Flash Forward:
"Not there! Please, not there," I beg, my hoarse throat struggling to form the words as I plead in abject terror as the cold metal tip of the cheap ballpoint pen pokes the opening to my urethra. I cannot hope to stop the inevitable defilement of this final threshold; I am bound across his desk doing the splits, each ankle secured with zip ties and cord to the opposite side of the desk. My wrists are flexi-cuffed in a reverse prayer position behind my back. I am wearing nothing except for my plain white socks and my cheer skirt, though the latter is bunched around my waist, keeping nothing private but my navel. My sneakers, bra, and top are all scattered across the floor of the dingy security office.
And as if all of this did not make me vulnerable enough already, my labia have been spread with binder clips taped to my thighs, stretching the delicate pink skin of my sex so that everything is accessible, from the dripping, slightly gape opening of my well-used vagina to the swollen red ring of my abused anus. And, notably, the tiny and yet-innocent pucker of my piss hole. It had never even occurred to me before this moment that I could be penetrated there, but I have learned many things today.
Mostly, I have learned just how responsive my body is to pain. Even after everything I have been through, my body soaked in sweat and my face soaked in tears, my pussy is also sopping wet, my clit engorged and, though exhausted, still clearly up for another orgasm. As one of Clint's hands steadies the pen against my opening, the other reaches up and pinches my clit firmly between his fingers, hard enough to elicit a whimper. That whimper becomes a wail as I feel the head of the pen slide into my opening, the metal tip warming against my body as I can still feel it enter me. The plastic behind it is rough, and though lubricated with vaseline the taper of it is still uncomfortable as it passes inside of me. I can't see it from this angle, but I feel when the tapered tip ends.
It takes a bit more pressure for Clint to get the shaft of the pen started, as its diameter is slightly wider than my urethra wants to be. For a few moments I think that he will fail, that there's no way my pisshole could possibly accommodate a standard-sized ballpoint pen, but the uncomfortable pressure eventually makes my body yield to him and the pen slides in a centimeter or so. I howl in pain, my thighs straining helplessly, but ultimately I can do nothing to prevent this unspeakable assault on my final orifice.
.....
Earlier today, I never could have imagined something like this happening. I came to the mall right before lunch with some friends from the cheer squad, just another college freshman out to socialize, grab some sushi in the food court, and maybe do a little shopping. In most ways I'm an ordinary student, a nineteen-year-old biology major with a couple thousand instagram followers and not nearly enough free time between my sorority, being on the cheer squad, and trying to maintain a 3.5 GPA to keep my scholarships. I'm pretty in the usual petite cheer squad way, with shoulder-length hair dyed a fashionable ashen blonde and big, doe-like brown eyes, and a tan that I maintain with hours in a bikini around the sorority house pool.
I'm not usually free this time on a Saturday, but the coach canceled practice at the last minute so Josie suggested going to the Rolling Hills mall. Now here we are. I pick at my black rice salmon roll, not entirely sure I like it but not wanting to look basic or uncultured in front of the older, more sophisticated girls. I'm mostly listening to the others gossip but also watching the new security guy out of the corner of my eye. He's not bad looking, for a mall cop. Too old for me by far, there's a lot of grey hair at his temples and a slight paunch that the blue uniform doesn't hide, but he wears it well despite that. I can see the muscles in his forearms as he rests his arm on his taser in a way that makes it obvious he's an ex-cop, a real one. He has a short, military-style haircut, but his short beard definitely isn't regulation - it suits him though. I glance away as he looks our way, embarrassed when Josie wiggles her eyebrows at me as if to ask if I was checking him out.
I shake my head and, luckily, conversation moves on until we're chatting idly about which football players have the cutest butts or which sororities have the most fake tits. They settle on Kappa Phi Rho, which is mine, but I honestly agree with them. I joined it specifically because it's well known to be the place to be if you want to make connections, party hard, drink harder, have the nastiest sex, and look good doing it. Honestly I'd get a boob job too, if I had the money for it.
But unlike most of my sorority sisters, I don't come from money. I was lucky to get in despite it, but it's hard explaining away why I have an iphone three generations old and haven't really bought any new clothes to speak of all semester long. Luckily I have a plan. Not a great plan, but one that's worked for me in the past. Security at this mall is super lax, and although I know that stealing is wrong and the consequences of getting caught are dire, I also know I can get away with it. Shoplifting got me gifts for our Christmas exchange, new accessories, a rabbit vibe I use almost every night, brands of makeup that I would never be able to afford on my shoestring student budget, all kinds of things.
