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Caged Sisters by Paul Moore, Bdsm Ebook ordering Copyrighted © 2004, all rights reserved.

COLD CHILLS by Paul Moore D/s F/f
Angela finds herself not just under arrest but locked deep beneath the police station in Sub-level B, where a nightmarish incarceration has only just begun
    

The county building was about twenty years old, built of reinforced concrete and faced with brick. The county offices, where Angela had been an employee only yesterday, were upstairs. The Sheriff’s office, courtrooms, and jail were in the basement. In the month that she worked there, Angela had never had a reason to visit the lower level.

 Her captors hustled her through the glassed foyer and past the reception area. The officer on duty looked up as they went by but quickly busied himself with the paperwork before him. Angela felt her stomach tighten. She had been anticipating the dreary bureaucratic business of a typical arrest. They should have checked in at the main desk and filled out forms before taking her into an office to be fingerprinted and photographed. Instead, the receiving officer was pointedly ignoring them, as though he wished to avoid bearing witness.

 She nodded toward the pay phones in the corner. “I would like to make a phone call.”

She didn’t know who she would call, probably the first lawyer that she could find in the yellow pages who didn’t have a local address. The tightened grip on her elbows told her that she wouldn’t have to make that choice.

They took her down a long corridor and unlocked a barred door leading to the jail area. The walls were painted pea green, the bars a darker shade. Florescent lights reflected off of the cold tile floor. Some of the cells were occupied.  In one, a young man hugged his knees on the floor and stared silently. In another, a drunk murmured endearments in his sleep.  There was no other sound but the squeak of the officers’ rubber soled shoes and the clink of her shackles as they marched her past the cells to an elevator. There was a sign on the elevator door that said “Authorized Personnel Only”. They paused there while the Sergeant entered a pin number into a control panel and the doors slid open. They took her inside, and she was surprised when she felt the elevator descend.

“I thought the police station was on the ground floor,” she said.

“It is,” said the Sarge, “but the place has two sub-levels.”  He seemed almost jovial.

“He feels secure now!” she thought.  “I’m safely out of sight.”

“Level A is for utilities, furnace, pumps, water heaters, things like that.”

She swallowed hard, not wanting to hear more, but needing to know. “And Level B?”

The elevator shuddered to a stop. “This is where we keep the special prisoners.”

A female cop was standing in front of the elevator doors as they opened. The short sleeves of her brown shirt revealed thick corded arms that were folded above her ample breasts. Her hair was cropped close, military style, and her features were strong and nearly beautiful. The visor of her cap cast a deep shadow in the harsh, overhead light, almost hiding her glittering eyes. Angela read the embossed name tag above her badge. Steuben

“Evenin’, Captain,” the Sergeant murmured. Angela sensed that he was afraid of the woman, and he hated her for it.

Captain Steuben nodded briefly to the officers, but her eyes never left their prisoner. “Hello, Angela,” she grinned. “Welcome to hell.”

The walls were unpainted concrete. The bolts that held the forms together when the concrete was poured had been sheared off afterward, leaving raw steel exposed. Dampness had rusted the bolt ends and the spots bled like bullet wounds.  Bare bulbs burned in wire cages overhead. Water pipes and conduits crawled up the walls. A girl could be heard sobbing hopelessly, the sound drawing nearer as Angela was dragged past a line of cells.

The sobbing ceased abruptly.  Angela looked to her left and saw a pretty girl huddled on a mattress on the cell floor. She was hugging her knees and staring fearfully with red rimmed eyes at the passing guards. Her cheeks were wet with tears. It was too dark in the cell for Angela to be sure, but she thought the girl was naked.

“Face front!” barked Steuben. Angela turned away.

Farther down the line of cells, a girl rushed forward and rattled the bars at them. “Please! Give me something to eat! I’m starving in here!”

Steuben rapped the bars with her nightstick, catching a knuckle and causing the girl to retreat with a cry. Angela risked a quick sidelong glance in time to see the flash of a bare, bruised flank.

“Stop whining!” said Steuben. “You got another ten pounds to lose.”

“They are naked and abused too.” Angela felt her bladder threatening to let go.

“Scared, Honey?” Steuben asked Angela solicitously. “You should be.”

