Chapter 3: Washed!
The clang of the cell door was a brutal, final sound. Jan flinched, the noise jarring after the relative quiet. Jezabella simply stared at the wall, her expression unreadable. Two hulking figures stood in the corridor, their forms silhouetted by the harsh light. They weren’t men. They were constructs of polished chrome and whirring gears, their optical sensors glowing with a dull red light. Robotic guards. Immune to magic.
“Shower rotation,” one intoned in a flat, synthesized voice. “Comply.”
A cold dread, separate from her fear of confinement, trickled down Jan’s spine. These things wouldn’t feel a flicker of her power. They were just machines. She and Jezabella were herded out of the cell and into the grim, echoing bowels of the prison. The air grew heavier, thick with moisture and the sharp, chemical tang of industrial cleaner.
The communal showers were a cavern of misery and exposed plumbing. Steam curled in the air, catching the flicker of fluorescent lights shielded behind wire cages. The floor was slick, cold tile, and the constant drip-drip-drip of water from a dozen showerheads created a monotonous, maddening rhythm. In the far stalls, three other women were already under the spray.
Jan’s eyes adjusted to the gloom. She saw Megara first, the gorgon, her head wrapped tightly in a dark cloth to contain her serpent hair. Her back was to them, the skin of her shoulders marred by a latticework of faint, silvery scars. Next to her, a short, muscular woman with light brown hair soaped herself with brisk, efficient movements. Juliette, the werewolf. Her eyes, a startling blue-green, flicked towards them, assessing, feral. In the third stall, a tall, painfully thin woman with long, platinum blonde hair let the water cascade over her head. Eva, the vampire. Her skin was so pale it seemed almost translucent under the harsh light.
The robotic guards halted at the entrance, their red eyes scanning. “You have fifteen minutes,” the lead unit stated, then fell into a silent, unmoving vigil.
Jezabella nudged Jan towards an empty showerhead. “Might as well get clean, Red,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper over the water. “It’s the only luxury we get.”
Jan stepped under the spray. The water was tepid, but it felt like a blessing, washing away the grime and fear of the last day. She let it sluice over her short red hair, down her freckled shoulders. This was her chance. The robots were immune, but the air itself was not. Steam was a perfect carrier.
She closed her eyes, reaching for the well of power within her. It wasn’t a shout or a blast. It was a subtle, unspooling thread of influence, a release of pheromones that coiled into the steam, an invisible mist of pure, undiluted want. She let it seep out, a slow exhalation of magic that mingled with the water vapor, turning the very air thick and heavy with promise.
It started with a shift in the atmosphere. The tension, the guarded posture of the other women, began to soften. Juliette, who had been scrubbing her skin raw, slowed her movements. Her hand, holding the rough bar of soap, stilled on her thigh. She let out a soft sigh, her head tilting back.
Eva turned, water streaming down her slender body. Her blue eyes, usually so distant, now held a spark of hungry light. They traveled over Jan’s form, then Jezabella’s, lingering on the curves of their hips, the swell of their breasts under the water.
“It has been… so long,” Eva whispered, her voice a husky scrape. “The thirst… it is not just for blood.”
Megara untied the wrap from her head. The cloth fell away, and a dozen small, green snakes unfolded, tasting the air with flickering tongues. They seemed agitated, not with anger, but with a strange excitement, weaving patterns in the steam. Megara herself moaned, a low, grateful sound, as her own hands came up to cup her breasts, her thumbs brushing over her dark nipples. “The stone… it’s a lie. They always wake up. Always.”
The confession was breathed into the steamy air, lost to anyone but them.
Jezabella was the first to move. She crossed the short distance to Eva, her body glistening. “Let me help you with that thirst,” she purred, and then her mouth was on Eva’s, a deep, searching kiss. Eva’s hands, cold but eager, came up to tangle in Jezabella’s raven hair.
The dam broke.
Juliette moved next, a predator’s grace in her step. She came up behind Jan, her strong, compact body pressing flush against Jan’s back. Jan gasped as calloused hands found her hips, pulling her back into a firm, warm cradle.
