I’m back!!!!
I’m so sorry I haven’t been writing on this story in FOREVER! But I’ve had my reasons. Life has been pretty tough lately and I know there isn’t really any excuse for not letting you know sooner and for that I’m really sorry. I did kind of burn myself out there by the time I ended writing this story, trying to put out an episode a day. So in the future I won’t have a deadline for each episode. I will most likely not put out an episode every day but instead take my time and write maybe an episode a week? I don’t know what I can keep up with but I’ll try to have a few episodes ready to be released if I don’t feel like writing again for a while.
I promised an ending to this story and I will absolutely give you one. I’m not entirely sure yet when or how the story will end but it will end. It was quite a while since I last wrote on this story so I might miss a few details here and there but it shouldn’t be anything too too bad.
So, without further ado, I hope you’ll enjoy:
Chapter 13
I woke up on the couch in the cafeteria, naked and sore, after last night’s punishment and rough handling. After mine and Lisa’s punishment my buzzer buzzed four times before I finally managed to get some sleep. I looked at the clock on the wall. 07:40, there probably would be quite a while before any potential buzzing. People were usually most active during the evenings. I rubbed my jaw and sighed before scrambling over to my locker and pulled out a freshly washed set of clothes. I put them on and looked around. Lisa were nowhere to be found. I sat back down on the couch, thinking it would probably do me well to rest up as much as possible. I leaned back and just as I closed my eyes I heard a terribly loud *BANG* followed by a bunch of shouting, coming from the lobby, just on the other side of the door to the room I was in. I scrambled to my feet and hid behind the couch. My heart was racing. I had nowhere to go and could just hope whoever was making the noise in the lobby wouldn’t bother me. Before I even had time to finish that thought, the door was kicked in and four, fully armored, armed police officers burst into the cafeteria. The first police officer pointed his gun towards me and ordered me down on the ground with my hands clasped by the back of my head. I did as he ordered and he moved up to handcuff me behind my back. I was led back out into the lobby where they had handcuffed and lined up two other girls working here, one of which probably was working in the reception this morning and the other probably just happened to be here. The officer pushed me down on my knees next to the other two girls and I was told to “Keep quiet, don’t speak!”. The lobby was completely jam-packed with police officers, running in every direction. Most of them ran up the stairs but a few of them got in the elevator. As far as I knew, the elevator was the only way up to Stephen’s room and the down to the torture room.
During the next 30 minutes or so, every employee and customer in the hotel at the time, were brought down to the lobby and handcuffed. They lined up the current customers along one wall and us girls along the opposite. There were 14 girls in total if I included me and Lisa although, watching every girl as they were brought into the lobby, I couldn’t spot Lisa. Did she get away? After a while the elevator dinged, and out stepped three police officers and Stephen, with his hands handcuffed behind his back. They brought him straight out into a police car and drove off. About 15 minutes later they began bringing the rest of us outdoors and put us in police cars as well, three at a time. We were brought down to the station and put in a large holding cell. Me and the two other girls were the first to arrive. There were already people in the holding cell when we got there. One young looking man in a hoodie, a middle aged lady who looked about ten years older than she probably was. She was dressed in a very slutty tube-top, barely covering her huge, obviously fake, boobs, as well as an extremely short skirt. She was quite the textbook example of a crack whore you’d typically see on a street corner in some shady neighbourhood. There were also an older man with a long dark beard, a bandana and a leather jacket sitting on one of the benches in the cell. His jacket was filled with patches of different shapes. I could see a few skulls and one of the shape of a pair of wings. He looked like the typical biker. He grinned as he saw us enter the cell and as soon as I sat down by the edge of the bench, he slid up next to me and put his hand on my thigh. I was still dressed pretty slutty myself as well in the standard maid’s outfit we were made to wear over at the brothel. I considered pushing his hand away but I was used to this kind of treatment and I wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of a black eye right about now so I just clenched my jaw and closed my eyes, letting him rub his hand up and down my thigh. The young man in the hoodie glanced over at us but didn’t do anything to try and stop the biker. After what felt like an eternity a police officer came to fetch him and, to my surprise, let him walk. If he was a biker he probably had the right connections to let him get away with almost anything. After about a quarter hour later another officer came over and dragged me over to one of the interrogation rooms, by my arm. He sat me down on a chair and told me to wait.
