You never know who might be asking you to pass the sugar!
As far back as he could remember, he had heard them.
As if the attorneys, counselors, psyches, not to mention Father Calvin himself from Drew's hometown of Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin - were ever likely to understand?
"Isn't he one smart six-year old Frank?" his mom had declared one morning after he had completed a five-hundred piece jig-saw puzzle in just under forty minutes. The voices of course had told him which pieces to pick-up. He could never figure out why no-one else ever seemed to hear them.
The first time the teachers had caught him with his hands inside eight-year old Katie Anderson's little bear-print panties, they put it down to innocent childhood experimentation. Certainly Katie hadn't seemed too concerned about it. Julie Marshall however was a significantly different proposition. It was the distressed cries emanating from the deserted gymnasium that had caught the ear of the head janitor one Tuesday afternoon, some thirty minutes after school was out.
Pushed face-downwards across a rolled-up piece of matting, Drew had been in the process of spanking the ten-year old girl's bare bottom, having tugged her white cotton briefs unceremoniously down below her knees.
"Quite a sight, I have to say," commented the Janitor when debriefed by senior teaching staff. Truth is, for the next few months he didn't once need to open up a solitary Penthouse. The wide-screen image of young Julie Marshall having her sexy and decidedly crimson little butt paddled like that, was seared on his mind - if not other places.
Questioned at length, Drew simply could not understand the problem.
"The voices told me to do it," he had replied quite honestly.
"I wouldn't worry too much Mr and Mrs Collins," the school's consulting psychologist had said. "Many children, girl's especially, have imaginary friends," he clasped his hands together while adjusting his glasses and smiling at both parents glibly. Frank was wondering if he had ever entered a John Ritter look-alike competition.
"It's not the Imaginary friends we're worried about Dr Shand," Dianne glanced across at her husband for support. "It's... how do I say this?," she looked around for some literate inspiration, "It's... what our son was doing to that young girl, that concerns us."
"Look Mrs Collins, every test we have run with your son shows no abnormality whatsoever. Granted, such impulses might be seen as very unusual in a boy so young, but let's not get carried away here. Just let things take their course and I'm sure you'll find this was simply a one-off incident."
That notion however was consigned to the "Oops, we got that wrong" pile not three weeks later, when Drew was discovered in the girls' locker-room during recess, with his hands down young Sarah Beaumont's bra, fondling the life out of her hot, if not somewhat still puffy little nipples.
A deal was struck. No official complaint lodged, so long as they withdrew their son from St. Angelus Junior High immediately.
"But dad, it's the truth," he had said, "They told me to do it!"
He learned to differentiate between the voices. One preferred blondes, another brunettes apparently and the third, most anything under-age in a skirt. He was kept busy let's say!
Only by dint of the fact that none of the girls or their parents had yet pressed charges, was he still free to ply his trade amongst the adolescent community of Prairie du Chien. Patti Morrison was to set a precedent however, but one has admittedly to recognise the hurt and embarrassment that comes with being multiply raped on the front porch - just their first date too!
The detective in charge seemed remarkably short on understanding.
"Why'd you do it son?" he asked for the second time. "How'd you figure you were gonna get away with it?... right outside the girl's own front door for Christ's sake!" he looked across at Dianne. "Pardon my language ma'am," he muttered before turning his attention back to the seventeen-year old, slumped elbows-first across the interrogation table.
Drew looked up at his inquisitors acutely confused. Why was no-one listening? How difficult was it to understand? - he was acting under instructions.
With the case adjourned pending further medical reports, Drew found himself repeating his explanation to a veritable raft of clinical psychologists. While his parents fretted and made haste to re-locate as far from Prairie du Chien as was practical, Drew found himself sifting through IQ tests, response card sessions and protracted interviews with white-coated, highly qualified fruitcakes, who insisted on asking why he hated females in general and whether or nor he masturbated in darkened cupboards once in a while?
The bottom line was that medical opinion was fully inconclusive. No one believed the voices existed of course, but the general consensus was that Drew at least believed he heard them.
Found "Not guilty by reason of mental incompetence," Drew was sent to a nearby sanitarium for "continued treatment."
Some three years later, and with a severe room shortage looming, Doctor Charles Meredith, director-in-charge of operations, perhaps recognizing that nothing had been achieved, and the fact that his staff had found 'absolutely no abnormality' in the youth since his admission - signed him out.
Over the years, his parents had paid money into an account for him and enough of a balance existed now that he would be able to support himself until he could obtain gainful employment. He had completed his High School diploma whilst in psychiatric care and was ecstatic at the prospect of his new-found freedom.
"You did well Drew," the voice enunciated clearly, as he descended the steps of the ancient white-painted facility. He allowed himself a broad smile. A whole afternoon and evening to himself, before he need call his parents he mused.
