Ste Letto
04-11-2004, 8:45 PM
Extract part eleven
Over the next two days, David swam through a haze of pain and torment. The pain and torment all had the same common cause, heartless girls with dominating feet. Girls came in and out of Lucy's room freely.
Around 6.00pm the next evening, Lucy and Nicola were relaxing, drinking Coke. They had their legs outstretched, heels planted on David's belly. Nicola was on the settee, Lucy the bed. Their wiggly toes were touching and they giggled as the little digits bumped one another.
Suddenly the door burst open and Olivia St Moritz came in. The tall, Swedish blonde stood over 5ft 10, with long blonde hair and flashing blue eyes. She was in great athletic shape, a runner and swimmer she liked to jog or cycle everywhere she went. She burst through the door wearing only a white sports bra and loose grey shorts. She stepped onto David's body, put one foot on his face and stopped still, her head turning from girl to girl, a huge grin on her face. David couldn't believe the sudden agonies he was experiencing. The girl appeared to be a giantess to him. "Hi girls", Olivia began, "you'll never guess what's going on in the pool." Lucy and Nicola leaned forward, raising their eyebrows, "What, what?" they both chorused. "Jamie found some prowler men, and the girls are seeing them off." The two girls who, moments earlier had been sitting down, now sprang to their feet. "Come on then," said Lucy. Moments later all three had left the room.
The three girls sprinted down the corridors to the pool. There were lots of excited shouts and cries. There were also some sounds of panic and distress. Those cries sounded odd, deeper but feeble. The three friends crashed though the door.
The pool was internal, olympic sized, lit by overhead neons. There were twenty or more girls in the water, standing in a circle. Twelve of them held small, struggling, clearly male figures in front of themselves. Each girl had her feet planted firmly on the pool floor. Each had their captive's hands pulled behind his back, gripping them at the wrist. Each girl had her other hand on her captive's throat, gripping it tight. In the middle of this watching circle was Alison Jones. The auburn haired girl, in a one piece swimsuit, had released her captive, a small, puny, largely powerless man, who was floundering in the water. Alison swam teasingly round and round him. "What's the matter little man?" she asked in a mockingly singsong way, "Can't you swim?" She knew full well that he couldn't.
These men, known as prowler men were a failed experiment, an attempt to create a slave race of household men, who somehow managed to retain an attitude of defiance. For over 30 years they had been the subject of a "Find and destroy" order. It was rare indeed to find so many surviving. As they were still under legal penalty of death, the girls were quite correctly doing their public duty in despatching them.
"Shall I help you?" Alison asked teasingly, swimming closer. The man flailed wildly, and tried desparately to get away. Alison moved closer. "Here," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward her, "like this." She put her hands on his small shoulders and pushed downwards. The man screamed briefly, but then his head disappeared below the water. "Is that better?" she said, smiling. The man let air bubble from his lips as he struggled. Alison kept him under a little longer, then let him come to the surface. "You still haven't mastered that have you," she said softly. "I know," she continued, as the man's eye's streamed, and he coughed up water, "This'll help you stay under longer." She swam backwards, dragging the man with her, like an old fashioned lifeguard escorting someone to safety. She approached her friend, Julia. Julia had already dealt with her captive. The tall, beautiful, serene looking afro caribbean girl smiled at her approaching friend. "Can I help?" Julia asked, in resonant tones. "Yes," Alison said, smiling, "lift your foot as I slide him under." Julia grinned, "No problem," she said reassuringly.
Alison swam under the water with her struggling victim, punched him in the head then slid him under her friend's raised foot. She tapped Julia's leg and watched as she pressed her foot down, pinning the man beneath. It amused Alison to see the size difference between her friend and the man she was treading on. Alison put her foot on the man as well, then stood up.
Julia looked at her friend, "He's still struggling," she said, smiling slyly. "Not for much longer," Alison replied; and she was right. Under the water, under the feet of these two women, the prowler man found hisself incapable of escape. His lungs hurt so much it felt like they were being crushed under a ten ton truck. He was pressed firmly to the tiled floor, with the oxygen he needed only a few feet away. He was weak, dizzy, faint. He tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't function. He knew what Alison and Julia knew, it would not be long. Seconds later, he died.
