Title: Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez (Let the Good Times Roll) Author: Mortis E-mail: fanficcorner@yahoo.com Rating: NC-17 explicit consensual and non-consensual sex and violence Category: K/O smut Spoilers: none that I'm aware of Disclaimer: We all know who they belong to and judging by the size of my house, it isn't me. Please don't sue. Thanks to: Kim and Nancy for all their support and encouragement. Dedicated with all my love to Carl, my best friend of 18 years who would have celebrated his birthday on February 6. I miss you, my brother. Nothing's been the same since you left. Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez (Let The Good Times Roll) by Mortis Decommissioned Federal Prison Facility Boron, California Wednesday, February 6 "...happy birthday, dear Marley, happy birthday to you." I heave a great sigh. Today marks my thirty-seventh and, most likely, final birthday. I think back to this day last year, when to celebrate my thirty-sixth year of survival, I sat in front of another prison preparing to ante up my ass and gamble once again that I was more clever than 'they' were. I knew what I was risking when I started this and even now, as I ask myself, "was it worth it?" my answer remains a wholehearted "yes." If I could have given my life for his, I would have - without hesitation. They all wear rubber-soled shoes here, like nurses in a hospital. It drives me mad because I can't hear them coming until the door flies open and they're upon me. It gives me little chance to defend myself one-on-one, as opposed to the usual double-team approach that's popular with my usual night-shift keepers, Green and J-Dog. There are no forewarning footsteps echoing in the corridors to give me time to improvise an ambush and it makes every other sound that much more unnerving. Uncle Sam's best training made them most efficient killers, but an inborn proclivity for violence and other aggressive alpha-male tendencies made them vicious, sadistic motherfuckers. Most days I refuse give them the satisfaction of a fight, but if they give me an opening to hurt them, I take it with a vengeance. I allow myself a grim smile of satisfaction as I replay the scene over in my mind, reliving the screams of the one they called Norton as he clutched his bloody crotch. It had cost me a broken nose, but it had been worth it. No sir, they don't put anything in *my* mouth anymore... But, most of the time they give me no occasion to inflict any damage nor to prevent them from doing whatever they please. I fought at first, but after several severe beatings, I have learned to just lie there, still and cold as a dead mackerel, while they amuse themselves with my body, satisfying their most prurient whims. But I'll bide my time for now until they give me an opportunity to kill one of them and, hopefully, be 'shot while trying to escape.' We'd been on the run, hiding out the week of Mardi Gras winding up in New Orleans for Shrove Tuesday. We had been staying on a 60' Wylie sloop christened Roxanne, that lay at anchor in a slip in Lake Pontchatrain. He had told me that he loved me and I had truly believed him. It had been the happiest moment of my life, if the shortest-lived. We had just made love and I had gone top- side for walk in the moonlight. We had been scheduled to sail at daybreak, but they had shanghaied me from the deck above and tossed a grenade below where my Alexei slept helpless, naked and spent. No, I have no one to miss me, no one to raise an alarm or send out a search party. There will be no daring rescues and I know it. I've decided that I don't mind dying, but I wish for a quick death, not this slow torture. I don't know what they're giving me, but they shoot me full of drugs twice a day. I don't fancy the prospects of being a lab rat. The stuff they inject in me makes me feel very strange, sort of dazed and sedated, but I hear a roaring river of thoughts that I know are not my own. It's like trying to concentrate on a single grain of sand in an hourglass and I can't sort out the voices, then it quickly becomes a disabling and painful din and I lose consciousness only to wake up here in this cell, alone. When the cabin exploded and the boat sank, I didn't care whether I lived or died. Now I care. Now, I wish to join my beautiful Alexei in death. They're coming now. I can feel them, even though I can't hear them. Each time they come, I pray that it will be the last. Ah, there it is, the clank of the lock. Perhaps this time I'll be lucky and they will kill me. I close my eyes and let thoughts of him flood my mind as I will myself to die. ~%*~%*~%* One Year Earlier Maximum Security Military Prison Pollock, Louisiana February 6 The guard leered as he saluted and motioned me through the gate after I had presented my ID. "Main processing is straight ahead Col. Brachah." I winked at him to cover the nervous flush on my cheeks and drove through the gate with my heart pounding in my ears. I proceeded as directed and parked in the slot reserved for "transfer of prisoners". It had been six months since they had taken Alex from our hotel room and through some pretty impressive finagling, I had managed to find out that they had been holding him in a high security military prison in central Louisiana. He was a man without a country and had been given no due process, just tucked away like a collectible toy until the day they had need of his expertise. Then, once again, they would dangle his freedom like the proverbial carrot before his nose to procure his cooperation. An artfully forged ID hung from a lanyard around my neck asserting my identity as Major Adara Brachah, an Israeli officer. I patted one of the long pockets of my commando black BDUs reconfirming the presence of an authentic-looking extradition order which alleged that Aleksandr Vassily Krycek was to be released to the sovereign nation of Israel for questioning regarding his contact with a number of alleged terrorists and I was to bring him to Tel Aviv. I squared my shoulders, took a few deep, cleansing breaths and concentrated on my assumed identity, slipping quickly into character. I exited the van and strode purposefully toward a tall chain-link gate which buzzed at my approach and clanked open when I pushed it giving entrance to a long, cage-like corridor, also of chain-link, that led to a single, gray metal door in a dull, gray cinder block building. Three rows of windows above the entrance were filled with the faces of men who howled and whistled as I made my way toward the door. Their lewd suggestions were anything but flattering and I found that I had a quivering, fluttering feeling in my stomach. It took every ounce of self-control I had to keep from breaking into a dead run, but I steeled myself to it and kept my pace steady, albeit swift. When I finally reached the door, another buzz prompted me to pull on the curved handle and this door also opened smoothly. Half my mission was accomplished, I was in. I was faced with another long corridor, but this one was tight, constricted and uncomfortably bright. I'm not normally given to fits of claustrophobia, but this seemingly endless hallway inspired it nonetheless. I fought back the panic and began walking. The walls were cinderblocks painted white and bare, 100- watt light bulbs had been mounted along the ceiling every ten feet or so. Knowing that I was most likely being recorded by several security cameras added to the uncomfortable wobble in my stomach and inspired a vision of myself on a microscope stage. After what felt like an eternity, I reached another door which again buzzed at my approach and opened without resistance when I pulled it, revealing a small room. It featured a long, ancient-looking counter with the door where I stood at one end and a barred cage at the other. The cage looked as though it functioned similarly to an airlock, working as a barrier between the hallway that stretched out behind it and the outer room in which I currently found myself. Behind the counter stood a gigantic, home-grown, corn-fed, boy of about 19. He had to have stood at nearly 2 meters and weighed no less than 16 stone and he positively loomed over me as he said in a harsh, mid-western twang, "You have a transfer order for me, little lady?" His tone was flirty and condescending and his eyes slithered over me, up and down. I gritted my teeth and said nothing. I wanted desperately to dress him down harshly, but was most keenly aware of the need to keep a low profile. I decided that the ID and papers were worth what they had cost me, because neither Sgt. Farmboy here, nor the gate guard earlier, had given them a second glance beyond reading their contents. He handed them back with a wink and tapped a few keys on the computer that sat on a desk situated below the counter and spanning its length on his side. His large, stubby finger stabbed at a button that I assumed was an intercom and he spoke into it, "I need prisoner J092164T ready for transfer." He returned his attention back to my chest. Two other men sat behind the counter at the other end, their attention focused on a small portable TV that sat between their feet on the desk. "So, little lady, you think you're gonna be able to handle Krycek by yourself?" Farmboy piped up, once again fondling me with his eyes. "He's a lot tougher 'n he looks." "So am I," I said softly, baring my teeth in a forced smile. He held up his arm and pulled his sleeve back to reveal an angry red mark on his forearm in the shape of a perfect set of teeth. "Did this to *me* just yesterday morning." A murderous look momentarily transfigured his features into a mask of perfect animosity, then, just as quickly, it was gone and back were the patronizing manner and leer as he continued, "I sure hope y'are, little lady. That boy's more slippery 'n a box of eels and wouldn't have any pangs of conscience about breakin' your purty neck right after he rapes ya. I really think ya need back-up." His buddies had forsaken the TV for the live show. They whispered between themselves and one nodded as they focused on Farmboy, who had come around the counter, and me. I was getting damned tired of the homespun 'little lady' routine and I wasn't sure I could tolerate his supercilious bullshit any