Parole 1

"You haven't left your apartment in several days..." Lina's parole officer told her.

"What gave it away?" Lina said, still in her post-release funk. Prison had been constricting, but the lack of choice made getting through the days easier. Her family was of no help, shunning or being outright ashamed of the once drug-addict and robber. She'd been the lucky one; her boyfriend had been shot.

Officer Smith poked through a few empty bags of chips and other snacks left on the kitchen counter. "The smell mostly. I'm not going to find any candy in here, am I?"

Lina laughed at him from the living room couch and tapped her head. "The MindWeave keeps me clean, you know that."

He opened some of the cupboards at random, "It's still experimental... we don't know that... especially long term."

"Come on, man," Lina said. "You saw the video. They had a baggie full of brown sugar, and I didn't so much as drool. The chip in my head has cured me."

Smith looked at her suspiciously from the kitchen door. "Color me still dubious. Ten years in this work and I've never seen a wonder cure for a hardcore junkie."

She looked defiantly at him... who was this prick to come into her home and judge her? Oh, right, a corporate and court-appointed parole officer to ensure the chip in her head kept her clean and out of a life of crime. In annoyance, she flipped through the TV channels.

Finished poking through her kitchen Smith returned to the living room, his eyes constantly on his ward. After a long pause, he said, "Inspection."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Lina said as she rose off the couch. "I don't have any drugs on me."

Her hands went to the back of her neck without conscious thought, and she set her feet shoulder-width apart. The position felt rigid and uncomfortable until she remembered to thrust her chest out. Now she was comfortable, it felt natural. She continued watching TV, knowing he would pat her down.

There was a time, not long ago, when she would have been indignant. However, this was just one of those unusual conditions of parole. The parole she'd only gotten because of the MindWeave implanted in her skull. Murderers weren't usually let out of prison after only two years. Not that she'd killed anyone, but that gas station attendant had shot her boyfriend, and the prosecutor charged her for it. She was just the getaway, and hadn't even gone in. Thank fuck for the chip or she'd be rotting in that hole for another twenty-three minus some for good time.

The pat down? Not nearly as bad as some of the shit other prisoners had done to her. Honestly, it was even starting to feel... natural? That was the best way to describe it. The pat downs became easier with each one. She actually sort of looked forward to the thought of Smith's hands on her hips. The idea was so vivid she considered masturbating to it once he was gone, like she had before.

Smith stepped around her, between her and the couch. She could still watch the TV if she wanted, but his presence behind her made it difficult to focus on anything but the cloying cologne he wore. Silently, she urged him on; she was growing impatient for the pat-down.

"Can I ask you something?" he murmured, nearly touching her ear with his mouth. The hot breath on her neck would have made her sick a month ago... but now... it felt... natural.

She licked her lips and wanted to twirl her hair around a finger. "You can ask me anything."

"Why are you dressed like this?"

She blinked... Dressed like what? She was wearing what the prison had provided her with. Thin silks, barely covering her body and leaving all too much skin visible. It didn't help that they were see-through, leaving very little to the imagination.

At first, she refused to wear them. She'd left with a duffel bag of a bunch of different types of clothing, all of them stamped with her prison ID number. The silks were the only thing that didn't have her number on them.

The other clothing was heavier, and rougher, and although she wore it exclusively at first... over the weeks it just began feeling... unnatural. It was all too heavy, too confining, too itchy and snagging in all the wrong spots. Eventually, she just quit wearing it.

Her silks, however, were light and airy; they felt like she was wearing freedom. She remembered thinking they were somehow gross when she first left prison, but now they were all she wore. She no longer minded that her nipples stood at attention in them, or that when they touched skin, they became completely see-through, they just felt... natural.

The jumble of thoughts in her head about the silks made it impossible to answer Smith's question. She didn't know how to put it into words. And frankly, thinking about it made her head hurt. She just wanted to let her mind go, wear what she wanted, and pose when asked. These things cleared her head and made her feel more... natural.

When Smith's hand came around her chest and squeezed her breast painfully hard, she exhaled and her mind cleared. Thank goodness for the MindWeave, she'd still be in prison otherwise. Besides, everything felt so... natural.