Secrets of the Investigation. Part 29
Andrey, naked, standing stretched out on an X-shaped structure with a gag in his mouth and a bloodied face, quietly began to cry. Tears flowed from the hurt of the situation he found himself in, standing immobilized and helpless.
After all, he did everything these crazy, thuggish female convicts demanded of him. He even did, or tried to do, everything diligently, with feeling and emphasis, trying to please them in everything, and even ran away from the rich girls who pissed on him, who, by the way, inflicted his first moral trauma on him today.
He bent over backwards to please them, and even today compromised his principles and let these completely insane female convicts fuck him in the ass. What
did he do wrong? That he didn't deserve even a drop of respect. And when he tried to say something, he immediately got a gag in his mouth.After all, he tried his hardest, smiled at them and served them as best he could. They fucked him, and he smiled obligingly and held his own legs by the knees with his hands and even tried to somehow move in rhythm. What's wrong? Is it his fault? Did he deserve such treatment?
They used him as they wanted and as they could, had already pissed on him more than once, fucked him in a circle, and even with his service ID on his lower back, which was especially cynical, and even filmed it on a video camera, so what more was needed?
And now they even shoved a gag in his mouth so he wouldn't dare try to justify himself somehow and would just shut up. However, Andrey, talking to himself and asking himself questions, concluded that in this lawless, criminal world of these female convicts, who were simply fixated on prison concepts, it was stupid for him, as they had already nicknamed him "Lyrava," to seek justice!
He was a whore, a waffler, a faggot, a lick-spittle, a suck-up, a smart-ass, a daisy, a larva, and many more things could be listed of what he had become and was for them, but he was also a cop, and that was a special category of his guilt. They were simply taking revenge on him for all the cops they had ever encountered.
Multyashka and Tyomnaya, tired of kicking Andrey, already very drunk, sat down at the table with Yolka and Zima. They were cheerfully discussing something, reminiscing about their prison stories, dreaming and fantasizing about how it was a shame Andrey hadn't guarded them in prison and hadn't serviced them the way he was trying to here and now.
They imagined how they would have fucked him every which way and in what places and utility rooms. How they would have earned all sorts of goodies from other inmates off him, calling them by their nicknames. Of course, Tyomnaya told them that Andrey had sworn to her that on his next stint he would get a job as a guard in the prison where she would be serving time and would make her hard inmate life easier.
"Well, I'm gonna fuck him," said the insatiable Multyashka and got up from the table with a dildo in her hands.
She approached Andrey from behind and, after sizing it up, left and brought a low stool from the washroom. She placed it behind him, in front of Andrey's ass, and climbed onto it. She took aim and it was just right, pressing against his clenched buttocks.
"Lower him down a bit," she asked Tyomnaya, "otherwise his hole is like a locked safe."
Everyone laughed cheerfully, and Tyomnaya, already quite drunk, went behind the structure and, looking with her drunken, cynical, full-of-indifference eyes, loosened the tension on his arms. Andrey immediately felt an inexplicable high, as if he had come, because his body was practically numb, and now the blood surged with new colors and tingling sensations throughout all his parts.
"Well, how are you doing here, cop? Remember how you got on my nerves, you bitch?" Tyomnaya asked a rhetorical question and only smiled predatorily at him when she saw his eyes glisten with tears.
Multyashka's dildo pushed into his anus, and she was now inserting it somehow painfully and sharply, not at all like she had done it the first time.
"Get off on it, Lyrava," he heard her nasty, squeaky voice.
Andrey just stood there, slightly loosened in the arms, and his limp dick poked at the intersection of the structure in time with her thrusts from Multyashka's fucking. Tears streamed from his eyes like a river from such injustice and such treatment. Now he was really being raped, not fucked. Compared to them, the rich girls who pissed on him now seemed like sweet creatures.
"A-A-A-A-A," Andrey heard the familiar squeals of the nymphomaniac Multyashka coming.
"Well, Lyrava," Zima immediately approached him after Multyashka, "get ready to whine, bitch."
"Just go easy," said Yolka, drunk out of her mind, barely moving her tongue, "I still have to hand him over to Irka."
"Okay," said Zima, and Andrey felt a powerful blow to his ass with a wooden ladle from the washroom.
"Want to say something!?" Zima took the gag out of his mouth and, walking around the structure, looked at him with angry eyes.
"Forgive me," Andrey asked her for forgiveness with tears in his eyes and immediately started whining like a girl, "I'm not... not guilty... I didn't mean to..."