longer. Then I saw him, my beautiful Alexei stood waiting for the "airlock" to open with two burly MPs holding tight to his upper arms. He was wearing an olive drab jumpsuit and shackled hand and foot, his movements kept in check by a ring that attached all the chains to a wide, leather, belt restraint at his waist. His dark hair was longer than I remembered and somewhat tousled. His jaw was shadowed with about a days' growth of stubble and many bruises of varying hues, showing a pattern of ongoing abuse. His green eyes, one of which was swollen and purple, widened almost imperceptibly as they passed over me, but he didn't speak or show any outward signs of recognition. The inner gate opened and the three men entered it together, the two MPs still clamped to his biceps. Farmboy took advantage of the distraction and patted my ass as he motioned me forward. That was it, the very last straw. What Mother Nature might have cheated me in height, she made up for in agility, and I reacted before I even thought. I spun around at light-speed, grabbing the wrist belonging to the offending hand and clamped onto it bringing his arm up hard and high as I swept his feet out from beneath him. The result of my action was Farmboy on his knees and one hand, with me on his back, straddling him as though he were a small pony. I forced his right arm up behind him so that the backs of his fingertips rested at the base of his head. The resulting discomfort brought him effectively under my control. "If you ever touch me again, you pusillanimous pissant," I leaned down and breathed menacingly in his ear, "you're going to be the one who needs the backup. You read me, Sgt. Farmboy?" "Yes, Major, loud and clear," he said tersely. I released him and he climbed quickly to his feet. He flashed his companions a dirty look as they laughed at him, as did the two MPs, but much more to his obvious dismay, so did Krycek. I stepped forward stopping dead center before him and his two escorts. I noted the chevrons and flashed a threatening glance at both MPs, who straightened to attention and stepped aside, leaving Alex standing alone before me. I reached out, took his right arm, and turned to lead him out, whirling around to face the desk. Farmboy's companions again found the television fascinating as I addressed him one last time. "Does your government require me to complete any further paperwork, Sergeant?" "No, Ma'am!" he responded at last with fresh respect that was thickly coated in humiliation. "Very well," I said as I began to take the shackles from Alex's wrists and ankles. He rubbed his wrists and turned toward me. I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the door which remained locked, pulling his hands behind him. I reached around to the back of my utility belt and unsnapped the small case that held a pair of handcuffs. With a fluid motion, I slapped the cuffs around his wrists. If I hadn't been so scared, I might have been turned on by it. "By the power vested in me by the sovereign state of Israel, I am formally assuming custody of this prisoner. Good day, Sergeant." The door buzzed and I pushed a stunned Krycek ahead of me through it. I could feel him restraining his pace much as I had earlier. We didn't dare speak. Would we make it out? We had traversed the long hallway and reached the door that led outside and I stood waiting for the buzz with my heart galumphing in my chest. We waited for the buzz. It didn't come. I counted 10 chimpanzees and turned to look at the camera mounted above the door. I didn't speak but looked with expectant pique directly into the camera. The door at the other end opened and my heart fell through the floor. Oh well, vive l'amour, I thought to myself, "live the love". I might die, but I had to try and I braced myself to do whatever I had to in order to get us both out. "Maj. Brachah!" It was Farmboy coming down the hallway at a trot. I swallowed my fear and tried to force my fight or flight adrenaline rush down so he wouldn't smell it on me. "Yes, Sergeant?" I replied curtly. "You, uh... you dropped your ID. You're gonna need it to get out the main gate," he said with a sheepish smile. The laminated ID swung from his ham-sized hand and he slowed to a walk as he approached. "Major, I want to apologize for my behavior. It was unforgivable." He handed me the plastic card and nylon web lanyard. "Yes, it was," I said reaching for it, my manner cool. "Thank you for saving me the trip back. I'm willing to omit the incident from my log if you are." I thought about the satisfaction of dressing him down, and weighed it against getting out alive and quickly, and decided it was more politic to be magnanimous. My answer seemed to satisfy him and he nodded at the camera. Someone must have been watching because the door buzzed and I opened it hoping that it didn't look like I was lunging for it. Once again, keeping in mind the surveillance I pushed Alex semi- roughly at arm's length ahead of me, keeping one hand on the cuffs and the other on the black nightstick that hung from a ring on my belt. In short order, we'd cleared the long chain-link corridor and we were ensconced safely within the van, I in the driver's seat and Alex in the back, shackles attached to an anchor on the bench seat. It was a fortunate thing, too, because when I arrived at the gate, the inspection was very thorough indeed and a guard opened the back to check that Krycek was secured and alone. At last, the extradition order and the transfer paperwork were back in my hands and I was once again being waved through the gate. I turned right on Airbase Road coming quickly up to speed, and the prison rapidly fell behind us. We were out, but we weren't free yet. I rolled down the window as I finally hit highway 165 and headed south for I-49. The temperature was in the upper 70s as it often was this time of year in the South. Just outside Alexandria, I pulled off into a rest area that was surrounded by bayou on all sides. I quickly parked and climbed through a small door between the front and the back of the van. "We're almost free, baby," I crooned into Alex's ear as I unchained him. Still stunned and following my lead, he accepted the jeans, t- shirt and boots that I gave him to replace his prison uniform. He donned them quickly and without question. I slipped out of the uniform I'd been wearing and into my favorite French-cut t-shirt adorned with the Powerpuff Girls and Mojo Jojo, paired it with a short stretch denim skirt and replaced the military boots with a prized pair of thigh-high leather boots. I added Alex's leather jacket which he noted with a raised eyebrow and a grin. "We're going to have to discuss the part where you borrow my clothes, mia bella cara," he said as he pulled me in close to him and kissed me deeply. "Benvenuto indietro, il mio amore," I replied around his lips. "I've missed you." I wanted to consume him, to throw him down right there and have him in the bare, uncarpeted back of the van, but I resisted. "We have to go now. We need to be far from here by the time they figure out that extradition order isn't genuine." He conceded my point with another kiss. We waited a short time before abandoning the prison vehicle, until the rest area was all but deserted. We made straight for a distinct line of cypress trees at the edge of the manicured rest area, which were thickly hung with grayish Spanish moss, and entered the woods. Alex shot me a questioning glance and his eyes narrowed in a wicked, carnivorous smile when I said nothing, gesturing for patience. I winked back at him, laughing at the assumption in his fathomless green eyes. We reached another moss-hung cypress tree where a dirty bit of blue canvas peeked out from under a fairly thick covering of leaves. His eyes lit and his smile widened when he saw the reason I'd actually led him into the bushes. I had brushed the leaves aside and lifted the canvas cover to reveal a 2000 Triumph Bonneville America chained to the tree. "I thought you might enjoy the fresh air," I said, my passion for him welling up in my smile. He fairly flew to it, his eyes lit up like those of a small child on Christmas morning. "Marley, where did you...?" His voice trailed off as he threw one long leg over it and straddled the seat obviously loving it. The sight of him astride the powerful machine suddenly flooded me with an undeniable hunger for him and I knew that I couldn't survive the drive ahead of us if I didn't have him first, right here, right now. I glided over to him, "don't worry," I said, "I didn't kill anyone you know for it." And with that, I climbed on the bike to sit facing him and I felt him instantly stiffen beneath the tight denim. His arms snaked around my waist and pulled me in tight as he thrust his hips forward making firm contact and friction between us. The fire caught me and I snaked my hands down and around him to grab at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up, tugging it against the obstacle of his arms which were still holding me in a firm grip like a velvet vice. He released me and I managed to get the shirt over his head just before his hands divested me of my Powerpuffs, revealing my bare chest, and began their exploration of my upper torso. He touched me in the same way a man who had just regained his sight might, floating his fingertips up around my waist, his thumbs pulling lazily across my belly. His touch moved up and I moaned piteously as his hands found and cupped my breast, pulling me forward toward his mouth which descended on them, his tongue swathing the underside, bathing it and coming upward to draw my painfully hard nipple into his mouth, sucking none too gently. My hands fumbled ineffectually with the buttons of his jeans as his mouth sent my brain into a sensory overload that temporarily destroyed my fine motor skills and nearly paralyzed me with ecstasy. My hips, however, were working on a different circuit because they continued to grind against the rather impressive bulge in the front of them, trying desperately to relieve the ache between my legs. His hands moved to pull the stretchy skirt up my body, slipping it over my head, and it joined both our t-shirts on a nearby bush. I was now completely naked except for a black satin thong