Have You Seen Allyson Dare

Author's Note,

Trigger warning - this story contains what on the surface looks to be a rape. It is not. I explain it a little better in part 2, and, of course, all will resolve in the end!

Thanks,

Pentopaper

*

It's mid-morning and the sun is shining. It's late spring, but like so many other days like today, the weather in Indiana is frequently confused. This confusion isn't necessarily a bad thing, it just depends on which direction the confusion runs.

For instance, it might be mid-spring according to any wall calendar, but if the weather thinks it's still late winter, Instead of dodging raindrops in our rain gear, we're forced back into our winter coats we've already sent to the cleaners to be cleaned, and we're again slogging through slushy ice puddles in our winter-weary snow boots.

Thankfully, today's weather error was made in the correct direction. Temperatures are supposed to be uncharacteristically high in the mid-80s, and Mick Mickelson, the local tv weather-guy-in-training who sounds like he's not quite finished going through puberty, urged everyone to wear sunscreen this morning.

But I say, fuck that.

I work in a building all day. I'll see the sun at some point probably, sure. But it will be over my half hour lunch break sitting at a picnic table under various leafy trees in what passes as the back yard. The amount of sun I'll get even then will be negligible. And any other dreams of the coming summer will have to be satisfied by looking out my tiny office window, or maybe by putting down the convertible top on my old car, and hoping it will go back up again when I want it to.

"Hi, Lyndsey," our nurse-on-call says. We pass by each other in the hallway. She's a perfectly styled, fake tanned, Malibu-Barbie-like blonde, and therefore, she's a bitch.

I smile at her disingenuously, and just when I think I've successfully avoided a conversation with her, she grabs my arm, stopping me. "Have you seen Allyson Dare?" she asks. The little crinkly white cup you'd normally pump a dollop of ketchup into at the local Arby's is the reason for her question. This one she holds contains a couple of white pills.

I take the cup from her and roll my eyes. "No, Trina, I haven't seen anybody just yet because I just got here. But I'll find her," I add.

Even though I've just told the Queen of the Mansfield inpatient Juvenile Mood Clinic "no", it's the right kind of no. Trina is a terrible records-keeper, and I know she needs the extra time to get the paperwork on her desk under control. She might be a beautiful girl, but people don't let nurses get away with that sloppy kind of shit around here.

Her face breaks into the kind of smile that probably had all the college boys kicking off their flip flops, dropping their tan carpenter shorts, and waggling their dicks at her. "Thanks, Lyndsey. Have I told you lately that you're a lifesaver?" She gushes.

"At least every third day, babe," I say.

She giggles, and it's a sound that I doubt she often makes in the company of girls, but she's gotten what she wants, and so she hurries down the hallway, going to her clinic/office.

I make my own way out of the maze of hallways that house the offices, and into the common area. There are some thirty kids here of both sexes, all varying ages from 18 to 20 years old. A TV blares on one side of the room, and Judge Judy is berating some poor man who is claiming he shouldn't be responsible for his dog biting his daughter's best friend. A few kids sit watching TV, but the others are engaged in various activities around the seven circular tables. One table hosts a rousing game of Dungeons and Dragons. Another has a complicated game of Scrabble in progress. Other table occupants are playing poker, Sorry, or working on 1000 piece puzzles.

If there's one thing everybody has here, it's time.

But I don't see Ally Dare anywhere in the common room. It's too late for lunch and too early for dinner, and there are no visiting hours on Tuesdays, so there aren't a lot of other places she could be. I check her room, but nobody is there, not even her roommate.

There is one other place to check before I start a thorough door-to-door search, and so I head to Keesha and Z's room.

Keesha Is one of the few African Americans in the program. She is 250 pounds of strong-willed girl, and she loves to throw her weight around, sometimes literally. I'm not sure if it's her physical size or the size of her personality, but she has quite a following here. Her strong drive and pluck helped her successfully keep a $500 a day heroin addiction going strong for two whole years. Her black, wiry hair shoots out at funny angles since she keeps it cut way too short, and usually she keeps it at bay with a red paisley bandanna tied around her head like a headband.

