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Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction and while the main characters may remind you of a pair of ladies that until recently were in a popular TV series, that is as far as it goes.
This a piece of fiction any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. Please don't copy this all or in part without asking.
Also don't use any character without permission (like anyone would want one of my demented people)
Sex Warning: Now here's a surprise there is sex in here and for those of you that don't know there is a loving relationship between two women, that at times gets kind of graphic. It goes from an R rating to an NC-17 on occasion.
If any of that bothers you, or you are less then 18, or if you live in one of those places where this material is illegal then you should delete this now and go elsewhere please. Violence/Language Warning: Yes there is some of both. Actually there is some rather nasty references to violent acts, sexual and otherwise, Hey it's set mostly in a prison what did you expect nuns. There is also some mention of violent sadistic rape as well as it's aftermath. Again if this bothers you delete it and move on.
Misc. Warnings and further Butt Coveage: Many of the places in this story do or did exist (sadly Auggie's closed long ago, and yes there is a Chillicothe Correctional Center, women's facility) but it has been many years since I've been to any of them and they are liable to have changed greatly from the way I have written them here. How about we just call it artistic license, and part as friends ok. Feedback: Hey I live for that stuff, so PLEASE!!! send any and all comments and/or constructive criticism to: keeper444@webtv.net I'll be glad to get it. Flames will be cheerfully eaten and a curse placed upon the senders genitals, so send that to if you want.<beg> ================
Dedications: First of all to my Niki who encouraged inspired and even helped me with this story and believe me it wouldn't exist without her. Thanks again my angel, you do truly compete me, I thank the Goddess every day for having brought us together. ===============
Now last and certainly not least to the wonderful and talented person that beta-ed my demented addle brained scribblings and made them into a readable form, Cheryl Hill. Thanks kiddo you are the greatest!!! ++++++++++++
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Guard Captain Paula Nichols stopped on her way through the security booth and glanced at the unblinking monitors. All but two showed empty cells - D Block was already at breakfast and wouldn't be back for at least another 30 minutes.
Paula watched one of the monitors as a tall black-haired woman stretched out on her bunk like a jungle cat waking from a nap. It was easy to see every muscle in the long graceful body ripple under the soft, smooth skin, especially when Cam, as everybody called her, was only wearing a tank top and boxers. Like now.
The guard could feel herself being irresistibly drawn to the sensual beast on the screen. When she felt the pull the strongest, the prisoner leaned back in her bunk and raised the most incredible pair of sky blue eyes. Almost as if she knew Paula was watching, she looked directly into the camera and, with a mischievous smirk, winked.
Paula jumped back like she'd been stung. Realizing her mistake, she tried to regain her composure before either of the junior guards in the room noticed that she was flustered by the prisoner's actions.
"Hey, Cap is it true what we heard?" the newest guard asked.
"What's that Pat?" Paula knew what she was asking, but she wanted the rookie to admit she was sticking her nose into something only the warden and Paula, herself, were supposed to know.
High profile prisoners, like Cam, had special release times that were kept secret to help avoid a media circus at the gates. It was meant to give the prisoner a chance to get away before any reporters showed, but Paula knew that the rule was really there for the warden. He wanted the prisoner gone, with no press coverage, in case the prisoner had something bad to say about his facility. The man didn't give a tinker's damn about the women in his charge; he just didn't want any bad publicity.
"Well, you know Cap," the kid said sheepishly, knowing she was busted, "Is Brusard really gettin' out?"
"Yep, she is," Paula answered looking again at the dark haired woman on the monitor. "She's done her full time and today she gets out free and clear, no paper. She turned down parole so that when she gets out they have to leave her alone."
The kid decided to push her luck and ask another question. "Why do they have her on a suicide watch? She doesn't look the least bit suicidal to me."
Paula sighed. "All the big newspapers are all over 'the innocent girl that did her time' angle. Couldn't let anything happen to her now that she's served her time."
