Chapter 2: Morgan

It wasn’t until Lorelei came to visit that Morgan finally snapped.

She should have known better than to meet with her sister given their history. Morgan probably wouldn’t have made that mistake if she hadn’t been going stir-crazy.

Confined to her apartment, she was so bored she was now trying to distract herself by learning how to cook. Her, Morgan Heller, baking pies? It was ludicrous. After a few months cooped up, talking with no one but her lawyer, even a chat with Lorelei started to seem appealing.

After her initial arrest, the police released her on bail with a tracking bracelet that prevented her from leaving home. The prosecutor had insisted on the tracking bracelet as the stolen money had not been recovered, which allegedly made her a flight risk.

Morgan was fired immediately after she was arrested. She was charged with stealing nineteen point seven million dollars from her former employer, Konnor Interactive. On top of her legal problems, she had to contend with the loss of her job and personal relationships with everyone from her old company.

Over the past few years she had become a bit of a workaholic. With her academic background, she needed every advantage, needed to work twice as hard as the competition just to break even. No one ever gave her a break she didn’t earn twice over, and that meant focusing everything she had on her job. It also meant that almost everyone she knew had now turned against her.

Kevin Rollins, her on-again-off-again boyfriend, another employee at Konnor, actually testified against her in front of the grand jury, a sort of preliminary hearing to determine if there was enough evidence to prosecute her. They had not found in her favor. Now her lawyer was trying to convince Morgan to accept a plea bargain, to confess to the crime in exchange for a more lenient sentence.

Her sister clearly thought Morgan should take the deal.

“You know I’ll help you any way I can,” Lorelei said, “but don’t sit their and play innocent, at least not with me. It never worked when you were in high school and it won’t work now.”

Same old, holier-than-thou Lorelei. Three years older than Morgan and aways just a little bit better. Where Morgan was too tall, too skinny and too brunette, Lorelei was a natural blonde with a few extra curves in exactly the right places. When Morgan was getting suspended, Lorelei was on the swim team and graduating as Valedictorian. While Morgan attended classes at community college, Lorelei was being accepted to medical school. There was never any question who had been their parents favorite.

“So I grabbed a few bottles out of a liquor cabinet over ten years ago, big deal,” Morgan said. “I’m an adult now.”

Lorelei put her hands on her hips. She was using that haughty, exasperated tone which always got under Morgan’s skin. “And now that you’re an adult, you’ve graduated to embezzlement. Different year, same bullshit. Go ahead, play innocent for the judge and jury and see if they believe you. I never did, and before the accident Mom and Dad never did either. What makes you think complete strangers are going to be any different?”

“Maybe it’s because they aren’t already convinced that I’m lying. How long have you been waiting for a chance to say I told you so?”

Lorelei looked her straight in the eyes. “With you, Morgan, I never have to wait long.”

That did it. After losing her job, losing her friends, and facing the very real prospect of prison time for a crime she did not commit, Morgan’s temper finally boiled over. A strawberry pie, fresh out of the oven, sat on the counter. Morgan grabbed the pie and smashed it into her sister’s face.

She only intended to humiliate her sister and maybe ruin her clothes, but the pie hadn’t had time to cool. Lorelei shrieked in pain from contact with the boiling-hot pastry.

The neighbors heard the yelling and called the police. Lorelei had to go to the hospital and Morgan’s bail was revoked.

As bad as the ankle bracelet and house arrest had been, the county jail was worse. They stripped her naked and subjected her to a thorough, humiliating cavity search. That was followed by an ice-cold shower that left her shivering.

All the guards were women — crude, obnoxious women. They found it amusing to make Morgan wait before allowing her to dry off. She was forced to stand there after the cold shower, dripping wet and freezing. The utter helplessness and humiliation she felt standing, waiting for the guards to bring her a towel was almost as bad as the cold. Her skin was covered in goose bumps and the cold turned her nipples into two hard, little marbles.

“Perky Princess, here, is all wet,” one hulking guard commented to another, her subordinate. “Why don’t you go get me a cup of coffee along with her towel. Come to think of it, get yourself a cup of coffee too. No need to rush.”

