Piper's Price

by D. A. Maddox

  “But you are naked from the waist down,” Reyes-Garcia finished for her, “in front of an open-eyed virgin buck who cannot see. How frustrating it must be for him. You are quite lovely.”

  She giggled. “Thanks. Um … so, I mean, uh … are we sure this is okay? Is it legal, even?”

  “It is,” said Reyes-Garcia. “Please, enjoy yourself to the fullest possible extent. Robbie, this lady has brought you one step closer to absolution. Be a good man toy and thank your young mistress for flogging you.”

  “Thank you for flogging me, mistress.”

  He heard the shifting of the stool at the table’s edge. He felt her come onto the table, crawling on all fours as he had. Her long hair brushed along his legs—then her bare legs against his waist—as she hovered over him. She leaned in over his ear, easing his head to the side and brushing his hair from it.

  “I’m going to sit on your face, Robbie,” she said. “You’re going to eat me out for five minutes, okay?”

  Oh, Jesus, Robbie thought, his swear filter shattered in an instant. You want me to … lick your…

  “It is called cunnilingus,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia supplied as the young woman twirled his hair in her fingers. “Not so different from when Mrs. Merriweather performed fellatio on you. With your tongue, you will explore this woman’s vagina for a count of three hundred seconds. Any stoppage will reset the clock. If she squirts before the time expires, you get an early reprieve.”

  She slid her hips over his belly, north of his groin but south of his chest. He could feel her nether lips against his flesh. His penis—

  God, it hurts.

  “Your lack of experience is not to be held against you, Robbie, but this is not rocket science. More of a quest, really. Travel far and wide, but seek most especially the clitoris. You will find a hardened nub at the top of her vaginal folds. Return to it often, and you will make our guest a happy customer.”

  Gently, she sat up on him. She slid her body farther along until her knees were on his shoulders. She straightened herself up and spread her legs. She leaned forward, and now Robbie could smell it … could feel her pubic hair against his chin. It was right in front of him.

  Her lower lips made contact with his mouth. “Kiss it,” she said. “Now. That’s an order.”

  Tentatively, Robbie kissed it, vacant eyes staring at nothing.

  She giggled, apparently still nervous. “Oh, my gosh,” she said. Then she gasped, because Robbie opened wide and—trying not to think too much about it—went to work massaging her with his tongue. Up and down he went at first, utterly clueless, but it was less than a minute before trial and error helped him find the clitoris. She confirmed it by pressing into him, knees at either side of his head now.

  “Mind his nose,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia advised from the sideline. “Boy needs to breathe. We do not have the death penalty for peeping Toms.”

  Soon, indeed, it was all he had to breathe with, and every inhalation invited wisps of her pubic thatch to tickle the insides of his nostrils. By the second minute, she was juicing. Robbie could taste her. His lower face was soaked.

  I need her to touch me, he thought, but he never stopped working. I need to beat off so bad.

  He focused on his work. He couldn’t stop. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up, so it was best not to accidentally reset the timer. He kept at it, kept at it.

  Her breath quickened. She started to make little mewling noises. Her pussy got hotter, wetter…

  Then—a buzzer.

  Robbie felt her fist slam down next to his head. “Damn it!” she yelled.

  He almost laughed.

  “Feel free to shower off,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said to her. Then, calling to the door, “Next!”

  You just ate out your first real, live woman, Robbie thought. And she wanted more.

  His entire frame swelled with an emotion he had nearly forgotten existed for him. For the first time in more than two weeks, Robbie was proud of himself. He smiled like an idiot and didn’t care.

  Would have been nice to see her, though. He listened to her take off her upper garments, just feet away from him. He heard the water come on. Heard her lathering herself. Imagined she was soaping herself where his tongue had been.

  These distractions, however, were short-lived. They died when the second woman spoke.

  “How about a paper towel, Officer? Your fucking man-whore is a mess. I don’t want to sit on another girl’s cunt spray.”

