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Please don't Read The idea for this story came to me one night as I was reading Rita Hayworth & the Shawshank Redemption from Stephen King while watching La Femme Nikita.....I'm multi-talented like that. I just started wondering what the criminal justice system was like if a wizard had the chance to rehab people. Any comments or criticisms anyone has on either of the two stories I've written, please E-mail me at [email protected]. *** *** *** 1 Justin stood up as the judge bid him. He straightened his tie and ran a hand through his hair and smirked as the judge opened the envelope the foreman of the jury had given him. Justin was the son of a very rich man, a very rich man with many connections. He had told Justin that the lawyers they'd hired would get him off with an insanity plea. After all, no sane man could do what he had done, right? He had killed, quite a few times, actually. The prosecution had come up with the number twenty-seven. He could only take responsibility for about fifteen of them, but if the DA wanted to jerk himself off a little and pin some extra on him, big deal. At the worst he'd be spending a little time in a sanitarium where he would ham it up for a few years, retaining psychopath status like in that "Cuckoo's Nest" movie ... then, after it had all blown over, he'd have his father bail him out. Of course, they didn't have legitimate "bail" in insane asylums, but his father had his ways. Bail might come high for a well paid psychiatrist to sign release papers, but that didn't matter. He had always seen himself as a hero of sorts. He would take women off the streets, get a nice hotel room (always under a different name, of course), give them one good last pussy licking, a GREAT last fuck, and send them to that big ol' street corner in the sky. Sometimes, he'd give a teenage girl a ride home from somewhere ... they were all so trusting in this town, especially since the girls he picked up always knew him. He'd offer them a night on the town, which they'd gladly accept (the idea of marrying well had been stuffed in their heads by their well-to-do mothers since they day they could walk. They couldn't have done much well than Justin, in most opinions). Then, he'd take them to his house, or another hotel and take care of them just the same way he took care of the hookers. People shouldn't be so trusting in this day and age ... he was doing the world a favor. He had lost count after his tenth or eleventh girl. He wasn't really sure why he killed them; he found it so exotic. He never even finished his orgasm on the girls; it had come to the point where he wasn't able. He finished them off, usually getting them up to three orgasms.... he gave one five on his best night, and he fuckin-A knew that she went out with a bang. He had to kill them before he was able to finish himself off, which he was always smart enough to do into a Kleenex or something, which he could flush. He even would take the knife ... a different one every time and toss it into the river. No evidence, right? Unfortunately for him, his plan had gone awry when he'd went to one of his motels for a second time. He had went to high school with the damnable night counter guy who'd I.D.ed him as the guy who'd come in with the chick last night. The cops had asked him about it; he'd waited for his lawyer, of course. His father gave him an alibi, a guy that worked for him. Unfortunately, the prosecution had produced a goddamned videotape of him checking in with the late prostitute Amanda Hewlett. At the very least, he'd be found guilty of perjury, but oh well, right? Can't make an omelet yadda, yadda, yadda. All these thoughts flashed through his mind in a matter of a few seconds. The judge cleared his throat, slicing open the envelope with a gold letter opener that lay on his desk. Justin watched the light flash off the letter opener. He admired how sharp the instrument seemed, especially for something with so innocent a use. The judge slid on his glasses. It made him look an awful lot like Mr. Wizard in a long brown robe. "Justin Jonathan Pack, the jury, composed of your peers, have found you, on the charge of twenty-seven counts of second degree murder, not guilty." Justin smirked. "On the charge of twenty-seven counts of first degree murder, the jury finds you," momentary hesitation as the judge exhaled. Justin felt confident. "Guilty." Justin's eyes widened. Twenty-seven counts of first degree murder. "Which gives me the responsibility of deciding what to do with you. I don't buy in to your plea of insanity and neither does this jury. So I'm left with the decision. Should I give you twenty-seven life sentences, which leaves the open opportunity for so many things to happen? Escape; even parole in about 70 years. No, for one such as yourself I can only sentence one thing. I hereby sentence you to lethal injection, administered by this state. May your death give the families of the victims some satisfaction, and may God have mercy on your soul. Case Closed." The judge banged the gavel down setting off an explosion in Justin's head. He had barely heard the sentencing, his mind shooting off in a hundred directions at once. Death.... he was going to DIE? No, there had to be some mistake. He had been promised an insanity defense. He wasn't going to die, that wasn't part of the plan? A large, black bailiff grabbed him roughly by the arm slapping cuffs on his wrists. After he was outside the courtroom, shackles were put on his ankles. Heavy chains connected his arms to his legs. He was put in a truck and brought to a maximum security, federal penitentiary. 