Cassandra and Flynn - Leaving Prison

Flynn called back to her, "Hey!"

She set the pitcher upside down in the sink, turned the water off and walked back. "What?"

"You didn't cut his off," Flynn said and held his left arm shakily up and pointed at Steve Alexander. His scrotum was the size of a softball. Flynn's arm flopped down to his side.

"Well, I'll be damned. He was first. I must've been so caught up in the moment." She looked around, picked up the razor and stapler and walked to Alexander, knelt behind him, grasped his sack with her left hand and he grunted. She sliced the blade across and Flynn winced at the sound as John Fulp sobbed in despair. Alexander groaned low and weak. Blood gouted from his sack and she dumped his mangled nuts in the drain, dropped the sack in, and clack clack clack clack clack clack, stapled him shut. She patted his ass as she stood. Alexander made no more noise.

Flynn's cock was softening rapidly as she returned. He looked like he was about to fall asleep. She smiled at him and he smiled back as she picked up all her tools and took them back to the sink. When she was done, she returned to him, turned his face to hers and kissed him. "I'll see you later! I gotta go for now." He swallowed and nodded with a grin. She looked his cock over once more, limp and hanging over the edge of the chair. Then she padded to the door with a toss of her hair, unlatched and opened it and John Fulp's bellowing sobs resounded out into the halls, joining many others. She turned and winked at Flynn. He smiled. Another woman walked in wearing a brown prison uniform and carrying a folded orange jumpsuit. She was perhaps an inch shorter than Cassandra, red hair, green eyes, just as voluptuously muscled as she. She had huge tits, larger than Cassandra's. If Cassandra's were 36 DD, he estimated hers at about the same in EE.

"The one in the chair," Cassandra said.

The woman smiled her mouth open, eyes bright. "That's a nice fucking dick!"

"You don't know the half of it!"

"Fuck! He's beautiful!" Flynn laughed a little.

"Help him back to his cell. He said he wants spaghetti. I'll be up there in an hour or two."

"I'm gonna be fucking him!?"

"Damn right! You cannot fucking imagine how good it is!"

"Fuck me!" She looked around the room. "So what about the rest?"

"Uh...that one that's crying, and that one." She pointed at Lee Bradley. "And this one." She pointed at Paul Hurlbut. "Suicide watch. I went easy on them. The rest are one hundred percent totally insane from the pain. That one there." She pointed at Stephen Bridgers. "That was the North Hollywood Wrangler."

"There's a question. Whether he stopped being."

"Oh, he's not even a human fucking being anymore! Believe me!"

"What did you do to him?"

"The bricks."

She scrunched up her nose. "Ooh! Fuck yeah! He's the one who raped Sarah, what was it? Two years ago?"

"Yeah. And I'll let her know first chance I get. I also perforated his colon with that dildo! Tell the surgeons."

"Cool."

"Later, Flynn!" Cassandra called and blew him a kiss. He raised his hand and waved a little, then let his arm flop down to his side. Cassandra walked out.

The woman walked over to Flynn and he moaned, "Anna?"

She smiled and nodded. "I'm gonna stand you up and get you dressed, okay? I'm not going to hurt you." He nodded and she unfolded the jumpsuit. She had to help him move every body part, lifting his legs in, picking him up and flapping the suit over his ass, setting him down. She zipped him up. "Come on with me! You are lucky as Hell!"

"Tell me about it," he groaned as she helped him with his arm over her shoulder. She gripped the suit around his waist and he walked with her, unsteady but stronger. He looked up and as they left the dungeon, female nurses were wheeling in stretchers.

When Flynn entered the hall he was engulfed by a chorus of men's voices from dungeons just down on his left and ahead of them. His dungeon was in the corner of these two halls. A chorus of fear, despair, agony, fierce resentment and blind anger mingled, with notes of infinite surprise, as though each voice were pleading, "How can this be happening to ME?!"

Another naked woman, brunette and beautiful, with B-Cup tits turned the corner far ahead, looked up and waved at Anna, then stopped at a door, unlatched it and walked in, and Flynn heard her say, "Hello, men!" Then the door clanged shut.

Anna helped him slog to the elevator. They went up to the top floor of the prison, 13, and when the doors opened Flynn was inundated by a cacophony of screams, moans, howling, sobbing, sorrow, pain, terror and horror, the same voices screaming pleas, then smacks echoing, then wailing. She led him left into the hall. He had not been able to see any of this floor but his cell until now. He had been incarcerated here for a month, but the lights had been off and there were no windows. The floor had been in pitch blackness for a month and no one had been punished until today. Their meals had been delivered by silent female guards wearing night-vision goggles.

Above the first door straight ahead was a sign that read "Nightmare Hall." That door was open and as they passed he saw men in cages inside. "Why aren't the doors closed?" he said in her ear.

"The guards voted for them to be left open so we could enjoy the sounds," Anna said. He looked at her. She grinned. "I love it! All these men are getting what they deserve! Rapists, murderers, pedophiles, zoophiles, cannibals...fuck 'em."

