Chapter 9: Morgan

“What do you mean they don’t let us come? Isn’t that the point?” Morgan was practically hyperventilating. Every time she thought things couldn’t get worse, that’s exactly what happened.

Morgan shifted in her chair. The friction between the hard chair, her permanently soaked underwear and the aching, needy flesh between her legs was a tantalizing reminder of what she couldn’t have. The ever-present, raw craving coursed through her body, and she was suddenly even more aware of it than usual. If Rogers was telling the truth, there would be no relief.

“The point,” said Rogers slowly, as if she were talking to a child, “is that they have to follow the law. The law requires that they allow conjugal visits but it’s vague on the specifics.”

“But why?” Morgan demanded. “Do they get off on this, or what?”

Carmichael was grinding her teeth again. She took this opportunity to jump in to the conversation. “You know, I really think that’s part of it, but they do have their reasons.”

“It’s recent,” Rogers said. “They didn’t start this until six months after they rolled out the Comps. There were ... incidents. See,” Rogers hesitated. “Imagine your Derek’s come to visit, you’re in a room with him, and then he has, er, performance problems. I’m not saying he will, but just suppose. Think about what you might do then.”

Several creative ideas instantly popped into her mind, but before Morgan could respond Rogers continued. “Yeah, that happened. Multiple times. Men were sent to the hospital with some serious injuries and awkward explanations. The guards didn’t realize what was happening at first and were slow to react.”

Morgan wanted to object but a moment’s reflection brought her to the conclusion that, yes, that is exactly what would happen in those circumstances. It would be easy to say that it wasn’t in a girl’s best interest to hurt the only man that could grant her release, but in the heat of the moment that wouldn’t matter one bit. With the Comp, the slightest touch could send rational thought straight out the window.

“Yeah, maybe,” Morgan allowed, “but how does that explain the whole, ‘I don’t get to come’ thing?”

Rogers nodded. “I’m getting to that. So, they figured out pretty quick that they need to really watch what goes on. No one gives a shit what happens to us, but if your SO, who is not a convicted felon, gets seriously hurt, that might turn a few heads.”

“Once they realized they had a problem, the next thing they did was to start using restraints for the conjugals. That led to yet another problem, or rather it made an existing problem even worse. The whole point of the Comps was that they were supposed to save money, but the number of guards they needed to oversee the conjugal visits and get us into restraints was costing them even more than before. That’s when they started dreaming up ways to limit the number of conjugal visits they had to handle. Now, how do you think they might make a conjugal less appealing, hmm?”

“You’re fucking with us, right?” Amato demanded from beside Morgan. Her voice got higher and higher pitched, as she continued. “This is, like, some sort of hazing ritual, and you’re both going to crack up laughing in a minute, right? Right?”

No. Morgan already knew in her gut they were serious. These were the bastards that came up with the Comps, why would they stop there? Some part of her had been expecting it. Of course they wouldn’t let her come during the conjugal visits. How could she ever have expected the people in charge here to do something humane and decent when there was an alternative?

Morgan turned to Amato. “I remember saying something similar to you about a month ago, when you tried to tell me about the Comps.”

Amato’s dark brown eyes were wide as saucers. “No. You can’t, they can’t—Oh Jesus, they— But I have to, even with Chris, I need— They can’t! No, no, no, no no no nononononono...” She broke into tears.

“Anyway,” Rogers said, pointedly ignoring Amato’s meltdown. “That’s the bad news. It gets worse.”

Morgan wanted to lash out. She wanted to hurt someone, anyone, but no one here was responsible for this. She forced her molten rage down, restrained but not forgotten. Someday, someone, somewhere would pay in blood. Right now, she needed to keep herself together.
“Go on,” Morgan told Rogers. “Hit me.”

Rogers nodded. “I’m guessing that right now you’re thinking: ‘Well, even if I’m not fucking him, I hear I can still get some relief by giving him a good suck’, and you’re right. Unfortunately, for that to happen your man’s still has to get past security. They’ve started giving anyone who comes in for a conjugal a very rough, very thorough cavity search, performed by some of the less attractive COs. For security purposes, of course. It turns out most guys don’t like getting anally fisted by the likes of Dunne. Typically, they opt to walk away even if it means giving up a monthly blow-job.”