2 The next few months passed in a series of flashes for him. In one flash was his lawyer returning to him in prison informing him that the courts had denied his request for an appeal. Also, due to the upcoming election and a demand for the death of the "Loverboy Murderer" which is what the papers had dubbed him after his fourth or fifth kill, the governor had moved his execution up to October. Next month. In the next flash he was moved to another prison, this one with the facilities for an execution. He was asked what his last meal was to be ... he said ziti. He was asked if he'd be needing a priest, he said he didn't think that would make a difference. He was guided through the execution ceremony. They didn't call it a ceremony, but that's what it seemed like to him. He'd get his last meal at 9:00 PM. At 11 they'd take him from his cell. He'd be given a chance to pray at an altar set up in the prison. At 11:30 he'd be brought into the execution chamber so the witnesses could see him. He'd be given a chance to say his piece to the witnesses. At 11:45 they'd strap him to the gurney. Finally, at 12 midnight, barring a call from the governor, he'd be injected by a man in a black hood. So medieval, wasn't it? In the final flash he was strapped to the gurney. He'd said nothing to the assembled witnesses. Mostly family of the girls he'd murdered. Not the prostitutes, of course, just the "good" girls. He still wasn't sorry for what he'd done, only that the general population didn't see what he'd done as a public service. Cleaning the streets of welfare sucking, disease spreading vermin and removing from society the gold-diggers of the world. No one had wanted him for him ... only for his family's status. He'd always known that. Now, he was an example. Something to win the governor an election. After all, if the governor was willing to execute the son of one of the richest families in the state, well ... he was serious in his war on crime wasn't he. He barely felt the needle as it entered his arm. He was tired before they'd put the needle in. It just intensified. He heard the machine that was reading his heart beat beeping. It was slowing down. In his mind's eye he saw the golden flash of the judge's letter opener. He was watching that, seeing the scene replayed in him mind over and over, until he heard the machine stop beeping. It had turned into a high pitched whine ... he knew that sound from movies. He was dead. 3 Or so he'd thought. He awoke lying on a floor, in a dark, dingy room. He heard water dripping from somewhere off in the distance. He couldn't see anything save a red glow coming from a crack in the wall. He sat up, his head aching some. He wanted to survey his surroundings, but there was nothing to survey. It was black in the room. He stood, wondering just how long he'd been out for. He could tell that he was still in his orange prison outfit, just by the uncomfortable feeling of it against his skin. He walked slowly, stiffly over to the door. It slid open as he got close, the red glow engulfing his body. "So, I have made it to hell after all." He walked down the hallway. It was stone, he could see that. He guessed he was underground, which was appropriate. He'd always been claustrophobic, but it didn't really bother him now. After all, if this ceiling collapsed on him, he'd already be dead, right? He walked around the corner where the stone hallway ended in a very nicely furnished room. Almost like a living room in very old house. Large couches, a television, and a huge picture window. It was warm in here, but not too warm. "Or not." "No," a voice said from behind him. "You're not in hell. But you may wish you were by the end of all of this." Justin turned toward the hallway he had just come from. There was only a blank wall there now, with a rather tall man standing in front of it. The man approached him, standing about a head and a half taller than him. He was not used to this, being about 6'5" himself. That would have put this man at about 7' something. "Who are you?" Justin asked, putting himself in a defensive position. He knew three forms of Karate, and was ready to teach this guy a lesson if he had to. Half a foot taller or not. Justin didn't even see the guy move until after his head was rocked back in a harder slap than he had ever felt in his life. His neck snapped to the left and he crumpled into a heap on the floor. "You, boy, are in no position to ask questions. You do not speak unless spoken to. You do not move without permission. Is that understood?" Justin just sat on the floor and gaped at the man. He had never been hit before in his life. His father didn't do it and wouldn't allow anyone else to do so. The man squatted down and caught Justin another good shot across the face. Justin's nose was bleeding now. "Perhaps you didn't understand me, boy. Do you understand me? You may assume that I wish an answer to all my questions." Justin nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, I understand." The man nodded, standing to his full height. "Good, as long as we understand each other." He pulled a chair from behind him, although Justin would've sworn before God there had been no chair behind the man a moment ago. The man turned the chair around and straddled it. "I thought maybe I would explain a little bit of this to you. Enough for you to understand the situation you're in. One of them little girls you killed. Well, her mom was a good friend of mine. She asked