BATW Interview: "Chica" (Elizabeth Nunez)

Convict Interview
Subject: Elizabeth Nunez
Female, 24
Homicide.

Date: 17 April 2028
Upcoming BATW: 12-14 May 2028


Elizabeth was led into the Interrogation Room by female Corrections Officers on either side of her. Shackles held her hands apart and close to her waist and prevented her from taking steps that were more than a foot and a half in length. She wore a button up one-piece prison issue uniform that was very unflattering, yet still reveal the nice rack and thin waist of a well shaped woman.

Marcus Bennett stood as the Con approached the heavy, steel table, smiling politely as he clasped his hands behind his back, waiting; Visitors were not allowed to speak to the Cons, and vice versa, until the COs had secured the latter appropriately. He watched with interest as they unshackled one hand and secured it to the table table, then repeated the gesture with the other. One of the COs stood by, watching her, as the second unlocked a second chair from the nearby wall, scooted it under Elizabeth's buttocks, then locked down the legs to the hooks on the floor. Seeing his permissive nod, they turned and left the room, leaving the ultimate reality show host alone with the woman.

Marcus smiled politely, then looked at the shackles and recalled the steps that had gone into even ensuring that the chair she sat in couldn't be used as a weapon. "Seems like a lot of effort to secure a woman who ... well, to be honest, doesn't look like she could hurt a fly."

Elizabeth didn't answer. She knew the rules, rules that would put her in solitary for a month for even the first infraction. No speaking unless asked a direct question or given permission to speak freely.

"Elizabeth, I've been reading your file," Marcus began, lifting a thick manilla folder from the satchel on the floor and setting it before him. "I'm sure you know who I am. I hear that Breakfast at the Whitney is a very popular show in ... do they still call it the Joint...?"

Marcus laughed, glancing past her to the COs, standing near the door and attempting to act casual but, as he knew, always on guard and ready to respond to any situation. He leaned in and said with a knowing smile, "Of course, the way I hear it, y'all root for the Convicts, not the Cops. Go figure, huh..."

When Elizabeth didn't answer, he continued, "Anyway, if you know who I am, then you know why I'm here. Breakfast has had a hard time ... recruiting female competitors who are ... competitive.

He reached to his satchel again and pulled out a glossy magazine, setting it before her. On the cover was a photograph of the main stairwell inside The Whitney, an elegant all wood affair with hand woven Persian carpet sporting the exact pattern that had been put in the house upon its construction in the early 1890s.

"You see this...?" Marcus asked, tapping a finger upon the magazine cover. "Each month, following the completion of the competition, we highlight a different portion of The Whitney's beauty and charm by photographing the winners in a different location inside -- or sometimes outside -- the building. This is where we had planned on photographing the the winners for April's edition of Breakfast. Unfortunately ... no one won." He chuckled a bit, not with humor but with ironic dismay. "In fact ... we almost didn't have any survivors at all. Three convicts lived to return to solitary ... and I hear that one of them died of his injuries shortly afterward."

He turned the magazine to face her, opened it to the middle Playboy-like centerfold page, and pulled it out. It was a full color graphic of the Arena, next to a satellite image of the same area. He opened her file again, saying, "I would like to offer you a place on the team for May's competition. What do you say?" He hesitated for a moment, adding, "Elizabeth ... you are free to say anything you wish."

Taking in the overly dressed man before her. He spoke calmly, confident. He'd been in this same room in many places with many others and he knew what kind of answer he'd get. How many of those inmates ended up dead? However this was a ticket out and Elizabeth knew that this body could get her anything. She'd killed before, she'd worked a shank in prison before finding sex to be a better way of working things in her favor. Batting her eyelashes and softening her smile to play on his hormones.

"I see. Well, I don't know what to say really. Why would you want someone like me? The butch inmates would put up a better fight."

She shrugged and leaned back in her chair to find a position of comfort. Easy was one impression she wanted to give, but confident was one too. These reality TV types like attractive women who please the eye. That was the selling point to make today.

"You know, I killed a bunch of people already. Started around 20 years old. Could've had everything, but the prick just wanted ass. So I realized, my ass is what gets me through. That and a bloody knife. So tell me, why should I come out for your show? I have a stable and a good set up here, three square meals, the occasional trip to solitary but if you eat the right pussy you get out in a few days."

"So tell me, why should I come out for your show?" Elizabeth asked, "I have a stable and a good set up here, three square meals, the occasional trip to solitary but if you eat the right pussy you get out in a few days."

