Chapter 537: Stranded Travelers

I need to quit bringing home strays.

Pam, Gail, and Shawna chose to take it easy here at my mansion. They were all hungover and still in shock over finding the place they were staying got ransacked last night. The building owner had an inventory of what got taken from the women’s rooms but didn’t have those items, nor could he get them back. I wasn’t sure if I was paying to replace it or if the staff here would bill those costs to the property owner, not that it mattered.

I wanted to head back to the foster care complex to see how the orphans from elite families were settling in. When I found the butler to see what cars I had available, he wasn’t kidding when he said the previous owner had an extensive exotic car collection.

I have a three-story garage with over eighty exotic cars and some more run-of-the-mill cars.

Since it was a beautiful day, I wanted a convertible, not the Red Ferrari. He suggested a blue Audi R8 Spyder. It fell into the supercar class but didn’t look as much like one as the other one-hundred-fifty MPH plus cars in this part of the garage. Instead of the direct route, he suggested some less-traveled roads where I could open the car up and enjoy how it hugged the road through tight turns.

With the place in my head providing data to my implant, the enhanced road vision and speeds it says the car can take curves at are unbelievable.

I saw the two cops on motorcycles waiting for speeders coming flying down one of the long open stretches of this highway. I know they weren’t expecting to see someone come off the two-hundred-seventy-degree hairpin turn at ninety-six miles an hour or hit one-thirty before breaking to head into the next hairpin turn. Due to being between hills, their radios didn’t have a great reception. I didn’t even try not to laugh when I heard them say a blue convertible was doing over a hundred MPH into what roughly meant dead man’s curves in local police terminology. I did drive over the line as I drove through parts of the curves, but no one was heading this way for miles. Even on motorcycles, the police couldn’t catch up to me.

They did manage to get a call out to dispatch describing a blue convertible traveling at a high rate of speed. They hadn’t been able to catch the car or see any indications of it having crashed. Dispatch asked if they needed to send a wrecker, rescue, and an ambulance from the direction I was heading in for when I crashed. From where the cops started chasing me to where they were now, they should have caught up to me. Since they hadn’t, I was still driving way too fast for this road.

I saw the two cruisers, a fire truck, and the ambulance getting on the road about three miles out. My implant told me how fast to drive so I would pass both cop cars, the fire truck, and the ambulance as I flew around nasty, tight s-curves. There was nowhere for them to turn around for a few miles further along the road. When I entered the start of the first curve, I was doing one-twenty. I slowed to around ninety, but that was because I couldn’t cross the lines to drive through the turns as I passed the group heading my way. With them heading toward me at around forty-five, our combined speed as I flew by them was around one-thirty-five.

“Dispatch,” a cop in one of the cruisers said. “The blue convertible flew past us doing ninety, through the hairpin s-curves. I could not identify the make and model. We have no description of the driver.”

I made it out to the main highway and then headed toward the interstate. While there was little traffic and plenty of room to open the car safely, I stayed right around the speed limit. Multiple cop cars passed me in both directions without stopping me. It wasn’t until I was a mile from the complex that a cop passed me, turned around, and hit his lights and siren. He saw me drive through all the gates and saw them close behind me before he could catch up to me. I headed to my office to await his backup to get here and then go through the screening process.

“Mr. Jones, there are some police officers who wish to speak with you. Do you want to see them?” a woman asked.

I could make them wait for me in a conference room until they got annoyed and left, but I told her to bring them into my office.

When they came into my office, I stood up and said, “If you are looking for any runaways who might have come here or seek children here wanted for a crime, you have the wrong office. The juvenile court is at the other end of the hallway. They can tell you if the person or persons you seek are staying at the complex or not. Should you be here to interview for the open positions, you need to go back out the door, take a right, go to the end of the hall, take a left, and you will see their door at the end of that hallway. I haven’t reviewed the staffing details yet, so I don’t know what positions are still open. If you are here to see me, how can I help you today, officers?”

That threw them off balance.

“Are you the owner and driver of the blue Audi A8 convertible outside?” one officer asked.

“I’m not being a smart ass when I say that I’m not sure if I own it or now,” I explained. “It was one of many cars I found in the garage at my home, but I don’t know if it is a lease, rental, or I own it. I did, however, drive it here today. Someone didn’t try to prank me and report it stolen, did they? That would suck. I’ve got a lot of work to do here today.”

He asked if I was driving on the road where I flew past the motorcycle cops on the way here.

“I don’t live here. I set the GPS and let it give me the directions here from my house,” I explained

“We have a report of a car matching your vehicle description driving more than a hundred miles an hour on a narrow, windy stretch of road through the mountains,” the officer told me. “That road has claimed many lives due to drivers exceeding the posted speed limits around the narrow, blind, hairpin curves. If you could please come with us, we would like to discuss this further at the police station.”

They started to approach me, with one holding cuffs.