and the high leather boots. I could feel the very air particles against my skin, such was my level of arousal. He leaned back, separating our upper bodies much to my disappointment, but he lifted my arms straight out to the sides of my body to expose me completely. Those electric green eyes caressed my every curve and I swear I could almost *feel* the heat of his gaze. He slid out from under me and stood, dismounting the bike. I couldn't suppress the snarl that escaped my lips, showing my displeasure at the absence of his body close to mine, but he pushed me gently forward so that my belly and chest rested on the hindmost part of the seat and he lifted my hips until I stood on my toes with my ass in the air. He shed the jeans quickly and stood completely naked beside me for a moment before swinging his leg over the bike to once again straddle it, but this time facing backwards with me bent over and spread out before him. Alex leaned forward and pushed the tops of the boots down, grasped my legs just above my knees and slid his fingers almost reverently up the backs of my thighs to trace the curve of my ass. His touch set fire to my blood and I found myself on tip-toes, pushing my ass further in the air to deepen contact between his hands and my skin, not unlike a cat in heat. His hands returned to the tops of my knees, this time stroking up the insides of my thighs while his lips planted wet, sucking kisses up my spine and neck. His fingers brushed over the strip of satin that covered me, teasing the moist flesh there and I moaned again, seemingly incapable of coherent speech for the moment. His fingers dragged upward, teasing lightly over my clit and around to kneed my ass with a moan of his own. I felt his fingers hook into the strip of cloth and pull the thong aside, exposing my slippery opening. It was all I could do to keep from thrusting myself up at him. I felt as if I would die without him immediately inside me. He took himself in hand and I felt the head of his cock part my wet lips. He was hard as tempered steel, yet the skin was soft as silk. I could stand no more and as he stroked his cock through the wetness again, I thrust my ass upward, burying him inside me to the hilt. He gasped and grabbed my hips, holding me firmly in place effectively stopping my motion. For several long seconds, he neither moved nor breathed. But then a hand wrapped itself around the length of my hair very much like reins, and he began to ride. He moved slowly, pulling almost all the way out as my inner muscles clenched and convulsed to prevent it and then plunged again with patient deliberateness, nudging my G-spot while I rotated my hips trying to impale myself on the turgid shaft. His right hand reached down between my legs, his middle finger sliding slickly into my cleft, where he quickly found my clit and made it his toy. Around and around in firm, gentle circles... massaging...building...then moving away to explore our connection, gently stroking the taut flesh stretched around his considerable girth. I found the foot pegs with my hands and I grabbed them in a death grip. Using my newfound leverage to my advantage, I thrust my ass upward to meet his stroke, needing to quicken our pace. I could feel my womb beginning to spasm as my orgasm began, spreading out in concentric circles like a rock tossed into the middle of a still pond. My body went completely rigid and he grasped my pelvis, lifting me completely off my feet, pulling me into him to meet his powerful thrusts. My inner walls pulsated around him and soon I felt his cock twitch and jerk as he spilled inside me with forceful spurts. We both collapsed, with quivering legs, onto the motorcycle seat, or rather I did, he collapsed across my back, panting against my hair. We lay together as our hearts returned to their normal rates while his cock grew soft inside me, but it was not very comfortable and he soon sat up with a final kiss to the back of my head. And was rummaging in the nearby bushes for his clothes, while I pulled my boots up, my skirt back on and slipped my t- shirt over my head. Once we were both dressed, I headed for the bathrooms on foot as Alex started the bike and pulled it out of the trees and up to the parking area. I cleaned up quickly, and climbed back on the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around him in an intimate hug. "I hope you like roughing it," I said with a wink and pointed toward I-49. "Go south, young man," I paraphrased and with a low growl from the engine and a chirp of the tires, we were off again. Our escape had only just begun. We had seven days to hide before we could leave the country and the bonus was, we'd be in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. With the wind in my hair and my arms around Alexei I could almost let myself believe that everything was going to work out all right. ~%*~%*~%* Decommissioned Prison Boron, California February 6 Present Time *stick* Ow. Falling. But not falling. Flying through hallways that I shouldn't recognize, but still somehow know intimately. Now the voices...oh, God, please not the voices! Rising around me like water, closing over my consciousness until I fear that *I* will be lost in a multitude of people that I can't find and yet cannot escape. Random images. Disjointed thoughts that don't belong in my head. Layer upon layer upon layer of voices. Hundreds of tones mixing and clashing washing over me in wave after wave of unrestrained, arbitrary and completely alien impressions. "I bet if U throw that ass in the air, it would turn into sunshine... Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass...," The Artist formerly known as Prince sang over and over, stuck on an endless loop. "twenty nine...thirty...thirty-one...thirty-two..." "pot roast...paper towels...aspirin...fabric softener..." "This time, bitch, you're gonna struggle. You're gonna fight and you're gonna beg me to..." The last thought caught my attention and I tried to find it again, to grasp it but it was like trying to swim against a fast current and I felt myself being pulled back into the din. Alex. I latched onto the one thought that I could be sure was my own. ~%*~%*~%* Somewhere on the Bayou Teche New Iberia, LA February 6th It wasn't a long ride. We took 90 south and east until the fields of sugar cane turned to marshes of cypress trees. We had long ago abandoned paved roads and soon signs of civilization became more and more scarce. Finally, we could go no further by land and secreted the motorcycle in similar fashion as I had at the rest area in Alexandria. I retrieved several items from the saddlebags on the bike, stuffing them into a large, unstructured pack which I slung over my back and across my shoulders. "Right this way," I said, with a flourish. We walked a short way until coming to what looked like a dirty creek with a small pier jutting out into the water from shore. A pirogue (pee'-roh), a flat-bottomed relative of the dug-out canoe used and modified over the centuries by natives of the Mississippi Delta, was tied to it. I climbed aboard and took the long stick in my hands, "All ashore that's going ashore." The look on his face made me wonder if his faith in me wasn't wilting a bit around the edges, but he placed one foot gingerly into the boat seeming genuinely surprised that it hadn't sunk under his weight. It dipped slightly but remained otherwise afloat. His second step caused the boat to wobble precariously, threatening to dump us both in the relatively shallow, but muddy drink. The water smelled brackish and looked singularly unappealing for swimming. He sat quickly on the primitive wooden bench seat between the gunwales trying not to look sheepish. Once he was seated, I pushed off and we began to glide smoothly down the bayou. Along the way, we passed under a number of foot bridges that became progressively older and in poorer repair, obviously abandoned for long years and it suddenly occurred to me that Alex and I were probably the first humans to see this place since the Battle of New Orleans. We hadn't seen another human being in over an hour on the water. We had, however, seen plenty of wildlife. The entire place seemed to pulsate with primitive life. A large alligator swam sinuously past the boat, paying us no attention whatever as he slithered on his merry way, grinning as he passed. We were nearly there. I used the pole to navigate the boat through a maze of cypress knees that stretched skyward out of the dark water like some sort of aberrant stalagmites, the thick foliage forming a green canopy over our heads not unlike the roof of a cave. I hadn't been able to stifle a laugh at his reaction to the beaver-sized nutria rat that slid into the water from the shore and swam boldly up to explore the boat and us. His hand slapped bare flesh where his gun usually resided and his obvious horror at a 20lb. rat prompted me to tease him with "wait'll you see the snakes". Just as night was falling and the sky had turned a deep marmalade color peeking through the trunks of the hundreds of trees, we arrived at our destination. Out of the now black water, rose a small building on stilts with a large screened-in porch on the front of it. I tied the pirogue to a post that anchored one corner of the structure and climbed up onto the small pier that jutted out from the front door over the water. I offered my hand to Alex as he stood to disembark. The air was permeated with the songs of thousands of different species of birds, all seeking to roost for the night. In short order, he joined me on the long, gray plank walkway and we entered the house. "House" was actually an exaggeration. It was actually a one-room shack that hadn't seen habitation by humans in better than 70 years when I'd found it. But once cleaned up, it had served as a functional, albeit no-frills, hiding place for me in the six months since Alex had been captured. I had managed to convert it into a fairly comfortable home, after importing a roll of mesh screening, a broom and a few other things. I had also brought a hammock which was hung on the front porch. There was no electricity nor any other amenities more modern than hand-pumped, running water. A pot-bellied stove stood in one corner of the room near a