"A good set up, maybe," Marcus answered quickly, knowing that the question was coming. The question always came. Even the hardest, most brutal killers -- some of whom accepted his offer, some of whom didn't -- always took a moment to consider staying right here where they were, right here where they knew what was what. Familiarity with one's surroundings created a sense of belonging and control; belonging and control led to comfort and confidence. In cases when what he was offering might not be enough, it was Marcus's task to annihilate that confidence that the Convict was gonna be just fine, right here in the Joint. "A good set up, yes, but stable ... I don't think so."

He reached down into his satchel again, removed two, individual sheets of paper, and set them before her. "I need you in my show, Elizabeth. So ... I pulled some strings." He tapped the sheet; it bore the logo of the Justice Department. "I called a friend in the Commutations and Pardons Advisory Committee Office. He's always wanted to see Breakfast at the Whitney up close and personal ... so I reserved him a suite at the DSA, complete with the Unlimited Sky Bridge Access Pass."

Marcus suspected that Elizabeth would know what that meant. Even here in prison, the Sky Bridges -- which extended from the DSA out into the Arena, giving hotel guests the closest, naked eye views of the mayhem below -- were known as the place to be if you wanted to see the action up close. The internet was full of Sky Bridge video posts, complete with narration, as if the camera holder had been recording the family vacation; but, instead of an eagle flying overhead or a beautiful waterfall, these recordings were of women being stripped of their clothes and brutally raped, or of men being shot to slow them down, then beaten up close by assailants wanting to increase their Performance Bonus by entertaining the audience which voted as if participating in American Idol.

"So ... the paperwork that your lawyer submitted in an attempt to get your sentence reduced from the Death Penalty to life in prison..." Marcus shook his head lightly. "I'm afraid that paperwork didn't make it to here--"

He tapped on the second sheet of paper, which bore the seal of the Office of the President of the United States. He feigned compassion as he continued, "And ... unfortunately ... since the President didn't get the paperwork before he began his International Goodwill Tour to Africa, the commutation did not go through. Not only is your execution back in the works, but its on a fast track to completion. Elizabeth ... I'm sorry to have to inform you of this ... but in sixteen days, you'll have a needle up you arm, and it won't be for a blood transfusion."

The news was heavy, devastating. No, death can't come.

"What? That... No... NononononononoFUCK!"

All frills and pretense aside the true nature of Elizabeth reared it's ugly head. Bratty, from an upscale home with a good income. She's never worked for anything that didn't involve her tits, she couldn't stop now. Too young, too beautiful. The bastard who deserved to die was dead, why is she being punished for this?

"When do I start?"

"When do I start?" Elizabeth asked.

"Today," Marcus answered, donning a satisfied smile. He knew she would take the offer; he'd never had a doubt.

Marcus reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and removed a key. He stood and walked around to Elizabeth's side of the table, sitting upon the edge of it as close to the convict as he could without getting one of the table's shackle rings up his ass. He held the key up before Elizabeth's face and said, "This ... is only the first of many steps you will take toward staying alive ... toward regaining your freedom ... toward having the life you abandoned two years ago when you killed your Professor and his wife. This ... can also be a fast track to a needle up the arm, should you do anything that I don't like over the next four weeks. What this is--" Marcus eyed the key, emphasizing the little piece of metal, before looking again into Elizabeth's beautiful brown eyes. "--is me ... showing you trust."

He reached down and unlocked one shackle, then the other, causing them to fall away from her wrists. It was, he knew, likely the first time she'd had her hands free in the presence of someone not carrying a gun or billy club in the year or two that she'd been in the Federal Corrections system.

He held the key up again, then set it on the table before her. "Free your ankles..." He stood and headed back toward his seat on the far side of the table. "... stand up..." He sat and then, with a devilish smile, he finished, "...and take your clothes off."

Elizabeth could smell the smugness in the air. She naturally fell to racial slurs and the ones in her head were vile and certainly would get her killed. Rather she stood like she'd seen in the clubs. Ass first, slowly raising her hips. As she lifted her shoulders up she caught the zipper of her orange polyester jumpsuit and pulled it down to her tummy. Shaking her shoulders free, letting her soft tits bounce free in her black sleeveless top. Allowing the jumpsuit to fall down to just under her ass, her complexion contrasting the black garments. She got the guards to bring her these, opposed to cotton white like every else had. They loved watching her body as she tried on each pair for them.

