a few were clearly of model quality, many were overweight, while others were thin and bony. Some were older – a man and a woman who sat together about halfway down the cabin could easily be in their early 60s – while some seemed barely out of their teens.
All the eyes of the other captives looked up at John and Marsha. Some looked with hope, thinking that opening door was delivering rescuers. Other looked in fear, wondering what tormentors would acquire them next. Once it was determined that the two new passengers were as naked and helpless as themselves, their eyes dropped sadly to the floor.
John and Marsha found a clear space a few feet from where they entered. They sat down together next to a man who sat by himself cross-legged, his hands cupping his penis as if it would somehow increase his dignity. He looked to be in his 30s. Dark hair covered his head and his chest, stomach, and legs. His broad shoulders and muscular legs gave his body the appearance of a swimmer.
“What day is it today?” he asked his new neighbors in a tired voice.
“I’m not sure,” answered John. “Let’s see, they came for us on Saturday, and I think five days have passed, which would make today Thursday, I think.”
“Three days,” the man replied.
“How?” John questioned.
“I’ve been on this fucking thing for three days,” the man said, his voice rising in anger. “Do you have any idea where we’re going?”
“I’m afraid, I don’t,” Marsha answered. “By the way, I’m Marsha Greenman and this is my husband John Hamilton.”
“I’m Roger Young,” the man replied.
“How has it been, here, on this bus?” Marsha inquired of him.
“Not too bad. I mean, they haven’t beaten us, and they feed us okay, and it isn’t too cold,” Roger Young replied. “It is a bit hard to sleep and every once in a while someone freaks out a bit. And these things,” he pointed to the GPS band on his ankle, “get a little irritating after a while.”
John and Marsha reflexively fingered their own bands, not more than a few minutes old on their bodies.
“So, how did you two get here?” Roger asked them.
Over the next minutes, John and Marsha recounted the story of their kidnapping and captivity. As Roger looked down sadly, they told how they had been beaten and then imprisoned in that miserable cell and forced to languish in their own filth for days on end.
“So, Roger,” asked Marsha. “How did you get here?”
“Well, up until a few days ago,” he
explained. “I was an English teacher. I taught in
“I was sitting in my office when I got a visit from one of my students. His name was Kent Sterling. He was the school’s lacrosse star and all of the girls had crushes on him. I admit I had a bit of a crush on him myself. He wasn’t happy. He was due to go to Yale just like every male in his family for the last gazillion generations. That is, as long as he received Cs and higher in each of his courses. He was a pretty miserable student, but very good looking and extremely wealthy, so he was used to getting his way. Unfortunately, he completely blew off his project no matter how many times I had reminded him and he flunked his final pretty badly.
“I ended up giving him a D, which was pretty generous, I thought, considering his total disregard for his work. His first tactic was pity. When that didn’t work, he slowly got angrier and angrier. He’s a big guy, over 6 feet, lean, and muscular with dirty blond hair. In other words, he was quite an intimidating figure in my office. But I wouldn’t budge. Like a baby, he said something about getting his dad involved and that I would be sorry.
“Later that night, I was sitting in
my usual spot at The Library, which was the local coffee shop. It was a small
town, and this was the only thing open past 9 on a weekday. It was good place
to read and unwind. Looking up, I saw Brett Sterling, who was
“When I woke up, I felt like a lot of time had passed. As happens in those instances, I had the feeling that I didn’t know where I was or time it was either. But as I became more and more lucid, I discovered that I really didn’t know where I was, or what time it was.
“As I got my wits about myself, I noticed that I was in what appeared to be a locker room. Looking down, I noticed that I was wearing nothing but my boxer shorts and that heavy ropes secured me to a bench. I tried to speak, but my mouth was gagged with my own necktie. As I became more aware of my situation, I wriggled and grunted, but it was no use.
“Hey
“Suddenly,
a female figure joined the group. It was Heidi Rockwell,
“Heidi was to pull my cock out of my shorts and then simulate giving me head. She seemed really squeamish about it, but Kent and his buddies promised her it would be no big deal, and that she was doing a good deed. The next thing I know, this young, blond, cheerleader type stuck her hand into the fly of my boxer shorts and carefully pulled out my prick.”
“There was
a collective gasp when they saw me. Well, and I don’t like to brag about such
things, but I’m sort of big down
there, and I think they were all surprised.
“Eventually,
after she stopped, my underwear was torn from my body and then the group of
them stared at my cock and balls with horror, shock, and a little bit of
sadistic glee.
