Fuck

"Fuck," you said, or would have said, as you woke up. You were being blown by some black woman while otherwise tied to a chair. Tape covered your mouth as you surveyed the surroundings.

Three dozen naked students and teachers, all women, sat in the bleachers. Helen had been freed and sat in the front row, next to a clearly conflicted Julie. All had their tape removed but were eerily silent. The net was gone, but in its place was the twentysomething John fucking some woman covered head-to-toe in a latex rubber suit.

"Ah, you're awake!" he exited the woman with his fully erect cock, squatting down to make eye contact with you. "I hope you don't mind me getting a few fucks in. It's something we have to do. I also fucked Helen already, so your little swimmers missed a chance there. But I'm sure they're giving her the old college try."

You want to speak, but you can't. "You want to know who I am? You can call me John, but if that's too confusing, just JDM will suffice. No, I'm not the President who died in the '60s. I'm the Just Deputy Master of the Masoños Organization. We, unofficially, enforce President Mason's 3-Hour Compact. That you signed."

You shifted uneasily in my seat as my cock went limp and the masoño was pulled away. "You see, Mr. Doe, you spent yesterday fleecing men and women of this town from hard-earned money with a promise to fuck. You're **** and **** teenage girls on a whim. You beat up your neighbor in the street, and not to mention what you did to that poor nun.

"Alot of that, we let slide, it's your first week afterall, but you're too close to power. Your sister, who keeps posting nudes, is going to run for Governor. Maybe President someday. We can't let you get that close to power. And now, you brought this gun."

He is handed the revolver by one of his black assistants, as you could feel the crowd go tense. "You signed a promise, the compact, not to engage in these activities, and you have broken that. I am within Masoño law required to take you in to a 3H prison - an undisclosed location where you will spend the rest of your life overly medicated and fucked by ugly guards. But let me tell you a secret: there's no such thing as a 3H prison. I am within my rights to shoot you dead and bulldoze this town. We've done it before."

The crowd is sweating, but apparently under suggestion to remain quiet. He points a gun at you. "That is, unless you join me. A man of your talent will go far in the M.O. Maybe you'll make JDM someday. It took me four years. What do you say, Doe?"

You didn't nod. You didn't acknowledge him in any way, looking towards the latex girl as she locked eyes on you. He ripped off the duct tape. "No funny business. Yes or no." He held the gun up to your forehead.

You whispered something incoherent, and the JDM frowned. "That didn't sound like a response to me." He cocked the gun. That's when the lights went out.

Two miles away, and less than two hours ago, Mandy paced through her kitchen. You had called her using Dana's phone, and she, Ted, Alice, and two Amish teens, Sarah and Christmas Miller, were in silence as they watched the livestream of Lonnie's march through the school. Mandy had texted her father, Sheriff David Jones, about getting a lockdown, and ending whatever is going on.

"What if he's faking it? We don't know that this is a true three-hourer. Only that John is." Mandy rubbed her sore ass as she voiced her frustration.

"If it's between two three-hourers, we have to let them work it out. The Compact is clear that we can't interfere, especially if there're Masoños involved." Sheriff Jones went over the odd quirk of extralegal jargon usually above his purview.

"Well, fuck you then, Dad. I'll go to the school myself. I'll stop this."

"No," said the Sheriff, crushing an apple in his grip as he feared his daughter and potential granddaughter might perish in the crossfire. "We'll stop this. But we'll do it outside of the law. And we have to hurry."

Two hours later, the lights went out as JDM John prepared to waste you. "What the fuck?" said the JDM, as he looked toward the sunlight gently trickling in from the overhead windows. The gymnasium had no large source, and when closed off, even at high noon, things could be pitch black.

A masoño opened the doors to the track field, shining some illumination onto the area. Too much, it seems, as a large spotlight blinded everybody.

"Please disburse. Per the Three-Hourer Compact of 1950, signed by President John D. Mason, I, Sheriff David T. Jones of Oak County, Wisconsin, am hereby authorized to place these two three-hourers in custody for violations of the compact and crimes against humanity. Any further attempts at relieving their sexual discomfort will be treated as a hostile action."

You had made out all the words, despite a ringing in your ears, but the Masoños treated it as a violation of their sovereignty, and they were fighting back. Tear gas canisters flowed into the gymnasium, as you heard gunfire from your chair. You knocked yourself to the floor, but the JDM was nowhere to be found. Was he outside shooting at the cops? You doubted it.

The latex girl was on you, ripping off the tape as best she could. Her mask afforded her some protection as you wept and heaved at the near-toxic environment. She did not say a word as she led you into the women's locker room.

You could hear panic and screaming, gunfire and glass-breaking from deep in the women's shower, trying to quickly wash off the chemicals. You were nude again, and the latex girl, who you assumed was just Lonnie, ripped off her rubber outfit. It was not Lonnie.

"Caitlin?" you questioned, looking at your older sister's familiar trim bush, before she ripped off the latex covering her face. "Yeah, John, it's me. This bozo kidnapped me to be some sort of surprise. I'm supposed to be canvassing today in Madison, not being **** by some snot-nosed punk."

"Did he cum in you?" Your question is interrupted by a crowd of girls rushing into the showers. "Julie!"

Your golden goddess rushes to your side, pushing away her aunt as she embraces you. "I'm sorry. Luna said he needed me to fuck him."

"Forget it." You kissed her neck and held her close, feeling the warmth of her body even in the warm showers. "We can't let the cops take you."

"Or the masoños."

"The office."

You lead the two nudies to the gym teacher's office within the locker room. Some others straggle along, but you pay them no heed. "There's a locked door to the basement, right here," you say, lifting the OVHS rug. "The school was built to be a bomb shelter."

"Here, Mr. Doe," surprises Marisol, the honors student you had fucked. She produces a bobby pin and uses it to get through the padlock. You kiss her in appreciation. You, Caitlin, Marisol, and Julie are the first to enter the basement from this venue. Others try to follow, but you order them to guard the entrance and they surprisingly agree.

Your quartet marches toward the same window you entered, hoping to get free and maybe head onto the road as a fugitive or something. If you leave the US, you could maybe head to France or Israel, countries notorious for allowing 3-Hourers to get away with anything. Maybe even the Vatican.

But the window was guarded. Not by some masoño. Not by the Sheriff's Department. Not even by the JDM himself.

It was guarded by Deputy Sheriff Luna Flores. The woman who kidnapped Julie.