It was ten minutes before the guard returned. Instead of allowing her to get dressed, the guard who seemed to be in charge, the same one who had found it so amusing to let her freeze, marched her down a hallway and into an exam room.

Morgan’s escort addressed a nurse as they walked in.”Twenty bucks says this one has an incurable. Paperwork says the bitch attacked her own sister with a pie. I’m guessing they were fighting over a man — that’s a crazy skank move, right there.”

The nurse examined Morgan briefly, drawing some of her blood, swabbing her mouth and between her legs. The nurse used an eyedropper to place her blood in various places along what looked to be a long, white strip of paper. The swabs were brushed against other spaces on the same strip. Within a few minutes the entire length turned color. A series of blocks appeared along the strip, each a slightly different shade of green.

The nurse turned to the guard with a smug smile. “Pay up, O’Reilly. She’s clean as a whistle.”

The guard grudgingly handed over a twenty.

Morgan was finally provided with clothing and ordered to get dressed. The clothes provided were orange, baggy and unflattering but at least she was no longer naked.

Before escorting her to a cell, O’Reilly went over the long list of rules all prisoners were expected to follow. Morgan was expected to eat when they told her to eat, shower when they told her to shower and instantly obey any order from a corrections officer as if it came down straight from the mouth of God.

“Oh, and one more thing,” O’Reilly said. “Lights-out is for sleeping. There’s always a few pervs who can’t control themselves and think night time is play-time. You a perv Heller, or are you going to keep your hands out of your panties?”

“I won’t cause trouble.”

“That’s, I won’t cause trouble ma’am,” the guard sneered. “I’ll let it slide this time, but speak without proper respect again and you’ll regret it.”

The remainder of her first day in jail was a nightmarish blur of guards barking orders and barely edible food. Even the sharp orange smell of the disinfectants used here got on her nerves.

Morgan now had a towel, but the prison showers were still downright unpleasant. The air was suffused with the scents and sounds of other sweaty women in various states of undress. Some of the other inmates, maybe one in six of the women present, had genital piercings. It was probably a sign of allegiance to a criminal gang in here. She shuddered at the thought of someone doing that sort of piercing with only the equipment available in prison. Ouch.

For breakfast the next morning, the cafeteria served a banana along with yellowish brown sludge that might have been processed potato. Morgan wolfed down the banana, the only real food she’d seen so far.

She was tentatively picking her way through the potato sludge when another inmate sat down next to her. “Heard the guards talking. Did you really hit your sister with a strawberry pie straight out of the oven? Got a sister of my own, real piece of work, so I know how it goes. I’m Hunt, by the way.”

“I’m Heller.” Morgan extended her hand toward the older, heavy-set blonde next to her, only remembering at the last minute to give her last name. No one used first names in here.

“This is Amato,” Hunt gestured to the thin, dark haired woman sitting across from them. “She’s in for assault too, but her weapon of choice is a two-by-four.”

Amato looked young, probably not more than a year or two out of high school. She wore a sour expression, but broke into a grin as she spoke. “Strawberry pie? I have to ask, does that count as a deadly weapon?”

“It was a pie.” Morgan got the distinct impression Amato was making fun of her.

“No, seriously,” Amato said, still grinning. “Ask your P.D., it makes a difference. Lawyers in suits are going to be arguing over the legal status of that pie.”

“P.D.?”

“Public Defender,” Amato explained. “The braindead clown who pretends to be your lawyer while you get fucked over. Rich snobs get real lawyers, the rest of us get P.D.s. Yours will show up soon, not that it’ll do any good.”

Morgan was one of those rich people. Pretty much everyone in here were probably fritters. Then again, she’d been fired, so she was now technically a fritter as well.

She tried to steer the conversation away from her lawyer. “I’m not actually in for assault. My sister said she wasn’t going to press charges, but I was already out on bail so they threw me back in here.”

“You’re sister’s nicer than mine,” Hunt commented.

There was a pause in the conversation, an uncomfortable silence.