“You smell like freedom,” Juliette growled into her ear, her French accent thickening with desire. One hand slid around to Jan’s front, fingers delving through the red curls between her legs, finding the wet heat there. “Oh, oui… so ready for me.”
Jan cried out, her head falling back against Juliette’s shoulder as those skilled fingers began to work her, rubbing tight, insistent circles over her clit. The magic she had unleashed now fed back into her, amplified by the contact, a feedback loop of raw sensation. She reached back, grasping Juliette’s thigh, pulling her closer.
Nearby, Jezabella had sunk to her knees on the wet tile, her face buried between Eva’s pale thighs. Eva was braced against the wall, her head thrown back, a string of guttural Swedish curses falling from her lips as Jezabella’s tongue lashed at her clit. “Ja… just there… fan så jävla bra…”
Megara watched, her snakes swaying in a hypnotic rhythm. She approached Jan and Juliette, her dark eyes wide. “They said I turned a man to stone for leering at me,” she breathed, her hand reaching out to trace a scar on Juliette’s shoulder. “A lie. He was my lover. It was an accident during… passion. He was hard for only an hour.” Her fingers trailed down, over the swell of Jan’s breast, pinching a nipple until Jan gasped. “They never let me explain.”
Juliette’s fingers plunged inside Jan, a swift, deep penetration that made Jan’s knees buckle. “My daughter,” Juliette panted, her own hips rocking against Jan’s backside in a primal rhythm. “Camille. Her first change is coming. I must be there. I never killed anyone. The man who died… it was a territorial dispute with another pack. Self-defense. They twisted it.”
The secrets spilled out between gasped breaths and moans, each confession a truth woven into the fabric of their shared pleasure.
Jan was lost in it, the feel of Juliette’s fingers fucking her deep and hard, the sight of Megara now kneeling before her, taking Jan’s other nipple into her mouth, the tiny flick of a snake’s tongue against her arm a bizarre, electric sensation. The steam was thick with the smell of sex and bleach and female arousal.
“Oh, god, don’t stop,” Jan begged, her body coiling tight. “Fuck me harder.”
Juliette complied, her pace becoming frantic, brutal. “Come for me, little witch,” she commanded, her teeth grazing Jan’s neck.
The orgasm ripped through Jan, a blinding, white-hot seizure that made her scream, the sound echoing off the tiles. Her body convulsed around Juliette’s thrusting fingers, waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain.
As she came down, shuddering, she saw Jezabella guiding Eva’s head between her own legs, Eva’s blonde hair plastered to her skull as she eagerly feasted. Megara was now kissing Juliette, their bodies pressed together, water sluicing over them.
In his office, surrounded by monitors showing every angle of the shower block, Warden Liberty watched. His chair was leaned back, his uniform pants were open, and his thick, meaty hand was wrapped around his erect cock, stroking slowly, methodically. A faint smile played on his lips. He loved this. The raw display of power, the degradation, the way the so-called monsters succumbed to their basest instincts. It had nothing to do with magic for him; it was about control. He watched Jezabella’s back arch as Eva drove her to a climax, and he pumped his fist faster, his breathing growing heavy.
He was so engrossed in the spectacle, he missed the whispered words that passed between the women in the steamy aftermath.
“The robots have a maintenance cycle,” Eva breathed, her lips against Jezabella’s thigh. “A three-second reset at midnight. Every night.”
“My Jean,” Juliette murmured, nuzzling into Jan’s hair, “he knows a man on the outside. A disgraced member of the Golden Wands. He can disrupt their power grid.”
“The charges are false,” Megara said, her voice firm for the first time. “All of them. Liberty falsifies the evidence. He enjoys it.”
The water shut off with a sudden, violent clank. The robotic guards’ red eyes brightened. “Shower rotation complete. Return to your cells.”