At 5'8", the heavily muscled guard was confident about her own abilities and, even more importantly, aware of her limitations. She'd seen a lot of so-called tough guys, guards and prisoners alike, go down hard because they let themselves get in over their heads. Paula knew that she had her share of respect from the inmates, but she was smart enough to know that the real reason her mission would go smoothly was prisoner #77531. Camilla Theresa Brusard was probably the most respected person inside the prison walls; she was definitely the most feared.
Cam Brusard was the stuff of jailhouse legends. She was a loner from day one, avoiding any affiliation with the gangs that flourished in the prison environment. She earned her respect the hard way, by taking down one of the most dangerous women when she was first incarcerated.
Physically she was an impressive 6'1" in her sock feet, with a narrow waist and broad shoulders.
Sculptured muscles that a
body builder would envy she had earned after spending hours on the free weights in the prison gym, but the amazing woman was still extremely feminine.
Long, black hair that shone like a raven's wing, finely chiseled features, the high cheek bones of a super model and an incredible pair of blue eyes that were said to change colors with her mercurial moods.
But she wasn't perfect; her long, thin, aquiline nose was slightly crooked thanks to a riot right after she'd arrived in the prison and there were many scars marring her smooth skin, souvenirs of her life on the streets. In spite of these imperfections, or maybe because of them, Cam was one of the most beautiful women anyone in Chillicothe Correctional Center had ever seen. But she never traded on her looks to get her way - she didn't have to; she was an advanced student of several martial arts and ws quite capable of taking care of herself.
Even her pre-prison life was fodder for the legend. Cam was born the only daughter of a Louisiana fire-and-brimstone, evangelical, Southern Baptist preacher, who believed in beating salvation into his too pretty, and far too independent daughter. Her mother, the eldest daughter of a prestigious, but poor Creole family, ignored her at best. Her life had been hard and lonely.
At the tender age of 13 Cam discovered that girls were far more appropriate sexual companions for her. She learned this with the help of the very curvaceous older daughter of a deacon in her daddy's church. Apparently, Cam's lessons were progressing quite well judging by the way that the deacon's daughter was screaming her name.
Unfortunately, the choir loft that they were in had excellent acoustics and the lessons were interrupted by two very outraged fathers.
No one ever heard what happened to the deacon's daughter, but Cam's father beat her with the buckle end of a belt until her legs and back were raw, bloody masses of flesh and she was nearly unconscious. When his strength gave out, he picked her up by her hair and threw her through the front door into the dew covered grass, telling her to be gone by the time he came back or he would have her taken to the girl's reform school.
Somehow she managed to drag herself away before her "loving" father had time to call the local police to come get her. So from the time she was 13, Cam was on her own. Moving from one city to another, she hid in alleys and little known shelters using her taller than average height to make people believe she was at least 16. For more than a year Cam used all her considerable intelligence and kept the juvenile authorities from catching her.
She managed to avoid innumerable pitfalls on the streets that threatened to swallow her. Eventually though, everyone's luck runs out and one night in Houston, right after Cam had arrived in town, hers did. She became the target of a vicious predator in the form of a pimp going by the name of "Grease". She was 14.
Grease's specialty was young runaway girls: he'd grab his prey off the street and take her to an old warehouse where he and his associates would take turns beating, torturing and raping the girl until her will was destroyed. He'd get them addicted to heroin as well, using ever- increasing doses of street grade heroin. It usually took two days to break them.
Grease would keep the girls as virtual slaves until they were too old or too ill to suit his purposes, at which time he'd throw them out on the street to die.
Cam underwent three days of Grease's indoctrination process before her captors let their guard down enough for the young girl to escape, killing one of them in the process. When her escape was discovered her captors tracked her down, finally managing to trap the girl in a blind alley.
He wanted her death to take a while so that her battered body would be a lesson to anyone else that might challenge his authority. Her body limp, the last of her strength used up during her escape, Grease picked the cowering teen up by her long, matted hair and began slamming his fist into her body.
