Diversion

Diversion Part 5

You pause when confronted with a contorted, new reality, unable to react at that moment in any meaning way to what has come to be. And here we stand, speechless and in disbelief. This is not where we should be. My girlfriend, Sheree, and I have been sentenced to a week of hard labor which could be extended upon dereliction of the work forced upon us. We're weighted down with heavy iron boots locked around both ankles, which are additionally secured in leg irons. And we stand before a pile of rubble. Our task is to retrieve the bricks from the debris left at the site, and we have been warned about rats.

Our jailer frees our wrists from our handcuffs and heads back to the jail in the building beside us, after pointing out the camera monitoring our work. We stand and awkwardly try to walk in the weighty boots, quickly realizing that we are not going anywhere. The heavy iron rings are snug around our ankles, but they're supported by iron shafts running up each side of our ankles which are connected to the iron base, where our heels rest. So, the weight of the iron rings locked around our ankles is not pressed against the top of our feet. But when we lift a foot to walk, the weight presses down and becomes unbearable.

The few steps I make, with extreme discomfort, are toward Sheree, and I hug her against me. As she tries to move even tighter to me, she moans in pain as she moves her feet.

"These are horrible!" she says, pointing at her boots. "How can work in these things? It can't be done!"

"We've got to try. Look, we're stuck here for the week and we don't have any choice."

"She can't extend our sentence. Can she?"

"They can do anything they want to in this town. Remember we were going to the penitentiary for at least six months, if we hadn't taken the week. We can do the week and then they'll let us go."

"So, you think. They want to get as much slave labor out of us as they can. Damn, these things! My toes are hanging off the edge. We can't kneel down without our toes getting crushed by these boots."

"Look. Just crouch down," I say as I drop down to a crouching position. "Then lower your butt to the ground and stretch your legs out in front of you or to the side. We've got to start doing this crap. She's going to be watching us."

"Fuck! This is inhumane. She can't make us do this!"

"She'll go to the judge, say we're not complying with the plea agreement, and then we'll be stuck here longer. Look, we'll get through this. I'll pull out the bricks and put them in that paint bucket, then slide it to you to put them on the pallet."

And we work. Most of the time is spent dragging our feet from place to place. We resort to lifting the boots with both hands as we move in a crouched position, one foot at a time. We have to stop and rest every thirty minutes. We have no idea how long we've been out here.

The pallet is only sparsely filled with bricks, and we've worked for who knows how long. The sun is beating down on us; we have no shade and we have no idea how long we're going to be kept out here.

"Fuck, there's a rat. Look!" Sheree screeches and points hysterically toward the corner nearest the jail. "I can't do this, Wade!"

"You're okay," I say as I struggle to make my way back to her. "You can do this. We've got to. We don't have a choice."

Sheree's body trembles slightly as I hold her but within a few moments the panic passes. She closes her eyes and shakes her head from side to side, then her eyes open and they focus on me.

"I'm okay," she says, breathing deeply. "Just keep the rats away from me." And we return to the mindless drudgery.

After several hours, or it seems, we see Marlene slowly making her way towards us. Her cell is next to mine. She has befriended us and has acknowledged that this isn't the first time she's been locked up here. Her hands are cuffed behind her back and they're holding a paper sack. She struggles through the rubble in her leg irons, but she eventually reaches us. Marlene is of an indeterminable age; she could be anywhere from forty to seventy. Her face has a finely sculptured look graced with high cheek bones, but weathered from sun exposure.

"I come with food and water," she says with a false sense of joviality, but she grimaces as she gets closer to us. "So those are the boots I've heard about. God help you."

"Yeah, they're as bad as they look," I reply as she turns her back towards us to give us the bag she's holding behind her.

"We can't really move, other than crab-walk. They're horrible!" Sheree says. "Our toes hang over the edges, and I'm always bashing them into something."

"How heavy are they?"

"Twenty pounds at least," I say.

"I had to use that port-a-let, and it was a struggle to get there and back. Next time I have to pee, I'm squatting and doing it right here."

"I can't imagine walking in those things. Look, I'm out of here tomorrow; my time is up. Thank God!" Marlene says. "Hopefully, you'll be out soon. Don't fuck it up. They will screw with you. You don't want to do any more time."