Marcus watched Elizabeth stand and slip out of the jump suit, exposing her incredible figure. Marcus had expected the standard prison issue white tee and gramma panties, both of which would typically be a size too large and neither of which would be flattering of her at all. Instead, Elizabeth's body was very much on display in a small pair of boy shorts and a tight tank top.

Marcus had seen pictures of her from her civilian life and already knew she was a shapely woman, but seeing her first hand and this close -- particularly when she was obviously enjoying her presentation to him -- was just too much, and down below he was rapidly reacting to the sight of her.

"Will you send my man in, please?" Marcus asked, gesturing to the Guard standing near the door. As he watched, Marcus glanced to the bag sitting at the foot of the Guard near the door. In it were the street clothes he'd brought with him for Elizabeth. He could have offered them to her at any time while they waited ... but he didn't. He was enjoying ogling her too much, and -- he believed -- she was enjoying teasing Marcus too much with her phenomenal figure.

After a minute or so, the door opened again and Bruno Masterson entered, walking to stand at the end of the table near Elizabeth. He set a briefcase on the table, opened it, and removed the Security Cuffs and Waist Belt. He tried to keep his eyes above the woman's cleavage as he explained what the security devices were for, but it was hard. When he was finished, he looked around, confused. "Where are your clothes?"

When Bruno looked to his boss, he found Marcus sitting back with a sly smirk and pointing to the bag in the corner. Bruno turned his face away from Elizabeth, not wanting her to see his broad smile. He knew what the Host of Breakfast was up to; Marcus had enjoyed looking at the woman as much as any many would have, but his purpose had been to give the shy Bruno an eye full, just to see how he would react.

Still bent forward and exposing as much cleavage as possible, hips high and the jump suit bunched around her ankles.

"Guess the clothes are in my bag big guy. Mind tossing those my way?"

It was too much fun to not go for it. It'd been a long time since a man had been this close and they both were turning into bashful school boys peeking in the girls shower.

Allowing her hips to bobble from side to side, knowing the rhythmic bouncing of her ass cheeks had that hypnotic effect. Wide set, "birthing", hips and large breasts. Full lips, bright smile, every inch of this body was built by genetics to attract as many mates as possible. Factor in bisexuality and the ability to feel people out and use their ultimate desires to play them off one another and this body was the greatest weapon any woman could be handed. Watching both men try not to stare but still stare anyways was starting to get her excited.

5 May 2028
7 Days to "Breakfast":



"T-Ray ... doesn't like quitters!"

Thomas Rayburn was bent at the waist, hands akimbo, feet planted on either side of Elizabeth Nunez's body as she laid sobbing in the late evening mud. They were supposed to have returned to the Security Facility three hours ago, but the former drill instructor turned murderer turned dead man walking turned Breakfast at the Whitney winner turned Combat Trainer refused to let her go in until she finished the obstacle course he'd laid out for her in the southern end of the Arena.

He lowered his head until his face was only two inches from her own and hollered at the top of his lungs, "You're dead! You're dead again! And again!"

He shook his head and stomped away from her. leaving her in what had once been a pretty little median in the road with flowers and a young elm tree. T-Ray could still remember the elm from his own Breakfast episode two years earlier. He'd been standing behind the eight inch diameter trunk when a .30 caliber bullet passed through it and lodged in his hip. When they removed the bullet later, they pulled out a chunk of bark the size of a nickle, too.

As the memory of it came to him, he couldn't help but smile a bit. After he won Breakfast, he did a Community Service Spot on television for Arbor Day, with the catch line, A tree can save you live!

He turned back to look at Elizabeth as she sat up out of the mud and looked to him. He shook his head. He'd never had a trainee who needed more help than this one. He spat at her, "How the hell did you get here, Liz-zie-beth? The people who come here are murderers and rapists and god damn nasty people. And you...? You know what you are...?"

He stomped back over to her and leaned close again, growling at her, "You're ... dead!"

Trying to take in sharp breathes only hurt more. Being folded in two by a muscled up lunatic with a baseball bat will knock the wind out of you. It's been only a few weeks with T-Ray, or Champ as Chica called him. It was born of sarcasm but it didn't take long to learn why he'd won. Strong, trained, ruthless, he was the best choice to teach the one combatant with the most fire but least killer instinct. Pushing up onto her knees and continuing to catch her breathe.
"Champ... it's.... it's this... or die.... I ain't.... lettin' no cracker guard... put this puta down...."
Street talk from an upper middle class Daddy's girl. Sadly enough Chica's typical tactics of seduce and stab weren't going to work here. Even Champ refused her advances, more out of having any pussy he could get his hands on over "desperate brownie trash". Standing up straight and placing hands on hips to at least LOOK defiant.
"I'm best on my back, or my knees, we know that. I can't fuck my way to win, I gotta kill my way out. So how do I make them both work?"

