Things That Happened To Sam. Chapter 4 - Sam and Pam were separated

Tuesday, 09 May, Year 9 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

Sam and Pam were separated at the police station, as per immemorial practice of that ancient institution. He had to wait a few hours in a holding pen, in the company of a few passed out, harmless drunks before someone showed up and took him to an interrogation room. He had managed to lose his wallet at some previous point, but they didn't really care so much. They already knew who he was, having found his passport in Pam's purse. She held on to his passport for him, not exactly unusual for middle class couple traveling, but certainly an inexplicable arrangement for a random john, and absolutely unheard of in between pimp and his whore. She evidently wasn't pimping him out, he certainly wasn't worth two shits as muscle, what the fuck were they doing there ?

The police had no idea, and not that much interest in finding out. They didn't even bother fucking Pam. She did have to go naked in the hooker pen, of course, like all the other girls. "For her security", which did make some sense, as on occasion the captive working girls had tried to use belts, sleeves and other portions of their apparel to settle their hierarchy disputes, and strangled hookers overnight really didn't look well on the day reports. She also had to give a quickie blowjob to a young and apparently very horny junior policeman, but apart from all that they ignored her altogether.

The cops perfunctorily inquired with Sam as to the reason Pam was dressed in that manner. They didn't seem to care much what the answer was, before or after receiving it. They did ask a few times again, just for good measure. The truth of the matter is that police work is boring drudgery all the time you aren't getting shot at. They also inquired what she, or he for that matter, were doing in that part of town, and why they were in an alley, and a few other things. Then they sent him back to the pen, and he spent a sleepless if undisturbed night among the faint, wheezing snores of the sparsely lost.

Pam got considerably more sleep, but her night was a lot more disturbed. She didn't speak Spanish any, and at first couldn't understand what all the other girls thought passed for English. There were nineteen of them, most teenagers, but hardened, decisive, firm stony gazes and unexpected muscular strength under the dirt and tanned skin. She had to explain why she was turning tricks without a permit, as it were, to the other girls working the same territory. She protested that she wasn't turning tricks, and she supported this by pointing out what she, in her bourgeois worldview, deemed an absolute proof : she took no money. The girls took about fifteen minutes to chew through what she meant, but once the realisation formed that the gring whore's idea of "not having turned tricks" was being fucked alright, just not taking any money for it whatsoever, pandemonium broke out.

It wasn't very loud, as they didn't want to irk the disinterested officers into intervening, but it was rather effectual, and Pam spent a few good hours licking out each and every working girl, pussy and asshole, tongue all the way in, getting a decent sample of the semen available on the island in the process. They made her crawl and kiss their feet and suckle their toes and slither her tongue in between, they made her lick them after using the communal toilet, in short they used the hell out of her. Eventually they'd let her be, and Pam fell asleep instantly, profoundly, like a rock, but then they'd wake her up again and make her do something else, or rather, the same things over again. Then she'd catch a wink a sleep, and be awoken again, and so on until daylight came, bright and clear, and with it an orange jumpsuit, dirty in the specific way institutionally laundered clothes are dirty -- deeply, inconspicuously, furtively and secretly so as to not irk the officer in charge into taking any kind of action. She put it on with some relief, without showering, and padded barefoot out of the holding pen to meet Sam. Her husband. Whatever.

He helpfully declared she looked very out of sorts and inquired if she was OK. She was ok, after a fashion, she confirmed.
"I was just humiliated at the airport in front of dozens of people. I was molested on a public bus, and then raped in an alley. And then I went to jail for it. Yeah, I guess I'm ok."

Sam assured Pam he was sorry. Pam was silent for a while. Then she explained the jail part :

"They put me in a cage with a lot of prostitutes. They thought I was trying to poach on their territory or something. They made me do things."

Sam examined Pam for bruising in a very superficial, naive manner a child might attempt it : without disturbing anything, fully aware that his continued toleration on the premises is predicated on his not disturbing anything. Then he wanted to know what they did, and she didn't want to talk about it.

"Did they hurt you?" he insisted.

"They made me lick their dirty pussies. And their filthy assholes. And their feet. And after they used the toilet. OK, happy now?"

Sam was stunned. "They made you?" he stammered.

"Yes. One held my arm behind my back and pushed my face between the legs of the other. They pulled my hair. They made me promise I won't yell or scream. They made me say I love licking their dirty cunts. They made me beg for it, for them to let me lick. They told me that if I stuck around the town they'll do it to me every day. They said I could be their little toilet slut."

They sat in silence a few minutes, Pam watching Sam's tent disinterestedly the whole time. The moment was interrupted by a guy calling himself Sergeant Rodriguez, who uncharacteristically for the locality apologized for making them wait. Sergeant Rodriguez assured them that they've verified their story, with the airport and local street vendors and that they were telling the truth. He explained that prostitutes coming in from the mainland are a big problem in his city. He explained the release forms he was preparing, and how the release process works. He offered to call them a cab. Sam had to admit he had no money, like an ineffectual, small child caught yet again in situations requiring the hand of an adult. Sergeant Rodriguez advised him to cancel all credit cards right away as they were likely in the hands of criminals by now.

It was only then that the big "what next" question hit Sam. Obviously, the cruise ship had long sailed. They had no money, no credit cards and no alternate manner to procure any money. Pam certainly believed the working girls struggling to split among themselves a dwindling supply of sustenance weren't playfully making idle threats. Sam had to, he had to you understand, explain to the officer, in the plaintive tone requisite for the occasion, that they had no money, no credit cards, no way to rent a hotel room nor arrange for transportation to the missed ship, that great big beast of progress which contained somewhere in its ample bowels all their luggage, which is to say any clothes that didn't smell like the police station. Surprisingly, Sergeant Rodriguez offered to put them up at his place for the night. He also said his brother had a fast boat which would probably be able to catch up with the ship in St. Thomas if they left early enough in the morning.

Sam was entirely blown away, and he thanked the man before him profusely, piling teary eyed gratitude atop teary eyed gratitude on the head of the smiling sergeant. Pam was silent. Rodriguez had a sly, sideways sort of smile that looked very much copied after some cartoon villain or other, but Sam gave the matter no attention whatsoever. They were saved! Saved! Rodriguez eventually broke off the encounter, pointing out that he gets off duty in a couple of hours, at which point he will gladly take them home, but until then he does have to attend to his daily business. He did promise to have some food sent over, which showed up half hour later or thereabouts, modest styrofoam packed cafeteria fare. Sam scarfed down most of it, pointing out to the disinterested Pam that beggars can't be choosers after all, gushing all the while the praises of that most worthy among mankind, their munificent benefactor, the great, the only Sergeant Rodriguez himself and in person!

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
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