"Glad you're getting out, and I hear what you're saying. We're getting out of here too," I say as I pass a bottle of water to Sheree, who opens it and drinks a third of it before I get my bottle open.

"Nobody should be going through what they've put you through. But you'll be gone before you know it; unfortunately, I live in this town. Get out of here and avoid this place if you can."

She turns and slowly makes her way back toward the jail entrance. We sit amid the rubble and eat bologna sandwiches while we finish our bottles of water. We manage to extract more bricks from the debris for another few hours before Beth Anne, our jailor, appears. She cuffs our hands behind our backs, and then unlocks the iron boots from our ankles. We stand and slowly make our way back toward the jail, our bodies stiff and in pain from working in a crouched position for so long.

She locks us in our cells, removes our handcuffs, and we crash onto our cots for some rest. I wish Sheree was in the same cell with, but that's not to be. I have to reposition my legs several times to try to get comfortable while locked in leg irons.

I'm awakened with bright lights and the sounds of Beth Anne walking down the hallway banging on the bars of the cells. I have no idea what time it is.

"Marlene, get up and fix breakfast, then we'll process you out. Hate to see you leave us, but I know you'll be back." Beth Anne laughs as I hear her open Marlene's cell, then hear the sound of leg irons jangling on the floor.

I try to drift back to sleep, but a short while later I smell breakfast being prepared and then hear Marlene outside my cell. I get up off my cot and walk to the bars.

"I'm out of here today," she says. "I'll be thinking about you two. Keep focused on getting out of this hell. Don't fuck with her."

"I know, but she's good at trying to push you over the edge," I say as I take the tray through the slot in the bars.

"She wants you to play into her hands, for you to react and then she'll come down on you. Hard! She's sadistic like that."

"She is that. Thanks for your help in dealing with this place. Good luck out there."

Marlene smiles and turns toward Sheree's cell. I take my tray and sit on the cot and eat toast, soggy bacon and drink instant coffee. After we finish breakfast, we hear Beth Anne enter the hallway and make her way towards us. "Backs to the bars, hands through the slots," she says. I stand up and walk to the bars, turn around and extend my hands to be cuffed.

She leads us back to the rubble field, where we painfully walk barefoot over sharp pieces of debris. Beth Anne directs us to the spot where we stopped work yesterday, where the iron boots are awaiting us. She locks our feet in them and then removes our handcuffs. We're about to have a full day of hard labor! God damnit!

Sheree looks at me with a broken expression, fully resigned to this hell. This is the lowest of lows. And I don't think we've reached the bottom.

The worst part comes late in the morning when the rain begins. At first, the light drizzle is an appreciated relief from the time spent under the hot sun. But that doesn't last. After a few minutes, it begins to pour and turn the rubble field to mud. We are totally drenched and far more miserable that before, and that's saying a lot.

The rain doesn't let up. Then, Beth Anne appears walking toward us under a large umbrella. She locks our wrists in handcuffs behind our back, then frees us from the iron boots. We follow her back to the jail, trying to avoid slipping in the mud or entangling our leg irons over pieces of debris.

She stops us at the beginning of the hallway to our cells, looks at us and shakes her head. She is obviously unhappy.

"Fuck, I've got to deal with those wet jump suits. I can't have you in the cells like that. The cots would probably start rotting away and have to be replaced." She points to me. "You, in the shower room."

Beth Anne opens the door for me, then slams it shut after I step inside. I hear her say, "You, on the bench." I bend down to peer through the slot on the door, and see her chain Sheree's handcuffs to the bench. Then she turns back toward the shower room, and says, "Turn and step back to the door."

Without prompting, I place my cuffed wrists in the slot on the door and position my ankles by the one near the floor. She begins uncuffing me and says, "I going to want you to take off the jumpsuit and pass it to me through the slot." Once out of my cuffs and shackles, I unbutton the soaked jumpsuit and then push it through the slot to her. I stand here wet and naked, thinking a cold shower is the last thing I want right now, and then I hear Beth Anne say, "Now you, get in there and back up to the door. I'm gonna get both of your jumpsuits dry at the same. I'm sure you'll be fine in there together."

