**Dorothy**
Gushing the smoke out and calling it quits? That would be an underappreciation of the cigarette.
Bitches are ill at ease in my presence and the dugan spices up the exchanges of opinions by the poisonous reek.
In the interrogation room, people infer the cig can give them owie.
The greyish smolder rises from the level of my lips over the heads of the whiney squealer and an apeshit mad dog.
I regard them. Accuser´s eyes aren´t giving away anger, maybe wariness. Nicotine verses go on. My smokey breath envelops the face of Harris, the co-lector punching bag. As she coughs, her hand grabs the teetering walking stick. Hehe, she smells with half of the nose. Most of her scratches are concealed by the blouse, skirt, and shoes but nothing less than a veil or the hood mask would hide cotton in and out of bloody schnozzle.
I draw the burning end of the cig towards the cheekbone of a well-preserved bumptious cow over forty.
“Saratoga Clarence,” I mutter. “Do you confess to this attack on your fellow inmate?”
“I did it and I confess. I feel terrible for being a nuisance but I still don´t like her. Nor the embroidery.”
Harris looks at her, expressionless.
“Sounds to me this wasn´t spur of the moment. You´ve stolen knitting-needle, waited over the weekend, and disfigured co-lector´s face. You are following in Pepper´s footsteps.”
“I can´t prove it but then I wouldn´t attack co-lector who was seriously punished by others.”
Saratoga makes me mad. I should have an immediate reason to burn her.
“Was it really this bitch? ” I ask Harris. “We will break her arms without relieving her of Homemaking duties. She will get SHU and kneeling in cold water. If you two have come to the understanding that the true perpetrator needs a fall gal… You will get far worse when Saratoga here poops her guts out and recants her plea.”
“Yes-it-was-her!”
Harris keeps her voice low but she spits the four simple words like pits.
Bitches should write their last will if they are lying to me and my piss turns black from one of them being unafraid of the penalties.
There will be pain and that’s what matters. I take Saratoga´s confession card, send Harris to rest or to die, and hand the interrogation room over to Chelsea with a hammer.
I wasn´t given a chance to burn off healthy skin, so in the office, I used the cigarettes to make holes in the image of cancer on my package. Microbots will soon be making every tumor go kaboom and the debauchees will be healthy forever. In your face, uncool pieces of shit!
I have eleven emails and eight of them are about one common issue. We haven´t found Thompson yet. Prefect yells at Mayson and yells at Vicky and I haven´t been privy to that channel but he must yell twice as loud at Ranford, commander of male heavy enforces, whose one guy is licking said fugitive. I hate the interrogated bitch but I will dig her face changed by the high-end medication. However, when will I see again Thompson who doesn´t need a torturer to be hideous?
My cell phone rings. “Goldie, your shift´s ending will top all heroics up to now,” Vicky says. “I´m on the politician-escapee meeting, while Paladins are in due for one final welcome. By the Tower´s security, of course. They also need the warden to hear them out, how they desire specifically to meet inmates for an interview so we can guard their safety. Michelle is in the Yellowstone and that leaves you…”
Those lads seemed to be hot. Hotter than Cao, stronger than Neumann and younger, younger, younger.
“My uniform slides down for them, Vicky.”
I copy their room numbers and go to the free accommodation section. Flirting with four guys! The only thing better would be a showdown with Thompson.
The closest was the lair of Jack Johansson. I order two wardens on his floor to frame me in the door to appear mighty.
Johansson´s room is tidy around the shoe cabinet and hanger. Except for that little corner of unspoiled space, this is a man cave under construction with smaller lists of notes on the bedside table, the bigger heaps of papers on the study desk, encircling the holoprojector. The blanket is on the floor, smelling of cheese and meat. A poster was covering the wall above the bed, a comic book-like image of some knight in blue clothes and a red cape on a horse. Paladin institute mascot?
“I didn´t answer your knocking.”
Johansson reprimands me from the balcony but carries himself gracefully to our side. His well-built figure is doing a service to the tuxedo, not the other way around. Upon the meeting, he dwarfs me, and a half-smile forms on his face in the dense beard. I notice the unhingement behind the hazel eyes. The emo painting the sunflowers was maybe rubbernecking in such style.
“Fellow representative, I thought you were informed about the ceremonies and you have just been at the dinner…”
“I´m taking down notes. I use the balcony for getting straight the topics of interviews so I can break them into questions I will ask… Woman in the question! Ha, Ha, Ha!”
He´s laughing like a dement. Now I think he has weak shoulders.
“Fellow representative, I´m sorry! You should tell me where you want your interviews to be held.”
“In the classroom of the Mainstream education. I have agreed to come here because you have so many underages.”
You don´t want to sleep with a fully developed gal?
“They haven´t got job, career, active political life or unrestricted sexual activity. I have written a questionnaire they will answer. I will assess what I can stand about about protegé.”
He shows me the three pages from that bedside table. The recipient is supposed to fill in family history, favorite toys in the earlier age, tit size, how she feels about her pussy, what party she would vote for if we were still a democracy. He is not fucking children but statistics!
“I have spoken with Mrs. Rosenstein. She will see to that answers will be truthful. And… She would like underages to be clothed in the universal outfits I have envisioned in the last month.”
He turns the holoprojector on. I see a woman wearing a business suit… Made out of fake leaves.
“The more submissive they will be, the more leaves they will lose and so that will be their most defining report card. What do you think about it? Would you wear it?”
The nicest thing I could say?
“I was once on LSD. I had good hallucinations and bad ones. This would be one of the good ones.”
He pats me on the back.
“You are remarkable. Before my departure, I want you to deliver your short biography, how did you travel a road of life from drug-addict to the lady of the law.”
Fucking weirdo.