“Doesn’t that take more guards and cost more money?” Morgan asked. They were doing it, so obviously the answer was ‘no,’ or someone seemed to think the answer was ‘no.’ Still, asking questions kept her mind focused, helped keep her anger in check.

“For every guy that goes through with it, they scare off another ten, not to mention the ones that agree the first time but refuse to go through it again,” Rogers said. “Do not underestimate how weird guys can be about this. Seriously. A virgin Catholic schoolgirl won’t protect her cunt like a grown man and his ass.”

She imagined Derek, naked, bent over by one of the guards. Naked, vulnerable. Morgan had never seen him without a shirt, but she pictured his nude body rippling and tensing as the guard pushed her hand into his ass. His cock would get hard from the anal stimulation. It would twitch too, all nice and hard, and ready for her.

She was so fucking horny, and those thoughts were only making it worse. She wouldn’t be getting that cock where she needed it, would she? That was what Rogers was trying to tell her.

That thought made the situation between her legs worse, not better. Morgan tried to focus on the words, not her inner turmoil.

“Also,” Rogers went on,” they keep it cold and the COs like to add their own commentary on how the guys fail to measure up. Adding insult to injury. Literally. You may think your Derek is all manly and tough, but just you watch. Most men are such babies.”

“How do you know all this?” Morgan asked. She realized she was probing for ways this could somehow be wrong. She was looking for any way to refute what Rogers was saying, even though she strongly suspected it was the truth.

“You keep your mouth shut, your ears open and you hear things. You learn something. And, by the way: you’re welcome. Most of us learn this the hard way. Well, okay, maybe not the really hard way, but it’s less than ideal.”

“But, wait. Okay, okay. Gnat, though.” Morgan gestured at Carmichael. “She wrote a letter to Gnat’s husband then, warning him to expect a cavity search, telling him not to bother?”

“Not at all.” Carmichael once again wore a malevolent smile, as she took the opportunity to answer the question in her typically succinct style.

Morgan looked between Rogers and Carmichael, expectantly. “Well?”

“Now, if you’ve been listening,” Rogers began slowly, as if she were a teacher lecturing an inattentive pupil. “If you’ve been listening, you might have already worked out the last thing you need to understand here. The really horrifying part. The part that will keep you awake at night. I told you, the way they have you, he can’t get where you need it. But you’re helpless, you can’t do shit, and he can get everywhere else. Everywhere. They even have a form, which you signed, giving him explicit permission to perform any sexual act he damn well pleases. Are you following me?”

Oh. Fuck. So, that’s what that form had been about.

“Right,” Rogers went on. “So, Gnat. She’s in for reckless homicide. She accidentally—”

“No.” Carmichael interrupted her. “Don’t you dare sugar-coat it. She killed her kid.”

“Right,” Rogers repeated. “So there you had one toddler, one swimming pool, one babysitter with the day off, and one rich-bitch mother high out of her mind on whatever she picked up from the local Stanley’s that day. A few hours later dad comes home to find the body floating in the pool. The kid accidentally fell in and drowned while mom was tripping. And that is the charming story of how Georgia Natterson came here to bring joy and happiness to all our lives.”

“That kid had a name,” Carmichael growled, “not that you’d know it listening to Gnat whine. I had to ask. Because of her, a little boy named Jacob Natterson drowned.”

“Can I finish? Or should I let you explain, you sick fuck?” Rogers asked, annoyed at the second interruption.

Carmichael rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“As I was saying,” Rogers continued, “At some point, during her incessant whining about how unfair it is that her royal highness was thrown in here with the riff-raff, Gnat let slip that she wasn’t tripping alone. Now, most of us don’t give two shits and only wish she’d shut her goddamn yap, but Mother Hen over here decided to get all righteous.”

“Damn straight,” Carmichael seemed rather pleased with herself.

“According to Gnat, one of the many ‘indignities’ she’s had to suffer, is how angry her husband still is about everything.” Rogers rolled her eyes at the word “indignities” to punctuate the sarcasm. “He’s one of those nuts that doesn’t believe in divorce. He’s still her keyholder but never visits. She—” here Rogers jabbed a finger in Carmichael’s direction, “—wrote him a letter explaining exactly what, exactly who, Gnat was really doing when his kid was drowning. Then, if I’m not mistaken, she explained exactly how he could return the favor.”