large, deep porcelain sink and I emptied the contents of my backpack on the attached counter. When I'd been cleaning the place up, I'd discovered a stack of antique jazz records and an old wind-up Victrola phonograph. The place didn't look like much on the outside, but it was clean and comfortable and, most importantly, it was the last place anyone would think to look for us. I had made arrangements to borrow a friend's boat and we were going to meet at the marina at Lake Pontchatrain Tuesday morning. Until then, we had nothing but time and each other. "Are you hungry?" I queried. *** "Hungry?" he responded with an arch smile, "I think that depends on what you're offering." He had come up behind me and his arms snaked around my middle in a move that brought his burgeoning erection tight against my lower back just above my ass. "You're an insatiable beast, aren't you?" I teased him, turning in his arms to drape mine over his shoulders, clasping my hands behind his neck. And I kissed him. He responded most zealously, his tongue enthusiastically seeking mine in a dance of sweet seduction. "Patience, Lover," I said, pulling breathlessly away from his devouring lips, "we have time." He recaptured my lips briefly, then gently released me and resigned himself instead to concentrate on his stomach. "So what *is* on the menu?" he asked. "Seafood," I answered with a broad smile, "at least I hope so." I slipped my boots and socks off and went barefoot out onto the protruding dock. At the farthest end that extended out over the water, I reached down and pulled at a length of thin chain that disappeared into the muddy water below. A large frame cage covered in coated wire and filled with crabs came to the top and I knew that we had dinner. Letting it drop back into the water, I returned to the house to make preparations to feed us. I poured Zatarain's seasonings into a large pot of water that boiled merrily on the stove adding salt, potatoes, corn on the cob and several lemon halves, which I squeezed before tossing into the mixture as well. Next, I retrieved the crabs and dumped them into the boiling water. When they changed from bluish-gray to red we drained the water from the pot, pouring the remaining contents out onto newspapers spread across the bare planks. We sat on the dock pulling the shells apart and plucking out the sweet, white meat, eating with our fingers. It was simple fare, but satisfying. We topped it all off with a few bottles of ice cold Dixie beer that had been chilling in a styrofoam container of ice since early that morning. The unseasonably warm weather was nice, but as with all good things, it had come to an end. The wind had switched out of the north and once the sun went down it wasn't long before I was shivering. We were still seated on the plank deck when he slid up behind me and wrapped his large hands around my upper arms, gently chaffing warmth back into them. He also attempted to warm me with his breath on the back of my neck. It heated me, most certainly, though it sent chills racing through every nerve in my body. I was trembling nearly convulsively as Alex stood, lifting me to my feet. He draped his arm around me, letting his hand drop to rest on the curve of my ass as we walked back inside. The fire had died down somewhat and the chill was beginning to invade the house as well. Even in the deep south, February was cold after sunset. Alex stoked the fire, adding another scoop of coal to the stove, while I opened the old Victrola and retrieved several of the old recordings. I put one of them on the felt covered turntable and turned the crank until it was tight. Then I flipped a little lever to the side of the turntable and it began to spin. I gently put the needle in the groove and the thin, tinny sound of the music poured out, mixed with Louis Armstrong's deep voice. "Now won't you listen honey, while I say, How could you tell me that you're goin' away? Don't say that we must part, Don't break your baby's heart." Alex, finished with the fire, had crossed the room to where I stood. He reached out to clasp my hand, pulled me into a twirl and into his arms. He held me tight against his chest as we swayed together to the music. He surprised me by leaning down and singing softly in my ear with the record, "There'll come a time, now don't forget it, There'll come a time, when you'll regret it Some day, when you grow lonely, Your heart will break like mine and you'll want me only, After you've gone, after you've gone away." Finally the music stopped, the needle scratch, scratch, scratching as the record continued to spin, the action slowly wearing down. Still we stood there, slowly swaying against one another, his hand cupping the back of my head gently. His other hand had undone my long braid and now played lightly up and down my back, threading through my hair. My ear rested against his chest, vibration tickling my ear as he still hummed the tune that had just finished playing. "Am I going to wake up to find you gone?" he asked softly. "You know, a girl might infer from that question that you cared one way or the other," I teased, pulling my head back to look up into his face. I smiled wickedly, backing him toward the small, net-draped, four-poster that occupied one corner of the room opposite the stove and sink, "Are you afraid that I will leave, Alexei, or are you afraid that I won't?" The backs of his knees had come to rest against the edge of the bed and he fell backward when I pushed against his chest. He didn't relinquish his hold on me, though, and we both went down in a heap, he on his back with me sprawled akimbo on top of him. His hands came up to cup my face as he looked earnestly into my eyes, "I have nothing to offer you," he said, his eyes filled with sad regret, "not even my probity, should it come down to it. You know where my loyalties lie, Marley, as I do yours, and we both know what it would mean should our employers turn against each other and set us at cross purposes. But I've found that you fill a void that I didn't know was there until I met you and I don't look forward to a tomorrow without you." "None of us is guaranteed tomorrow, Alexei," I said, stroking my thumbs across his lower lip, "we only have now. But I promise you, I'm not going anywhere at the moment." He didn't speak, but pulled my face down to his and kissed me with a dark and desperate passion that took my breath away. This blinding electricity sparked between us and we both caught fire. His hands slid from my face and his fingers threaded through the length of my hair, trailing the ends and dancing across the curve of my behind and back up again. Seemingly without effort, he rolled us over until he lay beside and above me on the bed, one leg covering mine looking down into my face. Butterfly soft kisses alit on my forehead, my eyes, down the bridge of my nose and across my cheeks. His lips brushed over mine on their way down to my throat where the kisses became less timid as he nipped and tasted. The exploration continued across my collarbone and up the side of my neck just under my ear. I moaned aloud and I could feel the smug smile that crossed his lips. His head rested propped on one hand, but the other hand was free to roam. It slid under my shirt and, feather light, his fingers glided over my belly, making my muscles there jump beneath them. I was bare under the light tee and my skin tingled beneath his touch as it moved up my torso to seek out and cup my breast, massaging the flesh and gently plucking at the turgid nipple. My own hands were busy beneath his shirt, worshipping the bare skin they found there. I could feel the definition of the muscles beneath the smooth, warm skin and the tension in them as I stroked my hands over his chest and back. I lightly raked my short nails across his back as he leaned down to capture my lips in another deep, long kiss. His fingers had caught the hem of my shirt and he pulled it up. Breaking our kiss, I moved to assist him in removing it. He sat up on his knees and whipped his own shirt over his head, tossing it off the edge of the bed which might well have been the edge of the earth for all we cared. My fingers had found the waistband of his jeans and sought out the buttons there. With a quick tug, the buttons of his fly popped open one by one in quick succession and I pushed them down impatiently as he helped, finally kicking them away into oblivion. He grasped the hem of the stretchy material of my skirt and with a smooth downward motion, pulled it off me along with the wisp of material that made up the thong I wore beneath it. He pulled me up to my knees until we both knelt naked in the center of the bed, facing each other. I reached for him, but he gently clasped my hands and replaced them at my sides, holding up a finger gesturing patience. He then took that finger and traced my jaw with it, tipping my chin up to expose my throat. His lips descended to that spot and began a torturously slow journey downward. He lingered at my breast, his tongue encircling the nipple roughly. I couldn't leave my hands idle any longer, and they found their way into his hair. I clenched my hands in the dark, silky strands as his head moved farther down to tease my navel. My back arched of its own accord and it was all I could do to keep from pushing his head southward. Instead I writhed beneath him as he kissed over the arches of my hip bones and down finally to the nest of springy curls. His hot, moist breath came against me and I shivered with anticipation. His tongue darted out to flick my clit and I gasped with the intense sensation that zinged through my body. He sat up with a pleased look on his face. He lay me gently back onto the bed and lifted my legs until my thighs rested on his shoulders. His tongue dipped and delved until I was overwhelmed by sensation and incapable of coherent thought. Suddenly, his mouth was gone. With my eyes screwed shut, my hips bucked upward in search of him and I thought I would die. A feral snarl approximating "OhGodAlexei" escaped unchecked. I felt him shift above me and then he slipped inside me, stretching and filling me utterly until he was buried inside me completely. He began to move, slowly...deliberately and my inner muscles clenched convulsively