Drawing out several hundred dollars, he found the nearest men's outfitters and upgraded his sartorial presentation before crossing Curzon Boulevarde and checking himself into the Regent, by far the most opulent of the city's twelve hotels.
"No luggage sir?" enquired the girl in reception.
"It'll be here later," he confided to her smiling broadly, whilst slipping the electronic swipe-card into his pocket.
Maryanne Clarke's shift at Wal-Mart had finished at 2 p.m. and she had dropped into the diner for a coffee and sandwich before heading-off home. Just nineteen, she was a pretty girl. Shoulder length dark brown hair that she kept neatly swept back of her cheeks with small mica clasps when she was working the check-out, highlighted a young-looking face that in truth was inclined more towards naivety than worldly experience.
Handed a figure that did everything right, she nevertheless wondered why so large a percentage of the male population in town paid her the close attention it did. She found it quite embarrassing.
Seated in the corner of the diner, Drew had noticed the young girl the moment she walked in, her figure especially.
"Gentlemen, we have a most pleasant task ahead of us it seems." The voice sniggered inside the periphery of Drew's subconscious. He was sure he heard other voices signifying their own assent.
"Could you pass me the sugar please Miss?"
Maryanne glanced up at the speaker and liked what she saw. A rather stylish looking young man, clean cut, well dressed and altogether a step-up from the usual dross hanging around the bar of any small mid-American town you care to name. If any word came to her mind, it would have to be... yummy!
Drew smiled at the girl, "Sorry for being a pest - I must be sitting in a sugar-free zone over there." He pointed to the corner whence he came.
She giggled and was unable to prevent a delicate blush pervading both cheeks.
"Oh, it's Ok," she muttered, pushing the bowl towards him, wondering what else she could possibly say to prolong his stay at her table.
"Thanks," said Drew. "You'd think being a Doctor I'd know better wouldn't you?" he grinned, glancing at the small bowl.
"You're a Doctor?" she asked, "Wow, you don't look that old," She immediately felt embarrassed by the inference of her words. "Ohh, I'm soo sorry," she added, "That was very rude of me."
"Nothing to apologise for," he replied smiling..."I get that all the time. To be honest, I'm actually a third year Intern at the State County Hospital in Milwaukee. Just here for a medical convention."
"Oh really?" she said. "Do you live in Milwaukee?"
Drew grinned. "Say, why don't you come sit at my table over there? it's not doing my back any good standing here bent-over like this."
Realizing the humor in his predicament," she burst out laughing. "OK then," she answered picking up her drink and sandwich. "My name's Maryanne by the way." She extended a hand.
"Pleased to meet you Maryanne," he said, grasping her palm firmly, "And I'm Drew."
They crossed to the far corner and sat down at the small cubicle facing one another.
"So Maryanne," he continued, "You were asking if I live in Milwaukee?" she nodded.
"Actually, no I don't. I live at home still - in Appleton. It's a nice little place about thirty miles south west of Green Bay."
"I know Green Bay," she replied. "Our family had a holiday home up there when I was a child. Such a cool place to spend a vacation. Freezing though in Winter," she added.
"For God's sake," the voice intoned, resonating through Drew's awareness, "Can you cut the cutesy talk and just get the girl up to your room - we'll take it from there kid!"
She noticed his sudden change of demeanor.
"Something wrong Drew?" she asked. "You OK?"
"Sorry Maryanne," he responded quickly, feeling inside the pockets of his jacket suddenly. "It's just that I think I left my wallet on the coffee table in my hotel room over the road. It's got all my credit cards, and medical id in it. I have to go and check sorry. He pulled out a twenty from his back pocket. "Here, this should cover the bill at least. Thanks for the chat... and the sugar."
She looked so bitterly disappointed right that second, he figured he deserved an Oscar.
"Look," he added, "The convention doesn't start till 5 p.m. Do you want to come over with me and after I get my wallet, maybe we can have an hour or so in the Regent's Bistro?
"The Regent?" she said, obviously impressed. "Gosh, I'm hardly dressed for it," she added wistfully.
"It's just a Bistro," he added consolingly, "and hey, you look really nice anyway, that's a smart little two-piece you have on." She blushed again.
They paid the bill and headed off towards the Hotel's entrance some thirty yards further down the Boulevarde.
"Now you're talking," said the voice. Drew smiled to himself.
Using the swipe-card he still had in his breast-pocket, he opened the door to suite 862. Rather than wait in reception, Maryanne had happily agreed when asked, to accompany him while he fetched his wallet. It's hardly as though she was in any likely danger. Broad daylight and in the company of a young and particularly handsome doctor!
"Such a beautiful room," she muttered, stepping inside.
