Lee Garimond - Lesbian slave

It sure wasn't like any of those jailbreak movies. What a time to be feeling sexy! And all by herself, too, maybe she was abnormal or something. Crouched low, well-hidden but still only hopefully invisible, she recognized the symptoms with a wry grin, a grimace of disbelief. Was it because of the danger? Could one kind of excitement stir up the other? Could the nervous throbbing of her heart have set off that tiny throb between her legs? More like an itch, really, an all too familiar itch. And she didn't dare move, not even to poke a finger down there and scratch it. Awful! This was the crucial moment. Just keep your fingers crossed…

Huddled behind an empty crate, she held her breath as the small delivery truck slowed down to pass the guard stationed at the outer gate. The last guard, the last risk, the last obstacle to freedom; oh shit, if only her cunt would quit acting up! Then, miraculously, there was a noticeable surge forward, a routinely heavy foot on the gas pedal, no doubt and she could grin for real, at last able to afford the luxury of a lovely scratch. They were through the gate. She was free. Talk about luxury! Free! Wasn't that the most luxurious of all luxuries?

Better not get cocky, though. There was more to be done. But at least she was outside the wall, safe and sound, and those spinning wheels were already leaving the reformatory far behind. Her escape was an accomplished fact. All that remained now was to duck out of the rear opening of the truck without being spotted. A simple enough maneuver, especially with nightfall coming on fast. No need to hurry, let it grow nice and dark first; why not stay put until they reached the turn-off, the highway into town? And meanwhile she might as well use the time to get herself organized.

Not that there was so much to organize. A name, mainly. Any name. Any name but her real one. From the instant she went through that iron gate back there, the inmate Genevieve Eichelberger had ceased to exist. And what a relief that was an added bounty to an already bountiful day, this chance to change her dumb name. Let it be short and simple, even a bit common, all the more difficult to trace, all the more practical in her game of hide-and-seek with the law. The simpler the better, then as far as possible from Genevieve Eichelberger, ugh! easy to get used to, easy to spell, easy to sign, easy to work up some phony ID for. Something like Smith or Jones, maybe. Okay, why not settle for one of those? Smith. Jones. Mary Smith. No, that was a little too common. How about Judy Jones? Hmm. Not bad, not bad at all. Common, sure, but with a nice ring to it. Judy Jones. Kind of sweet, even. Demure. Nobody would suspect a cute little girl named Judy Jones of anything more sinful than a sneaky affair with her soapy washcloth under the shower. Such an angel…

It was enough to make her laugh out loud. But she couldn't, of course, not with the unsuspecting driver so close. The poor dummy didn't know he had company. Holding it down to a silent chuckle, she mouthed the new name over and over again. And then as though it had been hers since birth that was how she thought of herself. Maybe there had been some kid named Genevieve Eichelberger stuck behind those grim reformatory walls, but that was in the past now. Ancient history. A happy girl named Judy Jones was off and running. And that was that; so much for her name. What next?

Clothing would be a problem. She wouldn't get very far in this gray denim outfit. But at least she had something to cover up with, right here in this precious bundle a rolled-up trenchcoat, stolen hurriedly from one of the matrons. And inside it was the pair of plain leather sandals that they had let her keep and use for bedroom slippers. Not much for a young lady about to make a fresh start in life. But the breaks would come, she figured. They always did. The main thing was to recognize and take advantage of them. Be ready. Uh-huh. Ready for whatever came along. Like now, for instance. The truck had slowed down again; was it for the stop sign at the entrance to the big concrete highway? If so, this was the place to go bye-bye. She sure didn't want to venture into the nearby town of Wicklow, where an army of cops would be alerted the minute the alarm went out.

The truck creaked to a halt. Judy clutched her bundle and slithered over the tailboard, dropping out of sight to the darkness of the black roadbed. Then the wheels rolled again, onto the brighter concrete, and she was safe. Suppressing her exhilaration, she scrambled hastily down the embankment, down into the hollow created by the juncture of the road and the highway. And there, at last, sheltered by the friendly bushes and the still darkening sky, she gave vent to her long-pent-up emotion and burst into a fit of giggles.

She got it out of her system in a hurry, though. The price of freedom is vigilance. This wasn't the time to crow. Or the place, either. Up above, the traffic seemed fairly light, but there were plenty of cars whizzing by just the same; now she had to get lucky and flag a ride. But not in this damned uniform. Or any part of it. And she stripped quickly, taking everything off, since even the underwear would be a giveaway. The night air was comfortably warm and it felt good to be naked. But she couldn't stop to savor the sensation, not with so much work to do yet.

Uh-huh. Vigilance! She put the trenchcoat on. It was a trifle big, but the belt around the waist helped. She drew it tight and made a knot that was secure and yet managed to appear casual, an effect further enhanced as the leather sandals were fitted to her feet. Casual. All in all, she looked pretty good then, just a nice young kid dressed in a coat and sandals, scuffed-up but not really scruffy. Who would ever guess that she wore only her bare skin underneath?

It felt good, too. Kind of sexy. Wouldn't it be fun if she got picked up by some nice young guy who would want her body enough to sympathize with her awful plight? Enough to buy her some clothes, perhaps, after an overnight stop at a motel. She'd better not get her hopes up, though, it would probably be some ugly old geezer instead; wasn't that always the way? But what the hell, what she needed most was a ride, a nice long ride out of this danger area. And as for feeling sexy, well, that was nothing new these days. No, only the name was new, not the body, not her cunt, her itchy-drooly cunt. Get your hand out of there, Judy Jones, this is no time to be fingerfucking yourself…

The admonition set her giggling again, a little guilty now, but she sobered immediately and finished her task. Wadding the reformatory shoes and underthings inside the gray denim dress, she jammed the whole mess into a crack between rocks in the embankment. It would be discovered eventually, no doubt, washed out by the rain, most likely, but she wouldn't be around when that occurred. Anyway, she was glad to ditch the drab stuff, the last link to that poor dumb what's-her-name, the dumb bunny who had gone out hunting for thrills and wound up behind high walls and locked gates. It could never happen to a smart babe like Judy Jones. Never!

She climbed up and trotted across the highway during the first break in traffic. Then, buoyant with optimism, she scanned the oncoming flow of cars headed away from town. The direction was all she cared about, her destination was as yet undecided. Anywhere would be fine, just so long as it was miles away from Wicklow and its county reformatory. Miles away from here.

A number of vehicles went by before the right one came along. A car with a single occupant, so that witnesses to her escape might remain at the minimum just the guy behind the wheel, nobody else. And it was the right one, sure enough; she heard brakes begin to squeal the instant the driver got a peek at her raised thumb.