  An actual towel, not a paper one, shortly followed. Nurse Reyes-Garcia cleaned his face and stepped back from him.

  “Say it, Robbie. I should not need to tell you this every time.”

  “Thank you for flogging me, mistress.”

  The young lady Robbie knew only as “Slut” then straddled him without preamble. “I’ve been waiting for this, convict,” she said. “Make it good.”

  ****

  He did make it good—or he thought he did, even though Nurse Reyes-Garcia had to reset the timer once. He had done his best, no differently than he had the first time, but it was amazing how quickly a guy could wear out his own tongue. Nevertheless, the subject of his attentions had responded quite favorably, aggressive as she was, and even gave him a conciliatory pat on the cheek at the conclusion of his service.

  He had a respite after that. His Matron came to him with a fresh towel. “You should see your face,” she said.

  Yes, Robbie thought. I definitely should.

  “You are like a glazed donut.”

  He chuckled as she mopped him up.

  “It was a very solid debut for you. You are a natural, with room still to learn. Of course, it was to your benefit that this was a new experience for them, just as it was for you. You would have to do better to satisfy a woman of more experience, I think. We all improve with practice.”

  Sure, he thought. Thanks for the tip. I’ll get right on that.

  He was tired. His penis was at half-staff. There was a dull ache in his balls. Even though he was still blind, he looked down on himself, hopefully indicating the source of his discomfort with his unseeing eyes.

  But if Nurse Reyes-Garcia noticed it, she didn’t address it. “You need to finish your morning’s service,” she said. “After that, we will get you all cleaned up. Your volunteers are already changing for that purpose—all but one of them.”

  One, Robbie thought. I can get through one more.

  They’re going to freakin’ wash me?

  The opening of the door a third time interrupted his contemplations. He wondered which one it would be. Among the volunteer tormentors, he knew who he wanted it to be, but he didn’t expect her. The kind one had, seemingly, been repulsed by Robbie’s punishment. She had bid on it at auction—high enough to have won—but seeing it in the flesh, happening to a real human being, had killed whatever fantasy she’d been entertaining when she’d laid her money down.

  It wouldn’t be her. She was too good, too decent.

  Whoever it was, she was at his side now, still standing. He didn’t need to be reminded this time.

  “Thank you for flogging me, mistress.”

  Like the first, she leaned in toward his ear. “You’re welcome,” she said. Then she took his hand, entwined her fingers in his, and whispered—too low for the video to have a chance at picking it up, “Do you mind? Is it okay?”

  It was her. And—and she was asking his permission. If Nurse Reyes-Garcia had been able to hear that…

  Quickly, eagerly, he nodded. Whatever you want, he wished he could say. For you, anything.

  She climbed onto the table. Robbie heard her do it, felt the inadvertent brushes that came with her positioning herself, just as he had heard before. Only … she was doing it wrong.

  She was facing the other way.

  Um … this isn’t how it works, he thought, even as his penis came to life again.

  But it was. It just wasn’t the same as the other two. Her hips were still over his face, and she gently lowered them until her
mound was within tongue’s reach. Meanwhile, her hand slid down his cock from the head to the base. Her tongue followed, before Robbie had even started on her. Perhaps, having no experience herself, it simply didn’t occur to her to put it in her mouth, or maybe she wasn’t ready for that just yet. But she licked him, up and down, crooning softly as he licked her in return.

  Had she put it all the way in, Robbie would have been done in seconds. Instead, he lasted a minute and a half—but he didn’t stop on his end. His tongue kept working her clitoris before, during, and after his orgasm.

  The young, kindhearted woman, whoever she was, finished at the four-minute mark, unleashing her pleasure in a slow, rapturous gush that would have blinded Robbie, had he been able to see, and letting herself go with an ecstatic shriek that was decidedly unladylike.

