by Bryan Smith
Keely had a long history of indulging her vices to an excessive degree. Out in the ordinary world, that had been a big problem. She hadn’t ever been able to hold down a decent job for very long. As a result, she was arrested multiple times on various charges, mostly shoplifting or petty drug offenses. It had been a real spiral of hopelessness kind of deal. Even her baby brother—hardly an angel himself—got tired of her shit.
Casey gave lip service to trying to help her, but he blew up at her after discovering she had pawned a bunch of his shit to pay for dope, calling her a junkie whore. He kicked her out after that. That was the lowest point in her life. She gave serious consideration to killing herself. Casey had several guns and she managed to swipe one of them before getting the boot. Her original plan for the gun had been to use it to liberate money from people who had too much of it. Her secondary plan—considered only briefly—had been to shoot Casey and then take her own life. A part of her that was still tenuously connected to reality realized this wasn’t exactly fair, but killing herself and checking out of this miserable world was acceptable.
Fate intervened, however, when she crossed paths with a recruiting party from the Order of Wandering Souls. She examined their flyer and listened with mounting skepticism to the crazy-sounding pitch from one of the Order members, a bearded, scraggly-haired young man who did most of the talking that day. He spoke with a dramatic earnestness that was like nothing she had ever heard outside of church, which she hadn’t attended since childhood. He talked of a coming time of “cleansing” and how she could be among the enlightened few who would one day inherit a changed world. This didn’t impress her much. It all sounded too apocalyptically biblical for her taste. But then one of the girls invited her into the group’s van to smoke some weed, a more effective come-on by far than all that end of days stuff.
Thus began one of the wildest days of her life. The weed was the most potent she had ever sampled and the next thing she knew she was getting finger-fucked by a hippie chick. She quickly realized there were no sexual boundaries with these people. No one belonged to anyone else. You could do whatever you wanted with whomever you wanted. Their liberal attitude regarding weed and other illicit substances was the biggest selling point of all. The rest of the day passed in a blur of tangled naked bodies and nonstop partying. It wasn’t long at all before all thoughts of suicide vanished.
The next day was very different, though no less exciting. Keely was granted a personal audience with John Wayne de Rais, the leader of the Order. He liked to meet one-on-one with all new recruits to ensure they were truly suited for membership.
John Wayne was older than the rest of them by decades, but he exuded a level of charisma Keely could only compare to A-list movie stars. He was a silver-tongued charmer with a quick wit. Keely was entranced the entire time she was in his company. She wound up desperately pleading her case with tears streaming down her face. The Order of Wandering Souls was where she belonged. It would be her salvation. John Wayne smiled in a benevolent way and assured her she would have a place among his people. However, when Keely offered to seal the deal with a blowjob, he did not refuse.
She had spent the months since fervently hoping for another intimate, private encounter with John Wayne, thinking she could maybe even please him enough to earn entry into his elite inner circle. But that was never going to happen if she didn’t stop fucking up like this.
She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight. When her vision cleared, she saw a group of three people moving across the field in her direction. They were too far away to make out clearly, even with a hand held up to cut the glare of the sun, but she felt no sense of alarm. Members of the Order looked out for each other. This group had probably been dispatched to search for her when it was determined she had gone missing.
Keely resolved to seek out Susan Wagner as soon as she returned to the main part of the compound. She would apologize profusely for not doing her part when it was expected and volunteer for an extra week on laundry detail. It was only right.
The figures marching across the field became more distinct. All three were bare-chested men dressed only in dirty jeans and boots. But there was something off about their heads, which looked lumpy and misshapen from this distance. She squinted as they drew closer, trying to determine the cause of the irregularity. By the time they had closed to within twenty yards she realized they were wearing canvas hoods. This detail caused a first faint stirring of alarm. She had never seen anyone at the ranch wearing anything to obscure their identities, and there was no way to interpret the hoods as anything other than sinister.
The hooded men were coming rapidly toward her, their strides growing longer the closer they got. There was a sense of grim determination in their bearing. Keely’s heart started pounding as she got to her feet and took a few nervous backward steps. She took a quick glance around her and weighed the advisability of making a run into the nearby woods.
But there was no longer time for that. They were too close now. There was no chance of outrunning them. She cried out as two of the men roughly seized her and shoved her to her knees in front of the third man, who backhanded her across the face. The ferocity of the blow sent a shockwave of pain through Keely, but she was more disturbed by the mere fact of the blow than the force behind it. In the entire time she had lived at the compound, she had never seen an act of violence perpetrated by Order members against another member.
A possible explanation flitted through her mind and she latched on to it with desperate hope. The men of the Order respected and cherished their women and would never harm them. These men were outsiders. That would explain the hoods. It would make them harder to identify later, if she survived this encounter. She was probably about to be raped, a prospect that horrified her to the core, but that same desperate part of her thought she could endure it and survive so long as these hooded beasts truly were interlopers unconnected to the Order. The alternative was too sickening to contemplate.