Over the next two days, David swam through a haze of pain and torment. The pain and torment all had the same common cause, heartless girls with dominating feet. Girls came in and out of Lucy's room freely.
Around 6.00pm the next evening, Lucy and Nicola were relaxing, drinking Coke. They had their legs outstretched, heels planted on David's belly. Nicola was on the settee, Lucy the bed. Their wiggly toes were touching and they giggled as the little digits bumped one another.
Suddenly the door burst open and Olivia St Moritz came in. The tall, Swedish blonde stood over 5ft 10, with long blonde hair and flashing blue eyes. She was in great athletic shape, a runner and swimmer she liked to jog or cycle everywhere she went. She burst through the door wearing only a white sports bra and loose grey shorts. She stepped onto David's body, put one foot on his face and stopped still, her head turning from girl to girl, a huge grin on her face. David couldn't believe the sudden agonies he was experiencing. The girl appeared to be a giantess to him. "Hi girls", Olivia began, "you'll never guess what's going on in the pool." Lucy and Nicola leaned forward, raising their eyebrows, "What, what?" they both chorused. "Jamie found some prowler men, and the girls are seeing them off." The two girls who, moments earlier had been sitting down, now sprang to their feet. "Come on then," said Lucy. Moments later all three had left the room.
The three girls sprinted down the corridors to the pool. There were lots of excited shouts and cries. There were also some sounds of panic and distress. Those cries sounded odd, deeper but feeble. The three friends crashed though the door.
The pool was internal, olympic sized, lit by overhead neons. There were twenty or more girls in the water, standing in a circle. Twelve of them held small, struggling, clearly male figures in front of themselves. Each girl had her feet planted firmly on the pool floor. Each had their captive's hands pulled behind his back, gripping them at the wrist. Each girl had her other hand on her captive's throat, gripping it tight. In the middle of this watching circle was Alison Jones. The auburn haired girl, in a one piece swimsuit, had released her captive, a small, puny, largely powerless man, who was floundering in the water. Alison swam teasingly round and round him. "What's the matter little man?" she asked in a mockingly singsong way, "Can't you swim?" She knew full well that he couldn't.
These men, known as prowler men were a failed experiment, an attempt to create a slave race of household men, who somehow managed to retain an attitude of defiance. For over 30 years they had been the subject of a "Find and destroy" order. It was rare indeed to find so many surviving. As they were still under legal penalty of death, the girls were quite correctly doing their public duty in despatching them.
"Shall I help you?" Alison asked teasingly, swimming closer. The man flailed wildly, and tried desparately to get away. Alison moved closer. "Here," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward her, "like this." She put her hands on his small shoulders and pushed downwards. The man screamed briefly, but then his head disappeared below the water. "Is that better?" she said, smiling. The man let air bubble from his lips as he struggled. Alison kept him under a little longer, then let him come to the surface. "You still haven't mastered that have you," she said softly. "I know," she continued, as the man's eye's streamed, and he coughed up water, "This'll help you stay under longer." She swam backwards, dragging the man with her, like an old fashioned lifeguard escorting someone to safety. She approached her friend, Julia. Julia had already dealt with her captive. The tall, beautiful, serene looking afro caribbean girl smiled at her approaching friend. "Can I help?" Julia asked, in resonant tones. "Yes," Alison said, smiling, "lift your foot as I slide him under." Julia grinned, "No problem," she said reassuringly.
Alison swam under the water with her struggling victim, punched him in the head then slid him under her friend's raised foot. She tapped Julia's leg and watched as she pressed her foot down, pinning the man beneath. It amused Alison to see the size difference between her friend and the man she was treading on. Alison put her foot on the man as well, then stood up.
Julia looked at her friend, "He's still struggling," she said, smiling slyly. "Not for much longer," Alison replied; and she was right. Under the water, under the feet of these two women, the prowler man found hisself incapable of escape. His lungs hurt so much it felt like they were being crushed under a ten ton truck. He was pressed firmly to the tiled floor, with the oxygen he needed only a few feet away. He was weak, dizzy, faint. He tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't function. He knew what Alison and Julia knew, it would not be long. Seconds later, he died.