"Weakling," Zima stated with disgust towards him, "one hit and you're whining, you pup."
"Forgive me," Andrey continued to ask for forgiveness, sobbing and weeping, "forgive me, I didn't mean to... I won't let it happen again... I won't do it again... it hurts a lot... don't... please..." Andrey tearfully begged for forgiveness.
"Alright," Zima lifted his face to hers, pressing the nail of her index finger under his chin, "I still like you, dog..." she smiled.
Andrey stopped crying and, only with residual sniffles, looked at her attentively and listened, hoping she would forgive him.
"You will help me, right?" she looked seriously into his eyes.
"Yes," Andrey answered Zima sincerely, not thinking at all about how and what she wanted, "I'll do everything... forgive me..."
"The rest yourself—" Zima freed one of his hands and walked away to the table.
Andrey, with a hand that barely obeyed him, somehow freed his other hand and, holding onto the structure with his hands, slowly descended and sat on his ass and squealed from the pain of the bruises. He was still with his legs tied wide apart to this medieval inquisition structure. The blood on his face and hands had dried, and only the tears still flowing from his eyes moistened and washed it from his cheeks.
"How much longer will they torment him?" Andrey silently asked himself, horrified to remember Yolka's words that he was with them until evening, and outside it had only just dawned.
Andrey also now regretted not staying with the rich girls, who had only pissed on him, while he, like some juvenile idiot, got offended and ran away from them. He acted like a capricious child. They probably texted him and wanted to apologize and get him back, but he, offended, ran away to these female convicts.
What was he hoping for? That they would communicate normally with a "dropped" person? But Andrey was a "dropped" person in their eyes. And on top of that, their convict, collective solidarity.
Andrey, having rested a little while sitting on the floor, slowly unclasped and freed his legs. He turned to face the table, remaining on all fours, and saw that Tyomnaya was already passed out asleep on the bed, and Yolka was still sitting at the table, but her eyes were already closing and she was just, for some reason, fighting sleep.
"Go wash up and come back to me," she said when their eyes met.
Andrey, first, as was proper, crawled to the door and, out of her sight, got to his feet and immediately ran into Multyashka, who had apparently gone to the far toilet.
"You bitch, on your feet again???" she grimaced in anger, "You fucking bitch, asking for it, huh??? Haven't you been punished enough???"
Andrey immediately dropped to his knees before her with a thud. This time he was really very scared of a new, unknown punishment. Unknown what, but a cruel punishment!
"What's going on here?" Zima came out at the noise.
"Lyrava is shuffling on his feet when we're not looking," Multyashka approached Andrey, who was kneeling, and with a slap placed her hand on his head.
Andrey, guiltily under her hand, looked at Zima with eyes pleading for protection and understanding. His humiliated gaze and bloody, tear-stained face evoked pity, but not for these female convicts, who were fed up to their necks with cop lawlessness, and their revenge on the entire cop world through him could not be satiated.
"Why did you untie him?" Multyashka asked Zima, "I wanted to have some more fun with Lyrava."
"Have fun," Zima smiled at her as she approached them, "He's already become an obedient girl."
"Well, I wanted to shove a mop up his hole and have him stand like that until lunch," Multyashka answered, smiling.
"He'll stand anyway," Zima answered and squatted down in front of Andrey, taking his chin with two fingers, "Want a mop up your asshole?"
"I will do as you say and want, mistress," said the frightened Andrey.
He, calling Zima 'mistress,' hoped that she would melt from that word and take him away from the crazy Multyashka, because Zima was much stronger than her both physically and morally. She was even stronger than him, and he had been convinced of that more than once.
"Go wash up and clean yourself," said Zima, looking into Andrey's eyes, and getting up from her squat, she pulled Multyashka by the hand towards the table.
Crawling back into the room, Andrey saw that Yolka was already snoring on the bed with Tyomnaya. Of course, while washing up, Andrey thought about escaping, but the fear of failure scared him, and he didn't dare, thinking in hope that they must eventually get satiated, get tired, and let him go home.
At the table, having thrown sheets over themselves, sat Zima and Multyashka; slow, quiet music was playing in the room. Through the thick tulle in the window, rays of sunlight broke through. The atmosphere of the arriving morning was depressing, gloomy, and completely unpleasant, morally oppressive for Andrey, although with the sun's rays it usually becomes warmer and more joyful.