I told them, “I’m not a lawyer, but I see multiple problems here. You said it yourself. You have a report of a car matching my vehicle. How many blue convertibles on the island look similar to mine? Multiple police officers drove past me on my way here, where I was driving the speed limit. I am a U.S. Treasury agent and federal child protective services officer. You are standing inside my foster care complex, where I will spend tens of millions of dollars a month housing and caring for the children no one wants. These children are orphans, child abuse victims, and those who would otherwise be locked up in a juvenile detention center to protect the children from their families. I know that the district attorney is discussing how to handle three young ladies detained in the mental health section of my facility. One swatted me last week due to a personal problem with one of the police officers. I’ve got work to do here, so I’m not going anywhere soon. Here is my license. Why don’t you save yourselves some grief, call it in, and ask your superiors how they want you to proceed? If they want me to come in for questioning, or have you put me under arrest, then off we go. Feel free to ask the staff to escort you to the cafeteria for a late breakfast or an early lunch. If you just want coffee, I think we have a wide range of coffee beans and whatever machines they use at the expensive coffee shops.”

You’re so off balance I don’t know how you are even standing up.

They took my license and chose to call it in from my office. It took five minutes for their information request to go up the chain of command, but it only took a minute before shit came downhill like a flash flood. I ignored the yelling and screaming from their radios and then cell phones.

The gist of the conversation was the chief of police asking why the hell they were trying to take someone in for questioning for speeding. All they had to go on was a blue convertible. They made sure that the two officers knew that they damn sure better have proof before dragging someone in for questioning for speeding. It doesn’t matter if it was a teenager in a beat-up pick-up or some athlete in a Ferrari. Someone else gave them shit for not noticing that my driver’s license also had some markings that gave me a form of immunity regarding arrest or tickets for exceeding the speed limit. It didn’t mean they couldn’t pull me over. They just could not do anything about it. The dispatcher told them they confirmed I had passed all courses at the performance driving school when I was only fifteen.

Both had to return to headquarters ASAFP to discuss pulling over random blue convertibles.

“You have some powerful friends, kid, but my gut tells me that you were the one speeding down along that stretch of road,” he told me.

Does my license have something on it that says they can’t do anything to me if they catch me speeding? Why don’t I find things like that surprising anymore?

Once they were gone, I did try to get down to making heads or tails out of the stack of papers on my desk and the dozens of docs on the shared drive.

Much like the resort hotel before the elite families arrived, the staff here insisted I get the grand tour. I found that because we are so close to the ocean, we have ocean water pools. We have two desalinization plants and a wastewater treatment system. We pumped the treated water back into the ocean through a pipe that ended a half-mile offshore. While we used power from the grid, we also had two dozen generators with enough diesel to run for a week.

We didn’t have any dorms but instead had two-story condos with between eight and twenty bedrooms. Each bedroom still had a bathroom, but the showers were outside and shared between multiple bedrooms. I found they had the bunkbed “pods” in some bedrooms, like those I had seen set up in Japan for the birthday girl from the sushi restaurant. Those rooms did have a shared bathroom as well.

“Why don’t we have a private bedroom for each child as with the other four complexes,” I asked my tour guide.

They explained, “We are testing out the bunk bed living areas you saw in Japan. Our custom design is taller inside to sit up and have multiple kids hanging out in the same space. The doctors found that it provided sufficient private space for most of the children who live here. It appears that sharing a room is desired, but they also want a private place for themselves.”

Only time will tell if this is beneficial or not.

When we made it to the mental health ward, I found that girl who swatted me and tried to kill herself inside a padded room. Since I brought her in, the girl had gone off the deep end. They weren’t sure if any of the various meds would help her. One psychiatrist said that if you drugged her to appear sane, it would erase her personality. She would be nothing more than a zombie that responds appropriately to certain stimuli and doesn’t respond to anything else. In time, they might talk it out with this girl and work through the girl’s issues, but that may take years.

“David, I hate even to speak such things. Heavily medicating this patient would do more harm than sending her home how she is right now. Unlike most suicidal mental patients that I have treated, this girl is not clinically depressed or has a chemical imbalance,” he told me. “Her stunt she pulled at the clothing was simple petty revenge. She wasn’t attempting to commit suicide, per se. She tied the weight to the left side of her body after doing the math, David. Her trajectory would have directed her onto multiple objects in a way that had a low probability of killing her. She expected it to break multiple bones and possibly partially or fully paralyze her. The patient wanted to force her parents to care for her around the clock. This girl is a selfish, spoiled little child trying to force her parents to bend to her will. I do agree with your assessment at the school. This child needs to have her butt spanked, but it would only arouse her.”

“So, what do you suggest?” I asked.

He thought it over, talked to a few other doctors, and then said, “The consensus is to house her in the same residence as those from what you call elite families. Her kind of craziness and pettiness is commonplace for those children. I will continue her daily therapy sessions, but I expect the children in her building to better change her outlook on life.”

“In the target residence, I’ve heard they particularly fond of binding one of their siblings or cousins nude on a toilet and using them as a toilet seat. If this girl wants to be the center of attention, they will ensure that is precisely what she will get,” one of the other doctors noted.

I told them I would be back after checking on the other two girls.

One was determined to be crazier than the girl that tried to commit suicide, but this second girl’s kind of crazy did respond to medications that leveled her out.