Z is short for Zoelle, but she hates her name and makes everybody call her by the first letter only. A skinny, sneaky, goth kid, she has extremely pale skin. She looks oddly fresh-faced here, even with her asymmetrical dyed-black hair. It's mainly because we have a "no makeup" rule, and so she's not allowed to wear the thick black eyeliner that I know she likes. Z's very good at attempting suicide, but she's lousy with her success rate. She came to us after a vigorous emergency room stomach pumping that forced her body to rid itself of sixty sleeping pills. She has various white and pink razor scars up and down her arms, and the freshest-looking ones go horizontally across the inside of each wrist.

I do another quick glance around the common area to make sure I haven't missed Ally. All the kids here wear blue scrub tops and matching blue scrub pants (employees wear hospital green) so it's easy to confuse individuals when everybody is dressed alike. Of course, Allyson is incredibly easy to spot. She has Ariel-the-Disney-Mermaid bright red hair that sometimes seems to glow on its own. Her pale skin is sprinkled with thousands of freckles, her nose and cheeks practically covered with them. Her eyes are a clear and intelligent bright green.

I knock on Keesha and Z's closed bedroom door. Doors can be closed here unless you're in the segregation rooms for some kind of punishment, and the segregation rooms don't have doors on them anyway. There are no locks on any of the bedrooms, so after knocking, I push the door open.

I'm instantly taken aback at what I see.

"That's right...you like my fingers, don't you, girl?" Keesha says softly.

And...I've found Allyson Dare.

She's on Z's bed, lying on her side with her legs bent and pushed up so she's in a fetal position. Her scrub pants and standard white underpants have been yanked - forcibly, I assume - down so that they pool around her ankles. Keesha's straddling her lower legs to keep her still and she's running an acrylic nailed, sparkly-silver colored pointer finger back and forth through Ally's swollen pink pussy folds.

"You know what, Miss Lyndsey? She's just perfect," Keesha murmurs quietly. She keeps her eyes on Allyson's face as she speaks, but she's speaking to me.

Z turns her head to give me a big grin. "Yeah. She's real nice," she says. Z has one hand between the fleshy globes of Allyson's ass, and she's using those fingers to spread Ally's cheeks apart. I can see Ally's hole clench when Z applies more spreading pressure. Ally's working hard trying to keep her hole closed while Z keeps trying to wrench it a little bit open. It's a fascinating struggle that I find I can't look away from.

Z continues to hold open Allyson's asscheeks, and she slides the thumb of her other hand into her mouth and licks it until it's dripping. Then she gently rubs her wet thumb over Ally's exposed asshole. The poor girl shudders and her hole all but squeezes and retreats into her body when Z's thumb strokes her. "She does that every time I do this," Z chuckles.

I glance at Ally's face. She's flushed bright red, and the color has spread in violent crimson splotches down onto her neck and upper chest. I know this because her scrub shirt has been removed and I assume that's what the crumpled blue piece of clothing is that's been tossed on Keesha's bed across the room.

Allys mouth has been taped shut with a strip of silver duct tape. Something has been stuffed into her mouth and is peeking out around the tape - somebody else's pair of underwear, perhaps?

Ally's eyes follow mine and they are two frantic green orbs. She's expecting me to do something - to help her - to insist the other girls let her go.

I nod at her, and the hope that is developing there is crushed when I say, "you guys know the rules - no penetration - right?"

I watch a handful of emotions flicker across Ally's face - shock, disbelief, horror, anger, and then what looks like resigned dismay.

Just then I realize there's a fourth girl in the room - little Mae Morgan. She's a tiny girl - probably an inch under five feet tall - with Down Syndrome. She's a sweetheart who has been here at the center for a long time. Her family basically dropped her off like a no longer wanted pet, and she's been a ward of the state ever since. And so this has now become her permanent group home. Always an outcast, Mae is always looking for some group to join. And unfortunately, she's been pulled in by Keesha's steamrolling personality.