“Embezzlement, okay?” Morgan blurted out. “The people I worked for say I stole a bunch of their money. I say they’re full of shit, but no one believes me. I actually managed to put together enough money for a snobby lawyer, but evidently I was just pissing my cash down the toilet. All my lawyer seems to do is use big words to tell me I’m totally fucked.”

That was stretching the truth a bit. Morgan had easily been able to afford a very good attorney. He had not, however, been particularly helpful.

“Hey, calm down Strawberry,” said Amato. “You’re in jail. Some of us couldn’t even afford bail. We’re all fucked in here. “ The sour look returned to her face. “Or, rather, not fucked. Embezzlement is a felony, right? Know who you’re going to pick?”

“Pick?”

“You know, for the Comp,” Amato said, “when you get transferred to Marysville.”

Morgan, just stared back, confused.

“Oh shit,” Hunt exclaimed. She turned to Amato. “She doesn’t know.”

They explained. Morgan listened. She didn’t believe them. They were just messing with her, the naïve, new girl. She got up and walked away.

That day she met with her lawyer. He once again advised her to take a plea bargain, insisting that her chances with a jury were close to nonexistent.

When the stolen money left the company account it was immediately converted to cryptocurrency, making it completely untraceable. To make matters worse, the only other person with access to that account was in a meeting with a dozen other people at the time the transfer was made. According to twelve witnesses, she didn’t touch her mobile once throughout the meeting.

A plea deal would make the difference between three and up to ten years in prison.

Years. In Prison. Her world had turned upside-down, she didn’t even know why, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. After shifting awkwardly in his chair, her lawyer indicated there was one more thing he needed to mention about the plea deal he was suggesting. Then he proceeded to confirm everything Hunt and Amato said that morning.

The plain, clinical way her lawyer explained the Complements and what they could do scared Morgan to the core. Things like that were real? Yes they were real, and yes, the state had the legal authority to force this on her.

The idea that some bureaucrat trying to save a few tax dollars could take away her ability to satisfy her most intimate, fundamental needs was utterly unthinkable. And yet, that was what was happening. She could just imagine some crusty old men sitting around a table, their tiny cocks shriveled up and atrophied under their business suits: Orgasms? Women didn’t need those, did they? Nah, no big deal, we can get rid of those and save a few bucks, no problem.

Why hadn’t she heard about this? Where was the public outrage?

Evidently, there hadn’t been any outrage. The economy kept deteriorating and every new round of corporate layoffs corresponded to an increase in the crime rate. Morgan vaguely remembered a politician not too long ago that ran with the slogan “Fritters = Crime.” At this point, voters simply didn’t care about the rights of convicts, they just wanted low taxes and a system that was “tough on crime.”

The modern women’s movement cared about access to abortion and equal pay for equal work, but no one cared what happened to convicted felons. Additionally, the same piece of legislation that authorized the Complement program mandated all-female staff in women’s correctional facilities, while guaranteeing other, equally well-paying government jobs for the men that previously held those positions. Increased availability, of good, stable, government jobs made the women of Ohio very happy.

The lesbian community raised a minor stir until reassured that Complements could be keyed to a woman’s saliva and vaginal secretions as easily as a man’s semen, but that was the extent of the opposition.

Why hadn’t her lawyer mentioned the Complements sooner? Maybe before her bail was revoked?

Her lawyer, useless as ever, pointed out to Morgan, first, that he had no way of knowing she was going to assault her sister with a pie. Second, he explained that if she expected to get out of her predicament without a felony conviction she would need a priest, not a lawyer, as that would require a miracle.

At dinner that evening, Morgan sat with Hunt and Amato again. She apologized for not believing them that morning.

“Don’t worry about it, Strawberry,” Amato said. “Can’t blame you for not believing something that fucked. I couldn’t make that shit up. So, like I was saying, you got someone special?”

“Not exactly.”

Not at all. There was no special guy, or girl for that matter, though Morgan was definitely straight.

Her situation was simultaneously horrifying and surreal. Men should be climbing over each other to hold the key to her Complement. In reality, she couldn’t meet anyone new in here, and that left exactly one candidate. On top of that, she hardly knew him, and there was a decent chance he would say no.