Plus, I like the rush. I spend all week being a good girl doing my coursework, my homework, going to office hours and study groups, volunteering with my sisters, and going to every football game... It feels good to do this one tiny thing for myself, when everything else I do for someone else. The other girls finish their sushi and we start to stroll through the mall, still in our practice uniforms, getting some glances from other students (and men old enough to be our fathers) as we stroll by. We visit a couple of shops, but I don't buy anything as the others do. Occasionally, as everyone's attention is elsewhere, I'll slip something into my purse. A pair of pink silk panties from Victoria's Secret, some earrings from Kohl's, a pair of Nike shorts... I'm not saying it's the reason I have a big purse, but it's also not a coincidence.
My pièce de résistance, though, is yet to come. I've had my eye on the new Kat Von D eyeliner for a while now, the one that the other girls swear will last through even the toughest, sweatiest day at practice. My drugstore formula hasn't been holding up lately as the weather warms up, so I desperately need it... but not enough to pay $36 for one small tube. All the others bought one when we were there, but I bided my time after noticing it was right next to a foundation and lipstick I'd also had my eyes on. A while later we're walking to Abercrombie & Fitch when I pretend to look through my bag for my phone.
"Crap, guys, hold on," I exclaim, bringing the group to a sudden stop. "I think I lost my phone, I can't find it anywhere." I inject some panic in my voice, and it works. Josie puts her hand comfortingly on my shoulder.
"Just think, April, where did you see it last?" she asks soothingly.
"Well I must have had it at Sephora, I was texting Jax back about the party on Thursday... I must have left it on the shelf when I was looking at that dry shampoo! I'll be right back, meet you guys at Abercrombie?" I ask, already starting to break away from the group.
"I'll go with you and help look," Sera offers. I try not to look disappointed.
"Nah, you stay with the group," I insist. "I'll just be a minute, I'll catch up with you guys in no time. Just don't leave without me, okay?"
"We won't. You sure you'll be okay on your own?" Josie reassures me. She drove us here, always a bit of a group mom. She would be so disappointed if she knew what I was planning to do... good thing she'll never know.
"I'll be fine. The mall is, like, the safest place in town," I reassure her, jogging away. "Seriously, I'll be back in just a minute!"
--
The shop attendants at Sephora are just as fooled as my friends. They all coo in concern and agree to help me look, scouring the shelves. They're all so caught in looking that none of them see me slip the eyeliner into my purse. Or the foundation. Or even an Urban Decay eyeshadow palette. Feeling almost giddy from the thrill of the steal, I pretend to pull my phone out from under a store display. "Found it!" I announce loudly, trying my best to look apologetic to the employees as I leave the store, acting like I'm late to catch up with my friends.
I'm halfway to Abercrombie and Fitch, still floating, when a strong hand grabs me by the upper arm and yanks me to a stop. "Hold it," a gruff voice says. I look up in alarm, but I know who it is before I ever see his bearded face. It's the new mall cop from earlier. My heart falls into my stomach as he pulls me into one of those creepy unmarked staff doors, marching me through a concrete hallway that doesn't look properly finished, exposed pipes and ductwork everywhere. I feel like I'm not somewhere I'm meant to see, the dirty underbelly of the mall which all the little people use to keep the shiny exterior free of garbage services and delivery men and all the other parts of keeping a mall running that we don't want to see.
"What are you doing? Let go of me," I insist, but you ignore me, and there's nothing I can do to escape your iron grip around my bicep. Your fingers are thick as hot dogs and completely encircle my arm, and your stride is so long I'm at a half-jog just to keep up and not get dragged. "Look, I don't know what you think you're doing, but there's some misunderstanding here-"
"Oh, I think I understand perfectly well," he insists sternly. "Now shut up." Normally I would never allow someone to speak to me this way, but in this case I decide to make an exception. I'm already starting to panic as I wonder how much of that he saw. Maybe I can just hand it all over, get banned from the mall or promise not to do it again or whatever, and come out of all this alright.
But if not, if the cops get called... I feel panic rise in my chest. I could lose my scholarships over this, lose my place on the cheer squad and in Kappa Phi Rho. I could even get expelled! I chew my lower lip nervously, tasting my cherry chapstick. This is bad, really bad. If I can't think of some way to convince this guy to take pity on me, I could be in deep shit.
He guides me through an unmarked door to a room that must be the security office. There's one desk with a bunch of screens showing various security camera feeds, and another with an old computer and a new nameplate inscribed as Clint McDermott. The other three desks are empty and dusty, clearly unoccupied. Are they really running a one man show here? No wonder I've been getting away with this for so long, the last guy was a useless tub of lard. Just my luck that my biggest day yet would be after they finally hire a competent security guy. He plops me down in front of the desk with the computer and nameplate and sits down across from me.
I notice that his nametag also reads Clint and decide to take a gamble. "Look, Clint, I know you're just doing your job, but I have rights-"