After a short while a man dressed in a suit and glasses stepped into the room with a bright and kind smile on his face. “So!” He began but then paused, looking at me.”Lucy.” I filled in. “Ah, Lucy.” He said and stretched an open hand out towards me. “Nice to meet you!” I shook it and he continued “My name is Randy Gray and I will be your interrogator today. Have you ever been interrogated before?” I shook my head. He made a note in his papers and kept going. “How old are you?” he asked. “Seventeen… I think.”. He frowned and looked at me for a while. “What’s your social security number?”. I considered telling him everything. If I gave him my real social security number and told him I used to live in sweden and that I was kidnapped he might be able to get me back home. Home to my parents. I missed them even though I hadn’t really thought about them for the longest time. It was easier that way. But the thought of coming home to my parents, looking the way I did now… Even if I had my DNA tested and confirmed… I was sure that my parent’s wouldn’t recognize me. My father, being the most homophobic person I knew, after grandma, would probably never respect me again, after he found out what had happened to me, what I had done. I figured it was probably best to let them keep just remembering me as I was, even though it hurt to even think that. I just shook my head “I don’t know” I said and shrugged. He frowned again and studied me for a while and eventually got up and left the room without a word. He came back with a small plastic bottle and a cotton swab. “This is a DNA test.” He said and shook the small bottle. “We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way.” He continued. “I need your consent to take a sample of your saliva for a DNA test.” Before I had time to protest he continued, a little louder than before, as if drown out any protests I was thinking up in my head. “You should know, that should you refuse right now, all that is going to happen is the test being delayed a bit. As you might have figured out already, you are under arrest on suspicion of prostitution.” He paused and looked into my eyes, looking for any signs of guilt. “In the end we will get a DNA test.” I sighed and opened my mouth wide, defeated. “I need you to voice your consent.” he said and pointed at a camera in the corner of the room, explaining everything we were saying and doing could be used against me in the court of law. He rambled up my rights and the consequences of forging evidence and lying. He also explained that the court, lately, were extra tough on prostitutes and the punishment for such behaviour had been pretty harsh lately, so I would do best in cooperating as much as possible to minimize my sentence, should I be found guilty. “I’m okay with you taking a sample of my saliva for a DNA test” I said, and sighed before opening my mouth wide again. He used the cotton swab and dragged it across the inside of my cheeks and under my tongue. When he was finished I told him right away that I didn’t have a choice in being there. That I was forced to do whatever they asked of me and I got no kind of money in exchange for “my services.” The interrogator made a note in his papers and shook his head. He reminded me that anything I said could be used against me in the court of law and that lying would only make my sentence longer. He also explained that he already had interviewed another girl before me and she admitted to prostitution. She admitted to have worked at the brothel in exchange for food and a place to live. He said this was very commonly the case for places like this, where girls and boys, living in the streets, would offer their bodies in exchange for a warm bed and food.
For the rest of the interrogation I answered whatever question he had as truthfully as I could, leaving out the part with me actually being a boy from the north of Sweden. I never mentioned Lisa though. If she managed to get out before the police arrived I wasn’t going to give her up. The interrogation felt really pointless. Every time I actually told him the truth I could tell he didn’t believe me. I was transported to a small cell with only a mattress on the floor and a dark, smelly hole in one of the corners. I had never been in jail before but I really didn’t think it was this bad. I was given a gray, simple, baggy jumpsuit in place of my maid’s outfit.
I spent the next couple of months in that jail cell, only getting to leave for lunch and dinner each day and the occasional shower. I was assigned a lawyer who, quite clearly, hated his job and me as well. I told him the same things I told the interrogator the day I was brought here but I could tell he didn’t believe me either. I didn’t blame any of them for not believing me. Every time I told the story it sounded so completely made up and fake that I was almost ashamed for believing it myself. After two months however, Randy Gray, the interrogator, stormed into the cell holding a sheet of paper in his hand. He frowned at me. “This doesn’t make any sense.” He shook his head. “We don’t have any kind of information about you. No name, no parents, no social security number.” He looked me over and narrowed his eyes. “It does say however” He paused for a moment. “That you’re not actually a girl.” He stared right into my eyes. I didn’t know what to say. “I wasn’t born one.” I said. “But I am now.”. He frowned again and shook his head. “That’s not how it works, at least not until you have the right papers to support it. Do you have a penis?” He asked and rubbed his forehead, annoyed. “Do you want to see?” I asked, nonchalantly, and he just growled as a reply. “I’ll take that as a yes then.” he said and then paused for any protests. Eventually he sighed and continued. “In the name of the law you are considered a male until you officially register a sex change in a courtroom. In addition to that you are going to be tried as an adult as well because the DNA test couldn't determine a specific age.” He, angrily, stomped out of the cell, slamming the door shut, muttering something along the lines of “Have you got any idea what kind of a headache this will bring me.” as he left.
After another month in jail my trial finally came. I was found guilty and, because of my “unwillingness to cooperate”, I was sentenced to 4 years in prison.