"Such beautiful tits," said the voice, as a hand clamped itself around her mouth, even as the heavy door slammed shut behind her. Propelled towards the queen-size bed by someone with enormous strength, she was unable to dislodge the palm across her lips.
"Did you remember the knife lad?" Drew heard in his brain. He nodded as the girl was forced face-down on to the coverlet.
From then on he was but dimly aware of what transpired in that room - merely that he had a service to perform... a duty to obey!
Maryanne however was unfortunately privy to everything that went on. As the keen blade hovered but an inch from her epiglottis, she cowered in fear. Silent fear that is. Time enough of course to have her mouth fully taped.
This, followed by her wrists being securely bound at her back, left her with all the freedom of a trussed chicken.
"And now my dear," said the voice, "I think we might indulge ourselves with a little correctional behavior if you will."
Across Drew's knee as she was, the first smack wasn't too bad. Well, embarrassing to be sure, but not especially painful.
"Don't mind your bottom being spanked eh love?" said the voice. "That's OK, all little girls seem to like it. You know, there was this cute little schoolkid - must be ten years ago now I guess. Hot damn, she had the sexiest little rear-end... we really got her hot as I recall. Shame about that damn janitor."
The next spank made her gasp... well, as far as one can gasp into a gag. Blow followed blow and with the increasing application, Maryanne found her legs drawing themselves up at the knee... achieving no more than adding arousingly to her vulnerability. Worse, her skirt she could feel, was riding up her thighs.
"I know its naughty, but let's see what panties a pretty little girl like you wears around town Maryanne," muttered the voice. She wriggled uselessly as she felt a hand yanking her skirt right up.
"Blue suits you sweetheart," came the unwanted response, but she had no time to reflect on such things as her bikini-clad cheeks were then forcibly submitted to a humiliating spanking, the skimpy material offering but minimal protection.
She was crying of course, but the hand was not to be denied. Even as she wriggled helplessly, she felt her panties being tugged lower and fresh blows rained down now on her bare bottom.
"Real sexy little cheeks you have there Missy, ' uttered the voice, "Even if I do say so myself." The spanks stopped and she lay still sobbing silently. Her rather shapely bottom was as sore as it looked right at that moment.
"Now we can't have a young lady getting all hot and bothered," continued the sibilant whisper. "But first, we need to check out a few things here." So saying, a hand encircled her waist and she shuddered as she felt the fingers moving ever upwards.
"Like I said," the voice went on, "You have the most beautiful tits Maryanne." Although fully repulsed, she felt an unforced flush of erotic pleasure as the fingers closed about her right breast, fondling the soft tissue with obscene intent. Again she gasped beneath the gag as Drew's hands took a hold of a breast each and commenced mauling them harshly. Any erotic pleasure she had imagined was now fully dissipated as the fingers slipped beneath her top and bra and began molesting her wholesale. She cringed on his knee as both nipples were crushed between thumb and forefinger. Cupping her breasts, the hands roamed at will, prodding, rubbing, separating and abusing.
Despite such unwanted attention however she was unable to repel nature's overall plan, and the continuous stimulation in this general area was causing her nipples to become erect.
"Well now," continued the voice..."What do we have here?... badly behaved little nipples no less." He pulled both hard, causing her to mumble incoherently into the tape covering her mouth as she squirmed in an agony of distress.
"Let's have a look see what's happening in other areas young lady," the voice proclaimed, as she felt to her horror, fingers slipping upwards between her legs. She tried to close them but two harshly delivered smacks on her still glowing rear-end was sufficient to part them again.
Tears coursed down her face as she felt the fingers rubbing her labia hard, then their enforced separation as a finger worked its way up inside her. Her arms were aching now but it was the humiliating digital abuse her body was suffering that was blocking out every other sensation.
"Sexy little cunt aren't you," said quite another voice. She stiffened with horror. Lifted off Drew's knee, she was tossed face-down back on to the coverlet... "Let's find out just how sexy, ' continued the same voice.
Forced into a kneeling position she knew what was coming but was powerless to prevent it. Rape is not a pleasant experience and for Maryanne that afternoon, pretty much as bad as it gets.
With merely obligated functionality and no emotional attachment to detract from the job at hand, Drew's penile insertion was somewhat less than a sexual epiphany for the young girl, virgin that she unfortunately still was. His first thrust made short work of both the remnants of her hymen and any hopes she may have had that the experience might not be too agonising. Rape after all is rape!
The duct tape may have reduced all outward vocalised signs of distress but on the inside, her body was screaming at the pain caused by the insensitive intruder. Wracked with sobs she had to just kneel there and permit the on-going debasement. She felt as if a bar of red-hot iron was being forced up between her legs, one wielded by some outcast from the Spanish Inquisition. Drew was relentless or at least his erection was, after all he wasn't even aware of the debauchery in progress.