The room they hauled her into was stark. The concrete had been enameled a light gray long ago. The paint was chipped and mildewed now. A heavy length of steel cable dangled over a rusted drain in the center of the room. The floor around it was darkly stained. They slammed the iron clad door with a boom and pushed her into the middle of the room where she staggered and nearly fell. Captain Steuben took a step forward and put out her hand. “Key,” she said.

The Sergeant fished out his handcuff keys and gave them to her.  Bending, she opened one of the shackles on Angela’s ankles. Then turned Angela roughly and unlocked one of her manacles. Stepping back against the wall, she commanded, “Strip.”

Angela rubbed her free wrist and flexed the stiffness from her shoulders. It was time to find out whether or not she still had any power remaining in this situation. An hour earlier, she had been asleep, facing nothing worse than unemployment. She was finding it hard to believe that this could be anything more than a cruel bluff. She squared her shoulders and shook back her hair.

“I won’t do anything to cooperate until I talk to my lawyer.” She hissed through clenched teeth.

Captain Steuben tittered, and the officers joined her laughter as though they feared to do otherwise.

“I like this one!” said Captain Steuben merrily. “She is going to be lots of fun!”

 “What is your lawyer’s name?” she grinned sweetly at Angela. “We will be happy to call him for you.” Her bared teeth told Angela that she didn’t expect to be believed and didn’t care.

“I would prefer to speak to him myself.”

Steuben lit a cigarette. She wasn’t smiling anymore as leaned forward to blow smoke into Angela’s face. “I don’t think you have a lawyer, Angela. You’re broke for one thing, recently unemployed, I hear. You just got into town. You haven’t really had much time to shop around for such a luxury, have you?  Maybe you have an old family attorney?” Steuben pursed her thin lips around the cigarette and shook her head, mocking regret.  She blew smoke around her words. “No, I’m afraid not. Your folks never even wrote a proper will.”

 Her face became suddenly hard. “I don’t like lies, Angela. Girls down here learn to tell the truth. Be a good girl now, stop stalling and show us the goodies.”

Angela was terrified.  The trace of doubt that might have fed her hope no longer remained. This woman knew too much about her. This set up was more than Rawling’s vengeful whim, which might have been hastily planned and quickly exposed. These people were well organized and systematic. They had taken the time to investigate her and evaluate their chances of success before risking abduction. She had to concede that their chances seemed pretty good.

Hot tears welled in her eyes. “Go to hell!”

Steuben made a little gesture with one hand and the two cops stepped forward. Angela backed away, tripping over the dangling leg shackle as they seized her arms. Her hands were joined again and raised to the hook overhead. She had to stand on her toes to keep the cuffs from digging into her already chafed wrists. Her leg shackles were linked again as well.

“Now we have to do it the hard way,” Steuben sighed as she threw her cigarette on the floor and crushed it under her boot.

Angela’s terrified eyes scanned the room. It was perhaps twenty feet square and equipped, rather than furnished. A thick coil of garden hose had been connected to a spigot and hung from one wall. Steel carts were laden with gleaming instruments she had only seen in her gynecologist’s office and other devices that might be charitably described as marital aids- dildos, anal plugs, and nipple clips. On the wall behind the carts. an array of leather straps, paddles, whips, and canes dangled from hooks. Glass fronted cabinets were filled with bottles and jars. A large mirror had been built into one wall. It had the smoky appearance of one way glass. Angela looked quickly away from her own reflection realizing that, even now, anonymous observers might be behind that window.

On the other side of the room was a sort of trestle constructed of iron pipe. A spotlight had been aimed at the trestle from above, bathing it in harsh illumination. It looked like some sort of gym equipment, but the eyebolts welded to the piping and the padded bolsters at the ends suggested a more cruel purpose. Chairs and coffee tables were arranged about the trestle as though for the comfort of spectators. There was a wet bar in one corner of the room and a bare mattress in another. Flush rings had been set into the concrete in various places around the room. The cable she dangled from ran through a pulley on the ceiling and back down to a winch. Beside the door was a cart holding a television monitor and a VCR. The television was on, and Angela saw herself on the screen, squirming on her tether like a hooked worm. Looking up, she saw a camera mounted on the ceiling staring down at her.