around his unyielding flesh as he plunged and withdrew, again and again. I met his thrusts forcefully as my hips responded, independent of my conscious control, grinding and swiveling beneath him. Faster. Harder. Flesh slammed into flesh with an intensity that bordered on violence until the silence was shattered by my screams, with his guttural groans following close upon their heels. Before long, we fell peacefully asleep in each others arms, his fingers twirling idly in my hair. That is pretty much how we passed the following week. We lived a life of primitive hedonism, spending long hours in each other's arms far from the concerns of the world. We only took the long journey back to civilization twice, once, to pick up more supplies and again, so that I could check for confirmation from my contact. On Monday, I received it. We were to meet him at the Lakeshore marina early Tuesday afternoon, under cover of the sea of humanity that was flooding into New Orleans for Mardi Gras. On Wednesday morning, we would leave New Orleans unnoticed with the rest of the world. We would sail the Roxanne to Havana where my contact would later reclaim her. With a sad nostalgia for the time we spent there, we packed up the last of our things and headed out for New Orleans. ~%*~%*~%* Decommissioned Prison Boron, California February 12 When I awoke, I was in the infirmary wing. My head was clear but my jaws hurt from grinding during the drug A small window that graced the top of the wall in my room was dark and I realized that I must have been out for hours. I had been put in restraints again and couldn't move except to turn my head. I had learned long ago that it did no good to plead for release. But if I pled a call of nature, they might undo the straps and leave them off. "Hey!" I shouted, "Hey! I've got to go to the bathroom!" Silence. "Hey!!!" I screamed again, "I said I gotta go!" This was no ruse, I really did need to relieve myself and it was becoming quite uncomfortably urgent. The door suddenly exploded inward as J-Dog burst through it. "If I have to clean you up, Marley, I'm not going to be nice about it," he growled, baring his teeth in a vicious smile. "Believe me, it's not at the top of my list of things to do today, either," I snarled back, trying hard to think dry thoughts. He deftly unbuckled the restraints, removing them from my arms, legs and across my chest. After unfastening the latter, he jerked me off the bed by my wrist, and shoved me roughly across the room toward the bathroom. The insides of my elbows and the backs of my knees twinged painfully from the immobility, but I was able to make it to the toilet without falling flat on my face. I nudged the door with my elbow, only to have it encounter J-Dog's hand which abruptly stopped the door from closing. I winced inwardly, but did what I had to do as he leaned against the doorjamb and watched in the mirror. I gritted my teeth and vowed silently, for the millionth time, that the last thing he'd ever see would be my hands dripping with his blood. "You stink," he spat at me, "get in the shower and clean up." I knew the routine. We'd played this particular scene dozens of times. The shower was an institutional affair, essentially just a large, tiled alcove without a door or curtain. I knew that I wasn't going to do myself any good fighting with him, so I squelched what was left of my sense of modesty and stripped the muscle tee over my head, tossing it carelessly into the corner. The cotton drawstring scrub pants followed, along with the simple white cotton underwear that I'd been given and I now stood completely naked before him. My flesh burned with the intensity of his unabashed and brazen appraisal of my body. I fully expected him to stay and watch the show, but once I was in the shower, he surprised me with, "Behave yourself, Marley. I'll be right back." He stepped out, closed the door and I heard the lock engage from outside. I immediately cast about for a means of escape, but the place had been designed as a prison and there wasn't even a small window in the room I could hope to shimmy through. So resigned to another day in captivity, I comforted myself with the thought that at least I could get a nice cleansing shower without an audience. One thing about institutional facilities, I continued in my "the glass is half-full" attempt to fend off total despair, there was an endless supply of hot water. I had lathered and rinsed both body and hair, still without any sign of J-Dog and I stood in the limitless stream of heat flowing down onto my head and shoulders, letting it melt the ever-present tension in them. My thoughts again turned to Alex. My love. My rock. My lack-of-a-soul mate. If I still believed in God, I would have cursed him as a cruel trickster. We should have known that any happiness we might have found in each other wouldn't have been without its element of irony. Invisible tears flowed down my cheeks mixing with the bountiful hot water as I sobbed silently. Oh, Alex! I'm so sorry! I had killed us both, but I was still breathing. ~%*~%*~%* Lakeshore Marina New Orleans, LA Tuesday, Feb. 12 Mardi Gras morning The faint but distinct scent of old fish with a subtle undertone of sewage and petrol greeted us as we arrived at the marina. Roxanne lay at anchor in her slip as promised. She was long and sleek, and even with her sails furled and fettered, at 60 feet she was an impressive ship, an extravagant luxury after the primitive shack I'd called home for the past half a year. We clambered aboard and I keyed in the code that I'd just acquired to disarm the security system on a keypad attached next to the door of the wheelhouse and quarterdeck. The little room contained the helm and also housed a generator, which I started, causing the ship to hum to life. It also gave access to the main hatch that led below. A short flight of steps descended into the finely appointed yacht that featured two large staterooms, a spacious salon with its prominent bar and a fully stocked galley all finished out in shades of cream and beige with lots of highly-polished, teakwood paneling gleaming expensively. The two staterooms were fore and aft and the salon and galley were port and starboard respectively and took up all the rest of the surprisingly open space amidships. I gasped at its beauty and austerity. I headed aft to the master stateroom with my meager belongings and Alex in tow. The room featured a queen size bed on a raised dais of polished teakwood that stood in the center of the room. There was enough space to walk comfortably beside the bed and built into the bulkheads on either side was a pair of large teakwood wardrobes. I toed off my boots, unzipped the canvas tote out of which I'd been living and began to "unpack". My entire wardrobe consisted of the inevitable "all-purpose" black mini-dress that could be pulled from the bag, shaken and donned with a minimum of maintenance, my Powerpuff Girls t-shirt and denim mini-skirt, a light, gauzy cotton shift, and the clothes I wore, black jeans and soft cashmere sweater over which I wore my own short-cropped leather jacket. I had given Alex's back to him as I no longer planned on having to sleep with it in his stead. Besides, he looked so much better in it than I did. The remaining contents of the bag, a well-worn pair of sandals, some underwear and a few other personal items, I pulled out and stowed in the drawer and cubbies that were built into the wardrobe. The day was warmer than I'd expected and I decided that the sweater and leather had to go. I stripped off the jacket while Alex lay across the bed and watched, wolf whistling appreciatively. I hung it neatly in the wardrobe and had just pulled the sweater over my head when I sensed him in motion. I felt his heat before he ever touched me. He came up behind me and encircled me in his arms, pressing his full length against my back. His hands slid up and around to cup my breasts, his fingertips brushing over my turgid nipples as they strained against the soft black cotton bra that covered them. I moaned softly and lifted my arms, reaching backwards to rest my hands on his shoulders as I massaged his trapezius muscles. My fingers moved as if possessed of their own will. They danced up his neck and fisted in his hair as he bent to kiss and nibble the side of my neck and down my shoulder. My head fell limply sideways in silent surrender to his will, to his lips. With a flick of his wrist he had loosened my jeans and slid them down over my hips to pool at my feet, leaving me nearly naked and vulnerable to his whims. His hands glided over my body, my flesh thrilling to his touch, tingling beneath his fingers. The contact seemed almost electrically charged as he dragged his hands up the insides of my thighs, parting them easily as I stepped out of the pants. One hand slid inside my panties, his touch lingering in the damp nest of curls, middle finger dipping between the swollen lips and sliding wetly over my clit. Inexorable desire pooled like quicksilver low in my belly and between my legs. I thrust and rotated my hips against the heat of his hand trying to relieve the slow ache that had set up there. I felt undeniable evidence of his own arousal on my backside and I nudged against him, maximizing our contact. He turned me gently until I faced him and held me at arms' length to look into my eyes. "Marley," he began softly, "we have to talk." Dear God, I thought to myself, now?! I captured his face between my hands and pulled his lips down to mine. "It will just have to wait," I said between nips at his bottom lip, "I'm busy. Think you'd like to join me?" His lips curled in a feral looking grin. "It'll keep," he said turning his full attention to the task at hand. He pressed his lips to mine in a hard, open-mouthed kiss and placing his hands under my buttocks, lifted me until I had to wrap my arms and legs around him to keep my balance. He carried me the few steps to the raised bed and climbed up on it still holding me wrapped tightly against him. He lay me back onto the soft pillows and coverlet, deepening the kiss, his weight pressing me into the bed. I felt his hardness pressing against my thigh through the 501 Levis he still wore. I grasped at the hem of his white