me a favor. I responded that, for the right price, I'd be willing to take on a charge. She assembled the other families and, needless to say, they came up with that price. I talked to some friends of mine, some doctors, guards, and here you are. Justin Pack is legally dead, so you don't exist any longer ... anywhere but here, that is. "Now me, you can call me Angus. I used to go by master, lord, my lord, but those titles lose their amusement after awhile. You are part of a special criminal rehabilitation program." Justin inhaled. Angus frowned and shook his head. "Remember what I told you about speaking." Justin exhaled, nodding. "You are part of a special rehabilitation program. A program that is totally illegal since the US Government, for some reason or another, does not believe in torture, mental or physical. You see, I work on both levels. I was paid very well to take you on as my charge for the next 25 years. During that time, you will suffer. You will suffer very much. Most of it will be mental anguish. Physical pain is so boring. It heals after awhile, you see." Angus tapped his head. "When you hurt a person up here, it's so much more effective. You will live as your victims lived. Justin scowled, he was confused, but didn't dare say so. Angus smirked, nodding. "You've learned one rule rather quickly. Let me give you an example." He stood up, throwing the chair he was sitting on back toward the wall. Justin watched it hit the wall and disappear. All he'd seen was a ripple in the wall, like he was looking at it through a film of water. Do you believe in magic, boy?" Justin shook his head. "No sir, I don't ... I've never seen it." Angus nodded. "A reasonable answer." He rubbed his chin. How shall I begin with you?" He closed his eyes, after a moment, a smile appeared on his face. Justin didn't like that smile. "I know." Justin suddenly felt dizzy. It was a sense of vertigo that he'd never felt before. Almost like he was falling, but standing still at the same time. When he had a sense of sight again, he could see that Angus now towered over him, he had shrunken a good foot, at least, and that was conservative estimate. His prison oranges now hung off of him. He lifted a hand to his forehead, rubbing it, and felt a tickling across the back of it. His hair had thickened, and become black. He saw bangs falling into his line of sight, even though he had always kept his hair very short. As he lowered his hand, he could see that his fingers were longer. His fingernails had grown also. They were still well manicured, and very well kept, but a lot longer than he remembered. "Turn, boy." Angus said. Justin immediately complied. There was a mirror behind him. He could see his old face looking out from behind a long mass of black hair. It was straight as could be, with bangs that fell just below his eyes. He knew, somehow, that those bangs were designed to be curled upward. His face was darker, as if he'd been out tanning for a while rather than down in this hellish hole. He watches his pants shrink, drawing up toward his crotch. He saw himself growing again in the mirror and looked down to see that his orthopedic prison shoes had changed. They had gone from canvas, to black, patent leather. As he watched, a heel started to poke out of the back and even the front began to rise. The heel was at least seven inches long, and the platform itself was two inches. When they got to his knees, they fluffed outward. He saw the color of them change to black, and heard a ripping sound as the legs tore and reformed into a dress. It was black and fluffy, with a white apron on it. He looked at legs that he barely recognized as his. Long, smooth, and thin, they were beautiful. The neck of his top dipped low on his chest, exposing to his sight a hairless chest. It was that same, dark color that his face was. It fluffed out as it turned black. Lacy, it was, and the shoulders fluffed out and turned white. It hung on him wrong. It fit his body, but not right. He scowled into the mirror. A slight wave of nausea washed over him. He felt a faint pain in his chest. He looked down to see his chest grow. Someone had taken a bicycle pump to his breasts and began to blow them up. Bigger and bigger until they filled the French maid outfit he was wearing. His waist compressed, and he felt as if the air in his body was being forced out of him. His bones crackled as they were forced into new shape. His hips expanded, as if someone was taking the corners of his pelvis and readjusting its orientation. He looked in the mirror again, seeing only his face as recognizable. He touched it with his long nailed hand. His eyes widened, but only for a moment. They changed shape. The inside corners of his eyes widened and the outside corners narrowed. His deep blue eyes darkened until they were almost black. His eyelashes grew, curling outward. His nose shrank. His lips puffed up, giving him a pouty look. His cheekbones raised higher. All this happed to him before he even got his hand up to his face. He gaped into the mirror. "I've had this fantasy about an Oriental French Maid for the longest time." Angus said from behind him. "I think I'll call you my Jade. Now my Jade, I have a cock that needs your desperate attention right now." Jade's newly shaped eyes widened. She turned around. Angus had already exposed a huge 12-inch-if-its-a-centimeter penis. "If you think I'm doing anything to your dick, you have a LONG wait coming. I don't suck dicks, I have my dick sucked." Angus frowned. "In case you didn't notice, Jade my dear, you