“I think that Angela and I will be fine now,” said Captain Steuben. “You two may return to duty.” She studied Angela a moment before going to the winch and cranking the already taut victim up another inch.

“We’ve got time,” said the Sergeant, licking his lips.

She wheeled abruptly and seemed ready to rebuke him, but smiled instead. “Run along,” she said. “You will have plenty of time with her after the VIPs are through.”

The Sergeant turned reluctantly toward the door but paused to send Angela a parting shot over his shoulder. “I’ll be seeing your ass later, darlin’.”

 The door boomed shut behind them and Steuben slammed the huge barrel bolt to lock herself in. When she turned back toward Angela, she was opening a pocketknife. “Let’s see about making you a little less comfortable, shall we?”

She waved the knife under Angela’s nose like a hypnotist’s bauble. It was a small, serrated blade, designed for cutting seat belts away from accident victims. Angela closed her eyes and turned her head away. Behind that threatening blade, she had seen the gleam in those cold gray eyes. They were the eyes of a sociopath, a woman who saw Angela not as a human being, but as only an interesting toy to be played with. This was someone who could cut her for fun.

“You’re trembling, prettypretty,” Steuben cooed, running a hand over Angela’s hair and down her throat. “Don’t let fear spoil the mood. You and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”

The hand drifted down to cup a breast. “Nice!” said Captain Steuben, “not too big but nice and firm. Are your nipples sensitive?” She took a nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinched. Angela pursed her lips determined not to display any reaction at all, but sharp nails digging into the sensitive tip made her gasp.

“I thought so,” breathed Steuben. “We will be playing with these often in the days to come.” Her fingers came away from Angela’s nipple with a fold of cloth still trapped between them, stretching the thin fabric. She drew the blade across it and the knit material split.

“That’s better.”

When she released the cloth, Angela’s breast was exposed. Captain Steuben repeated the process on the other side. “I’m afraid that your tee shirt is ruined,” she whispered, taking a bare nipple between her teeth and biting until Angela whimpered.

Briskly, she hacked away the short sleeves and slashed the stitched facing below Angela’s throat.

 “We might as well get rid of it.” She held the blade between her teeth as she grasped the shirt with both fists. Angela yelped as the ruined shirt was wrenched away.

 “I’m glad that you refused my order to strip.” Steuben’s breath was rasping out of her as she tossed the rags aside. “It’s so much more fun to attend to it myself, and I always enjoy delivering punishments more when they have been earned.”

Captain Steuben worked more swiftly now, driven by a hunger to see her captive’s delicate flesh. The knife tickled its way up Angela’s legs. Steuben pinched a fold of cloth away from Angela’s crotch and punched the point of the knife through, then drew the blade slowly down. Angela stiffened as she felt the cold point glide along her thigh, exposing a widening rift of pink skin.

“Don’t move a muscle,” Steuben advised. The obvious sharpness of the weapon was terrifying. Angela whimpered and held very still.

When one leg was split, Steuben slashed the other until the both sides were rent to the already open zipper.

“Ta Da!” Steuben sang as she snatched away the jeans like a magician cape. Angela was spun momentarily off balance and felt the cuffs bite into her wrists for long seconds before she was able to get her feet under her again.

“You have no right!” she wailed angrily.

A hand tight in her hair brought Angela’s head up gasping. She found herself staring up into Steuben’s mad eyes.

“You have it wrong, Angel baby. You are the one without the rights here.” Those terrible eyes held her captive as a rough hand explored under her panties and Steuben’s open mouth closed over hers.

Angela was stunned by the sudden invasion. The tongue probing her mouth, the fingers questing among her soft folds and finding her unaccountably wet. She trembled against her tormentor, suddenly confused by chaotic emotions. “Please,” she whimpered, “leave me something!”

“Like self respect?” Captain Steuben snorted. “You will be begging for a taste of my pussy before the week is over.”

Steuben stepped back and wiped her damp hand on Angela’s thigh contemptuously as she chuckled. “Since you’re such a shy little thing, I’ll let you keep your panties for now.” She released Angela’s hair with a final downward twist, forcing her head into bow of obeisance. “I promised not to put any marks on you yet, but that doesn’t mean we can’t amuse ourselves.”