This final hope was crushed as she stared up at the man looming over her and realized she knew him. He was a tall man with a big frame, muscular but with a bit of pudge around the middle. Keely would have recognized him soon enough even without the skull tattoo on his chest. The skull covered an old swastika tattoo he’d gotten in prison. A casual observer would never be able to make out the swastika. It had been obscured pretty effectively. But Keely could discern the shape of it. The big man had told her all about it one deliriously passionate night a month earlier.
Her features contorted and tears leaked from her eyes. “Garrett? I…don’t understand. Why—”
Garrett Palmer delivered another hard backhand blow, this one so savage it knocked her to the ground. “Keep your mouth shut. You’re coming with us.”
They began dragging her across the field, moving at a pace significantly faster than she could match. She slumped between the two men holding her and her bare feet slid over the rocky ground. Garrett’s last blow had sapped most of her remaining strength and it was all she could do to remain conscious as they headed for the group of cabins that acted as living quarters for most Order initiates.
Keely was mortified at the sight of all the people standing around outside when she and the hooded men arrived there several minutes later. She searched a lot of grim-looking faces and saw a mix of anger, fear and what might have been actual concern for her. No one was occupied with chores. No one was fucking, getting high or otherwise having fun. This was a serious communal moment. They were here to bear witness to her shame, possibly on instructions from John Wayne himself.
She was taken to one of the largest cabins. Keely had been inside this one on only a few occasions. It had several rooms and functioned as office space for Susan Wagner and other Order higher ups.
They’re not gonna kill me, Keely told herself. There’s no way that’s gonna happen.
But was that really true?
She started crying again as she realized she couldn’t be ce
rtain. That weird gathering outside was something new. It reminded her a little too strongly of scenes from old western movies, the ones where the condemned outlaw was marched through the center of town on the way to the gallows. Maybe something a lot like that was about to happen here. Now that she had allowed herself to entertain the appalling idea, it was easy to see how they could get away with it. This was a huge property. There was a lot of space to bury a body and be reasonably certain no one would ever find it.
The hooded men pushed her down a hallway until they reached a closed door at the end. Garrett knocked on it and said, “Ma’am? We’ve got the Miller girl.”
A voice Keely recognized responded. “Bring her in.”
Garrett opened the door and stepped into the room. The other men hauled Keely inside and one of them kicked the door shut. As with most of the cabins, there was no electricity here, hence the presence of oil lamps (currently unlit) and other low-tech throwbacks to other eras, including a metal filing cabinet and a manual typewriter. The typewriter sat atop a big desk that filled more than a quarter of the available space. Seated behind the desk was Susan Wagner, whose stern and unforgiving expression triggered Keely’s tears again.
“Susan, please, I know I’ve been fucking up a lot, and I’m really sorry, but I swear—”
“Silence her.”
A big fist slammed into the small of Keely’s back, driving her to her knees in front of the desk. The pain this time was worse than that inflicted by any of Garrett’s backhanded blows. It felt like she had been hit with a bowling ball. Another blow like that might cripple her, an insight that effectively overwhelmed the need to apologize or explain herself. She wasn’t saying anything else until she had Susan Wagner’s express permission.
Susan glanced at the men standing behind Keely. “Leave us.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When the men were gone, Susan smiled. “Stand up.”
Keely grimaced as she got slowly to her feet, and as she did so, she forced herself to face a fact her mind had thus far refused to look at head-on. She was being tortured. What was happening here went far beyond the bounds of normal Order discipline. It was also worlds removed from John Wayne’s glorious message of enlightenment.
Susan smiled. “Remove your clothes.”
Keely frowned. “What?”
Susan slapped a hand against the desk’s surface, making her jump. “Remove your clothes. Don’t make me tell you again.”
It was the last thing Keely wanted to do. Hadn’t she been humiliated enough already? But there was no one around to intervene. No one to whom she could plead for mercy. There was no choice at all here, save for perfect obedience.
She removed her dress, then her undergarments.
Susan smiled. “Now bend over and grip the edge of the desk.”
Keely winced at the thought of what this would do to her aching back, but again she obeyed. The only thing to do at this point was to endure whatever extra level of humiliation Susan had in mind with as much stoicism as possible, then once it was over, maybe start reassessing her commitment to the Order.
Susan stared at her for a long moment without speaking. There was a curiously avid cast to her features and Keely belatedly realized the woman’s gaze was trained on her hanging breasts. Then she looked Keely in the eye and smiled. “Tell me, child…have you ever been caned?”
Keely sighed. “Please don’t do that. It’s not right.”
Susan shook her head in a reproachful way. “Nonsense. You’re only getting what your behavior warrants.”
She pushed her chair back and stood. Susan was a slender woman somewhere in her forties. Her hair was a dark shade of blonde. It was tied back in a loose knot. She wore a white blouse and tan shorts.