“Up to him, really,” Carmichael said. “I only gave him the facts. He can live with his whiny murdering wife when she gets out. Or, he can choose to never listen to that shit ever again. Not a hard choice, if you ask me.”

Morgan felt like they were still dancing around something important, because that still didn’t make sense to her. “She convinced him to go through with a divorce? But you said he was coming? What—”

“Christ,” Amato breathed deeply. She’d been so quiet Morgan had almost forgotten she was there. “It’s that bad?” Her voice stuttered. “He’s going to fuck her ass isn’t he? That batshit doctor even said it was bad, so that’s got to mean it’s, like, what? What really happens?”

“And, we have a winner,” Rogers declared. “You’re thinking that it gets worse, and you’re right. The thing you need to understand is that it doesn’t stop getting worse. You know what you’re feeling now. Well, it doubles every day, for a whole week. Doubles. Think about that. Then it takes another week to go back down to normal, or so they say. Yeah, yeah, I know, as if this is normal, right? If you get laid it ends right away, but it’s not like that happens around here. They say at first it’s tolerable, barely, but after about day three— well, there’s a rhyme:

Two then four then eight,

Any more and it’s too late.

Sixteen, thirty-two,

You’ll just scream ‘til you turn blue.

Sixty-four, one-two-eight,

Nothing’s worse than such a fate.

“Because it’s doubling and twice two is four and twice four is eight and so on, you know?” Roger’s explained.

“Such a fate?” Morgan asked, aghast. “You can die from that?”

“Oh no, you don’t die. Technically, you’re perfectly healthy, and no, you don’t literally turn blue.” Rogers clarified. “But it fucks you up. Like, seriously fucks you up, up here.” She tapped her head.

“Even after it’s all over, you’re gone, checked out, left the building, mind turned to mush. They say everything, physically, biologically, is back to normal after two weeks, but it doesn’t matter. Mentally, you’re done. The experience fucks you up for good. It’s not like you can have a real conversation afterwards. The droolers can’t even handle working in the domes. Only thing they’re good for is cleaning the toilets and even then, the point is to keep ‘em busy. The maint-bots still have to clean up every night, doing it for real.”

There was a strained silence, a lull in the conversation as Rogers’ words sunk in. Morgan noticed that Rogers never spelled out what she meant when she said it keeps increasing. Then again, she didn’t need to. Her meaning was perfectly clear. Anal sex would inevitably lead to sexual frustration so severe, it was guaranteed to drive her insane.

“Of course, they make it easy to cancel your conjugal.” Rogers broke the silence. “Feel free to stop by the commissary, they’ll hand you the form straight away, no charge. Don’t want to risk ending up as a drooler? Cancel any time, no problem, no questions asked.”

Another silence stretched on.

Morgan was still contemplating her terrifying options when Amato spoke up. “So why doesn’t Gnat cancel?”

“Same reason she agreed in the first place,” Rogers said. “Same reason anyone goes through with it. She thinks hubby is coming to serve her lunch.”

“So, you could go over there and warn her?” Amato prompted.

Rogers seemed about to answer when Carmichael flashed her a predatory grin and stood up. “Absolutely, allow me. Come on.”

Carmichael strode purposefully towards another table. Morgan, along with Rogers, Amato and several other inmates who had been listening to the conversation followed.

As she approached one table on the far side of the room Carmichael called out: “Hey Gnat, I got some bad news for ya.”

If Morgan had to choose one word to describe the woman that turned around in response to Carmichael’s shout, it would be arrogant.

Gnat looked to be in her mid to late twenties and even shorter than Carmichael. Even though she’d evidently given birth to a child, Morgan would never have guessed it looking at her. Gnat was rail-thin. The baggy gray prison uniform did a good job of concealing any curves, but those were rather obviously cherries, not cantaloupes under there. Short, wavy brown hair framed a face that was attractive, but in a haughty, off-putting way. Gnat had a noticeable dark freckle or mole under her right eye that gave her face character while simultaneously conveying aloof arrogance.

When Gnat spoke, her sneering tone further reinforced Morgan’s first impression. “What do you want, Dick-dicer?”