That blue collar delivery guy, Derek, was the only man outside her company she’d given the time of day in the last two years. She went to dinner with Derek more out of curiosity than any real interest. Well, curiosity and her plan to make Kevin a bit jealous. At the time, she and Kevin had been in an off-again phase of their on-again-off-again relationship.

Derek certainly had a great body. He was tall, a little over six feet, with pale skin, emerald green eyes and short, dark, curly hair. Morgan estimated his age to be about the same as hers, maybe a little older, in his late twenties or early thirties.

He had been so bold asking her to dinner like that. She might have slept with him eventually, but over dinner he came off as a bit desperate. He had clearly been looking for way more than she was interested in at the time. Her intention had been to see him a few more times, make sure that Kevin noticed him, and then get rid of him.

She could have called him, probably should have called him, when they let her out on bail. She just hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of ending up as a pity fuck for the goddamn delivery boy.

Now she had to swallow her pride. The tables were turned, and she was looking for way more than he might be interested in. There was literally no one else to ask.

“What about you?” Morgan asked, turning the question back to Hunt and Amato. “You have someone?”

“I’m only in for ninety days,” Hunt said.

“My piece-of-shit P.D. says she’s trying to work a deal so I can plead to a misdemeanor instead of a felony,” Amato said. “She says it’s fifty-fifty which probably means I’m fucked. But yeah, the reason I grabbed that two-by-four in the first place was because some bitch decided to mouth off about Bryan. I got someone.”

“So, Bryan is—” Morgan began, but Amato cut her off.

“Last bitch that ran her mouth about Bryan ended up in the hospital. Let’s not go there, okay?”

“You brought it up,” Morgan said. “You’re the one who asked about who I was going to pick.”

Hunt smirked. “Amato, here, is a loud-mouth with an opinion on everything right up until you say word one about her boyfriend.”

Amato glowered at her.

“Hey, at least you have someone,” Morgan said. “There’s a guy I can ask, but it’s not exactly a sure thing.”

“Here’s a piece of advice,” Hunt said, “find someone who’s a sure thing. Not that I have first hand experience, mind you, but I hear things. When they started putting in the Comps, they also started allowing monthly conjugal visits. Conjugal visits, as in, you might actually get laid before you get out. But, if no one shows up that’s your problem. You’re going to want a sure thing.”

Laying on her bunk that night, trying to get to sleep, Hunt’s words echoed in Morgan’s head. A man who was a sure thing? She had never met such a mythical beast, and she wasn’t likely to find one stuck in jail.

She really wished she had a man, though. Right there, right then. Unable to sleep, Morgan’s hands wandered over her bare skin as her mind drifted. The guards said it was against the rules, but soon it might be taken from her. No more doing it for herself, even after she eventually got out. How was that even possible?

It was like the old psychological trick: Tell a girl not to think about pink elephants, and she would start to think about pink elephants. Tell a girl she wasn’t allowed to touch, wouldn’t ever be able to touch, and she started feeling the need. She was unexpectedly wet, aroused.

Well, who was going to notice in the dark?

Her hands moved over her breasts, down her stomach and sides. She imagined Kevin wrapping his huge, strong arms around her. As she traced the contours of her torso, she remembered the feel of his muscular body next to hers, that delicious feeling of warmth and excitement.

Morgan closed her eyes, lost herself to the fantasy. She slipped a hand down between her thighs. Her fingertips brushed her lips, gently, slowly. Kevin had always known exactly how to touch her, gliding his fingers over her sex very slowly, delicately.

She felt her body respond, tensing in anticipation. She adjusted her movement, began to caress her clit. Warm pressure built within her as she quickened her pace. Her fingers moved faster, harder, bringing her closer and closer to release.

Someone backhanded Morgan, hard, across the face. Her concentration was completely shattered and her lip was bleeding.

“Wha—”

A tall woman towered over her, not a guard but one of her cell-mates. Morgan vaguely remembered the woman introducing herself as Hewitt. She must have heard what Morgan was doing.

“If you’re jillin’, you’re bleedin’,” Hewitt growled. “Remember that.”

