After the men had finished, Irene’s girls were hauled to their feet and paraded, naked and bleeding, to the river. They were told to wash themselves, especially their vaginas, and given liquid dish-soap for their hair. It was the new law: Each girl would be responsible for her daily hygiene and would bathe and do her hair every morning. For the men.
Ashwin Franks sat in the passenger seat he had unbolted from the floor of the plane. He had positioned it carefully in the shade of a pine-tree and sat with his feet propped on a suitcase while he sipped from a glass of scotch. He’d had a sandwich for lunch; a whole one this time.
It had been a good morning, he thought.
He had beaten Irene to the point she didn’t know if she was a captain or a god-damned cook and now the annoying bitch was safely out of the way, hanging naked from the stake on the opposite side of the compound. But more to the point, he had humiliated Irene to where she would never again command the respect of the women. His women.
Ashwin looked about, eyes glistening. Some were untangling their hair in the warmth of the sun. Others were gathering firewood. But all kept their faces lowered, each diverting her eyes when she realized that her body held his attention. The girls knew that on the merest whim, he could pick out any one of them and put the paddle to her bare behind.
He had established himself as lord and master and, he thought smugly, he’d finally got his fat prick into Alex. And he had done it all in a single morning.
Sure, he had sampled each one of Irene’s girls, but there was something about Alex. He was a short man and had always dreamed of dominating a tall women and, at six-feet, Alex more than fit the bill. She wasn’t the most attractive among Irene’s girls, her beauty being somewhat cold and remote, but he had the hots for her body: Skin the color of toffee, the tiny tits, the long svelte torso and the proud pubis crowning a thickly haired pussy.
And there was that snotty attitude she held toward him. Well he had sure fucked that out of her. Alex hadn’t looked so all-fired, full-of-herself when he had stuck his dick in her cunt. He chuckled at the recollection. In fact she had looked positively horrified when she felt him spurting his load inside and with the goo dribbling out of her, she had turned her face away and cried. That in itself had made his morning memorable. Spanking Irene was just gravy.
That got Ashwin thinking about the paddle. Maybe he needed something with more authority than a piece of vinyl bolted to a stick. Maybe a stout willow rod, or a lash like they used in the old-time navy. A lash that would strip the hide off a pair of quivering buttocks; scar a women for life. He looked around at all the fine buttocks in his compound. It seemed a shame to ruin even just one lovely ass.
“The Haynes woman,” he blurted out loud. “Perfect!” And he snapped his fingers. The coach. She was older and surely, out of all the girls, he could afford to ruin her ass. But the woman was nice, he conceded, for an older broad. Nice, but expendable, he decided and sat back comfortably to take another sip from his glass. So what the hell; he’d fuck her first, and then shred her ass into ribbons. But what to use for a lash?
Irene drifted up through layers of consciousness. When she finally surfaced, her eyes blinked back and she found Doctor Dixon with a stethoscope pressed between her breasts. She was in the makeshift infirmary.
“Ah, there you are, my dear.” Dixon’s eyes twinkled over the half-frames positioned on the end of his nose when he noticed the light come up in her face.
Irene felt his hand resting on the fullness and even after everything, her cheeks warmed. “Doctor?”
“You’ll be happy to know you’ll live,” he said, pulling the stethoscope from his ears and wrapping it around a hand. “Deep contusions and you’ll be stiff for a few days, but I’ll get you up and walking tomorrow. The exercise will help loosen the muscles.” He thankfully pulled the blanket up to cover her nakedness. “All I have left for the pain is Tylenol I’m afraid, but I get the feeling you’re tough enough. A survivor.”
“My girls?”
He rocked back on his stool. “Well enough, considering. The girl, Sissy? She’s taking it hard but physically, she’s fine. But let me worry about your girls, won’t you? The best way for you to help your girls is to be fit and strong. Understand me?”
“Yes. And thank you.”
“Good. We’ve pressed Ricky’s Zoey into duty as your nurse. She has been applying antiseptic cream to your injuries. The few antibiotics we have left are being administrated to Brad.”
“God, Brad! How is he?”
“Brad needs a hospital, Irene. Despite Ricky’s efforts, Brad needs massive doses of antibiotics administrated intravenously, and he needs them now. Otherwise we’ll have to take the leg.”
Irene raised a hand to her lips.
Doctor Dixon stood up from the stool. “Zoey will be along in a moment with your Tylenol. I’m also giving you a sedative that will ensure a restful night. You’ll be much your old self tomorrow.”
Irene thanked him and watched as he ducked out the low doorway. A desperate moan diverted her attention to the opposite side of the tent where Brad lay on a makeshift cot. His skin was the color of raw pastry dough and his blanket was dark where the sweat had soaked through. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Irene got a whiff of the smell; the sulfurous odor of withering flesh.
Zoey pulled back the tent-flap and stepped inside, a glass in her hand. “Heard you were back in the game,” she smiled prettily. “I’ve got some pills for you.”
“Dixon said you’ve been rubbing cold-cream into my hide. Thanks.”
Zoey slipped onto the low stool. “Ricky wanted to do it but I wouldn’t let him.” She pulled a face.
The thought of the two of them arguing about who would rub cream into her bottom had Irene chuckling. “Ricky okay?” she asked.
“He’s wrung out,” Zoey replied, the sparkle leaving the dark pools of her eyes. “Brad regained consciousness around midnight and was having a bad time of it. Ricky was up all night. We’re all out of morphine and the strongest thing Ricky had was some whiskey that Alex gave him. Ricky’s worried about the leg. He did his best but this isn’t a hospital. You want some water?”
Zoey slipped a hand behind Irene’s neck and raised her to where she could sip at the glass.
“And take these.” Zoey placed four tablets into Irene’s palm.