Sheree and I are actually going to be locked in the same room wearing no restraints whatsoever and naked! A bright spot finally opens in a dark, dark space. And this time is all ours. The door opens and she shuffles inside. She backs up to the door and Beth Anne begins removing her cuffs and shackles, all the while looking at me. Sheree doesn't look away from me even as she starts to remove her jumpsuit, once free of her chains. Her eyes blink first in disbelief, then come alive with relief, then delight, then her eyelids narrow slightly while her mouth opens just enough to allow her tongue to wet her lips. A slight glimpse of teeth suggests a predator may have just been freed.

Seeing her wet naked body emerging from an orange jumpsuit is more erotic than I ever would have imagined. She is twenty-eight, a natural blond with a uniquely beautiful heart-shaped face accented by exotic high cheekbones with a trim, finely-toned body. I'm already hard and ready for her wet body to wrap around mine. Once she pushes her jumpsuit through the slot to Beth Anne, she rushes into my arms. We crush our wet faces together and our tongues move into each other's mouth. My hand fondles a breast, while my other moves between her legs. She has one hand on my butt and one hand on my penis. We drop to our knees, and then roll into each other. I end up on top and thrust my penis into her then we find the rhythm and roll with it.

The last time we made love, we were lost in the woods, had heavy shackles locked on our ankles and ring gags locked around our heads. This time, being free from all restraints, we are animalistic as we roll together over the hard tile floor. We work ourselves to sweaty climaxes, come together, and collapse into one another for a moment, then begin again. Sheree is a biter when she is out of control, and I have toothmarks to confirm it. I don't care; she can bite me anytime.

We knew this moment would end and we hear Beth Anne making her way to the door. We collapse into one another, and smother each other's mouth with slobbery kisses. We stay locked together in our own world of sensory pleasures, until Beth Anne's voice breaks in.

"Fun time's over. You, mister what's your name, here's your jumpsuit. Put it on and step back to the door."

I disentangle my body from hers, stand slowly and make my way to the door. As I'm pulling on my dry jumpsuit, Sheree is standing up and walking towards me. As I back up to the door, Sheree drops to her knees in front of me and undoes the lowest button on my jumpsuit. She reaches a hand inside and softly touches my penis. She lightly strokes it, then lifts it through the opening in my jumpsuit. She bends her head and takes it in her mouth, as I feel a handcuff being secured around my right wrist. She slowly pumps her mouth around my penis, which is erect again, as the second cuff is applied and my hands are locked behind my back. As she continues working her mouth back and forth, my body begins moving with her. My eyes are tightly closed, my head is leaning back against the door, and my mouth is moving with each deep breath I am taking. My right ankle is being locked into leg irons as I begin to come. As I come, I react audibly. If Beth Anne hears, I don't care. She secures my other ankle and I step away from the door as Sheree stands and kisses me fully on the lips. I taste my come in her mouth.

"And here's your jumpsuit, blondie," Beth Anne says as she slides it through the slot on the door. "You know the drill."

Sheree visibly pouts, knowing that our break from this hell is soon to be over. She slowly puts the dry jumpsuit on, which is far, far less erotic than taking off a wet one. She backs up to the door and grudgingly puts her hands behind her back. I walk up to her, kiss her and press my body up against hers. I move my chest slowly back and forth across her breasts, while my lips stay locked with hers. Our bodies begin moving rhythmically as I slightly press myself against her. I hear the ratchetting sounds of her handcuffs being locked on to her wrists, and we continue with wet kisses while softly moving together. When I hear her leg irons being affixed to her ankles, I know we are about to be separated for who knows how long. And sure enough, Beth Anne opens the door and says, "Back to your cells. Move on."

We shuffle down the hall to our cells; Beth Anne locks us in and then removes our handcuffs through the slots in the doors. As soon as I hear her close the door at the end of the hallway, I hear Sheree say, "Hey, come up here." And then I see an arm with fingers beckoning to come up to the bars.

"I'm not ready for our shower room time to end. We've been locked up and chained down for too long. Get right up to where the wall meets the bars. I think I can reach you."