They passed the next punishment room, this one on the right and he glanced inside just in time to see a beautiful woman with long blonde hair bring a large rubber mallet down over her head like an ax onto the balls of the man closest the door. His balls rested on a bench behind him and the mallet landed with a splatting bonk. Bloody testicle mush sprayed in every direction. Flynn shied his eyes shut and buried his face into Anna's left shoulder. The man in the cage coughed and gagged, squealing and spitting, and Flynn heard his cage thumping the floor as he thrashed in his chains. Then he heard the man vomit. Flynn shivered.

Anna stroked her left hand over his abs and soothed him, "Shh. Shh. Nobody's going to do anything to you. Almost to your cell." They passed four more open doors with screams and howls pouring out of them. He kept his eyes shut. Then he heard a door roll open and looked. The bars swept by and he saw his bed. She led him in and gently set him on it and leaned him back against the wall. He breathed slow and deep and nodded his thanks.

"Okay, now she said you want spaghetti?"

He nodded and smiled.

She smiled back. "Well the kitchen has some cooking already, so I'll be back in about fifteen, twenty minutes, okay?" He winced. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing...'s'just...m...back's killing me."

"Oh, shit! She had you in the standing cage! That's right! Well, today really is your luckiest day, Flynn Fitzherbert!" He looked ready for sleep as his eyes met hers. "I'm a chiropractor! On your stomach! I promise this won't hurt."

He smiled and his eyes drew tight as he slumped over. He nearly started crying. He rolled onto his stomach and felt her hands pressing gently, kneading all around his lumbar, up his sides. "Yeah, your spine's so out of alignment I can feel it in your ribs. Alright, roll onto your left side." He took a deep breath and slowly did so. "Now keep your left leg out straight and let's bring this one up at the knee." She helped him curl his right leg up, settled his bare foot over his calf, and then he felt her press down hard with her open hand into his lumbar from his side. His eyes open wide and he grinned slightly as his back exploded in muffled fireworks, at least seven distinct clicks, and her hand plunged through the tightness. Everything in that area suddenly felt like air, as if he had no spine, and his breath came much more easily.

"Thank you!" he said and started giggling with the relief.

"Not done yet, baby!" She began rolling him over to his stomach, then his right side and he was enjoying the relief too much to help. She settled him in the same position, felt around with her fingers and thumbs, and then he felt her press down hard. Three more tight pops and his eyes rolled up white and shut. He drooled. "You can't tell me that didn't feel good!" she purred.

He nodded slowly, grin quivering. He felt her roll him on his back and shift him to the center of the mattress. "Always sleep on your back. Now you just relax and I'll be back in a few minutes!"

He sighed his eyes half-open and whispered, "Pineapp...juice. Water. Lot of it."

She smiled. "You got it! Cassandra'll be up in a few hours to get you." She left the cell and the door rolled shut. Flynn listened dimly to the awful sounds of men slowly losing their manhoods. The sounds faded into the distance.

He was woken by a pat on his left thigh. He opened his eyes and Anna had wheeled in a tray with a heaping plate of spaghetti, a sixty-four ounce can of pineapple juice, a bucket of ice, a glass and a gallon of distilled water. He tried to sit up but couldn't. She sat him up and leaned him against the wall, then moved the tray over to his chest. He sighed and blinked a smile at her. "Thanks."

She nodded and sat on his bed. As he picked up the fork, the sobbing outside suddenly grew louder and he looked up. A stretcher wheeled by and into the cell opposite his. He recognized the voice. John Fulp was cuffed at the wrists and ankles to that stretcher and was crying his eyes out as a guard set the brakes on the wheels and walked back out grinning. Flynn saw her chuckle a little as she walked by and gone.

Anna fished something out of her pocket and held it up to him. Earplugs. He nodded and she put them in his ears. The screaming sobs and howls were still there, but this was much easier on him and he twirled up spaghetti with a shaky right hand and brought it to his mouth. He stabbed his lip with the fork, then got it in. He didn't chew, just swallowed. Excellent sauce. Oreano, basil, parsley, thyme, garlic, a little salt. As he ate, she poured him a glass of ice water, then sat with him until he finished everything. He was done in fifteen minutes, which was longer than he usually needed. Then he drank the water and pointed at the juice. She poured it for him. He barely had the strength to raise his arm, much less pick up the can. His hand shook too much to hold the glass steady, so she sidled next to him and held it for him. His hands flopped into his lap and she stroked his hair while he drank.

He didn't stop until he finished all the juice and a third of the water. Then he sighed and said, "Okay, I'm good. Much better. Thanks. I can feel my strength coming back." She hugged him and stroked his back. "Why're you being so nice to me?" he croaked.

She purred in his ear, "Because I really wanna fuck your brains out right now!" She kissed his cheek and sucked his ear. His cock stiffened to half-staff and he groaned and shifted his ass around on the mattress to give it room. "But all good things to those who wait!"

"Gotta pee."

"Alright, let me get you up." She stood and pulled him to her and up. He locked his knees and tipped over till she caught him. She threw his right arm over her shoulder and turned him around to the toilet. He pulled his waistband down and flopped his cock out and it held parallel to the floor. "Holy shit!" she laughed. "And that's only half-erect!?"