  Nurse Reyes-Garcia never interfered. She didn’t say a word. And only when it was over did Officer Kersey—who’d apparently remained in the room the whole time—chime in:

  “Wow,” she said, “that wasn’t on the schedule.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Transitions

  Channel 66 filled the transitions with commentary, highlight reels, and talking heads. Senator Worthington had been a regular since yesterday, eager to reiterate her continuing opposition to the program—and inviting Senator McNeal to come out of hiding and express his views on the subject, now that his son was a featured player in it. But there had been plenty of others as well, including the rest of the ladies from the sham art class. Their own courtroom correspondent, Jody Crop, had flashed her canvas to the camera: a stick figure, complete with perfect circle for a head (colored in red) and a better-than-average sized stick penis pointing out and up from the torso at a seventy-five-degree angle. That had gotten a hearty in-studio guffaw from the anchors.

  As a lighthearted and unabashedly lewd bit of cable programming, these two individuals went by stage names, and they wore masquerade masks to conceal their true identities. Buck Horndog was the lead anchor on the rare occasions when the punishment subject was female, but the real face of Consequences, Live! was Gloria Wholesome. She’d been the Master of Ceremonies for every male convict featured on the show from its first episode, two years ago, and the subscribers adored her.

  Today, her mask was a simple felt set of racoon eyes with glittering red sequins, matching her lipstick. She had most of her hair tied back in elegant forget-me-nots, with thin, twin blonde braids trailing over her shoulders. She wanted to be her uncomplicated, elegant best for her next interview. The audience was going to be huge for this part.

  The lead-in for the victim interview segment was bright and cheerful. It began with a montage of Robbie growing up in luxury and under the limelight, cut-in with “comparison” clips of the young women he’d tried to spy upon: Jasmine as a child, playing stickball in the city streets; Heather at age fifteen working at her high school’s smoothie stand, Madison emailing work applications from her dorm room on campus…

  Most of it had been manufactured over the past couple days. The young women hadn’t had shit in the way of personal archives. Consequence’s production crew had had to secretly recruit younger lookalike actresses for most of it and then apply some post-production CGI.

  The running shots, however—including the rather poignant one of Madison sprinting away from her friends—were brand spanking new, taken secretly from surveillance cams, and completely legit. From there the montage went to the courtroom. It wasn’t until Robbie was led, in cuffs with his head bowed, away from his overbearing mother and his sheltered life that the chipper, celebratory Yackety Sax theme music overdubbed the action. It played on repeat over the highlight reel of Robbie’s various punishments, closeups of his privates and his shamefaced tears—that Kersey woman wasn’t a bad camera tech, for a cop—and also over the endearing and hilarious clips of the girls training on the animatronic dummy in their volunteer quarters. These were quick non-spoilers, consisting mostly of their wide, surprised eyes and a few shots of their tentative hands, reaching out…

  They edited out Madison’s confession that she had seen real male genitalia before, even though it had only been in pictures. Such an admission would not play positive for their subscription clientele. And all three had received coaching for the interview itself.

  As for the punishment replays, those were essential. So much of Robbie’s discipline was happening out of prime time, and neither Gloria nor the producers had been able to change that. Scheduling had been based on Robbie’s psychological profile, not on ratings potential. Getting him out of bed this morning and plunging him right into it was thought to be more effective a punishment than allowing him all day to emotionally ready himself. So much of the viewing audience was only seeing it for the first time right now—and even more would be enjoying it on the final, complete replay later tonight, before the footage disappeared forever in the secured archives.

  Better than nothing, Gloria thought. The ratings had been terrific anyway. Record-breaking, in fact. Thank you, Mr. McNeal. And, oh, if you only knew what we have in store for you at noon, once you’re good and hosed down.

  He’d be allowed some off-air recovery time after that. They’d offer him counseling again. And tomorrow, he’d have plenty of time to prep—if he could. Prison staff would let him know beforehand. He’d have all day to think about what they’d do to him, and they’d run the event live at 9 PM Eastern, like a presidential address.

  The lead-in was almost over. “Buck”—she hated the stupid stage names, and the stupid masks—was straightening his tie. On the switch to live feed, the anonymous volunteer with the heart of gold had climbed off of Robbie and was retreating out of frame to change. The studio would be on-screen in fifteen seconds. Gloria motioned over the new interviewees.