“You and Ricky been together a while?” Irene took a moment to admire Zoey’s angular features. She was a regal black woman but there was no evidence of the superior attitude that most women of such beauty would display. And taking in Zoey’s calm clear expression, Irene was of the opinion that, with Zoey, what you saw was what you got: An honest woman who bore her emotions openly.
“Over three years, now,” Zoey said with a note of keening in her voice. And the sparkle had returned. “We planned on a small ceremony when we arrived back in Washington. And a honeymoon in Europe before the volleyball season.” She looked about the infirmary. “Good thing we didn’t book the preacher,” she said lightly.
“You’ll make it,” Irene reassured her. “You two are so in love, nothing could possibly get in your way. How did you meet?”
“It was his birthday,” Zoey said. “A couple of his friends took him out for dinner. I was their waitress. Ricky and I got to talking and I gave him my number. He was at the university and I was still in high school, just eighteen, and Ricky was the nicest man I ever met.”
“He’s a great guy. You’re lucky.”
“Thank you,” Zoey whispered and she reached to stroke Irene’s hair. “Are you comfortable?”
“Very. And starting to feel sleepy.”
Zoey leaned forward and kissed Irene on the forehead. An open display of affection that had Irene feeling strangely privileged. “I’ll leave you now,” Zoey stooped to cup Irene’s face, “and when I see you tomorrow, we’ll go for a nice walk down by the river. Sleep well.”
Irene’s eyes drooped and she felt herself begin to drift. For a moment she thought she could detect the aroma of her mother’s homemade stew; a wonderful stew with meat and dumplings and rich gravy. When she struggled her eyes open, Zoey was gone. Irene blinked lazily at the underside of the pine-boughs that formed the roof and breathed in the fragrance of that gravy. It had been over twenty-four hours since she’d eaten half a sandwich. She let her mind slip.
Irene may have been asleep a moment, or most of the night. She had no way of telling, but the gut-wrenching shrieking jarred her into the chill of the present. With huge eyes, she saw Brad sit straight up, his bed-covers flung back. His hair was soaked. Sweat ran in rivulets down his bare chest and arms. And he was screaming in anguish. “Oh God, don’t kill me. I’ll give it back, all of it. Just please, don’t kill me!” He threw himself over, half on the ground, eyes glassed over, face stupefied.
Irene, thinking she was about to be murdered, screamed, desperately searching the room with terrified eyes. But there was only the cloying shadows and Ricky burst in. “Oh Christ,” he swore when he saw Brad on the ground. He got his arms around Brad’s chest and wrestled him back onto the cot. Irene sat up, wanted to help, but clutching the blanket to her neck, she realized she was naked. And Ricky being a doctor did nothing to alleviate her concerns.
“What the hell happened?” Ricky questioned Irene.
She was still holding the blanket to her chest. “He thought someone was out to kill him,” Irene answered.
“Kill him? But who?”
Irene was struck by a desperate need. She was scared, wanted to feel the comfort of a man’s arms around her. “He didn’t say, Irene struggled, “but he saw something, something in the shadows, and thought he was about to die.”
“Okay– okay. Demons.” Ricky wiped his hands along the front of his jeans. “He’s unconscious now. He’ll keep ’til morning. You try to get some rest.” And Ricky moved toward the door.
Irene felt desperate, wanted to call out to him. But he was already got. “Don’t go,” she whimpered to the empty walls. Then, flopping onto her side, she stopped fighting the tears. “Oh Jack. Why’d you have to die? I need you.” And finally, Irene grieved the loss of her lover.
Pamela was at her bedside the next morning.
Her pretty poke-a-dot bikini top had been torn across one of the cups and Pamela had made a serviceable repair with two safety pins. “You okay?” Irene wanted to know.
Pamela’s lower lip trembled. She fought for composure and nodded. “At least they didn’t hurt us.” Pamela bravely held her tears but Irene knew there had been pain enough and wondered how much harder it had been for Pamela, being she was gay. “Zoey is waiting to take you down to the river. I brought you these.”
Pamela held out a white bra and pants set.
“Sorry,” Pamela continued, “I couldn’t find your bathing suit. These were in Jordan’s flight-bag.”
Poor Jordan, her body smashed against the rocks, lay somewhere a hundred miles back along their flight path. Irene eased herself out from under the blanket.
Pamela helped Irene into Jordan’s bra. “I’m afraid this is all you’re allowed to wear anymore. It’s the law. Ashwin made me throw your jeans on the fire.” The cups were somewhat small but supported the weight and relieved the strain of bruised flesh. Pamela held out the underpants and Irene stepped into them. “Zoey’s waiting outside. I’ll make up your cot with a fresh blanket for when you get back.”
Irene took the first tentative step toward the doorway. There was a sharp burn between her legs, like a blistered heel, but if she took little steps she found that she could manage; and Zoey was there to take her arm.
“We’ll go slow,” Zoey instructed. “Once you’ve worked the muscles a little it will be easier.”
Irene nodded thankfully. “You’re taking me to the river?”
“Yes. Everyone has to bathe each morning and do their hair. We are allowed to wear our shorty team-jackets with bikini bottoms. Your girls are restricted to their swimsuits. C’mon, this way.”
They angled slowly across the compound under the watchful eye of Ashwin who sat in his chair under the pine-tree. Irene kept her eyes lowered, not wanting to see him gloat at the sight of her in underwear. By the time they reached the path, the stiffness in Irene’s limbs had begun to leach out and she was enjoying the mountain air. Zoey got her settled on a flat rock and they sat with the sun on their faces and the comforting sounds of the river playing in their ears.
Zoey gave a start. Paused a moment to be sure, then whispered, “Don’t look up. Ashwin has followed us.”