Augustus Tulare: Painful paradise

No, she deeded, it was not a snooping device, as such. But she wished it would act like a decent speaker. Why didn't they play some music over it, or something? Did they want to drive her out of her mind from boredom?

She wished she had never noticed it in the first place. She wished most heartily that she had not started thinking about it now. It was just one more thing in a long list of petty little irritations that she would prefer to get out of her mind.

Like the food. Especially the evening meal!

It was always some kind of a TV dinner. Probably because that was as simple to serve without an accredited staff as anything else. And maybe they bought them in such quantity that it was also the least expense. They certainly must have loaded up on those fish dinners! She had had them several times in the past few days.

The memory of fish suddenly reminded her of the ocean-front smell that emanated from Heidi's pissy cunt when they had all begun to revive after the orgy.

She could still see the happy smile and relaxed expression on the German girl's face as they left her alone in her room. And the shocking picture of her pitifully marked body!

Oh, if I could only get out of here! Pal thought. If I could just get the police to bust in here, those two would never see the light of day as long as they lived.

She tossed around restlessly on her bed, trying to get her thoughts shifted away from the helplessness and the hopelessness of her situation.

She wondered what Paul Harshman and Jonas Stillwell did when they weren't tormenting helpless victims. After the orgy in Heidi's room, Paul had told her she had twenty minutes to use the bathroom before she was locked up for the night. Then he and Jonas had taken the elevator up in a hurry.

She lost precious time by forgetting to retrieve her treasured douche hose, and had to go back for it. Still, she had been able to sneak in the lab, fill her violated uterus with gas fumes, and flood herself thoroughly with water before she showered, without getting punished, so she must have made it in time. It was impossible to know without any clock or watch around.

Suddenly, she realized that she had left her douche hose in the bathroom, so frightened had she been that she would not be back in her room on time! If it was discovered, she might lose the use of it, and could well expect punishment for baring stolen it from the lab. Maybe they had found it the same day!

She swung her feet out over the floor and made a quick check. The current bit her a quick jolt before she could get her heel up off the studded tile. She cursed silently for a while, then got an idea she knew she had to try.

She worked and tugged at her sheets until she could loosen them sufficiently to get at the short, rubberized under-sheet that was standard protection in hospital beds. When she had managed to get it out, she examined it. The rubber was in good condition. It looked as though it might be new.

She trailed it onto the floor below the bed, then carefully stretched out a foot and pressed down on it. So far, so good, she thought, as she felt no shock.

Taking a deep breath, and mustering up all the courage she possessed, she got both feet onto the sheet, then squatted and put her weight on the end of the sheet toward the door. She reached back and pinched up the corner of the other end and inched it toward her, then held it down with one foot until she could get the opposite end flattened out.

Inching her way bit by bit, she finally reached the door and carefully opened it. Then she tested the bare spot by the door, and knew the current was off.

There was no one in the hall, so she made a dash for the bathroom, ran in and got her hose, and hurried right back to her room. In a few seconds, she had the hose stowed away in her water closet.

Then she wondered how she could get the damned rubber sheet back under the bed-sheet without standing on the floor. She certainly didn't want them to find out that she had discovered a way to outmaneuver the shocking system.

It came to her with a surprising clarity that she didn't have to reset the current. She hadn't done so before, when she first left the room. They had no reason to squint through the notch on the outer door edge to see if the switch in the frame was depressed or not. They always just came down the hall, opened her door, and left it open as they entered.

She picked up the insulating rectangle, brushed it off, and replaced it in its proper spot, then hastily remade the bed – a simple task for the fastest successful bed-maker in her nurse's training class.

When she got back on top of the covers, she felt better than she had for quite a while. A little tingle of independence had returned with her execution of the rubber-sheet caper.

She knew it was a smell thing, but it was just one more item she had in reserve that they didn't know about. The sheet, and the fact that she knew how the current-switching operated, so she could take advantage of the rubber insulation.

Now, if there was just some way she could make it pay off…

Dr. Jonas Stillwell was intoxicated.

He had not been drinking anything alcoholic. In fact, he was sipping at his second cup of coffee within a half-hour period. Sipping and thinking, as he sat at his laboratory desk on the ground floor of the Harshman Research Foundation.

He was intoxicated with his first truly genuine success in the act of sexual intercourse with a lustily responsive partner. And she was a beautiful, lusciously ripe girl, too.

After years of frustration, he had made it good. Good? Hell, he had come on like Gangbusters, Batman, and Errol Flynn all rolled together.

He knew how lucky he was that his early years of failures with females had not rendered him impotent. How many times had he got some doll all steamed up, and then when she slipped her hand over that skinny length of meat, felt it wilt in her grasp as she went into hysterical laughter over the misshapen thing?

And even the pros hadn't been able to hide their smiles. Sure, some of them had tried to cover it up fast, then goofed just as bad by letting their pity for his deformity show all over the place. Who could maintain an erection under those conditions?

He had sublimated like hell, driven himself all through those tortured academic years, suffered through the wet dreams, the lack of female companionship, and the odd looks from fellow students who figured that anyone his age who didn't date the girls had to be gay as hell.

His only release had been through masturbation or nocturnal emission, all those years. With one exception, which he didn't often let himself remember. But sometimes it crept back into his mind, when he needed something to cling to – some memory that gave him a half-assed hope of some possible solution to his unique problem.

The body had come in from County Hospital when he was on duty, and he had signed for it, filled out the tag required by university procedures, and added it to the ID tag on the corpse's foot.

It was when he had started to roll her into the vault that he did a double take over the OTHER REMARKS entry on the hospital's form. "Severely prolapsed uterus" was scrawled on the dotted line.

A long time before that day, he had wondered what it might be like if he could just get a woman to let him try to work his long, thin penis into her uterus. But even the pros were leery of that. And there had been all too few others who had let him even get the malformed thing into their cunt, much less lie still for any nonconformist monkeying around.

So he had never really had a tight fuck in his life, other than the collie bitch he had tried that time on his father's farm. And she had run away, yipping and growling before he could get it in far enough to get started.