t-shirt and pulled it up and over his head, baring his smooth, tanned and muscular chest. He sat up on his knees until he knelt between my thighs and popped the buttons of his fly in rapid succession, divesting himself of the jeans as he shimmied them down and over his hips. His cock sprang from the denim, a proud Priapus ready for action and bobbing slightly with each beat of his heart. He pulled his legs free and knelt again, this time naked, between my brazenly spread legs. He slipped his thumbs in the band of the black cotton French-cut bikinis that, coupled with the matching bra, were all I had left on and dragged them over my butt. He lifted my legs, bringing them together in front of him so he could slide the panties down my thighs and off, over my pointed toes. He now held a foot in each of his hands. He parted them, splitting me wide as my legs rested on the bed to either side of me. He leaned over me, and slid his arms under me, one around my middle and one snaking up between my shoulder blades to cup the back of my head and he pressed his lips to mine. His tongue plunged into my eager mouth to gently suck and wrestle mine. His indurate member pressed hard into my thigh. I tried to shift my position underneath him, to point his unyielding flesh to my aching core, but he shifted his hips and his weight to prevent me from doing so. I let out a piteous moan, and he released my lips. His abs and thighs flexed and with his arms wrapped firmly around my torso, mine about his neck, he lifted until he sat up on his heels and I straddled his lap. Now free to move, his hands joined each other in the middle of my upper back and made quick work of the hook and eye fasting of the bra. He pulled the material away and grasping me by my upper arms, brought my chest level with his mouth. His tongue lapped out and bathed the underside of one breast, then the other. He continued his ministrations sucking my left nipple into his mouth. The position of his hands freed my hips and I took full advantage of the maneuverability. Lifting with my thighs, I shifted my pelvis until I felt the head of his cock nudging against my inner lips. "I want you inside me," I whispered and he pulled me down, plunging into me to the hilt. Even as wet as I was, he stretched me to my limit and I gasped, although not quite in pain. The dance began, thrust and riposte. Point. Counterpoint. We clung to one another as I rode him hard and wild. Our embrace tightened in direct proportion to the intensity of the sensations that flooded our perceptions. My inner muscles clutched at him, pulsing around him as his thrusts became more erratic and we both toppled over the edge together. My orgasm expanded in concentric ripples as with a stone dropped into a still pond. He cried out and his entire body went rigid as his cock twitched and he spilled into me and my inner muscles still convulsed around him. As the climax subsided and we had regained control of our limbs, we uncoupled and fell to the bed, panting. We lay face to face and he reached his free hand up to cup my cheek. His thumb stroked across my upper lip, wiping the sheen of sweat from it. He gazed deeply into my eyes, an indelible sadness imbedded in his expression and I was sure that he wanted to say something. Instead, he remained silent, only kissing my forehead softly and pulling me close to him. He enfolded me within his arms and we fell asleep wrapped in the comfort of each other's secure embrace. ~%*~%*~%* Decommissioned Prison Boron, California Mardi Gras Night the present I heard the key turning in the lock and I knew that my respite was over. The faint, deep rumbling sound of masculine humming pricked my ears, only it wasn't J-Dog who came through the door. It was Green. "Well, well, well," he said, his deeply southern and sullen drawl ringing against the tile, "if my timin' ain't just perfect." A huge smile cracked his face, showing all his perfect teeth. His aspect, however, was one of ferocity rather than friendliness. I clutched the tiny towel to me, trying hard not to look as if I was attempting to cover myself. He leaned in the door jamb, taking up most of the space with his massive bulk. He watched me as if I were a porno just starting. "Touch your tits for me, Marley," he said in a growl that I hated myself for finding sexy. "Fuck you, Green," I said flippantly as I finished toweling off, briskly and clinically as I could possibly manage. I reached for the pile of clean clothes that J-Dog had lain out and out of the blue, the right side of my head met with Green's open, but prodigious, left palm. I suddenly found myself on hands and knees, with much-cliched stars dancing before my eyes while some disconnected part of my brain wondered why it's called "blacking out" when things actually go red. "I said to play with your tits, damn it," he said, restating his directive. I stood up quickly, wiping the blood from my split bottom lip with the back of my knuckles. Without further resistance, I raised my hands and caressed my breasts. I disconnected myself from the flood of emotions from rage to shame that threatened to overcome me, to break down the finely honed defenses I'd spent a lifetime developing and leave me irreparably shattered. "Good girl," he chuckled, patting me on the head. "Now get dressed, and don't give me any more shit. If you make me miss Will & Grace, I'll make you regret it. Got me?" I nodded my assent and once again reached for the pile of clothes, although this time not taking my eyes off Green. I dug through the pile, but found no panties. Leave it to J-Dog to "forget" to provide a clean pair. There was nothing to be done about it, he'd taken away the clothes that I'd stripped so I'd just have to slip on the scrubs au natural. I felt naked and vulnerable beneath the thin cotton, but I figured that was pretty much what J-Dog had in mind when he neglected to supply the underclothes. I dressed quickly and with no sense of showmanship. Green seemed to have lost interest anyway, which suited me just fine and he had expressed a desire to be somewhere else, which also met with my wholehearted approval. He led me back into the infirmary. "On the bed," he barked, and picked up the restraints. "Come on leave them off, Green, please," I said, "I'll be good. I swear." "Now, Marley. Tick-tock," he said, looking pointedly at the imaginary watch on his wrist. I was too tired to fight. I climbed on the bed and he secured the four arm and leg restraints but left off the chest strap so I could at least shift my hips and roll over somewhat. "See you soon, baby," he leered, and ran his hand up the inside of my right thigh, groping my crotch through the thin cotton scrubs. Suddenly, the reason for the restraints became apparent. Turning on his heel, he left, closing the door heavily behind him and I heard the bolt slide into the lock. His voice echoed in my ears, 'see you soon...' Dread filled my belly and a cold sickness crawled up my throat. "And I thought I had nothing to look forward to," I muttered sardonically to myself. ~%*~%*~%* Lakeshore Marina New Orleans, LA one year ago Mardi Gras evening We slept a long time, naked in a comfortable tangle of arms and legs. His embrace, coupled with the gentle rocking of the boat, brought about a warm sense of security that was intrinsically reminiscent of the womb that I couldn't remember feeling since. I woke slowly to the sound of the waves slapping rhythmically against the fiberglass hull. Alex stretched languidly and yawned, reminding me of a large and graceful cat. He rose from the bed, bussing me lazily but thoroughly before temporarily abandoning me amid the tousled bedclothes, and crossed to the head. Upon his return, we made love again. Desperately. His every caress seemed tinged with quiet urgency, as if he was certain that any one of them could be the last. After sating ourselves once again in each other's bodies and a quick shower, we dressed, grabbed a few cold Molson's from the fully stocked galley and took them topside in a silver ice bucket. We spread out thick blankets, and reclined on the main forward deck to relax, sip the brews and soak in the local color. A slight breeze had kicked up, but the evening was still unseasonably warm and sultry. It had been one of those bright, beautiful days that strongly hinted at the oppressive summer heat to come, but was still a welcome relief from the cold, gray drabness that, even in this subtropical setting, had settled over everything during the winter months. Boats of every economic class, adorned in lights of purple, gold and green and occupied by revelers in varying stages of intoxication, formed a sort of parade as they sailed in and out of the marina. The very air seemed steeped in celebration, with zydeco music wafting on the still evening breeze. The mood was catching, and before long, the beer and the beat had insinuated themselves into my hips bringing the irresistible urge to dance. We had passed a little bar about half a block from the marina and it was from there that the music emanated. I begged him to take me there. "Come on, Alexei," I cajoled, "how many times do you get to be in New Orleans for Mardi Gras?" I rose on my knees and began to sway my hips seductively before him as he leaned on one elbow sipping his beer with an amused smirk playing about his lips. "Marley," he began, the sadness creeping back into his eyes, "we still need to talk." "Later!" I teased, choosing to ignore the melancholy, mistaking it for masculine brooding, and knocked his elbow playfully out from under him. With a motion that was fairly swift, given the level of my growing intoxication, I rolled him onto his back, straddled his hips, and began to tickle. The sadness fled and an evil glint replaced it as he quickly and easily flipped me off him and reversed our positions. I knew that I was playing with fire when I started it, I was hyper-ticklish and knew he would exact his revenge posthaste. His fingers sought the sensitive spaces between my ribs and the edges of my hip bones and unerringly connected with those nerve endings that had me twitching in uncontrollable mirth. I was soon in tears of laughter, begging for his mercy, for him to let me up before I lost my battle with the beer and