I press myself against the end of the wall and the bars, and I touch her hand to let her know I'm here. She slightly lowers her hand and reaches through the bars on my side and begins touching me until she finds her way to my penis. I unbutton the jumpsuit, and her hand slides inside. She begins stroking me.

Sheree speaks in a breathy whisper. "We're all by ourselves in here now, we can pleasure each other. It's been too long. I'm fingering myself as I'm touching you. I guess that makes me a naughty girl, since I'm locked up in jail and all."

"It makes me hard thinking about that. If we were only locked in the same cell."

"Shh. No, don't say that. This is what we have and we're here, right now together. I can touch you and you can touch me." She moans slightly, and her hand movements slow briefly until she stops stroking me. She catches her breath, and then says, "Maybe it will rain again tomorrow. But until then, I'm meet you back here in a little while. Love you."

I hear her leg irons jangling on the floor as she steps away from the bars.

We rest on our cots, meet again at the bars, and make each other come, then return to our cots. Beth Anne brings us our evening meal of water and bologna sandwich, and the lights go out. We meet back at the bars in the dark and perhaps because of that it's more intense. We take turns stroking each other and hearing each other's deep breaths. We've gone beyond words. Touch, stroke, then repeat. I nearly trip over my leg irons going back to my cot.

When the lights are turned back on in the morning, Beth Anne greets us with a breakfast, far inferior to Marlene's and hers wasn't much to speak of. She tells us it's still raining. So, we are stuck in our cells, without the possibility of time together, naked in the shower room. We spend the day on our cots in boredom, with the occasional rendezvous at the bars.

The next day, after breakfast, we're cuffed behind our backs and led barefoot back outside, where we're locked in the boots. The heavy iron base where our heels rest are covered in a thin layer of mud, still damp from the rain. These are miserable to have to wear, now made more so by the mud. Of course, Beth Anne makes no attempt to clean them up before fastening them on our feet. We know better than to complain. She unlocks our handcuffs and walks back toward the jail, leaving us to our work.

"Just three more days of this," I tell Sheree who begins grumbling as soon as Beth Anne steps away. The further Beth Anne gets from us, the louder and angrier Sheree becomes.

"That bitch locked these as tight as she could. Fuck! They're pinching my ankles! God damn her!" She leans down and tries to reposition her feet in the boots to relieve the discomfort. "And she keeps us locked in fucking leg irons, when we can't even move around in the damn boots."

"But listen. Remember she can go the judge to get our sentence extended if she tells him we haven't done the work we were ordered to do. The rain kept us away from here the last day and a half. You know what I'm saying? She's going to be looking for us to make up that time."

"I can't do three more days of this, Wade. I can't do it!"

"Yes, you can. We'll get through this. We don't have a choice."

Sheree places her elbows on her knees and rests her face in her hands. She sits there, fuming in silence for a few minutes while I start positioning my boots to move closer to the bricks in the debris pile nearest me. I begin retrieving bricks and placing them in a paint bucket. When I move the nearly filled bucket behind me to start on another one, I hear Sheree working her way toward it, having accepted our horrible reality: I retrieve the bricks, she places them on the pallet. I say nothing to further aggravate her and we work in silence, trying to avoid the thought of this slave laboring going on all day.

The site of the demolished building where we're working is on the far end of the main street, with little traffic passing by and no pedestrians. But we are visible from the street. And while we look over when we hear cars passing by, nobody seems to notice us. Until today.

We see a black pickup truck with a long bed moving down the road beside us. It appears to slow slightly across from us, but drives on away. But a minute later, we hear its engine again as if it turned around and came back toward us.

It stops on the street, right beside the lot where we're working. The doors open and three people step out. They're looking at us and pointing. This is not good. We've never had to interact with anyone other than Beth Anne or Marlene during our days of hard labor, but I think that's about to change.

There's one young woman and two guys, all sporting camouflage. She's wearing a camouflage halter top over cut-off jeans. One guy has a camouflage tee-shirt; the other one is in oversize camouflage shorts that extend far below the knee. The former is tall and skinny while the other is short and stocky, wearing a red MAGA cap. The woman leads the guys a few steps toward us, speaking to them in a loud voice which she obviously intends for us to hear.