The girls have tied Allyson's hands behind her back with what looks like one of Keesha's red paisley bandannas. Mae is leaning up against Ally's back, and she's reaching across Ally's body, playing with the girl's nipples.

"Boobies," Mae giggles.

"God, her ass tastes so good!" Z whispers. I watch as Z takes her thumb that's been stroking Ally's asshole, puts it back in her mouth, licks it like a lollipop, and then rubs it over Ally's asshole again.

"Soft boobies," Mae says.

"Miss Lyndsey?" Keesha asks. She doesn't look at me as she talks. "When can I finger fuck this sweet little thing?" She asks.

Ally squeals a muffled protest.

I chuckle nervously. "I need to examine her first," I say, and I don't look at Keesha either. I'm too mesmerized by Z's thumb sliding across Ally's pink little crinkly asshole. I'm too taken by the fiery red hair around her pussy and asshole that looks more auburn now that it's wet with saliva.

At least I assume it's saliva.

"Is she...wet?" I tentatively ask.

This time Keesha looks up at me, grinning widely. "She sure is," She says. "She likes these fake-ass nails," she says. "I'm running them over her pussy hole and she's just getting wetter and wetter," she says, holding her hand up and waggling her glittery acrylic nails at me. They also shine with the evidence if Ally's unwanted arousal.

With the focus off of her for a second, Ally starts to squirm and tries to kick out at Keesha. The bigger girl immediately slaps Ally on her round, luscious ass. Ally squeals into her gag. She stops squirming as the slaps get harder.

"That's right, girl," Keesha says sternly. I can see Keesha's slapping handprints turning bright red on Ally's asscheeks. "You just lay here and you take it. If I wanna stroke your pussy, I will. If Z wants to thumb your shitter, she will. Your job is to be still. You got it?"

Ally pointedly looks away from everybody. Her body seems to shrink into the bed. I watch one tear slide down the side of her face and Keesha gives her ass a sensuous stroke. "Good girl. My good little girl. My sweet little sexy bitch," Keesha chuckles.

Z rolls her eyes but laughs. Mae looks confused, but laughs along with the other girls, anyway.

I stand up and head towards the door. I pause, realizing I still have Ally's meds in the cup in my hand. I shrug to myself, then walk into the tiny ensuite bathroom and I flush them - cup and all - down the toilet. Ally is on anti-anxiety meds, but I figure her anxiousness might contribute to her submitting better to the girls in the bedroom.

"When, Miss Lyndsey?" Keesha asks me when I'm back from the bathroom.

I glance at Ally as I answer. "In the next few days I'll give her a full exam," I say, my hand on the doorknob. "I'll let you know once she's ready for more."

"Can I please tongue her ass now?" Z asks impatiently.

I shake my head. "Just wait. Once I'm done with her you'll have free reign to do whatever you want," I say.

Ally makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob.

Keesha looks up from Ally's wet pussy to look at me. "Good. But, hey, Miss Lyndsey? You yourself better be ready, 'cause I'm gonna fuck you real good tonight," she says darkly. "I'll meet you in your office one hour before your shift it up," she says.

"Uh...oh?" I say, my voice suddenly tight and breathy.

"Yes," Keesha insists. "Oh, and one more thing."

I swallow hard. "Yes?" I ask, my voice cracking.

"Douche that ass beforehand." She says with the tiniest of smirks.

I feel everybody's eyes turn to me, even Ally's, and I flush deeply. I am hot and uncomfortable, but my pussy throbs at her words. I feel a drop of wetness seep into the crotch of my underpants.

I nod, not able to formulate any response to that.

I open the bedroom door, and I walk out, closing it softly behind me, Keesha's laugh echoing in my ears as I walk away.