The women separated, the spell of intimacy broken, but a new, harder understanding now glittered in their eyes. They had shared their bodies and their truths. And in the damp, retreating steam, the first fragile plan of their escape began to form.
The robotic guards marched them back through the sterile corridors, their synchronized footsteps a metallic counterpoint to the squelch of the women’s wet shoes. Jan’s skin still tingled, alive with the ghost of Juliette’s fingers and the shared, desperate energy of their confessions. The plan, fragile as a soap bubble, hovered in the air between them all as they were forcibly separated at their cell doors.
Back in the cramped, gray box of her cell, the silence felt heavier than before. Jan leaned against the cold wall, sliding down to sit on the thin mattress. "In the showers," she began, her voice low. "There were five of us. But only four cells represented. Does one of you not have a cellmate?"
Jezabella, wringing water from her black hair with a practiced twist, let out a short, sharp laugh. "Eva's roommate is a ghost. Lady Eleanor. Can't be chained, can't be cleaned, mostly just floats through the blocks." A smirk touched her lips. "She's one of the few decent diversions in this shithole, always up for a show."
A familiar, chiming voice materialized from the air between their bunks. "A show I would be delighted to witness, my dears!" The air shimmered, coalescing into the form of a young woman in a elaborate, translucent Victorian gown. Lady Eleanor beamed, her ethereal hands clasped together. "Jan, my girl! What a tremendous pleasure to see a familiar face from the Market in such a dreadfully drab place."
Jan’s breath caught, a genuine smile breaking through her fear. "Eleanor. I... I didn't know you were here."
"Here, there, it's all rather the same when you're ectoplasm, darling," Eleanor said with a tinkling laugh. She gestured vaguely at her own diaphanous form. "Alas, my current state precludes any carnal participation, a true tragedy. But if you and your formidable cellmate were in the mood for a bit of private theatre, I would be a most enthusiastic audience." She winked, a glint of pure, jolly mischief in her ghostly eyes.
Jan glanced at Jezabella, who raised a suggestive eyebrow. "I'll keep that in mind," Jan said, her voice regaining some of its old mischief. "We could all use a jolly friend in a miserable place like this."
The grim silence of the cell pressed in again after Eleanor’s cheerful words. Jan watched the ghost’s translucent form drift, a portrait of longing. An idea, reckless and wild, sparked in her mind. “What if you didn’t have to just watch, Eleanor?” Jan said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What if you could feel it? You could use my body. Right now. With us.”
Lady Eleanor’s spectral mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ of astonishment. Her entire being seemed to brighten, the edges of her gown shimmering with intensified light. “Oh, my dear girl! You would permit such an intimacy?” she breathed, her voice quivering with excitement. “To feel the press of flesh, the heat of passion… just once more? I would be eternally in your debt!”
“Consider it a welcome gift,” Jan said, a sly grin spreading across her freckled face. She looked at Jezabella, who was watching the exchange with keen interest. “You good with a guest, Jez?”
Jezabella’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. “A three-way where one of us is a possessed Victorian ghost? Red, that’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in a decade.” She leaned back on her bunk, spreading her legs just enough to be an invitation. “Bring her on in.”
“Just… be gentle with the hardware,” Jan said, closing her eyes and focusing on an inward welcome, a lowering of her own mental walls. “It’s new.”
A sensation like cool, effervescent champagne poured through Jan’s mind, a bubbling, giddy presence that wasn’t her own. There was a moment of disorientation, a dizzying shift in perspective, and then Jan felt herself recede into a quiet corner of her own consciousness. She was a passenger now, watching through her own eyes as Eleanor settled in. Her hands, now under Eleanor’s control, lifted and flexed, marveling at the solidity of the fingers.
“Oh!” Eleanor’s voice, using Jan’s vocal cords, came out as a breathy, delighted gasp. “The weight of it! The blood pumping… it’s magnificent!” She looked down at Jan’s breasts, then over at Jezabella. “Now, for the main event.”