The third, however, wasn’t crazy at all, not even in the slightest. This girl hung with the other two hoping that she would get arrested and go to jail because it got her away from her family until she was an adult. Her parents didn’t abuse her or anything like that. The girl just didn’t fit in with everyone else in her family. She was the square block, and her family was the round hole. To better ensure the girl didn’t have to worry about her family trying to get to her or make us release the girl, we transferred her to one of the foster care complexes in the continental U.S.

After checking on the elite kids in padded rooms, I returned to the first girl’s doctors. Whatever they had given her last night to calm her down long ago wore off. They told me they would alert the staff to be ready to sedate her and bring her back here if she tried to harm herself again.

I went into the padded room with clothes for her.

“I don’t know when you last ate, but I am hungry. You can get yourself dressed, or I will dress you. Either way, we are going to get something to eat before I take you to where you are going to live until the doctors decide to send you back home to your parents,” I told her.

She looked suspicious, eyed the door, and acted like she was coming to get the clothes. When she bolted for the open door, she found that my reflexes were significantly faster than hers. I explained that they would grab her if she ran out that door, naked or otherwise, without me. She would end up on the floor sedated again. That meant at least another day in this padded cell.

“So, you will take me off and fuck me then?” she hissed.

As I dressed her, I replied, “Do I need to get an ice cube to push inside your pussy to cool you down? There is no way you will get my nine-inch-long adult dick in your still little girl pussy, even if I wanted to have sex with you. The doctors have already told you that you would be lucky to get your period before turning sixteen. If you like this padded room, I can arrange for you to stay here long-term instead of sharing a condo with other kids and the adults living there as chaperones.”

I see the gears going in your head. Good luck with that.

Her hunger won out over her escape plans as with rodents in a maze and nature. I found the open cafeteria and guided this girl down the serving line.

“You know, I don’t think you ever gave me a name you want people to call you,” I told her as we sat down at a table to eat.

She thought it over for a few minutes before saying, “My grandfather called me Suzie before he died when I was twelve. It wasn’t my name, and he had memory problems, but I didn’t mind. He is the only person in my life so far who has ever loved and cared for me. You can call me Suzie if you want.”

Suzie ate like a teenager.

When we got to her assigned condo, she was shocked to find the kids rushing over to hug me and thank me for saving them. If their fathers hadn’t managed to blow them up, they would get dumped out on the street with nothing. What hit Suzie the hardest was that boys and girls of all ages offered me the use of their mouths and butts. Any girls who could get me inside them at least three inches offered me their pussy. I told them I was honored that they wanted to do that for me, but I wasn’t interested.

This condo had three chaperones and twenty bedrooms. The majority of the rooms had at least ten bunk bed pods. Suzie had a room and bathroom for herself but had to share an outdoor shower. She tried to shock the kids who came into her room when she stripped to take a shower.

In her family language, one of the girls said, “I’m only eleven, and I’m more developed than her. She’s already fourteen. She is still a little girl between the legs. I bet Suzie can’t even get her pinkie in her hole.”

“You, you, and you all stink, and you need a shower too, so go take one,” I told one girl and two boys. “This once, you can all go shower out with Suzie. She needs to see that things aren’t the same here as she expects. There will be no sex, no groping, and no masturbation. If she wants to let you help her wash, or she wants to wash you, then that is ok, but keep it to washing and nothing more.”

Four more boys and six girls asked if they could go out to shower with Suzie too. It was a large outdoor shower, and the kids in this family worked out using it coed. They did more to protect themselves from being preyed upon or prey upon others.

It isn’t like they haven’t seen each other naked during the last spring vacation, at least.

I heard Suzie’s shriek when the first three came into the shower with her. She backed herself into a corner when four more boys came in. While not loud enough to get people to come running, she did call for help. The kids decided they were going to do just that and help her. One of the boys started washing her hair. Suzie was almost paralyzed in fear when his hard dick pushed up between her butt cheeks as he moved to get in close enough to wash the front of her head. The others had washed most of her front but left her tits and pussy alone.

When the boy finished the second wash of her hair, he asked if she wanted him to wash her front. I saw Suzie close her eyes as she turned on her high beams.

She didn’t expect him to have wash mitts put on his hands.

He washed her armpits and tits before sliding a soapy mitt down between her legs to wash her pussy and butthole. Suzie reached back behind her to grab his dick. She tried her best to get it where she wanted it, but one of the other kids pulled the handle that turned off the hot water to all showerheads. This time everyone in the condo heard her shriek. She quickly rinsed off.

“My English is not that good yet, so please bear with me,” one of the girls said. “My cousin can’t get in any of my holes. You are smaller there than me.”

Another explained that this wasn’t some orgy or a couple’s sex shower. Kids here used it as a place to get clean and nothing more.

Another told Suzie, “Don’t flatter yourself. My brother’s dick only gets limp when it is time to use it or he takes a cold shower. With it pushing against you is no different than your tits pushing against his back if you were washing him from behind.”

The entire group of kids dried off and returned to Suzie’s room. Some were on the couch, and others climbed up on her queen-sized bed. It was a tight fit, but Suzie was getting to see the boy’s dicks and some pink between the other girl’s legs. Except for the youngest boy, all the others had boners.