Jailed Young Housewife

After the morning shower and her injection of the local love potion as Torres jokingly called it, Kaylah sat in the isolated prison cell alone, her damp hair clinging to her neck like a shroud. Maybe Reggie was gone—finally shifted to another cell or cut loose and banished from her torment.  Hardly able to stand after the massive dose of narcotics, she collapsed in the bed…

Meanwhile, Reggie slouched in the Captain’s stifling office, his frame sinking into the cracked leather chair across from the hulking oak desk. The air thickened with strain, a humid snare tightening as Torres leaned in, voice low and deliberate. “Listen, Romeo, you can’t bust her face up anymore.”

The dim room pressed closer, shadows clawing at the edges. “I have to let her see her husband again at some point. She hasn’t told him about you yet, and it’s best we keep it that way for now. You keep banging up her face, he’ll start asking questions. I don’t need his suspicions flaring—it makes things easier without him knowing we’re doping his wife, turning her into an addict and conditioning her for work in our brothel. He’ll find out when the time’s right.”

“Yeah, I get you, Captain. But he not her husband no more. She sharin’ a cell with me and be my jail wife now. She started comin’ down and bein’ difficult about havin’ anal.  I hardly touched her.  She warmed up real nice to it though after you gave her some extra encouragement with that shit you injectin’ into her.”

Torres smirked, a razor’s edge curling his lips. “The way she was hugging you in her sleep this morning tells me Stockholm Syndrome is setting in—it happens to all trafficked females. They grow attached to their captors. The drugs keep them incredibly high while their captors fuck them.  They latch on to their only source of human contact and security.   

“If you have to smack Señora Jordan when the drugs wear off to keep her in line, hit where it doesn’t show—like her ass. Speaking of, I hope you broke it in good last night like I requested.  She’ll have to be comfortable with anal.”

Reggie flashed a wide, toothy grin, a predator’s gleam in the dim light. “Gonna need more that lube soon,” he chuckled, raw and guttural. “She resistin’ anal some right now, but I’ll get her cozy with it before too long with that concoction you been mixing up and injectin’ into her.  She’ll be takin’ it in her ass without a second thought.” He winked, cocky as hell.

Torres and Reggie erupted in coarse, primal laughter, the sound bouncing off the stone walls like a pack of hyenas reveling in a kill.

“Excellent work, Señor Johnson. I’m very pleased with the progress you’re making with her. By the way, the magistrate is returning from his trip at the end of the month, and your court date will be shortly afterward,” Torres said, his voice cutting through the mirth.

His tone dropped, grave and pointed, a shadow falling across his words. “I’m reducing your charges to misdemeanor marijuana possession and an expired tag, just keep up the work you’re doing with Mrs. Jordan.  She’s starting to really appreciate all your drugs going into her veins.

“What about my cash?” Reggie asked.

“I’m sorry, amigo, but your cash can’t be returned either.”

Reggie’s face twisted into a scowl, his easy grin souring. “Figured you been using my stash in that shit you shootin’ her up with.  But you takin’ all my cash? You leavin’ me with nothin’ after how good I been workin’ her for you?”

“I know it is difficult,” Torres replied, voice cool and unyielding as polished steel. “But I don’t think fucking Mrs. Jordan has been a burdensome task for you. You seem to enjoy the work and are exceptionally well suited for it, I might add.”

Reggie’s eyes glinted, a spark of cunning flaring in the dimness. “How about permanently getting rid of her husband and letting me keep her here in Mexico with me? I’ll scrape up more cash for you,” he shot back, leaning forward, his offer a dark thread weaving through the haze.

Torres’s left eyebrow arched, a slow crescent of intrigue rising at the proposal. “Sí? You realize a young, white female with looks like Señora Jordan, can make us lots of pesos over her productive years.  When she becomes impregnated, we can also profit off her offspring.  Tell me exactly what you have in mind, Señor Johnson…” His voice trailed off, a quiet invitation, the air humming with the promise of a deeper, more sinister pact between the two wicked men.