Eleanor-in-Jan’s body moved with a sudden, surprising grace, closing the distance between the bunks. She didn’t pounce; she descended upon Jezabella like a settling mist, her movements elegant and deliberate. She captured Jezabella’s mouth in a deep, searching kiss, one hand tangling in the siren’s raven hair while the other slid down to palm her breast through the thin prison shift.
Jezabella moaned into the kiss, her own hands coming up to grasp Jan’s—Eleanor’s—hips. “Fuck, Red,” she gasped, breaking the kiss. “You’re full of surprises.”
“I have wanted to do that for a century,” Eleanor sighed, her voice a husky blend of her own cadence and Jan’s tone. She pushed the shift up, exposing Jezabella’s full breasts, and lowered her head to take a tight, dark nipple into her mouth. She suckled hard, her tongue flicking relentlessly, and Jezabella arched off the bunk with a sharp cry.
She’s very enthusiastic, Jan thought, the observation floating in the shared space of their mind.
My dear, you have no idea the deprivation, Eleanor’s mental voice replied, a whirlwind of sensation and memory. The ache of being so close to life and never touching it. The sheer, crushing boredom! As she thought this, her hand—their hand—slid down Jezabella’s stomach and plunged between her legs.
Jezabella’s back bowed. “Yes! Right there, you fucking witch, don’t you stop!” Her own siren powers, a latent hyper-awareness of sound and vibration, allowed the whispers of their internal dialogue to seep into her perception, a faint echo beneath the roaring of her own blood.
Eleanor worked her fingers deep inside Jezabella, curling them, finding a rhythm that was both ancient and practiced. She was fucking Jezabella with a desperate, grateful intensity, each thrust a celebration of physical form. The wet, filthy sound of their coupling filled the small cell.
I can feel her, Eleanor marveled internally. The clutch of her cunt around my fingers. The heat of it! It’s so… visceral.
It usually is, Jan thought wryly. While you’re enjoying the ride, can you talk? What do you know about why I’m here? The Miracle Mile?
Oh, that, Eleanor’s mental voice was dismissive, even as their body ground against Jezabella’s thigh. A complete fabrication. A fiction. I overheard Liberty on his communicator device. He was telling his superior that the ‘Miracle Mile incident’ was a total non-event. Nothing happened. No orgy, no public indecency, not a single spell cast. They needed a pretext to get you off the board and into his… collection.
The information hit Jan like a physical blow, even in her disembodied state. She had been set up. The charge was a lie. Why? Who is his superior?
I cannot leave the cellblocks, my dear, so I never heard a name, Eleanor replied, her focus momentarily splintering as Jezabella bit down on their shoulder. Oh! Yes, right there, you beautiful creature! She redoubled her efforts, making Jezabella scream. But I am a most excellent messenger. I can pass words to your new friends. The gorgon, the wolf, the vampire. They are all trapped in the same web of lies.
Jezabella, writhing beneath them, gasped out words between ragged moans. “They… framed you… too? Oh, god, don’t stop! Fuck me! The ghost… says… they’re all lies!”
She can hear us? Jan thought, stunned.
The song in her blood, Eleanor explained, driving her fingers harder, faster. It listens to everything. She leaned down, capturing Jezabella’s mouth again, swallowing her cries as she pushed the siren over the edge into a shattering, trembling orgasm that seemed to go on forever.
As Jezabella convulsed around her fingers, Eleanor-in-Jan’s body finally stilled, resting her forehead against the siren’s, both of them panting. The connection wavered, and Jan felt the cool, bubbling presence recede from her limbs, leaving behind the familiar ache of spent passion and the chilling certainty of the truth.
Eleanor’s ghostly form floated back from Jan’s body, her expression one of beatific, sated bliss. “Oh, my dears… thank you. That was… sublime.”
Jan slumped back onto her own bunk, her body her own again, buzzing with residual sensation and burning with newfound purpose. She looked at Jezabella, whose eyes were wide with the same realization. The Warden hadn’t just captured them; he had invented their crimes. And he had done the same to every woman in this block. They weren't just prisoners. They were trophies.