Hubert Graham is lodged on the same floor. He has less to do and the more prominent notion of time. I knock and he says: “I´m waiting for you!” almost melodically. He gazes at me in the entrance, stands straight but relaxed, his face being not noticeable by the narrowing small eyes but by the red mutton chops.
“Howdy!,” he exclaims and his gesture prevents me from speaking. “James thinks I am not frisky enough when twats are fussing over us, so I have just one required service. Unzip your jacket and lower your jeans. Then bid me welcome.”
I wanted to show my panties to one of them but in my head, they adjured me to share my beauty and it wouldn´t be done by the least attractive one. Oh well, I drive the zip and bare the thighs. He listens to the polite piffle also kneads my tits, showing that he can.
“I am under your wings, watcher of protected sex. I and my pals-adins are treated like gods by the people who tremble at the idea of one or perish the thought more of us getting hurt. I don´t want to make things harder for assisting wenches like you. Not expecting you will let us be slaughtered but don´t tell me you don´t flourish in your routine.”
I have a chance to score.
“No, not at all! Where is the fun in serving bosses? We are looking out for other super people who will wear pants!”
I am the only one who doesn´t fully wear them in his room. I like to pretend my entourage doesn´t see me.
Graham lines up two suitcases and one backpack.
“I hope that will always extend to policing your inmates… I want to start my interviews early in the morning in the Holy Submission lounge. They began to industrial production of shrew´s fiddles of all sizes for household application. I have bought some and I want to cuff the unprepared person in it. Do you believe the Conclave wants to make them a mandatory part of the wedding set?”
I stretch my fists in front of my chest as you would have to for that restraint gizmo.
“Wanna try these wrists and neck?”
Graham shakes his head.
“This will be the simulation of the dating life. I am calling the shots.”
Small-dicked peacock…
Pissed-off, I change back into a decently clothed officer and I´m heading to the upper floor. Michelle told me that Enzo Romano gave spokeswoman Arnolph a bouquet of petunias. He has a gentlemanly flavor unlike Graham and that itself stems from the social graces I wouldn´t find in Johansson.
As I knock he opens the door for me.
The sight freezes my eyelids, it is sealing them in the fucking cement. His face is too round and has about much fur as a sphynx cat but the torso, the chest, a length of the arms… Grab my back, take my breath away, give me mouth-to-mouth.
Romano handshakes with me and jocosely hauls the person whole behind the door.
“Fellow representative. On the behalf of…”
“It is I who should be welcoming you. Consider yourself guests of the embassy.”
He kisses my hand.
My lips crack in jealousy. What is this guy made of?
I see a framed photo on the main table, a picture of the men in the kayaks.
He must have one or two girlfriends for fuck´s sake.
But maybe he has one free slot.
“Are you feeling well for tomorrow´s interviews? Where do you want to conduct them?“
“In the dining hall. A social environment, don´t you think? The best place for choosing virtuous lady of the house.”
He is single? Hallelujah! I will justify my smile by coming up with pleasantries in return.
“You are a first-grade student of the Paladin institute, patient enough to sift through the curs for naughty wives, learning from you. They aren´t all broken.”
Romano´s sexy brown eyes goggle and he entwines his fingers absently.
All in me longs for a wife who has always thought like me. So we would have “Gemini marriage”.”
Such miss Perfect, your dream girl wouldn´t end up in the Princess Tower.“
He nods then his regard hardens.
“The goodness is the beginning and you can´t fast-produce it. You can eradicate it, though. Go, warden. I´ve told you the essentials.”
Star-gazing spastic!
Paladin pricks are full of themselves. I direct my feet to James White, steeled against the incomprehensibility, conceit, and naiveté.
„Step forward, my sentinels!” A voice brimming over with laxity was suspiciously quiet for someone cheery and who wanted to be heard.
White is getting up from the sofa. On the TV he has a frozen program, I´m not recognizing it. There is an older grey-white-haired dude and girl with black hair divided into pigtails… She has a collar but this doesn´t fit in Art of Holy Submission suppositions. She shows the dude her findings in the lab.
The representative isn´t as Caucasian as one would think based on his surname. Contours of the face point to a Western man but the skin color would blend in China. He should go to Turkmenistan. He is also not taller than me.
He remains close-mouthed until I say my greeting.
“Good old Hubert called me. I want you to enable my interviews to take place in this very room. They won´t be long. I spoke with the principal and he knows I will be not talking with more than five people.”
He knows what he wants.
“Roger, fellow representative. My girls will be your guests.”
“In different circumstances, I would be talking with you as one of the contenders for my affection.”
Ha! There it is!
“Fellow representative, I will realize whateve…”
“Not in the circumstances you placed yourself in. I mean, you are a woman. You being on such active duty is foolhardy. Having children would be safer and in line with your credos of citizenship.”
Bloodybastardsonofforeignbitchrudeidiotfuckingshitcocksuckingmongrel!
On the corridor, I punch the entourage wardens to their chins.
Screw you gals, I´m going home!
The lamps and window rows are superfluous. On the courtyard, I orient myself by my outsoles trailing the paver blocks. Blind anger and coldness beyond the walls are good fuel for a stride but I´m adding a sedative cig to them as a booster.
I must make a way for a woman leaving the staff apartments. I see her pale cloak. Yes… Cook. She is carrying a long bone on her breasts…
Why?
“Madam, you were doing soup in your quarters?”
The cook doesn´t respond and doesn´t turn around. She does three steps back. I see these are two long bones wired together. “I rode it, I ate it and I´m bashing with it.”
Registering the voice I shout: “Thompson?!”
I spit the cig out and grasp the handle of my gun.
“Bad day, Dorothy,” she says and the flying hoove smashes my head in.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/qdz9o4/the_princesses_in_the_tower_chapter_5_part_1