Soup Style Bk 14 Armpits Reward

Perizat and Sylvie, once captives of the gang of bad guys, made their way from the emergency vehicle only tunnel system. To their surprise they had been pointed to an exit for the police station adjacent to the regional medical center off ramp.

Sylvie wanted to escape. Or kill bad guys. Or have sex.

Last on her list might have been staying with the other victim. But, there was something about the other victim that was keeping them together. A combined sense of serenity with a purposeful, thoughtful, actionable way to keep going. At the police station, Perizat asked for crime scene investigators to secure the robo van, for a rape kit to be administered for herself (and a quick look and exchange of nonverbal communications led to declining one for Sylvie) with a last and strange request that a named and high ranking officer be told they were there and needed to be seen soon, discretely. No sooner than the last word left her mouth, then Perizat and Sylvie were separated into separate interrogation rooms, with EmmaLee and Carla (princesses in the local Asian community) immediately entering the one with Perizat, hearing her tale, then exiting to the chamber from which they could see both rooms and freely choose to which to listen. Each picked up an earpiece to a different room.

An agonizingly slow few moments passed. Then, Sam McCloud, a senior and special projects only officer, arrived to interrogate each of the women, starting with Sylvie. Sylvie was not very cooperative. Not very talkative. Not very helpful. Also, to Sam (short for Samantha) all too clearly not showing any anxiety. Sam did not yet know that Sylvie had the skill sets of a professional assassin. Although Sylvie had declined the repeated offers of a rape kit, she had agreed to be screened for having been drugged, which opened many investigative opportunities for the department. Excusing herself, Sam left Sylvie to check in on Perizat, where, to her surprise, she recognized someone who had been in the close circle with her own grandfather's wartime buddy ( if you recall [Soup Style Bk. 06] her somewhat tortured interrogation of the neighbor, err, the late...? the deceased person posing as Ashley's grandfather?). Sam tried not to show any surprise. She asked Perizat for her story. Little did Sam expect to learn that there were two bodies and an explanation for the gang remaining hidden and protected in the use of the robo van with priority access to the tunnels dedicated exclusively for emergency vehicles.

What Sam McLoud was finding to be a pattern was that the van had been in the tunnel for the hospital or the police station. As much as she wanted to rule out fellow officers complacency or active participation with the bad guys, she knew it was a likely outcome. Maybe she was hoping for a different outcome by trying to find a pattern connecting more so to the hospital?

Meanwhile, back in the gang's protected nest within the hospital:

Two victims. One well dressed, one hippie chick, both abductees. Mentioned only in passing through where the bad guys had their abductees processed [Soup Style B. 13}. Now, in fuller details of their ordeals. If you enjoy women whose legs are spread far apart while in doggie position and awaiting greased entries into her ass, if you enjoy having a group take advantage of this, then read on.

The nipples of the hippie chick had been dark, engorged. No obvious milk, but, enough for the hospital tech to have suspected to administer pregnancy testing. His guess was that she was less than a few months along before being abducted. Not knowing if the gang would have a special opportunity for ransom from the father's family, he knew enough to tag her for special review. She was unshaven. Hairy snatch. Hairy underarms. Sometimes the gang members wanted the abductees shaved. Most of the time. But, there were those who wanted to do something if an abductee was hairy. Hairy and likely pregnant might get this hippie chick routed for extremes, either to be ransomed, maybe auctioned, maybe even kept for use and abuse until death.

She had something about her. Something that suggested she would clean up well, maybe even have a family able to pay ransom? Would that keep him to a short stay on the bench with the other two? He was ready to send one, and, with a bit of dread but a certainty that his own pleasures might be too obvious, he began mentally going through the steps to get this one to her destiny so that he could start on the second victim.

After prepping her was complete, he had two other orderlies know to return for another one, but, also, to come back to prepare him to be benched as well. The orderlies followed through to place her on a gurney and relocate her for benching. He did not know that there was already another victim still benched. She had been unusually busty but also unusually hairy, so as a sort of change in the lineup, she was being kept longer. Hair was especially noticed on the creases between her ass cheeks and her legs. If flipped, hairy armpits, only a tiny amount of odd hairs around her nipples but a lustrous mane of hair starting a hands width below her belly button that ran into a full bush. Her nipples were nearly flat against her very shiny areolae. Most remarkable about her? Her labial lips were many shades darker than her skin, and remarkably fat. Her clit was hooded, but nothing unusual in that or other parts of her vulva.

Having such a hairy treat for those whose appetite was for the hirsute, and not knowing when fans of the hairy would be back in the gang hideaway, she was being kept for longer than other victims. Should they be concerned about keeping her benched so long? Keeping her drugged continuously so very long might be deadly or permanently disabling. The gang had enjoyed some victims until an early death. However, with cartel guidance, they now enjoyed profitably selling their throwaways.

The cartel supply chain had needed children. In the sweep earlier that day that brought the children to the cartel, their caregiver, our hippie chick, had been left with the foot soldiers to bring in for their use. Along with the products of the sweep, another of the spoils of war was a parent arriving early to pick up her own child. A parent who would now be forever unlikely to be reunited with her child. A parent who herself would be in a separate hell from the one for her daughter.

With the addition of the newly prepared hippie chick, there were two benches with hairy armpits on display.

The gang had no way of knowing that the victim being held over was famous not for being hairy, but, among those who knew her, she had a smile that was always welcome. Her smile was so remarkable that she was often hired to be a walk-on or a background person in advertising media. That past job experience ought to have made her face (if not merely her smile) well recognized, hopefully too well recognized for her to remain a victim?