  Two of the three eighteen-year-olds had looked decidedly apprehensive backstage. They still did, albeit less so, as the camera followed them in-studio. And well they might, Gloria supposed, showing themselves on TV looking like the modern day BDSM Valkyrie brigade. To say that the police shorts were short didn’t really do their brevity justice, and the vest-gauntlet ensemble looked like something out of a twentieth century fetish film.

  Gloria stood to meet them, hugging each in turn, giving a quick and friendly peck on the cheek before showing them to their chairs.

  “Welcome,” she said, sitting opposite, all four in profile for the cameras with Madison at the center. She said their names from memory, pointing them out for the audience. “Heather, Madison, and Jasmine, right?”

  A quiet, “Just Maddy, please,” began the interview on the perfect note.

  ****

  “Oh, I can’t wait,” Jasmine was saying, blue eyes sparkling. “It’s the perfect reversal, you know? That creep wanted an eyeful out of me, so he can just see what that feels like. Teach him a lesson. It’s justice. Serves him right.”

  Canned applause. There wasn’t actually an audience.

  Maddy could not believe the opulence of the studio. She tried to focus on Gloria, as she’d been told, but she couldn’t help but take in the red drapes and carpeting, the tiered floor, the wall-length studio window that looked out over the prison yard and the city beyond. Had it not been for that view, it would have been easy to forget she was still in the prison—even just the protective wing—sitting in a leatherback chair on its uppermost story. Talking to a TV anchorwoman in a miniskirt and a freakin’ mask.

  “Jas kinda had to talk me into it,” Heather admitted with a shy tilt of her head. She held out her arms in a show of surrender. “God, just look at me. I mean, I know it’s right. It’s the law, and my folks say Robbie’s getting off easy. But I don’t think I could be doing this if it was just me.”

  “Solidarity,” Jasmine said, and they leaned over and fist-bumped over Maddy’s chest.

  She added her own fist a second and a half later. Out past the parking lot, there was a crowd of people, hundreds strong. Some of them were holding signs Maddy couldn’t read. They shout
ed things she couldn’t hear through the glass. If they were so goddamned excited about this, how come they weren’t at home watching the goddamned thing?

  Then she saw the outdoor projection screen—and herself on it.

  “Your parents,” the anchorwoman called Gloria pressed, ever so gently. “What did they have to say about all of this?”

  “They said it would be good for me,” Heather said, reciting the same lines she had told Maddy, which she wasn’t sure if she believed. “I’m … not really very outgoing. Said it would be healthy for me to take charge for once.”

  I’ve seen you take charge, Maddy thought. You’re fine.

  “My mom couldn’t be happier,” Jasmine chirped. “Set my dad straight about it as soon as I was invited. Scrounged up subscription money the same day. She’s watching right now for sure. Hi, Mom!”

  Canned studio laughter.

  “And what about you?” Gloria asked, engaging Maddy directly.

  “Well,” she said, taking a breath, “I’m in, I guess, but I can’t help having mixed feelings about it.”

  “I know,” Gloria said, wisely. “I saw you talking to Robbie yesterday. Everyone did. You were very mature and grown up about everything, in my opinion.”

  Again with the dubbed-in applause.

  “I … I just want to be sure he’ll be okay at the end of it all. He deserves to be punished—to learn his lesson, like Jas said—but, hasn’t he already? I mean, don’t misunderstand me. I don’t know what he’s been through so far—”

  “You think it’s too much,” Gloria prompted, her features alight with mild surprise. Maddy had gone off-script. “More than he deserves?”

  “It’s a concern,” Maddy said. “Yeah.”

  “Maddy, listen,” Gloria said, the words dripping from her in sultry consolation, “if the punishment were only equal to the crime, the crime would be worth the risk, wouldn’t it? To some, it would be no deterrent at all.”

  Maddy didn’t answer. It was a fair point.