“I was spared that burning ointment that day, but that group seemed determined to torture me somehow without compromising their manhoods. So, for the next hour or so, this group of young men struck my prick with whatever was at hand: a tennis shoe, a ping pong paddle, a baseball glove. Very quickly, I was red and sore and tears filled my eyes as they laughed. Their plan was to keep me there for several days until I was to be taken somewhere by a Company, or something like that. With school out for the summer, there was little chance that anyone would find me.”
“Over the next days, each of the guys took turns babysitting me. I could tell right away that it was important that nothing bad happened to me, so there was always someone close by. Each day, a group of them would carry me to the weight room for what they called ‘a little workout.’ They would tie my limbs to the various weight machines and add weight until it was obvious that I could simply not lift it. Then they would increase the weight a little more and then they would hold a lit cigarette lighter under whatever limb they wanted to stress. In order to avoid being burned, my muscles had to strain impossibly to lift that heavy iron.
“After the weights, they would secure my arms to a treadmill and have me walk for hours at a time, it seemed. If they seemed unhappy with my pace or enthusiasm, they’d give my cock a good whack with a leather belt. In fact, over those few days, there wasn’t many times in which my cock was being tormented in some way. When our workouts were over, I was permitted to take a shower. The water was always kept cold so my teeth chattered and my body shivered and my balls pulled tightly against my body”
“When I wasn’t actively being tormented, I was kept in some sort of bondage and gagged so I couldn’t bother my current guard. As the days went past, the guys slowly got used to being with a naked man and less concerned with their own heterosexuality and started to touch me down there. At first there were sharp slaps of the palm, but then some of them started grabbing and twisting my prick like a child might torment a pet cat’s tail. I would moan helplessly into my gag.
“Then one day one of them – a tall, dark-haired young man named Justin – was pulling and twisting and it happened. I got hard. I could see an evil look come into his eyes. He grabbed my cock and started pumping it up and down, tentatively at first, and then with greater and greater vigor. In spite of myself, I was getting turned on. He found a good rhythm and I felt myself being brought closer and closer to the edge. Tied to my back on the bench, I was still able to thrust my hips up and down. I knew I was going to come, and one of my students was doing it to me. Here I was a captive and my idiot cock still craved the pleasure this young man was delivering.”
“Then, just as I was about to come, he stopped. And smiled. He knew he completely controlled me that night and played this same game over and over. By the fourth or fifth time he brought me so close to release, I was literally crying from frustration. But he showed no signs of stopping. How could this young straight boy, I thought, be so damn good at this?”
“Then he did something quite unexpected. He stripped off his own clothes and straddled my chest. He was smooth and muscular like a Greek statue, and his own cock was just as hard as mine. He proceeded to jerk himself off until the eyes rolled back into his head and he shot a long, sticky load onto my chest. And he didn’t stop there. He was insatiable. He’d bring me to the edge of coming, then he’d rub his own prick. I think I lost count of how many times he came. My chest was a mixture of his come in various stages from wet to dry.”
“When he’d had enough, he walked off and took a long shower. And he never did bring me off, the little bastard.”
“From then on, the other team members would find ways to pleasure my cock, but never did let me come. Finally, Kent himself got the courage to do what he had wanted to in the beginning: rub my prick with that mentholated ointment. That’ll burn him down to size he announced as he did so. The relentless burning of this gel coupled with the raw, sensitive condition of my cock, was amazingly painful. Some of the others experimented with the ointment, while one got the idea to place a pile of ice cubes on my crotch. It stung so bad, it felt like nails were being driven into me.”
“By the
time this truck came to get me, I saw it almost as a relief. When that one
woman saw my cock, she almost looked like she felt sorry for me. My this time,
my prick had been rubbed raw, scratched, coated with glue, written on with a
ballpoint pen, all sorts of awful stuff. She told
At this point in his story, to demonstrate his point, Roger spread his legs apart and showed his tormented prick to his two new neighbors. Both John and Marsha had to keep from gasping. They had never seen a man so large down there before, or so obviously tormented.
“And here I am, like you,” he sad sadly.
Marsha put a hand on his naked shoulder. “But at least we’re all here together,” she added. “I think if we stick together we should be okay.”
The three captives, familiar with each other’s stories, sat close together. Food, they found out, was served three times a day from a window in the front of the bus in little cardboard trays. The food wasn’t especially tasty, but it was obviously designed for nutrition with lots of fresh, raw fruits and vegetables and grains. The soft floor was comfortable for sleeping, and the small sink and toilet at the back of the bus allowed basic personal hygiene.
One day after waking up, the captives felt the bus stop. They all stared silently in fear and anticipation. Soon, they heard the familiar sound of the hydraulic platform, then the sound of keys in a lock, and then the shocking brightness of daylight. A naked human figure was pushed in and the door quickly closed. The body fell next to John and Marsha and their neighbor, Roger.
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