Nor did the gang have any way of knowing that hippie chick had been raped by the father of her best friend at a young age and had thereafter lost interest in men altogether. This does not mean that all her female friends were lesbians. In point of fact, she was one of the non-Asians who were in the dances at the recreation center. She was, to no surprise for readers of all the books in this series, a dancer in the same group and level as an odd waif, Ashley Mary Louise Cotter. Her day job was, well perhaps "had been" given her circumstance, as a child care worker. She was one of the people wiping snot from babies' noses while their parents were working. She probably knew more about infant diets than any pediatrician because she fed a handful of kids most days of the week. Know-how with infants wasn't going to help her now. Having also danced in the past with the moon dancer would not immediately rescue her. However, the moon dancer was going to be part of her rescue. She was called Maggie by her friends. Her mom had more insulting nicknames for her. Although close to her father when growing up, once the father of her best friend had raped her, she had withdrawn from almost everyone. Among the few exceptions had been Ashley and that odd fellow who cared for Ashley. He had taken both her and Ashley for surfing, horseback rides, and snowboarding. Both girls were socially withdrawn, yet, being with horses or engaging in strenuous dances and sports were obviously to their benefit. Maggie did not know Perizat, as she had never been to a catered event, nor had Maggie ever been attending the neighborhood crafts camps hosted by Elsebet.

But Maggie had danced. She had danced and danced. Yes, she was troubled. Not alone as a troubled teen, no, not alone. In a group that had included Ashley, the moon dancer, and with modest overlapping to other groups, Maggie had survived. She had thought of going to work prepping food for restaurants, but those jobs were all automated away from her reach.

The final straw in stripping away motivation was witnessing the destruction of the moon dancer. He had been targeted by a mean girl, a popular girl, and when he had distanced himself from her advances, she had framed him for raping her. Having two judges as parents, the prosecutors and police investigators were in a hurry to apprehend and bring the moon dancer to injustice in trial, conviction and imprisonment.

Having served his time, though unfairly, he had returned to society. During his imprisonment for the maximum term (after all, he was convicted for a crime against a family with two judges), the moon dancer had trained with dogs, becoming a remarkable dog trainer. Most prisoners working with the training program were in fact benefited, and, most dogs were well treated during training. A few bad apples, as in any organization, as in any program, were to become part of this story, too.

In an irony that is too sad, disgusting, horrible, to confront, there was, on the wall of targets for the gang, that same daughter of the judges who was responsible for the injustice to the moon dancer. If the moon dancer were to rescue Maggie, if the moon dancer were to wreck righteousness on the bad guys, would that be to the ever unsung and unappreciated rescue and benefit of the mean girl, too?

The single mom now in the terrible possession of the gang of bad guys had a good career. She was a specialist. A photographer. Her niche was photographing products for the introduction on the internet and in sales venues. She was a photographer of celebrity products, from new technology to latest models of familiar products. Landing a repeating stint, a gig with a maker of lighting fixtures, she had the idea to do a science fiction streaming with the chandeliers altered to be strangely suspended space ships. Not on screen herself, she had a group of youngsters with storylines, voices and action animations that all contributed to their shared success in streaming. It was a wonderful side job to her almost full plate but irregular employment as a sort of industrial and commercial photographer. The streaming was so successful, that had any sci-fi enthusiasts in the gang heard her voice, they might have made the connection.

Her breasts were globes of delight to her lovers. Her nipples were close to the areolae, not even rising during stimulation. However, her nipples did show changes when she was excited. They crinkled. Instead of rising up and outward, the area around her nipples went from smooth to scrunched. She could and for that reason did go braless. Thereby exhibiting the freely swinging orbs of interest without fear of giving away her own titillations.

The photographer was also extremely limber. Easily bending herself into any pretzel contortion required to "get the shot" whether for a photo shoot or the reception of ejaculate of a lover. Her ample chest was well-matched with her ample ass. She had never attempted anal intercourse. Her labial lips when she was at ease were closed but would unfurl like flags in motion while she was sexually engaged. Exactly what the politician might be thrilled to witness on screen while she was being buggered.

Now, with four bodies "benched" for the pleasure of the gang, it was time for the gang members to stop by for any necessary direct interactions.

Meanwhile, though, back at the park. Michelle, the equestrian officer, had a serious fall. The gang had set a trap intending to cause death if not substantial harm to both the officer and the horse. Moondancer had found them. He had carried Michelle in his arms to the ranger station. He had returned to care for the horse (with a good outcome).

There was a meeting in the cemetery. At night. EmmaLee, Carla, the odd old man in a wheelchair, and the dog handler were in attendance. One at a time each was debriefed on what had been learned that day. The risks of joining with Sylvie were obvious, but having a lone wolf connected to their efforts as vigilantes could be worth pursuing later. Losing tracking on Perizat was a startling failure. It had not occured to anyone that the near new hospital access tunnels would be shielded. Hospitals and other emergency destinations? They had come to the same realization as Sam. The hospital might house the gang hideaway. Police would not be able to get warrants. Vigilantes would be unable to easily search the premises. Moondancer pointed out that it would make sense for police visitors to an injured officer. EmmaLee pointed out that entering a hospital or cruising the corridors in a wheelchair might go less noticed, or, one of them could push the wheelchair for an easy distraction or extraction. Carla gladly volunteered to be a distraction, whether as an innocent or even if a flasher.