don't have a penis anymore. You are MY slave, you will do what I say, or, things can get harder." Seemingly on cue, Angus's drooping penis begin to expand. Jade scowled, he wanted to sound angry, but that seemed impossible for his new voice box. "Anything you stick in this mouth, I'll bite off." Angus cocked an eyebrow. "Feisty one we have here, huh? You listen to me right now you little bitch." Angus didn't move, but Jade felt a strong slap across her face, as strong as the last one, which hurt even more considering the smallness of her new body. "The next 25 five years can be easy or hard, depending on how you want it. You do what I say, when I say, and the pain won't be so bad. You can bite off whatever you want, but I can grow another one. And you'll hurt a lot more when I have something bite yours off when I change you back. Think about that. As for my servicing," he shook his head. "You don't have to, but the alternative. Heheh, the alternative. Trust me. 25 years is a long time, you don't want to tangle with me. You get three strikes because you're new, that's one. Now, if you would be so kind." Justin shook his head. Angus frowned, pulling up his pants. "Have it your way, bitch." Jade felt herself turn of her own volition, no longer able to move. She watched the French maid outfit change. It first turned completely black, then it turned into to nearly a second skin, it was so tight. Her lower body didn't change, but her upper body did. Her breasts became even bigger making a healthy amount of cleavage visible. Her hair faded from black to blonde, her eyes from black to blue, and reshaped into an American face. Her lips got puffier, and pulled into an O shape of their own volition. His skin started to get shinier, brighter, he couldn't move. All the colors of make-up on his face became exaggerated. The room he was in began to fade out. When another room faded back in, he was in darkness again. He could hear chanting of some sort from the other room. He tried to sit up, but couldn't, tried to lift an arm, but couldn't. He couldn't even blink. Eventually, the door to the adjoining room opened, and twelve people were led in with hoods over their heads. Two guys, of college age, led the procession. One spoke, "Now, as pledges you have one more task to accomplish. You will do this one at a time, and leave the receptacle as you found it, which means a quick clean out." The light in the room turned on. Jade would have screamed bloody murder if she had been able. She could now see herself in the mirrored ceiling of the room. Her mouth was frozen in the same O that it had been forced into at Angus's place. Her arms had been positioned behind her head, her eyes half closed. Her legs were frozen apart. All that was left on her was a patent leather bra and the black high heels. Everything else had been removed. She laid on the bed, unable to move. She was a mannequin, with a hole in her mouth, a hole where her vagina would be, and, she guessed, a hole in the back as well. The frat brother removed the hood from the first boy. He blushed when he saw what the brothers had in store for him. "You've come this far brother Jake. You have only one step left." Jake nodded and walked up to the altar where Jade lay. She wanted to scream. Jake looked over her for a moment. He sat her up and pulled his pants down to reveal a rather small cock. Well, her experience with cocks had been her own, about 7 inches, and the monster that Angus had put before her. This one was not as big as either. He looked around, seeing the other pledges with the bags still on their heads and the other two turned around. He rubbed it himself for a minute until he worked up an erection, and then slid it into her mouth. Although her body seemed to be plastic, she could taste everything. She guessed that the inside of her mouth must be soft, because the boy moaned softly as he slid in and out of her mouth. He grabbed her hair and began to move her head up and down on his shaft. She could feel it sliding in and sliding out. After what seemed like an eternity of this, the boy exploded into her mouth. She tasted the salty fluid as it flowed in her mouth and dribbled down her chin onto her chest. Some of it stayed in her mouth and trickled down her throat. She would have gagged. And she had to do this eleven more times? Over the course of the next two hours she was had as many ways as she could be. She had 6 in her mouth, 2 in her ass, and 4 in her pussy. She couldn't even close her eyes, cry, or protest. She'd never felt so violated. 4 Soon after the brothers were done, she found herself standing before Angus again. She found she could move. She still looked like the fuck-doll, but with real skin and less exaggerated colors. She was breathing heavy. Her butt hurt and her pussy was sore. Her mouth was very dry, and had that taste in it. "Now," Angus said, pulling down his pants. "Are you ready to do what I asked you to do, or shall I find another frat house having similar initiation ceremonies this evening." Jade fell to her knees, beaten. Before she'd even noticed what happened, she was out of the patent leather bra and back into the French maid's outfit. She watched her skin darken, realizing she was back into the body of the Oriental woman. She crawled over to Angus and opened her mouth, allowing him to insert his penis. She mimicked the head motions the brothers had forced her into. It continued forever, or so it seemed, before she felt a deep pulsing in Angus's cock. It began to squirt down her throat. She pulled off of it, only