literally wet myself. My pleas were apparently pitiful enough to move him, for he relented and let me climb less than gracefully to my feet and rush quickly below to the head. When I emerged a few minutes later, he had yielded to the party atmosphere and stood waiting at the main hatch with both our leather jackets in hand. He held mine out for me as I shrugged into it and then pushed into his own. I lifted my arms and draped them gracefully over his shoulders. I raised up on my tiptoes and whispered breathily in his ear, "Spasibo, Alexei." "I'll exact payment for my cooperation later," he said with a grin, the hint of gloom still flickering behind his gaze. We set out for the little club we'd passed on the way in that morning. Amberjack's was a squat building much wider than it was tall. Set back a fair distance from the roadway, it was the lone building on that side of the street for half a block. Loud zydeco music poured out of the open front doors along with a half-dozen rednecks in full party mode. One of them staggered as they passed with a loud, "Happy Mardi Gras, baby, show me your tits!" Alex bristled immediately, but I popped off, "You don't have anything to throw that I want!" And they climbed into a large crew cab pickup, laughing at their shot-down comrade without further incident. The volume of the music was daunting at first and the sea of humanity that filled the place was impressive. I found myself wondering how on earth they managed to squeeze that many people in such a small area. The Fire Marshall would have had kittens if he'd seen the crowd that filled the building well beyond its maximum capacity. Neither of us took any notice of the two men in black suits that followed us inside and took up position at the end of the bar. Cajun fiddles and accordions accompanied dancers that jammed the tiny dance floor and the Dixie beer, a vigorously toxic local brew, flowed copiously. Alex spun me around, and teasing me with a sardonic "aaieee," pulled me into an effortless two-step, leading us in a great arc around the floor. The zydeco was interspersed with classic 70s rock and blues and we danced with the complete abandon of the very young and the very drunk. It was impossible not to get swept up in the celebration. We both drank way too much, totally immersed in the Mardi Gras spirit, and were completely festooned with colorful beads by the time the place shut down at midnight on the dot. Somewhere along the way, I had even acquired a much coveted Zulu crew coconut. "You don't have to go home," the bartender shouted across the thinning crowd, "but you can't stay here. Mardi Gras is over folks, time to move it along!" We decided that riding the bike, even the scant few blocks to the marina, was a bad idea, so we left it in the parking lot and set out on foot back toward the boat. In retrospect, I should have noticed the two spooks who shadowed us to the marina. Every alarm in my head should have been sounding furiously, but I allowed myself to be distracted by the alcohol and Alex's fine ass that I couldn't seem to keep my hands off. We clambered back on board the Roxanne and made our way below to the spacious and luxurious salon where we grabbed another couple of Molson's and sprawled on the roomy sofa. There was a television connected to a satellite receiver which we turned to a music channel and promptly ignored. Soon, we were making out like a couple of high school kids, groping and panting, consumed with passion. Without enough room to properly maneuver, we soon became frustrated with the setting. Alex clamped his arms around me and stood, sweeping me literally off my feet. I wrapped my legs around his hips to help support my weight and to give myself enough leverage to lean back slightly. I pulled my shirt over my head, baring my breasts. He bathed each nipple with his tongue as he carried me to the master stateroom. Once there, we both finished undressing impatiently, throwing clothes here and there in our haste to be rid of them, and fell as one onto the large bed. His bare skin felt warm and soft against mine, his muscles hard and straining. I sought his mouth, sucking at his tongue greedily as his hands explored every inch of me. He rolled me over onto my back forcefully with a snarl of pure animalistic lust that curled his lip and induced in me a state of unadulterated arousal. His fingers interlaced with mine and then pinned my hands above my head as I undulated beneath him, fully enjoying his dominance. I demonstrated my willing submission and spread my legs wide to give him entrance between them. He pushed at my entrance and found me ready and eager. He plunged hard and we were joined with a moaning sigh. I met him thrust for thrust, keeping pace with one another as we were swept along a river of sensation. Waves of pleasure crested and ebbed, washing us inexorably toward the final confluence. His fingers tensed as his strokes became erratic, almost violent, while my own hips lifted and fell of their own accord in response. His cock twitched and he covered my mouth in a rough kiss that plunged me into the same orgasmic abyss. "Marry me," he growled as he buried his face in my neck covering my throat in gentle kisses as our breathing slowly returned to normal and the throes of our passion subsided. "You should be careful, Alexei," I said puckishly, "one day I might think you're serious and hold you to it." His reaction startled me. "Goddamn it, Marley, I *am* serious," he frowned. I gaped at him for a moment, looking rather like a codfish. Then suspicion and pleasure wrestled with each other for control of my lips quirking them into a guarded grin. "I'll be damned," I whispered half to myself, "you *are* serious, aren't you?" His eyes bored into mine, probing them, seeking the connection that we had built over time. He nodded almost imperceptibly in answer to my rhetorical question and took a deep breath. "For the past six months the thing that got me through each day was this image of you that I kept in my mind. You were the focus that enabled me to survive. "Even though we both know that all this," he said, pointing ambiguously at the world at large, "might be gone tomorrow, I don't want to have to face any part of it without you." I was completely dumbstruck for a moment. I knew that I should leave at once, that I should pack up my meager belongings and get the hell out, but I couldn't. I was completely and incurably in love with him, but I knew in my heart that it would be the death of us both. "Alexei," I began, my eyes filled with the same sadness that had been haunting his for a week, "I don't know what to say. You know that I am your willing slave - that I would die for you. My heart has been yours since the first time I saw you, but nothing more can ever come of this. As long as we are under their yoke," my hand lifted involuntarily to the back of my neck, "the liability of my love would be the death of you and I won't have that." A tear trickled forward, betraying the thousands behind it. "Leave with me," he said simply. "How?" I demanded. "Are you so tired of the life they allow us?" "They won't come after us, if we're dead..." "They'd never give up the search without our bodies to autopsy. Our DNA is *more* than on file," I said refusing to look in his eyes as several more tears came spilling onto my cheeks. "Then yes, I'm tired of the life they allow us." He turned away from me and my heart broke. "I will run away with you, Alexei," I told him, my tears now flowing freely, "No matter how long we have, how much time they leave us, I want to spend it with you. You do realize they will deactivate the chips and the cancer will come?" He nodded grimly. "I don't care," he growled and pulled me in close to his face so that he could again kiss me deeply. "Si l'etre, mon cheri," I whispered against his lips. He feathered my brow with soft kisses and I fell asleep in his arms. Several hours later, I woke with a restless need to pace. I gently disengaged myself from Alex's embrace and grabbed a robe that the boat's owner had left hanging just inside the head. I kissed the man for whom I'd just decided to die, gently on his closed, sleeping eyelids and gently brushed my lips over his. He stirred faintly, but didn't wake as I padded silently, barefoot to the salon. The clock read just shy of 5am, so I made myself a pot of coffee. My brain whirred through last night's events and tried to come to some sort of understanding why love should override one's sense of survival. I poured a dollop of cream into my mug, filled it the rest of the way with coffee and carried it aloft to the wheelhouse to watch the sun come up and to think in the early morning quiet. The sky was turning a beautiful shade of fuchsia and a thick fog lay atop the water. The wheelhouse was stuffy, so I disarmed the security system and stepped out onto the foredeck. My mug steamed invitingly and I raised it to my lips. Sipping carefully, I inhaled the rich coffee smell deeply. Somewhere beneath the coffee was the faint odor of a burning cigarette. I turned to seek its source and felt the sting in my hip even as my heart leapt into my throat at the sudden appearance of a man in a dark suit. The world swam sickeningly and I felt hot coffee scalding my bare foot somewhere in the distance of my consciousness as my mug dropped heavily to the deck. My legs crumpled and I felt myself being lifted off my feet. Through a swimming haze of images, I saw one of the spooks from the bar open the door to the wheelhouse and lob something inside. They were supporting me between them, running down the dock toward the marina entrance. I felt the concussion from the blast as my abductors ducked behind a boathouse. "Alexei!!!" I cried out in anguish and then everything went black. ~%*~%*~%* Decommissioned Prison Boron, California Mardi Gras night present day I tried to shift my position. My back hurt from being in one place for so long, but even with the play in the restraints that Green left me, I couldn't turn over onto my side. I jumped again as the key turned in the lock, startling me. I pulled against the restraints involuntarily as Green walked in the room with J-Dog in tow. "Time to go home, Marley," Green's drawl announced. He came around the bed