The woman turned away, returning to her own bed before Morgan could respond.

She lay there in the dark, angry, frustrated and unsatisfied. She turned over, tried to put her need out of her mind, but the empty feeling, the desperate yearning desire remained. She lay there for over an hour before finally drifting off to sleep.

The next morning Morgan was trying to decide whether to mention what had happened to Hunt and Amato at breakfast. She wanted to ask about Hewitt, but the whole situation was embarrassing. In the end she didn’t get a choice in the matter: they had already heard.

“Damn, Strawberry! You got a death wish or something?” Amato asked when Morgan sat down beside her.

“Not last I checked, though I might be getting there,” Morgan replied. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I wouldn’t have slept a wink, if I were you.” Amato said. “You know how close you came to getting shanked?”

“Shanked?”

“Yeah, Hewitt caught you jilling,” Hunt said. “Everyone knows. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I wouldn’t get too many more chances.”

“That was your last one, that’s for sure,” Amato said. “They’re gonna be watching you like a hawk now.”

Morgan was confused. “I know it’s against the rules, but why does Hewitt care?” She lowered her voice to a whisper, so no guard would overhear her. “I mean, fuck the rules, right?”

Hunt shook her head. “You don’t get it. Hewitt’s already Comped. Lots of inmates with the same story, back in after getting out. You were basically wolfing down a five course meal in front of a starving woman.”

“She’s your cell-mate. Haven’t you noticed how Hewitt and some of the others seem twitchy? On edge all the time?” Amato asked. “Hell, you must have seen the hardware in the shower.”

It wasn’t until Amato pointed it out that Morgan made the connection, realized what the piercings she’d seen on inmates in the showers really were. She had also noticed some women acting strangely, but had assumed they were suffering from mental problems or were going through withdrawal.

When Morgan explained her initial assumptions, Hunt just raised an eyebrow. “Well, you could call it withdrawal, in a matter of speaking.”

“So, what now?” Morgan asked. “I’m just supposed to be okay with never doing it for myself again?”

“Well,” Hunt said, “If you’d asked yesterday I’d have told you to try the toilets. After lights-out there’s only one reason you’d be breathing heavy. In the toilets, if you’re fast and quiet, people will think you’re taking deep breaths after a giant shit. Thing is, after last night they’re going to be watching you, looking in through the cracks. Hewitt and the others are real Nazis about it. It’s not like they’ve got anything better to do, and the Comps make ‘em so horny that the idea of anyone getting off when they can’t just makes them nuts. So yeah, you’re basically done.”

Morgan refused to accept that. She skipped dinner that night, finding her way to the toilets when no one else was around.

Her mind had been filled with thoughts of sex all day, focused on what she was forbidden and how she would have it anyway. She knew what she wanted, and she was more than ready to go. Thoughts of Kevin filled her mind as she reached down to her wet, dripping sex.

Her fingers slid along her labia, moving up to her sensitive nub and back down the length of her slit. She imagined it was Kevin’s tongue, licking her intently, pleasuring her with slow deliberate movements. Her hand moved more quickly, more forcefully, establishing a firm rhythm. The pleasure bubbled up from within her, bringing her ever nearer the climax she craved. It felt so good.

She was close, just a little bit longer and she’d go over the edge. She was going to—

Footsteps echoed outside her stall. She forced herself to stop, tightly gripping the sides of the toilet seat with her hands. Her knuckles turned white as her entire abdomen clenched in frustration, once more denied.

Morgan wanted to scream at the intruder to get out, just for a minute, but didn’t dare. She could only sit there, waiting, forcing herself to ignore the the throbbing, demanding ache.

The sound of water running came from the sink directly across from her stall. It shut off. Then it came on again. Off. On. Off. On. The woman out there was standing in front of the sink, only pretending to wash her hands. The bitch was deliberately keeping an eye on her, just as Hunt had predicted.

Morgan left the bathroom defeated, full of hot anger and unfulfilled lust.