Working the teenager like she was the county slut, one who could well expect to find herself taking a dive off the Tallahassee bridge some day, it was just a matter of time until he found himself jerking copious amounts of sticky white gel way up where he shouldn't. Even in her unmitigated distress, Maryanne felt the hot spurts deep inside her vagina and sobbed with renewed grief for her stolen innocence... "My turn," said someone, "And I want the little cunt on her back... and naked."
Unable to pull-off her top and bra, on account of her being bound, the hands literally ripped and tore at her clothes, taking obscene liberties with her body as they did so. Even as she lay there exposed and vulnerable, one hand fondled her breasts lewdly while other fingers pried her pussy apart thereby releasing further trickles of the invasive semen.
As Drew knelt between her legs - forced uncomfortably wide now, she saw his blank expression and with uncomprehending horror, heard the words "You are such a fucking slut Maryanne." His lips hadn't moved!
She had little opportunity to fathom this enigma however. As Drew pushed hard into her, he began fucking her so violently she felt the head of his penis intruding upon her cervix. Her world was given over to tortuous pain. Shaking her head from side to side in abject misery, she watched as he spread her legs ever wider, grunting in animalistic pleasure as he mated like the Cro-Magnon primate into which he had metamorphisised.
As his spasmodic ejaculation released yet more unwanted DNA deep inside her, Maryanne closed her eyes. Her dignity in tatters, her body wracked in pain, what did anything matter any more?
"Would you like anything to eat?" were the absolute last words she was expecting to hear.
Drew, dressed decently now, was standing across the room seemingly un-moved by the fact that a tearful and obviously just-raped young girl was now lying naked and tied-up on his bed. The fact that being gagged prevented her from answering seemed of little consequence to him either. She was further stunned by the fact that she could hear him ordering some refreshments from room service as if absolutely nothing untoward had happened. He had his back to her.
Perhaps due to a combination of body sweat and the frenetic activity wreaked upon her body, but one of the strips of tape across her mouth had come partially loose.
"Help me, please help me," she screamed. "I'm being raped..."
She got no further as Drew delivered an enormous backhander which staggered her and she fell back on the bed. The tape was replaced - Drew had gone.
"Fucking little bitch," intoned the cruel and gravelly voice, "Now you're really gonna pay with your cheap and slutty hide girl." So saying, he turned her over on the very edge of the bed. Spreading her ass cheeks wide, she felt the head of his penis as he thrust it hard up against her forbidden channel. This was the ultimate ignomy, the ultimate degradation. The pain was indescribable...
There was a commotion at the door.
"Back off her... right now lad," ordered the cop, his partner's gun held in what looked like the steadiest of grips. He didn't look like he was kidding around. Drew calmly took a few steps towards the chair, adjusting his fly as he retreated. Once again, he looked puzzled.
"What appears to be the problem Officer?" he asked in all innocence.
"Problem is son, you forgot to hang up the phone!"
The first few days of the trial were predictable. Hours of documented Police evidence, embracing forensic, medical and verbal testimony. Witnesses to the actual crime in progress as well as a tearful spell on the stand from young Maryanne herself. The jurors smiled at her heart-wrenching performance with unrehearsed benevolence.
For most of this time Drew sat alongside his legal counsel, slumped disinterestedly against the desk in front of him. Occasionally he would pour himself a glass of water and stare at the court-room ceiling.
The day he was called to the stand himself, he took his time crossing the Court, staring at the jurors like they were a bus-load of Japanese tourists at the Hollywood Bowl. Sworn-in, again he adopted that slumped pose.
Even before the prosecutor could utter a syllable, Drew closed his eyes, resting his chin on his upraised arms.
"With all due respect your Honor," echoed a fully unrecognizable voice. No-one even could see Drew's lips moving.
"You've got the wrong man. Look at him. I ask you Judge, does Drew Collins look like a rapist?"
No-one in the courtroom stirred. The prosecutor picked up the water decanter then put it down again. The defence attorney let out a gasp, while Justice Caldwell's jaw dropped several inches.
"Like I said," the voice continued, "Drew Collins a sexual deviate? I hardly think so." You could have heard a pin drop. "Of course, there is another here who fits that description to a 't'... he even did time last century so he tells me."
The booming laughter that followed, would have bequeathed Father Merrin the shakes!
The trial was aborted...
"Good morning Drew," muttered Charles Meredith MD, as the ambulance drew up at the crumbling brownstone steps, depositing there the young man manacled at the wrists still and standing between two large uniformed guards.
"It seems I may have been somewhat hasty in my earlier assessment. Come with me lad, your old room's ready and waiting!"