"I'm best on my back, or my knees, we know that," she struggled to get out, her breath slowly coming back to her. "I can't fuck my way to win, I gotta kill my way out. So how do I make them both work?"

He leaned in again, putting his face close to hers; it was his favorite way of stressing his meaning, literally gettin' in her face. "You don't!"

He backed up, then spun and crossed the road to retrieve the bat he'd nearly killed her with. He'd actually pulled the swing, slowing it just before it struck her in an effort to make her understand that she could have been seriously hurt without actually hurting her. He'd failed, though, knocking the wind clean out of her and dropping her to the mud hole.

He snatched up the stick of wood and turned to stare at her. It's not her fault. She isn't meant to be here. She SHOULDN'T be here. Thomas had tried to talk her into returning to prison, to refile her appeals and try to drag out the process, maybe long enough to get her sentence commuted to life. She'd refused, mumbling something about Marcus Bennett and a fast track to a needle.

That hadn't made any sense to Thomas, of course. He just couldn't see Marcus pulling strings to get someone like ... like Liz-zie-beth for Breakfast; she was, in the parlance of Death Row, dead woman walking. There was no way she was going to survive even the non-lethal, hand-to-hand stages Friday night, let alone the the increasingly more deadly weapons and Life-or-Death stages on Saturday and Sunday.

Thomas drew a deep breath, exhaled, then stomped back across the road to her. He stood before her for a long moment, looking down from his nearly six foot height at this short, scrawny, though well endowed woman. There's nothing more that you can do for her, T-Ray, he told himself. You've taught her everything you can. She'd just not ... she's just not a killer!

He wanted to go to Marcus and tell him to pull her. She shouldn't be here; he knew that, Marcus knew that, and Elizabeth knew that. But ... if what she'd said about the show's host pulling strings was true...

He looked around, spotting the two armed Guards who'd been keeping an eye on the every night that Thomas had drug her sorry ass out here after weight training. They were well out of ear shot. He looked back to Elizabeth, let his eyes drop to the impressive cleavage and the nipples that the earlier light rain had hardened to look like dark, Hershey's Kisses through her now filthy white tee shirt.

"We're going to have to cheat," he said bluntly. He looked around himself again, ensuring that the Guards -- bored out of their minds and chit chatting as they went into their four hour or overtime -- weren't reacting to his words. "Do you have a problem with cheating? Actually ... before you answer that, let me ask you another question ... and Elizabeth ... I know what you're going to say but I want you to seriously think about your answer before you give it." He very conspicuously looked directly at her tits, then looked back to her eyes and asked, "Are you willing to do ... anything ... that is asked of you ... to make sure you survive this competition ... even if it means ... well, I guess the word is personal violation...?"

Saturday night, Elizabeth was waiting as Thomas had directed, wearing black from her neck to her toes, with her hair in a pony tail hidden on top of her head below a black stocking cap.

He escorted her out of the Security Facility -- "Home" -- under the guise of performing Night Time Training, something they'd done two nights before, preventing the Guards from having any suspicions about what they were truly up to. The night time Guards despised having to baby sit the Trainers, so it didn't take a lot to convince the pair that were supposed to go with them not to bother.

Once they were outside, Thomas deenergized Elizabeth's Security Cuffs, freeing her hands to give her a little more stability during their walk. Darkness enveloped most of the Arena during the three weeks of the month in which there was no activity. Tonight, as they made their way -- in total silence -- they could see a few work crews working under huge flood lights; they avoided those areas, detouring twice until they reached Maintenance Shed 3.

When they arrived, a short, stocky man let them in, then immediately excused himself and disappeared into the night without hardly either of the strangers a look. Inside, Thomas moved Elizabeth to a structural support, put her arms around it, and energized the Cuffs again. He said softly, "I'll be right back."

He crossed to a glass door, opened it, entered, gave Elizabeth a quick look again, then closed the door behind him. Over the next couple of minutes, Thomas's voice was mixed with those of another man, then a pair of men, and finally a third. The conversation got loud occasionally; the conversation got heated once or twice as well.

Finally, Thomas reemerged and headed for Elizabeth. Behind him, one by one, three men in worker's coveralls came out into the work area. They didn't near Elizabeth, but their eyes walked over her hungrily.