Dick-dicer? Morgan filed that away for later consideration.

“I have a confession. Decided to come clean.” Despite her words, Carmichael didn’t seem the least bit apologetic.

“Yeah? Who else did you chop up?” Gnat demanded.

“You,” Carmichael said. “Just you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Told ya,” Carmichael’s grin widened. “It’s a confession.”

“You finally losing it? I can see how knowing you’ll be here forever might do that. I’ll be thinking of you after I get out next year, I promise.”

Morgan hadn’t known that her cell-mate was a lifer. Three years was bad enough. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to never leave this hell-hole.

“Oh, no you won’t,” Carmichael was obvious gloating. “I made a new friend. Your husband is my new pen-pal. I told him what you’ve been saying. Now he has a new fetish. For anal.”

A worried look briefly crossed Gnat’s face, but it passed quickly. “Oh, right. You’ve always hated me, haven’t you? So now you’ve heard he’s coming and you make up this crap to ruin it for me. You think I’m stupid, freak?”

Gnat was raising her voice now, yet she wasn’t quite yelling. “You wouldn’t even know how to get a hold of my husband. How would you know his address? I’m not a moron. No one ever wanted you, or came to see you, did they? Awfully lonely isn’t it?”

“Ever tried talking to a drooler?” Carmichael asked casually, ignoring Gnat’s barb. “Think about it. Get a good look at your future.”

“You know what? I don’t have to put up with this. Get out of my face, Dick-dicer.” Gnat made a waving motion with her hand, as if declining service at an upscale restaurant.

Wordlessly, Carmichael turned away, but as she walked off she was humming loudly. It was the same beat as the rhyme Rogers had recited earlier. “Hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm.“

Two, then four, then eight.

When they were out of Gnat’s earshot, Rogers turned to Carmichael. “Was the whole point of that to mess with her head? If so, I admit, it’s a beautiful setup. Please tell me that’s all it was.”

Carmichael raised an eyebrow and spoke quietly. “She didn’t believe me. I’m still smiling. What do you think?”

“You’re sick,” Rogers breathed.

“The thing about narcissists,” Carmichael said, “they’re paranoid, but they’re always worried about the wrong thing. Everything I say is bound to be a lie, right? I had no reason to warn her, unless I wanted her to cancel. Good luck convincing her I was telling the truth now.”

All four of them had already finished their evening meal. They deposited their trays in the auto-wash bin headed out of the cafeteria back towards their cells as they spoke.

“Remember your last trip to the doctor?” Rogers was getting angry now. “You remember what a few hours of that is like. This is a hundred times worse. How could you?“

Despite her cell-mate’s agitation, Carmichael remained unflappable. “That’s how I got through it. I think about how it will be worse for Gnat. It’s my happy thought.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Morgan interrupted.

“Oh yeah,” Rogers said. “They haul you in every three months or so for a checkup and run a ‘diagnostic.’ That’s doctor-speak for getting vibed.”

Morgan wanted to hit something. Or someone. She had to go through that again? From the distraught expression on Amato’s face, she didn’t seem to be handling this much better. Rogers and Carmichael were oblivious to the reaction of their bystanders. Both were focused on their argument with each other.

“Jacob spent his last moments struggling for breath. Now Gnat can learn how it feels to struggle. To need something as badly as Jacob, her own child, needed her help. Needed air to breathe.”

“What if the parents of what’s-his-name, the guy who was causing problems for your daughter, what if they thought you had it coming? By that logic maybe you deserve it too, did you ever think of that?”

“Big difference. I don’t see a toddler leaving his neighbor death threats and dead animals.”

“I’ve heard it compared to being burned at the stake! Only you don’t die, there are no physical marks, they can claim you’re perfectly healthy and you keep on burning for days!“

“I hope so. They sell microwave popcorn at the commissary. Tell you what: The night it happens, it’s on me. When Gnat doesn’t show up for dinner, we’ll know. Then we celebrate. How ‘bout you two?” Carmichael finally seemed to take notice of her audience. “You want popcorn? My treat.”

“You really are one sick fuck.” Rogers responded before Morgan or Amato could answer.

“Is there a problem, ladies?”