She went to bed that night full of pent up arousal, as she did the night after, and the night after that. Every attempt she made to find relief was thwarted. There was never a place or time for herself. In the cells, the hallways, the cafeteria, the showers and especially the toilets there were always guards or other inmates. Any time she seemed to be sweating or out of breath, even if she wasn’t actually trying to get away with anything, another inmate would casually strike up a conversation, breaking her concentration.

Days, then weeks passed without success. She was always forced to stop soon after she’d started, which only left her more frustrated than before.

It didn’t help that there wasn’t anything else to do, nothing else to focus on. Her mind kept drifting back to her orgasms, or lack thereof. It wasn’t that she was naturally like this, though she had always liked sex. It was because her pleasure was now forbidden. Being told she couldn’t have something made her want it.

She really, really wanted it.

“Just give up and try not to think about it,” Hunt told her. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.”

That was easy for her to say. She was getting out in a few weeks. Morgan said as much.

“Listen, Strawberry,” Hunt said. She’d followed Amato’s lead, and had started calling Morgan Strawberry. “Hewitt knows what you’re trying to do. All the Comped inmates know what you’re trying to do. All the guards know what you’re trying to do. The only reason they haven’t stepped in is because you haven’t gotten hurt bad enough to end up in the infirmary or caused them any real trouble. Yet. They’re happy to sit on their asses and let Hewitt and the others do their job for ‘em. Well, that and they find it hilarious to watch you keep getting all excited, and then getting shut down. The moment it escalates though, you’re fucked. This doesn’t end well.”

“There’s a betting pool going.” Amato said.

Hunt gave her a look, but Amato continued. “Not the guards, the other inmates. They’re betting on whether you get yourself killed, you get yourself sent to solitary, or you get transferred out. Right now, solitary is the favorite. We’ve both got a little something on you getting transferred out first, because we don’t think you’re stupid enough to keep this up.”

Morgan stalked away from the table.

“Seriously, you need to give it up!” Hunt called after her. “You don’t want to end up in solitary.”

Giving up had become a theme in Morgan’s life. The next time she met with her lawyer, she had no choice but to face reality. Her options were three years in prison or ten years in prison, and there was only one sane thing to do. She was forced to accept the plea deal that would guarantee her a Complement.

Morgan stood in front of a judge and confessed to a crime she did not commit because it was the only option she had. Afterwards, her lawyer told her she would be transferred to Marysville within a month, and handed her the form for choice of “significant other.” She had never felt so hopeless.

In Morgan’s experience, no one gave her anything she wanted unless they had no other choice. So, with only three weeks left before she was going to be transferred to Marysville, she didn’t give Derek a choice. She wrote his name on the form, never contacting him, defying him to say no.

She hated that they were doing this to her, that she needed someone at all, that he was now her only option. She hated how undeniably desperate she’d become even without a Complement, the certainty that it would soon be much worse, and how even that would pale in comparison to what would happen to her if Derek said no. She hated that Kevin had humiliated her, that she couldn’t trust him. It was never serious between them, but the bastard had testified against her.

Most of all, she hated that even though she should really be able to do better than Derek, he might now turn her down.

Why would he say no? He wanted her body. It was obvious from the way he looked at her when he took her to dinner.

Yes, a mean, cynical voice in her head pointed out, but that was when she was the untouchable, forbidden fruit, the successful business woman. Besides, even if he was still interested now that she was in prison, even if he hadn’t found someone else, this would be more than just a quick fuck. Holding the key to her Complement sounded a lot like a commitment.

When the guards informed Morgan that she had a visitor, she first assumed it was Lorelei intent on humiliating her again. Instead, they told her that Derek had come to talk. His name was on the form for the Complement so they put him on her permitted visitors list as well. There was no warning, no time to prepare, not that it would have made any difference.

He would want to know about her crime. Would he believe the truth? For a delivery guy he wasn’t stupid, quite the opposite. She doubted he would believe her if she tried playing the innocent victim. As Lorelei had been so eager to point out, no one else ever had.

He was going to ask about the money, about why she did it, and she had nothing to tell him. Then he was going to ask if there was something wrong with her, why she needed some man she met only once. Then, to top it off, he was going to ask why she thought his new girlfriend would ever be willing to share.