Keely’s hands were shaking and she feared she might lose her grip on the desk. “Please. I know I haven’t been doing my part, but I don’t deserve this.”
Susan grunted. “Oh, but you do, Keely. More importantly, I deserve it.”
Keely frowned.
What an odd thing to say…
In a corner of the room was a wooden stand containing a number of rattan canes of varying lengths and thicknesses. Susan approached the stand, smiled as she glanced over her shoulder at Keely and selected one of the longer, thicker canes. She then moved out of Keely’s field of vision and took up a position behind her.
Susan chuckled. “Brace yourself, girl.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
The words just came out. There was no forethought to the suddenly blurted accusation. Keely silently cursed her stupidity. No way could it do anything other than make things worse.
“You’re being impertinent.”
Keely sniffled. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re right, though. I’m enjoying this very much.”
Keely flinched as she felt the tapered end of the cane touch her quivering buttocks. “Please. Please.”
“Do keep saying that word. It sounds so sweet on your lips.”
The end of the cane came away from her buttocks as Susan drew it back to deliver the first blow. Keely flinched as it come whickering through the air at her. When it snapped against her bare flesh, the pain made her weak in the knees.
“Do not fall.”
The cane whickered through the air again.
SNAP!
“You’ve earned yourself an extra week of laundry detail, Keely.”
SNAP!
“After that you will join a recruiting party daily until you personally have brought ten new initiates into the fold. And you can forget about trying to escape. You will be monitored closely from here on out.”
SNAP!
“Do you understand?”
Keely whimpered. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Susan made a soft sound of amusement. “And I’m pleased to hear the appropriate subservience in your tone.”
Keely gasped as she felt the end of the cane slide between her legs and stay there. Susan didn’t penetrate her with the cane, but she did press it firmly against her pussy. Several moments passed and nothing happened. Keely didn’t know what to make of this development. But by now the once absurd notion of a sexual assault by a sister Order member shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did anyway. It was just another in a growing series of dashed illusions.
Susan let out a shuddery breath and withdrew the cane.
“You’re very pretty, Keely.”
Keely worked to keep her voice steady. “I know.”
Susan made a contemplative sound. “I could possibly be persuaded to end this unpleasant phase of your punishment in exchange for other considerations.”
Another long silence ensued. When it became clear Susan wouldn’t speak again until Keely said something, she stood and forced a smile as she turned to look at Susan. “I’ll do anything you want.”
Susan handed her the cane. “Hold that.”
Keely accepted the cane with open-mouthed astonishment, but she said nothing. Her mouth stayed open as she watched Susan unbutton her shorts and wiggle out of them.
Susan took up the very position Keely had abandoned. With her bare ass thrust up in the air, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “Cane me.”
Keely shook her head. Not because she didn’t wish to do as instructed—she was more than willing to cane the living shit out of Susan Wagner—but because of all the bizarre, unpredictable twists this day had taken, this was by far the strangest.
Susan’s voice emerged as a strangled whine when she spoke next. “Cane me, Keely. Please.”
Keely got a good grip on the cane and drew her arm back. Then she swung it forward with every ounce of strength she could muster.
SNAP!
And then she did it again. And again.
It went on that way for a while before things progressed in a direction Keely didn’t find surprising at all.
Chapter Eight
A Song of Lana
The time between the end of her phone call with Ted Wil
kinson and his arrival at her door were the tensest, most uncertain moments of Lana’s life. She spent nearly every second of those twenty-some minutes second-guessing the advisability of contacting him. He was still a stranger to her, just some big-talking blowhard who had tried a little too hard to impress her. Blurting out a double homicide confession to the man over the phone had maybe not been the smartest thing she had ever done.
But taking the lives of your cheating boyfriend and his whore lover had a way of traumatizing the common sense out of you. The insult done to her pride could not have passed unpunished. But now she was wishing she hadn’t acted so rashly. This was too big a thing she had done. Despite Ted’s assurances to the contrary, there was no way he could make this all go away. There were two bullet-riddled bodies and a blood-soaked mattress in her bedroom. And Alice had bled all over the carpet. Also, there were bits of Blaine’s brain on the wall behind the headboard. The whole room was your basic DNA evidence extravaganza, a crime scene investigator’s fucking wet dream.
And then there was the goddamn baby.
Yep.
She had to face it. Big Ted had just been humoring her. He probably called the police the moment their conversation ended. The likelihood of this was something she couldn’t deny. It was what any remotely sane person would do. Any moment now she would hear the first rising whine of sirens. And at that point she would have a big decision to make. She could either surrender quietly or take her own life before they could take her into custody. The gun still had some rounds in it. She could put the barrel in her mouth and squeeze the trigger. Just be done with it all. Though she had never previously been suicidal, the prospect of a life in prison was unacceptable.