He laughed a little and nodded. He could have gotten it rock hard and he was lucky his fatigue had robbed him of his speed because he would've had to piss straight up in the air. When he was done, she flopped it back in his pants and returned him to his bed, laid him gently on his back and pulled his blankets down under him, then up over him and tucked him in. He closed his eyes and felt her kiss his cheek. "Go to sleep," she whispered in his ear. "You're safe in here. Cassandra will come get you and take you home."

Flynn was sound asleep before she finished. She wheeled the food tray out and the bars rolled shut.

_________________________________________

He woke to someone kissing him, opened his eyes, and Cassandra's emerald eyes were right above his, beautiful but now also adorable, if for no other reason than because he had made it out of that dungeon with his magnificent manhood still attached. Perhaps she looked adorable in part because he had just given her the best fuck of her life and was about to give her thousands more just like it. But here, now, she did look a little vulnerable. This was the first chink in her armor he had noticed.

He kissed her back, only lips. Then she said, "You taste like Italy!"

"They put too much garlic in it," he croaked and smiled.

She smiled back and helped him sit up, pulled the covers away and said, "I've got some sweats for you. Let's take that jumpsuit off." She was wearing a brown uniform like Anna's.

She helped him dress. Large red boxer-briefs that held his balls tight against him, cock laid to the right across his bladder and hip. Super comfortable. Then white sweatpants and a white sweatshirt. She put his socks on for him and massaged his feet a little. Then white tennis shoes with blue trim. She had sized them correctly, size 12. "It'll rain tomorrow," she said. "Probably storm. You like the rain?"

"I actually love rain. It makes for some great sleep."

"I fucking love your voice right now. It's like a werewolf, all clotted and snarly."

He smiled and said, "'Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe..." She grinned and chuckled as he recited the whole poem with long gurgling growls at the end of each stanza. Then she hugged him, sitting on the bed, and said, "I've got a wheelchair for you. I'm sure you can walk, but this'll look more official. I really shouldn't be taking a man guilty of sedition as a sex slave, so don't tell anyone!"

"No problem. If you're gonna let me keep my balls and fuck me every single day, then you're officially in my Book of Cool."

She laughed. "Well, pain can always overwhelm and once it does, you panic and the fear makes you an abject victim again, just like those fuckers in the punishment room with you."

"You think any of them will commit suicide?"

She turned to the bars and said, "I think he might." Flynn looked across the hall and John Fulp was still sobbing in great, loud heaves of sorrow and loss in his stretcher. Flynn shook his head and looked down.

"Shh. Shh. Don't feel bad for him. He was a sniper, and with today's weaponry, I guarantee you he killed people. It's impossible to miss with modern sniper get-ups."

"Yeah..." She hugged him up to her, whirled him around and set him in the wheelchair.

"Okay, we're out of here!" she said and the bars rolled open to a clang and she wheeled him back the way Anna had walked him. The cacophonous Music of Hell still rang just as loud. Some doors were open, some closed, some occupied with loud, meaty smacks and resonant screams, some silent.

The elevator took them to the 1st Floor and she wheeled him through the lobby. Beautiful, voluptuous women milled around everywhere, some guards, some nurses. Most of them stopped and watched the most beautiful man they have ever laid eyes on get wheeled out, and every one of them understood his role for the woman pushing him. Many of them knew her and knew they would get to fuck him. They knew, therefore, that he most certainly had a huge dick. But none of them knew the half of that.

Outside, it was sunny and warm. Perfect weather if one likes bright sunlight. Flynn and Cassandra squinted. He watched her car as they approached it, near the front of the lot. A beige Toyota Terius. The newest model. It ran on water. She opened the passenger door and helped him settle in, closed it and left the wheelchair on the curb, got in the driver side and pushed the power button. The dashboard interface lit up. It was It was 5:03 PM on Saturday, 17 May 2081. The temperature was 71 degrees Fahrenheit. Cassandra engaged the hoverdrive and they lifted out of the lot. Flynn watched the asphalt and the prison, with all its barbed and razor wire fences, its guard towers, and its Nightmare Hall, recede beneath them. He removed his earplugs and looked out the windshield.

Of the fourteen other men she had punished, only Paul Hurlbut would commit suicide. He would spend the next three weeks mingling with other eunuch prisoners, discussing how best to cope with their loss, how to achieve orgasm and make it last as long as possible. Other inmates would inform him that zinc supplements increase prostatic fluid, enabling actual ejaculations almost as voluminous as before. Then, on June 6, Paul Hurlbut would eat a steak, medium rare, with a baked potato, grilled asparagus, drink gatorade, then request and be granted out of good behavior, a second meal of the same. He would eat it all, then return to his cell, write "Tell Marie I'm sorry" on a yellow pad, sit on his bed, lean forward until his head was between his knees, take a deep breath, and sling his upper body up and back, smashing his head against the cement wall. His skull would crack open like a pumpkin and he would slump over and die in agony twenty minutes later on his left side. His body would be ground up and fed to the carnivores at the local zoo.