Steuben looked down and toyed with the waistband of Angela’s panties. “A hundred percent cotton,” she read. “Wash cold.”  Chuckling, she crossed to the garden hose and lifted it from it’s hook. “Cotton is so comfortable and absorbent,” she said.

Without warning, she aimed the spray nozzle at her prisoner and turned the valve on the spigot.  A thousand icy needles attacked Angela. The helpless girl whooped and shrieked while Steuben cackled with laughter and aimed for the most sensitive places. After an eternity, Captain Steuben turned the valve off and left Angela dripping and shuddering as she struggled to recover from the shock.

“Now the problem with cotton is that it doesn’t do much to keep you warm when it’s wet.” Captain Steuben opened the iron door and stood regarding her drenched captive for a moment. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

The door slammed behind her.

The room was cold and dank as only deep places can be. The chill penetrated. Within minutes, Angela was shivering uncontrollably.

“I’m being tortured!”  The thought amazed her, cutting through her shock but too unreal to be grasped yet.

When the police brought her to the station, Angela had nurtured some illusions about her ability to deal with the situation. Even a thoroughly corrupt local government can’t avoid the scrutiny of the world forever. She would never let them railroad her and Terry without a costly court battle.

This was different. They had deliberately shown her the other cells, letting her know that this was no ordinary jail. It wasn’t information they would have shared if they thought she would ever be able to tell anyone. They had even dropped the whole drug arrest charade. No one was asking Angela for the name of her connection or enticing her to confess. The other inmates here were probably as innocent as she was. It didn’t matter to their jailers. 

This was a softening up process, she sensed. They were giving her time to come to grips with the utter hopelessness of her new situation before the real horror began.

She remembered reading the date on the courthouse cornerstone when she arrived a month earlier with her resume in hand. The building was twenty years old. This sub-cellar had to be in the blueprints even before it was constructed. She had been caught in a trap that was probably older than she was, a conspiracy that had been successfully kept quiet for decades.

She raised one leg experimentally and flexed her foot to relieve the beginning of a cramp. She couldn’t stand on her toes for much longer, but if she didn’t her wrists would bear the weight instead and the bite of the cuffs would be unendurable. She had always thought of torture as an advanced science, requiring diabolical devices in some mad doctor’s lab. This seemed so mundane, cold water and a pair of handcuffs- simple and effective.

Captain Steuben had been right about the cotton panties. Her nipples drew up into hard buttons and goose flesh covered her limbs, but Angela was still able to shiver most of herself dry. Only her wet panties continued to chill her. Her bladder was so full that it ached.

The door banged open again and Captain Steuben entered. Angela expected the woman to let her down. They couldn’t possibly leave her dangling there any longer. If asked again, she would cheerfully strip off her soggy panties.

“I thought you might be getting bored in here,” the Captain said, admiring her prisoner for a moment before turning to the television monitor.

“Please! Ma’am! I have learned my lesson now. I’ll be good!”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” said Captain Steuben as she pushed a button on the monitor. Angela’s image disappeared from the television screen and snow replaced it. “Let’s try another channel.”

“Please! Let me down! These cuffs are cutting into my wrists!”

The screen flickered into life as Captain Steuben slammed the door. Still stunned by the pitiless way her plight had been ignored, Angela needed a moment to recognize the girl who appeared there, even though the quality of the image was excellent.

The girl was sitting on a plastic chair in a windowless room. Her hands were shackled and locked to a ring in the table before her. She was only visible from the waist up, but at least that much of her was nude.  Just like Angela, she was shivering with fear and cold.

Terry!

There was the sound of a door opening off camera, and Angela watched as her little sister looked up and smiled cautiously.

A sharply dressed middle aged man entered the room and leaned across the table to take Terry’s shackled hands in his own and give them an encouraging squeeze. “I’m David Jennings,” he said. “Your sister, Angela, asked me to represent you.”

Angela felt the blood drain from her face, staring in horror at “David Jennings”, knowing that she was looking into the face of naked evil.

It was the face of Angela’s former boss, Phillip Jeffrey (Call me Peejay!) Rawlings.