All four of them whipped around. It was Jaanson, the tall, blonde guard Dunne had warned Morgan about on her first day. She must have heard Rogers’ raised voice.

“No, ma’am,” the four of them chorused in unison.

Even though Rogers and Carmichael had been the ones arguing, the guard’s icy blue eyes were focused on Morgan and Amato. Out of the corner of her eye Morgan saw that Amato’s face had gone ashen. She must have heard the same story Dunne had related.

Jaanson pulled out her stun baton and held it up, as if examining it. “Let me tell you, it’s fascinating how the human body reacts to a million volts of electricity. All the little ticks and twitches in muscles you probably don’t even realize are there. Oh, and the defecation reflex is automatic. There really isn’t enough time tonight before lights out for a shower. That would mean lying in your filth all night, stinking up your entire cell, now wouldn’t it? Would any of you happen to be cellmates, by any chance?”

“Yes ma’am, the three of us.” Rogers pointed to Morgan and Carmichael. “We won’t cause any trouble, ma’am.”

“Hmm,” Jaanson appeared to consider briefly. “I promise you: If you don’t keep your shit to yourselves, you’ll all be smelling it. Now, this one—” The blonde guard gestured at Amato, “You got yourself sent to Ad-Seg, didn’t you? I’m going to personally escort the troublemaker, here, back to her cell. You three run along, but if I hear so much as another peep out of any of you I’m going to come back and explore, at length, all the various places I might be able fit my high-voltage friend here.” She gestured with the stun baton. “Understood?”

“Ye—” Rogers began, then cut herself off. Jaanson raised an eyebrow menacingly, at which point Rogers clearly remembered that Jaanson had ordered her to remain silent. Everyone nodded emphatically.

“Good. You—” Again, Jaanson gestured at Amato. “With me.” The guard walked off briskly, Amato in tow.

Neither Morgan or her two cellmates uttered a single word for the rest of that evening. Rogers silently glowered at Carmichael, while the older woman pointedly ignored her.

Morgan plopped down in her bunk and stared at the ceiling.

She was still trying to process everything she’d learned. The truth was, that on some level she’d expected it. Things could always get worse, and for her, they usually did.

The real question was what she was going to do about it. She needed to focus on what she could do, not what she couldn’t. There were so many very important things that she couldn’t do any more and might never be able to do again.

Morgan willed herself not to slip down that path. It would be so easy to give up hope, to given in to frustration and depression, to wallow in self-pity.

But no. She had to keep going. Even if it would be three years before she got out, even if she was truly stuck with this thing for life, she would find a way to get her revenge. She needed to remember that someone had done this to her. There was someone responsible. Depression was useless. Rage could be channeled.

Channeled into what, though? Her options were limited.

Rogers was channeling her anger into being a self-righteous bitch, while Carmichael was targeting Gnat. That’s what was really going on here; they were all venting their anger, picking targets in an attempt to release a little bit of the frustration. Anything to distract their thoughts from their own bodies.

Between the two of them, Carmichael made more sense to Morgan. There was something liberating about bringing justice to the deserving. Her cause wasn’t the one Morgan would have picked, but Gnat did seem like an up-tight bitch.

Rogers, on the other hand, was getting bent out of shape on behalf of someone she didn’t even know. Sure, the motherfuckers that dreamed up the Complements and the conjugals deserved to have their balls dipped in acid. But what did it matter what happened to Gnat? It wasn’t Rogers’ problem and, for that matter, it wasn’t Morgan’s either.

Despite her cell-mate’s rough edges, Rogers had reminded Morgan of Lorelei for a moment there. It wasn’t a favorable comparison. Maybe she should take Carmichael up on her offer. It was free popcorn. Either way Morgan would end up pissing off someone, and if she didn’t pick a side, she risked angering both of them.

“You’re so selfish,” that’s what Lorelei would always tell her, what she would almost certainly say about her indifference to Gnat. The phrase would always get under Morgan’s skin like nails being dragged across a chalkboard. It was easy to care about other people when your life was perfect.

In Morgan’s experience, watching out for herself was a full-time job. Lorelei’s insistence on helping others wasn’t noble, it was arrogant. She was maneuvering to be the center of attention, as always.