"I think ... I think we need to rethink this, Elizabeth," Thomas said, deenergizing her Cuffs. He looked back to the three men and whispered, "They only agree ... if I leave you here alone. I won't be here to protect you."

Thomas admired Elizabeth's determination, but he truly feared that she had no idea what was ahead of her. If he'd fully understood what she'd been through during her time in prison, how sex had been such a vital part of her survival behind the walls, he might have been more at ease with the idea of leaving her in the care of these men. But, despite their time together, they'd never talked extensively about her incarceration experience; it had been Thomas's job to teach her to fight, and that was how he'd spent their time.

"Okay," he whispered simply. He laid a hand softly upon the small of her back -- the first time he'd touch her in a way that wasn't meant to either hurt her or teach her how not to be hurt -- then returned to talk to the men.

"Hurt her," he said with a low growl, "And I hurt you. Then, Marcus Bennett fires you for risking his show. Then ... I find you again, and I hurt you ... again. Understood?"

The reactions from the men varied, from one nodding emphatically, to the second answering Of course, and finally to the third -- the Crew's supervisor, who had done the negotiating in the glass-enclosed room -- simply giving Thomas a wry smirk and asking, "Can we get started...?"

Thomas looked back to Elizabeth for a moment, then eyed each of the men with his scariest expression, then turned to leave.

"Wait!" the Supervisor said. When Thomas turned back, the man gestured toward the trainer's waist and said, "Leave us the Cuff controller."

Thomas hesitated, unsure. If she fought the men during their play time, they could easily secure little Elizabeth simply by having two of them hold her arms and feet while the other one partook of her. Did they really need to be able to cuff her as well...?

"No controller..." the man said confidently, "No deal." The man looked to Elizabeth, then back to Thomas, saying, "Let her die out there, I don't give a shit. Die ... or worse."

Thomas didn't like the idea, but he pulled the pager sized controller off his belt and tossed it to the man. "Hurt her, and I castrate you."

The man chuckled, and looking back to Elizabeth as he fondled the controller, he told the trainer, "There's a vending machine in the break room at the end of the building. Why don't you go have yourself a cupcake ... cupcake."

As Thomas turned -- giving Elizabeth one last look -- and headed for the end of the building, the Supervisor gestured Elizabeth to him with a wagging finger, saying, "Hey, chica ... why don't you come over here and show us those un-be-liev-able tits."

"Oh, baby," the Supervisor said with a playfully disappointed tone in his voice. He started toward Elizabeth, wagging an extended finger at her hands as they aimed to conceal her bountiful breasts. "Why in the world would you hide those from us...?"

He stepped up close to Elizabeth and pulled her hands away from her tits. He ogled them with a wide smile, murmuring, "Nice... very nice."

"Can we start already?" asked the tall, Lean Man with obvious anxiousness. "We only got an hour."

The Young Man -- he couldn't have been more than 18 or 19, a baby to the two others who were in their 30s or 40s -- said almost tentatively, "Yeah ... let's do this."

The Supervisor stepped slowly around behind Elizabeth, gesturing to the others as if to say check this out!. When he'd made a full circle around her, he took her by the elbow and started her forward toward the others, saying, "We got something special for you, baby."

The Lean Man smiled and stepped to a large object hidden under a tarp. He ripped the tarp off, saying, "I did some modifications to it since last time."

The object was a conglomeration of padded surfaces, padded arms, leather straps and hinges and springs that seemed designed to contort the various parts in different directions. It didn't take much imagination to understand that the object was intended to secure an individual in various positions ... to be fucked.

"Like it, baby?" the Supervisor asked, moving closer to her and growling in a low whisper, "Take our clothes off, and make it quick. Junior there's a virgin, I think."

He and the Lean Man laughed hysterically, but all the Young Man did was continued staring at the chill-hardened nipples adorning Elizabeth's firm tits as he repeated in a whisper, "Yeah ... let's do this."

The Supervisor, still clutching Elizabeth's arm, walked her to the chair, turned her around and sat her down. He said softly, not with a threatening tone but instead simply an advisory one, "This will go easily if you don't fight us ... and who knows, you might have fun as well."

He instructed her to put her arms on the chair's arm rests and no sooner had she, then the Security Cuffs activated and locked in place without the man operating the Controller Thomas had given him. He smiled, saying, "Didn't need this. Just didn't want him letting you go any time soon."

Quickly, he and the Lean Man strapped her into the chair. The Cuffs held her hands in place, her legs were secured at the ankles and just above the knees, and additional straps -- these loose, For comfort, the man told her, but still restricting her movement -- around her waist and neck. When she was secured, the Lean man suddenly leaned in and kissed her strongly, then pulled back and asked, "Comfy...?"

