Chapter One
Reign of Terror
For a third night in a row, the sirens began at midnight, the solemn peace of the
neighborhood shattered with the mind-numbing sound of evil screaming into the clear cold
air. The eyes of the slumbering shot open, though few would stir from their beds.
Certainly not Susanna. She lay at her husband’s side, muscles clenched in panic, her
fingers moving with the stealth of a mouse seeking the warmth of Kevin’s body. She
clutched his hand in terror.
“They’ll be gone in a few minutes,” he quietly whispered.
She lay inert, her husband’s sentiment echoing through her body, an ardent prayer.
As the sirens grew louder, the sound became more vicious. Most nights the fervent clamor
moved on to some unlucky place beyond their home.
But now... in the neighborhood...on the street...just down the block...and, dear god,
stopping... but where? The instant the earsplitting sirens died her heart leapt up in
anguish.
A second later, the street below exploded with the din of chaos: floodlights, voices,
boots hitting asphalt. The air astir...panic reached up to grip her throat.
She’d seen them once, when she’d been brave enough to climb from bed and race toward the
window at the first sign of commotion. How they ran like swarming beetles, fanning out
like cockroaches into every nook and cranny of the neighborhood as the raid commenced. If
doors refused to give, they were ripped from their hinges like a child’s toy; there aren’t
enough locks and chains and deadbolts to keep the long arm of the law from entering the
sanctuary of a person’s home. There is no right to privacy when the State is in danger
from subversive elements. Once before the patrols had raced up the stairs of their
apartment house; right past the second floor; to the Talley’s in 310. Janice Talley was
never seen again. Most mornings after a raid, they would wonder... who was missing? Who’d
been taken? But not that morning...they already knew.
Please, dear God, let them pass! Susanna trembled silently.
But they did not pass that night.
A sudden second explosion crashed through her consciousness as the apartment house was
breached. Boot-kicking patrols in full SWAT gear, stun guns in their holsters, clubs in
hand, clambered up the steps to the second floor. As the old wood shuddered under their
weight, Kevin grabbed Susanna from behind and held her tight.
“They’ll be gone soon,” he whispered again.
But he was wrong this time.
No warning, no knocking like good neighbors do. Their apartment door burst free of its
hinges and their home filled in seconds with angry black specters zeroing in on their
target. Rushing into the bedroom, they looked toward the bed where two pairs of terrified
eyes stared back through the darkness at the encroaching forms.
“No!” Susanna screamed a moment later. But as soon as her shrill voice let loose the
cry, a hand came down across her mouth, gripping her face so fiercely that not another
sound could escape. The hands that grabbed her from her husband’s useless arms felt clammy
and cold, like a March wind, driving icicles all the way to her heart.
On the other side of the bed, Susanna watched defeatedly as two patrols held her husband
against the wall, while she was pulled from the mattress and landed with a thud on the old
oak floor. She managed to scramble from their grasp only to be jerked back and pulled to
her feet.
She’d once vowed to kick and scream and bite until the hands of her assailants bled if
she were ever taken. But fear does strange things in times of stress. She stood in her
nightshift immobilized with fear, her limbs too heavy to move on their own and her heart
beating at such a frantic pace she thought she might pass out.
“No please!” she tried to reason with the devils. “You have the wrong woman!”
These were the last words she’d say before the ballgag was forced between her teeth and
the strap drawn tight behind her head.
There’s no walking out of one’s own volition. With their target heaved over the shoulder
of a burly captor, the men moved from the Petrucci’s apartment, down the stairs and into
the street.
Pushed again, Susanna fell against the gritty and unyielding asphalt, landing on her
right hip where the shock of it settled into a throbbing pain. The others had already been
taken. Regina Seles was one of her best friends. The pretty blonde Paige, who she knew
only by her first name, lived in an apartment house two doors away.
Dear God, please spare us!
Lying face down on the street in a neat line, the three were surrounded by patrols
waiting for their next orders. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, while many
others looked down from the apartments above.
An urbane voice suddenly slipped into the chaos and silenced the lingering clamor with
his crisp command. “Strip them, bind them, and throw them in the van. We’re not done
tonight, gents. Now let’s get on with it.”
Six men pounced on them with knives, ripping the bedclothes from the women’s bodies.