Look at me. That’s what she was really saying: Look at me. Look how caring and giving I am. I’m such a wonderful person, aren’t I? Tell me how wonderful I am.
Bullshit. Why couldn’t anyone else see her sister for who she really was?

Whenever Morgan got really angry, her mind drifted to Lorelei. Why was that? Probably because, throughout her life no one had ever been able to infuriate her quite the way her sister did.

“You’re so selfish.” That’s what Lorelei said as she took on the role of Angela in Morgan’s delirious half-sleep, half-erotic-stupor. “That’s why you’re here. I want my patients to learn from their mistakes, and that means you need to finally get a handle on that attitude, now doesn’t it?”

Angela’s tone didn’t seem the least bit out of place coming out of Lorelei’s mouth.

“And, of course, when the problem is selfishness, we need to start by teaching you to share. Sharing is caring! Ah, there we go.”

Morgan became aware that Lorelei had strapped her into a vibrator harness just as Angela’s reluctant male assistant had done.

This time she wasn’t strapped to an exam table but tied to her own bed. She was in her bedroom from years ago, in their parents’ house. Morgan had been forced to stay behind here, attending Cuyahoga Community College with the aspiring fritters while Lorelei was off at Ohio State, and then John’s Hopkins for medical school.

At the time, this place had felt like a prison. The tacky floral pattern of the comforter under her and the equally hideous wallpaper of her old room had always irritated her. Her surroundings only amplified the feelings of frustration and rage.

“So, you see I’m going to share something of yours,” Lorelei said as she put her arms around Derek who was suddenly standing beside her. Then she motioned to the vibrator harness. “And this will help us share some of the experience. I wouldn’t want you to feel left out.”

Lorelei whisked Derek away and the vibrators switched on, the fiendish one inside curling up into Morgan’s G-spot as the other buzzed against her clit.

As the fiery, insatiable sexual desire suffused every nerve in Morgan’s body, the voices of the couple in the next room drifted through the wall.

“You don’t really want someone as selfish as her, do you? I’ll always put you first. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Oh, oh ye— ahhhhh,” Derek trailed off into a low moan that gave Morgan a pretty good idea what her sister was doing. It was exactly what she longed to be doing herself.

Morgan wanted to scream back at them, to curse them, but she wasn’t allowed. Why did she have to keep quiet? She couldn’t remember, but it was important.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!”

She fought against the urge to cry out as the noises from the next room reached a crescendo. Her sister’s screams of passion washed over her and she couldn’t do a damn thing except lie there, listening, trying not to scream as the vibrator did its work.

“Oh. Oh. Oh.”

Morgan woke from the nightmare to find it wasn’t Lorelei crying out, but Rogers. The cell was still dark, and the other woman was thrusting rhythmically under her sheets. With every movement a brief cry escaped her lips.

Carmichael must have woken up too because she got up, walked over and snapped her fingers in Rogers’ face. She retreated to her own bed without saying a word.

“Whaa-?” Rogers, now awake, took a deep breath and sighed loudly. “Fuck.” Rolling over, she signaled an end to the incident.

Strangely enough, Morgan felt better. It hadn’t been her this time. This time, it was little-miss-preachy-bitch. As small a thing as that was, it somehow felt important.

Sleep came more easily than usual.

Unfortunately, that moment of relief didn’t persist into the next morning. As Morgan went through her agonizing, oh-so-careful motions to get clean in the shower, she couldn’t help but dwell on how nothing was better. Given what she’d learned the night before, everything was worse.

In the cafeteria, breakfast was a bowl of cereal that could only be described as food in the loosest possible sense of the word. She pondered whether to cancel, and what, if anything she should tell Derek.

Morgan watched a woman two tables down suck on her banana, and it struck her what was really going on: she was practicing.

The Complement hadn’t driven her so crazy for cock she was sucking the banana; she was practicing for her conjugal visit. What would happen if she couldn’t get her guy off that way? What if he opted for the other option?

Morgan’s own banana was still sitting on her tray.

After spending a few seconds staring at it, she picked it up and proceeded to deep-throat the yellow, phallic fruit. It had never been that difficult for her. She let it slide all the way down, so that only the small half-inch her fingers were gripping was still exposed, before pulling it back out.

No problem there. She could still handle the big ones. She’d gotten plenty of practice with Kevin.