to have it continue to squirt on her face. She dropped her head, the black hair dangling in her face. "And the humiliation begins. You have a long time under me, my dear. I can come up with worse tortures than that, believe me. I've been at it a long time. Now, go take a shower, I have tasks for you this evening." A door opened in the wall behind her. She walked through it, which led to a hallway, which led to the bathroom in question. She stepped in and opened the closet door. She barely noticed she was crying profusely. Murder. That was why she deserved 25 years of torture? She guessed that was what the families thought. But for 25 years? She stripped off her clothes, and looked in the mirror. She didn't have a choice, there were mirrors all over the place, just to be sure she could see herself. The young Oriental girl stared back. There was a laundry chute, which she threw the clothes down. She showered quickly, washing the sticky fluid from her face and hair. Once she got out, she brushed her teeth for a good 15 minutes. Reaching for a brush, she picked out a gold handled one. Pulling it out, she gasped as a memory flashed through her mind. Her sentencing, the judge's letter opener. The way the light had flashed gold off of it. She was holding that letter opener now. "Law is the way to go. You can find all sorts of people to practice your art on." Angus's reflection was in the mirror, she turned to look at him, but he wasn't there. He was only in the mirror. "Frankly, boy, you disgust me. I saw your thoughts in court, I forced the jury to rule the way they did. I wanted you. I was going to take you anyway, the money was just an extra bonus. Frankly, you're going to make me money anyway." He watched the mirror as his skin began to pale again. His breasts, naked now, were expanding. The nipples were becoming darker. They were erect, sensitive enough to feel the air brushing across them. Her waist, already tiny, narrowed even more, making it just wide enough to seem normal. Her hips were narrower as well. Her hair had lightened to a deep shade of red. Her eyes were green now. She was taller, and not from high heels. Clothes began suddenly to appear on her. She was wearing a tight pair of short jeans that just barely covered her ass. On her torso was a jean shirt, tied just beneath her breasts showing a healthy amount of cleavage. Her breasts were big now, but not hideously so. He was wearing heels again. As she watched, the colors of her face deepened as some invisible hand applied make-up and her hair styled it "Now, you are to wander around the city and make me money. As you know very well, most of the hookers that wander around this city are pretty horrid. You, on the other hand, are sight to behold. I expect some money in the morning. Don't disappoint me. "Some ground rules. Don't think about running, I'll find you. We are connected in a way that you'll never understand. Just realize that the locket on your neck lets me know where you are at all times. Don't bother trying to remove it, that's impossible. If you are not back by your scheduled time, expect to transform into something. A rat maybe, or a wolf. It's rather frightening for those near you and rather painful for you. This will last a few days at which point you'll revert to a humanoid. You'll have 24 hours to find your way back here, at which point I'll change you into something else. Notice I say humanoid. There will be some mutations on your body. A tail, or some fangs, perhaps. If you don't bring me some money, you will be punished. "If you get caught, I'll know. I'll have to turn you into something capable of escape. A fly usually works, or a mosquito. Don't worry about dying, that can't happen, and you can't be diseased either...or become pregnant. If you die, you'll wake up where you started. After you escape, you'll find yourself human again, at which point you'll have 24 hours to get back here. Then, I'll have to give you a new form. If you behave, you may even get a weekend off here and there, as a man, to enjoy yourself. "However, if you do something stupid, it adds another 5 years to your service to me. Now, Alicia, as your driver's license will say. Do NOT disappoint me. The address you must return to by noon tomorrow is 1415 19th street. Your apartment. You will be brought back here. If you do not return to that place, the penalties will apply. Hopefully, a nice man like you used to be will see fit to pick you up and, how was it, perform a public service. Now, go out there and make me some fucking money." The vision of Angus faded from the mirror, and Alicia burst into tears. She noticed the mascara that had been applied did not run. No escape, no escape for the next 25 years. She would be a whore, a fuck-doll, and whatever else that psycho in there saw fit to make her. And who would believe her? She turned to her left as a door materialized in the mirror. She could see a dark alley on the other side, with cars passing back and forth at the mouth. Her future, her job......oh God. She wanted to wipe her eyes, but was afraid of poking them out with her nails. "Stop stalling dear, I grow bored with watching you bawl." She looked up, looked at herself in the mirror. With a sigh of resignation, she grabbed the purse that had appeared. Looking out into the night, she stepped through the door to the blind ally. -fin?- ---I could write more of this, but only if there's sufficient interest. Let me know comments, either by e-mail, or right here. This is that all-important sophomore story, let me know what you think.