and retied my restraints to remove the slack so that my arms and legs were securely immobilized. Then he stepped on the little brake levers on the wheels that locked the bed in place, releasing them. J-Dog did the same on the side closest to the door and they began to wheel me out of the room. I had been unconscious when I'd been brought to the infirmary, but I knew the route back to my cell well enough. Long, rectangular florescent lights, set in sound absorbing acoustic tiles, zoomed past overhead marking our quick-paced progress down the hallways of the infirmary building. Left. Left. Right. Another long row of lights and then large, metal double-doors swung out onto the fresh, damp night air. We were in the breezeway between the infirmary wing and the main prison facility. The wheels of the bed bumped over the metal and rubber threshold then glided smoothly over the wide, cement pad which, combined with the corrugated aluminum roof, made up a portico. The shadows deepened as we left the lighted breezeway and rattled over the pock-marked concrete of a bone-jarringly rough stretch of uncovered sidewalk. Alongside the terrace we'd just quit and the entrance to the building that housed cells to which we were headed, stood a ten- foot high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. It stood to the right so close it nearly abutted the sidewalk. On the other side of the fence was a thick, overgrown woods. The brush had been allowed to grow quite close to the fence lending credence to the appearance that the facility was actually abandoned. With the bulk of the building we were entering also very close on the left side, the passage was at the same time exposed and claustrophobic. The absence of lights also meant the absence of security cameras, leaving the three of us effectively alone. That fact seemed to occur to my two keepers, or perhaps it had been their plan all along, but they stopped the bed in that woefully isolated stretch of sidewalk. There was enough moonlight for me to see both J-Dog and Green clearly and I didn't like what I saw. I knew that look - it was one of voracious malevolence and I'd been intimately acquainted with it since I got my first bra. It was the look that warned of humiliation and violation, and my heart plummeted. Green reached down under the bed and did something to it. The platform under the thin mattress rewarded him by tilting into what medics called reverse Trendelenburg position so that I was effectively standing up, my feet resting on a metal bar at the foot of the bed. They were going to rape me again and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop them. J-Dog moved in front of me where I more or less stood with my wrists pinioned in sheepskin-lined leather manacles at hip level and my legs similarly hobbled to the sides of the bed. My legs weren't more than two and a half feet apart, but that was more than sufficient. His hands ran up the insides of my thighs and cupped my mound through the thin cotton of the green hospital scrubs. I tried to bring my knees together, but the distance between my ankles and the angle of the table prevented it. "Her pussy's nice and hot, Green. She wants it." J-Dog rubbed his finger in my cleft, the green gauzy material offering little barrier. "I can feel you're wet," he leaned over and whispered in my ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin, making my nipples hard. He backed away in exaggerated triumph, raised his finger to his lips and sniffed as if checking out the bouquet of a fine wine. And I hated my body for its betrayal. "Oh, I don't want her to enjoy it too much," said Green stepping over to take J-Dog's place in front of me. His eyes were filled with a barbaric and malignant glee. He reached a hand behind him withdrew something with a small green handle. I gasped as he removed a white plastic cap from one end, revealing a blade. He had a scalpel and terror flooded every fiber of my being as he moved toward me with it. I could feel him feeding on my fear. He hooked a finger of his left hand into the collar of the scrub shirt that I wore and sliced through the insubstantial material, opening the garment from collar to hem. He peeled the cloth back revealing my entire torso. He ran the flat side of the blade around the inner curve of each breast and down my belly. I desperately tried to push back into the mattress as my abdominal muscles contracted and quivered involuntarily. I stifled a whimper as his hand dipped to the drawstring of the pants and pulled the woven-cotton ribbon that held them on my hips. I felt them sliding down over my hips to settle around my manacled ankles. Again Green brought the blade into play, running the dull edge up the insides of my thighs causing me to instinctively spread them further apart, of which fact he took full advantage. His hand came up between my legs, and his finger roughly plunged inside me. He placed the scalpel handle between his teeth and grasped me firmly around the throat with his other hand. Removing his finger, he unzipped the fly of his black BDUs and pulled out his cock which was already rigid and ready for mayhem. He pressed in close and nudged, asserting himself between my legs. The parting of my knees left me unsupported but for the manacles around my wrists and I had to squeeze my thighs against Green's hips to keep some of the pressure of my weight off my wrists. He sought the moist opening and penetrated me violently. I cried out in wrathful indignation and pain, but his hand tightened around my throat cutting off the sound. The tension in my thighs not only served to support some of my weight, but also increased the friction at my clit and I whimpered as pleasure warred with outrage and hatred of the man who now violated me more completely than I would allow him to know. Tears of despair ran streaming down my face as I shut my eyes and tried without success to imagine it was my Alexei who was driving into me so vehemently. My closed eyes only enraged Green, whose twisted mind construed it as pleasure. "I don't *want* you to enjoy this, bitch!" he snarled after retrieving the scalpel from between his clenched teeth. The hand on my throat tightened even further threatening to render me unconscious by hypoxia. But the other hand, which held the blade, insinuated itself between our upper bodies. Green leaned his torso backward so that he could see our connection and proceeded to pull the blade down my belly from the bottom of my rib cage to the top of my navel. Adrenaline flooded through my veins as I shrieked in pain. It wasn't a life-threatening wound, being a very shallow cut of only a half-inch depth, but it hurt mightily and I felt bile rise up into my throat which Green was squeezing tighter and tighter in his concentration on his imminent orgasm. I began to gag as he spewed into me and was fairly sure that I was about to die but for some reason that didn't seem like such a bad thing. Green's grip relaxed as he came - enough to allow me to take a gulping breath, then I began to gag and cough. The blood from the flesh wound he'd given me had begun to trickle down my body and he pulled out rapidly, backing away as he panted with exertion. I heard a strange gurgling sound and opened my eyes in time to see Green's look of smug satisfaction change quickly to one of shocked disbelief. J-Dog lay sprawled on the grass, blood bubbling and frothing at his slit windpipe. Green sank silently to the ground, his eyes wide and his mouth agape, with the green plastic handle of the scalpel protruding from the back of his neck, as a man wearing a ski mask let go of him. Before I could speak, the man had rushed to my side and seeing that I was bound, grasped the handle of the scalpel and pulled it free of Green's spine. He sliced carefully through the straps that held the manacles to the bed, moving quickly to catch me as I slumped into his arms. As the blackness rose up and threatened to envelope me, I looked into the emerald green eyes of my rescuer. My arms flew of their own volition, encircling his neck and pulling his face down for a deep kiss. "I thought you were dead!" I sobbed into his open mouth. I pulled the ski mask off to confirm what my lips already knew. My Alexei had come for me. Green gurgled on the ground at my feet, which I had regained as Alex held me. I reached down and retrieved the scrub pants from around my ankles and tied them around my hips. Then I moved to unbuckle the leather manacles from my ankles and wrists. I clutched a pillowcase to my stomach where Green had cut me, but the bleeding was already slowing and barring an infection, I would recover with nothing more than an ugly scar. I managed to staunch the bleeding and pulled the remnants of the scrub top around to cover myself. I tied the two halves to each other just under my breasts avoiding the very tender cut that began right beneath that. "What do we do with him?" Alex asked me, kicking Green over onto his back. "He'll probably live," he said with a hateful sneer, "see, that's the thing about spinal injuries, it really is 'location, location, location'. I made sure that he'll never walk again, but he'll live." Green's dick was still hanging out of his fly, albeit limply. "Good," I said taking the scalpel from Alex's hand. I walked over to Green holding the blade in full view. The whites of his eyes showed as I knelt beside him, grabbed his cock in my hand and sliced it off. Then I forced his mouth open and with my hands covered in his blood, stuffed it down his throat. "I hope it was worth it to you, because it's the last time you'll ever do it," I rasped thickly through my rage and tears. Alex quickly pulled me toward a previously unnoticed hole in the fence just behind the breezeway to which we'd been headed. We ducked through it, him half carrying me, and retreated into the thick woods where we disappeared from the world. *** As I relate this tale, I am threading my toes through sugar white sand while I sip on a cool coconut concoction and watch Alex's tan form writhing gracefully to stay atop his surf board and I am happy. We live each day as if it is our last, after all, none of us really knows how long we have. THE END feedback gratefully accepted at: fanficcorner@yahoo.com