The sadistic pimp was so intent on making sure the girl suffered that he didn't pay attention to anything going on around him. He didn't notice that he had acquired an audience: two hulking, dark figures attracted by the commotion in the alley. They had followed the sound of fists on flesh and the pitiful mewlings of the quickly weakening girl until they came upon the scene of the assault.
Cam was never clear on what happened that night in Houston; the severe trauma she'd experienced left large gaps in her memory. In fact, most of the previous three days were blurry sensations of pain, fear, and humiliation. But that night those feelings were suddenly replaced by warmth, comfort, and the security of being wrapped up in huge, strong arms.
Cam's next memory was waking up warm and clean in a nondescript hotel room. As she opened her eyes she saw the back of a tall, very thin man dressed all in black leather. His size, 6'7" and 180 lbs, was intimidating enough, but when he turned around he nearly scared her to death. His hair was cut short and he was clean-shaven, but the most striking thing about him was his white hair and white eyes - eyes that held no color at all save the pupil. He was a true albino and he reminded her of every psycho ax murderer in every horror movie that she had ever seen.
She shrank back into the covers on the bed staring at the man before her. Cam was so frightened she could feel tears stinging her eyes, but using every bit of will power she had, she was able to hold them back. Not saying a word, she moved her eyes around the room, noticing 2 other large men who were both staring back at her. The first was about 5'10" and 220 pounds or so. He had dark hair and a full bushy beard with intense hazel eyes. The other man was taller by about 4 inches and heavier by about 100 pounds. He, too, had dark hair and a full beard, but his eyes were flat and grey.
The entire situation was just too much for her after her ordeal at the hands of Grease, and the tears she had stopped before began to fall. Cam was sobbing uncontrollably, a thousand horror stories from the street flying through her mind - she was sure that she was about to live all of them. Then the strangest thing happened.
Cam felt herself being pulled into a warm, comforting embrace. Someone began rocking her, stroking her hair, talking softly to her reassuring her that she was safe and that no one would ever hurt her like that again.
Slowly opening her eyes to see who her compassionate savior was, Cam was shocked at her discovery. The shortest of the three men had come over sat down on the side of the bed and was now holding her in his arms. She was wrapped in the blanket that had been covering her and in a soft voice he was promising the frightened girl that they meant her no harm, and that they were going to take care of her.
These three men, dressed as they were in their biker jeans and leathers, and for whatever reason, took care of her various injuries and kept her fed as she recovered. And as she overcame her instinctive fear of the three men, she saw past the exterior that the world saw.
Cobra, the albino, had been trained as a nurse, and had been rendered mute when someone tried to cut his throat, but only succeeded in cutting out his vocal cords, but the tall slender man found his home the first time he touched a computer. There was nothing that he couldn't make that box do.
Mountain, the biggest of the three, was a former Marine - a Vietnam vet with a wicked sense of humor that the outside world rarely got to see. Cutter was the one who had held her when she was scared. He was a Vietnam vet as well, and he was also the most reserved and serious. He never gave a full out smile - the most he ever managed was a smirk and that only rarely. And they turned out to be three of the most important people in her life.
Once she had healed the three men offered to take her in to their home. Knowing by now that they were kind and could be trusted implicitly, Cam accepted and left the streets, riding into her new life on the back of a tricked out 1947 Harley Knucklehead, holding tightly on to a huge shaggy biker.
When she moved in, anything Cam wanted, she had only to ask and the three men would get it for her. Although they didn't appear to be, the three bikers were astute, accomplished businessmen. They had taken their combined assets and, through very careful, informed investments had amassed a major portfolio of businesses.
Combining that with the royalties from some innovative security programs they'd written, the three men had formed a corporation and were quite able to care for Cam financially. However, more important than that, they gave her a loving, supportive and caring "family" that accepted her for what and who she was without hesitation or reservation. Cutter was considered the head of their little family. Cam loved Mountain and Cobra very much, but the bond between the tough street kid and the serious biker went far beyond what was between her and the other two. Anyone that saw Cutter and Cam
together could see that - even the other two uncles admitted it. Cam flourished and before long she was back in school making straight A's and excelling at basketball and softball.
