Frog by Claire Thompson Page B

stars that looked like twinkling diamonds in a sea of black ink. She realized they must be far out in the country. No city lights competed with the blaze of stars. Jane could spend hours watching the heavens, sometimes sitting for so long that the black faded into gray and then pink. As the stars faded she would be painfully reminded of the glass and walls that separated her from the rest of the world.
    Day blended and bled into night. Time was measured by when she got to eat, when she got to shower, when she was tortured, when she was left alone.
    Today Jane's arms were extended, wrists shackled and pulled up, secured by chains that hung from the ceiling. Her ankles were similarly chained and spread so that she was forced to stand in a taut
    X. Her pale body was marked with long pink and purple stripes from prior whippings. Her ass was bruised and blotched from a recent paddling. Each rib was etched under her almost translucent skin, round little breasts were pulled high by her raised arms, the rosy nipples stiffening in the cool air. Her lank blonde hair was greasy and there were bluish marks of fatigue smeared under each pale-lashed eye. Her mind was empty, her focus only on how to stand so as to cause the least discomfort while she waited for her tormentors to come to her.
    Brenda had come in early, ordering Jane up and out in a crisp no-nonsense voice. Jane had climbed out of her cage, hugging her naked thin frame with her arms, waiting for Brenda's orders, her head down. Usually she was up before either of them came in and could relieve herself in private. Last night she had been mesmerized by a meteor shower framed in the square of her window. She hadn't returned to her palette until dawn.

    When she heard the door being unlocked, she was instantly awake, but lay still in her cage, waiting. She had hoped for Robert with a tray of food. When Brenda came first, breakfast usually was foregone. She needed to pee, but didn't dare ask.
    Without speaking, Brenda grabbed at Jane, pulling her arms up and securing each wrist, climbing on a stepstool to reach the ceiling hooks. Today she used metal cuffs which ratcheted tighter if the person wearing them were to struggle.
    "Stand feet apart. Wider," she directed, kicking at Jane's ankle. Jane did as ordered, blushing furiously as Brenda casually grabbed at her pussy, fingering it, pressing inside of her. With one hand still buried in Jane's cunt, Brenda took the girl's chin in her hand and forced her face up.
    "Robert's in the mood for a little needle play." Jane blanched. "He used to do tattoos when he was in the Navy. You like needles, frog girl?" Brenda smiled an evil smirk and pinched Jane's pussy lips with her long sharp nails. She didn't seem to expect a reply. Releasing her hold on Jane's pussy, she busied herself securing Jane's ankles.
    Needles! Jane hated needles. Beyond being whipped, being bound, even being caned, she was terrified of needles. She had always avoided shots at the doctor's office; even giving blood made her sick. Just the thought of the long thin sharp needle piercing her skin made her break into a cold sweat. She felt nausea rise at the thought that Robert was going to use a needle on her.
    When Brenda was satisfied that Jane was secure, she left her there. Time became meaningless in the silence and Jane closed her eyes, images of a life past floating in front of her. Parents she hadn't seen in three years. Brothers she never visited. Her small apartment with the red Formica kitchen table and chairs. The window she had always meant to put a window box on and fill with flowers. If she ever got out of here, she'd plant those flowers. Something bright and colorful. Jane whispered a prayer to nothing in particular. Then she fell silent, willing all thoughts out of her head.
    After some time, perhaps ten minutes, perhaps an hour, Jane became increasingly aware of her bladder. She had sipped from her

    water bottle before Brenda had come to waken her. Now she