"Junior," the Supervisor called across to the youngest of the three. "You're up." As he waited for Junior to move over to before Elizabeth, the Supervisor leaned over her, his face close to hers, and he whispered, "Be nice."

Then, without warning, he grabbed a lever and released a handle on it. In one movement, the chair reclined to about a forty-five degree angle and both raised Elizabeth's knees and parted her thighs. The Lean Man whooped, and said proudly, "Told you. Works like a charm."

Junior moved to stand before Elizabeth, but didn't near her. Instead he just ogled her -- with an expression that made him look as if he was about to pass out.

The Supervisor stepped up next to the younger man and asked quietly, "Go ahead. She wants you to."

Junior turned his head away from Elizabeth and whispered to his boss, then turned back to look at Elizabeth. Surprisingly, considering her vulnerable display -- legs wide, revealing her wet pussy, breasts free for the fondling, and of course, extremities secured and of no value -- the man's eyes weren't on her personal space, but instead were firmly upon her dark eyes.

The Supervisor's lips widened in a surprised smile as he patted the younger maintenance worker on the shoulder. He looked to Elizabeth and said, "Chica, my good hearted friend here won't rape you. It's ... it's just not in his nature. So--" He donned a look that was meant to express to Elizabeth a do it or else threat without a harsh tone that the boy of the trio would think was a threat. "--why don't you tell Junior here how much you want him."

He raised an eye brow and waited in silence. Meanwhile, Junior simply stared into the Convict's eyes desperately and the Lean Man, a few feet behind, stared at the woman's pussy, his mouth wide with a hungry smile.

Junior's eyes widened. "Really...?"

But before Elizabeth could answer, whether she would have or not, the Lean Man groaned, "Really...? Get this on, or I'll--"

"Shut it," the Supervisor cut him off. Her urged the youngest man forward, reinforcing what he knew was Elizabeth's patronizing of the naive boy with, "Go ahead ... she wants you."

Junior hesitated, but finally moved forward. His gaze was everywhere, shifting from Elizabeth's face to her large, firm breasts to her wide open pussy which -- whether she'd wanted it or not -- was glistening with her juices. Considering what was coming, it was probably good that she was self-lubing.

Junior unbuckled his coveralls, unzipped the fly, and reached in to retrieve his dick ... then paused. He glanced between the two men with a sheepish expression, then blushed a bright red.

"What the fuck!" the Lean man complained again.

"You want your shot at Chica here, you fuck," the Supervisor snapped. "You shut your mouth!"

The Lean Man threw up his hands, mocking a surrender gesture and took a step back. "Fine ... what ever."

The Supervisor stepped up to Junior and, whispering, asked, "Are we having a bit of a problem...?"

Junior looked to Elizabeth, then turned his back to her. He was a bit surprised with himself that he was more worried about letting the woman he was about to fuck know that he was soft than he was telling a man he worked with every day. He glanced back at Elizabeth one more time, then leaned in close to his boss and whispered, "I can't do this with y'all watching."

"You want should we split maybe?" the older man asked. When Junior nodded, the Supervisor patted him on the back, turned away, gathered the Lean Man -- against his protestations -- and headed back for the glass enclosed room. "Let's give the couple some space for their honeymoon."

The Lean Man laughed, looking back over his shoulder as he entered the glass room, saying sarcastically, "Yeah, she looks like a blushing bride about to surrender her virginity, don't she?"

Junior watched the men close the door, hesitated a moment, then turned back to Elizabeth. His eyes did their dance upon her again. She was so sexy; she would have been sexy fully dressed and sitting at a cafe table across from him, but here like this now...

He felt a twinge in his groin, and knew that things were working.

He stepped up to her again, until he was between her thighs and looking down upon her body. He reached into his fly again, pulling out his swelling dick. "Thank you. I appreciate you doing this."

He made it sound as if he was getting a pity fuck from an upper class man back in high school or something, instead of essentially raping a woman who, really, had no other choice.

He stepped closer, reaching a hand down to caress a thigh as the other, beginning at the other thigh, wandered about, to her belly, up to grope a breast, squeeze a nipple, then down to lay upon her pussy. It was wet and warm and sent a chill through his body. He giggled, embarrassed, and said, "You feel so good. You're very pretty and ... and..."

He had no idea how to talk to Elizabeth ... so he decided simply not to. He grabbed his now fully hardened penis, positioned it at her opening, and pushed.