The guys were determined that she learn how to protect herself anytime it was necessary, so they enrolled her in martial arts classes. Mountain and Cobra were, themselves, second degree black belts but Cutter's rank was a mystery, whenever he came to the dojo her instructors bowed to him.
All three of the men would spar with her whenever she asked, teaching her things her instructors never dreamed of, making sure that she would never again feel helpless or defenseless.
They made it their mission to see that Cam spent the rest of her childhood in comfort and safety. When she was still having nightmares about being taken away from her new family, the men used their wealth and connections (not to mention the best lawyers money could buy) to obtain permanent legal guardian status so that she never had to worry about being removed from her home with them. It was then she began calling them her uncles. It was also the first time she called Cutter "Daddy".
Thinking of her darling uncles, the dark woman on the monitor smiled slightly and unconsciously rubbed the "Black Rose" tattoo on the inside of her right forearm. Her mind traveled back to her 18th birthday. Her Daddy and uncles had been planing for her combination graduation and birthday party for nearly a year. It started out a modest gathering of a hundred or so of their friends, but as those things often do, it got a little out of hand.
People came from all over the country (some even further) to celebrate Cam's first adult party. The party lasted for over a week and by the end, they'd lost count of how many people actually showed up There were roast pigs, whole half beefs cooked on spits over open fires, crawdads and gumbo, not to mention untold gallons of beer, pop, punch, wine and other hard liquors. Her uncles even brought in live bands and any other entertainment they thought their beloved niece might like.
Cam's actual birthday was on the final evening of the party. Her uncles had made her promise to remain stone cold sober for the evening and out of love and respect for them, she stuck to pop all day. Finally, shortly after 8pm and at Cutter's instruction, everyone that was able gathered in the backyard of the main house to see what was going to happen next. That night, in front of everyone, Cam received the two gifts that she had wanted more than anything since she'd been granted her greatest wish of signing the custody papers on her 16th birthday.
The first gift was a 1955 Harley Electra Glide FLHTI, fully restored and dressed. It was even painted her favorite dark purple with black trim. Her Uncle Mountain had mixed the colors especially for her so no one would ever have a bike the exact same color. Until now she'd been riding a 1951 Vencient "Black" Shadow that her uncles, Mountain and Cobra, had given her on her 16th birthday. It was a beautiful and special bike, and she'd cared for it to the point of obsession (the same as her uncles did theirs). But she'd always had her heart set on the Electra Glide ever since she'd seen a picture of one in one of her uncles thousands of biker 'rags'.
The second gift was from her Daddy, it was more special than any other thing they'd ever given her - even more special than the permanent custody papers on her 16th birthday. Those were meant to give Cam the sense of stability that she needed to thrive and feel safe in her new home. The gift they offered her on the evening of her 18th birthday was a symbol of her acceptance in their family as an adult. When Cam had first moved in with her uncles, her Uncle Mountain had rolled up his right sleeve and showed her the inside of his right arm ˆ the Black Rose tattoo. The fact that he had a tattoo had never seemed that big a deal - he and her other uncles had several, as did most of the men and women in their circle of friends. That night she learned that every tattoo that the three men had held some meaning to them. Uncle Mountain explained the special significance of the Black Rose - the meaning that it had to the people that lived in their circle and the responsibilities of those that wore one.
The Black Rose was a symbol of their commitment to the family; anyone that saw it knew exactly who they were and what they were capable of. When her uncle Cobra came out onto the back porch with their friend Stainless Steve, the family's tattoo artist, Cam knew that, after tonight, everyone would know
that she was a part of a family and could be counted on no matter what. It would also mean that she should be treated with all the respect that was owed to anyone in the Black Rose family.
On the night of her 18th birthday, when Cutter offered her the right to wear the one of a kind Black Rose tattoo, it was a visible symbol to all that Cam was a member of their family and that they were proud enough to tell the rest of the world. It was an offer she gladly accepted.
It was also the reason she had spent six years in prison.
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END Ch. 1
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