Susanna’s white nightdress drifted on the breeze until it finally settled into the gutter.
Suffering a similar fate, Regina’s pink silk pajamas were slashed to ribbons before being
tossed aside. And Paige, who was already half naked when she was taken from her lover’s
bed, had her tiny thong torn from her hips without the use of a knife. Some souvenir-
hunting patrol would furtively stuff the thong in his pocket and keep it with his stash of
keepsakes from previous raids.
Six months before, the patrols had dispensed with rope, finding it too
unwieldy...despite the crude impact of rope on flesh that many savored. Instead, they
opted for duct tape, which was both easy to carry and quick to immobilize without a lot of
fancy rope work necessary. Although, the only way to efficiently remove the tape was with
a good swift yank. The pain that followed for the victim was a positive side benefit for
sadistic officials who pleasured in the pain of others.
The three females were bound at the ankles, knees and wrists, then while they lay on
their stomachs, their duct-taped hands were jerked back and taped to their feet, effecting
strenuous hogties that successfully ended their crude gyrations and feeble attempts to
flee. Their mouths had already been stuffed with ballgags, a new regulation to end the
screams that normally accompanied these terrorizing raids. Complaints from law-abiding
citizens had forced the change.
Each neatly bound package of naked femininity was lifted from the ground and roughly
heaved into the back of the van. Although there were no markings on the sleek, black
trucks, the vehicles were well known, emblematic of the reign of terror that had begun
nearly seven years before.
Heavy chains attached to the inside of the cargo compartment were drawn around the
women’s waists and pulled tight in order to keep them from tumbling at will along the hard
steel floor. With the trio of crying females secured, patrols returned to their vehicles
and the convoy of vans began to move. Sirens blared, lights flashed, and within seconds
the street was dark again. Deserted. Those who had briefly crowded into the street to
witness the spectacle had disappeared like frightened mice, in fear of being caught up in
the hideous events. Neighbors looking on from windows above moved back inside the shadows
of their homes, while for several minutes after the vans vacated the neighborhood the
sirens echoed ominously in the cold night air.
Chapter Two
Fuck you!
“Five for induction!” the gruff voice announced with a degree of satisfaction that was
unrestrained. His message reverberated through the large concrete warehouse...turned
induction center...as he lumbered out of his van and waltzed to the open space, drawing
the attention of a half dozen guards who streamed toward him from various parts of the
building. The large bay door through which the vans entered had closed with an imperious
clank, followed by the smooth sound of the electronic locks clicking into place.
All attention was on the vans, where one by one five hogtied women were unchained, their
bodies lifted from the cargo vehicles and unceremoniously dumped on the cement of the
warehouse floor.
“Someone musta got my memo,” Induction Administrator August Crow chortled, as he
casually waltzed around his five new detainees. “This batch is much prettier than the
last. None of them Lesbos, huh?” He wore the tall black boots and the crisp, tan uniform
of the Reformation Guard, a riding crop tucked tight under his arm, lending an air of
stodgy authority that belied his crude talk. “Little cockteasers, I’ll bet. Every one,” he
spat out disdainfully, as he momentarily stopped to survey the backsides of the five.
While noting how their naked cunts peeked out between their legs, between his legs, his
cock throbbed hot. “Undo the bindings so we can see what sluts we have this time. And take
out their gags.”
“You heard Ms. Bitch wants to do the induction herself,” August’s assistant Sarge chimed
in, barely disguising the sarcasm.
“Yeah, I got that memo. But they’re still ours for the next forty-eight hours,” his
superior reminded him. Pulling the riding crop from his side, he went down the row of
cunts and poked high between their legs, hoping to catch their flesh with the sharp edge
of his weapon. How each responded would tell him a lot about what kind of female he had on
his hands. He loved the screamers most, their spirit much more invigorating than that of
the whimpering criers. In fact, it had been his personal project to silence that unwanted
crying...and what fun he had doing that...going toe to toe, nose to nose with the little
demons. Some had the gall to think they could beat the system with their angry harangues,
which made it his job to see that that kind of behavior was purged and they were
well-cowed before they were finally swept up into the system. Wielding his power like an
ax, he made an example of these shrews by taking them down a notch or two in front of the
others. He laughed while he was doing it, unashamed of his power and the willingness to
use it.
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