The Legend of Hidden Oaks

Sarah wrapped her arms around my waist and buried her face in my chest. She was shaking uncontrollably. "Holy shit." She whispered.

"Goddammit, Fred. See what you gone and done. You scared the lady, you son-of-a-bitch!"

Fred was standing against the cell, his massive hands wrapped around iron bars. Fred's foot long cock was jutting out between the bars. He didn't say anything, he just stared at Sarah.

"He likes your wife." George told me.

"That big ole John Thomas there would damn near split you in two if he got ahold of you, if you know what I mean." George told Sarah. "I'd cut that damn thing off and sell it to a zookeeper if I wasn't so afraid he'd bleed to death if I did. Lord knows we have enough trouble as it is. We don't need another suspicious death."

He reached out with his baton and lightly struck the man's penis with it. "Yep, harder than woodpecker lips. Ain't no woman ever going to appreciate that thing, poor fella."

George unlocked the door and we exited the hall. We followed the narrow, well-lit corridor. The cinder block construction of the passage echoed the sounds of our shoes as we walked on concrete flooring. After another 40 feet, our way was obstructed by another heavy steel door. George searched the ring for the appropriate key and opened his, the steel squealing as it rotated on its hinges.

"This is where we keep the bad ones." He smiled. "These savages here have probably killed more men, women and children that the Black Death itself—a most violent bunch."

"We keep these ones behind iron doors. Your lady would most certainly meet an untimely death if any of this lot put their hands on her."

His tone was growing darker as we moved further into the building. It was as if he was transforming before our eyes. The friendly man from the parking lot had been replaced by a callous, ominous figure. His words implied threats of violence and destruction.

"Yep, I wouldn't be able to lift a finger before they had her head clean off her body and used her pretty mouth for all sorts of perversions." He laughed, slapping me roughly on the shoulder. "We wouldn't want that to happen now would we?"

We quickly moved through the corridor, not stopping as we had in what could be described as the medium security wing. There were small windows on each door. Eyes glared at us as we walked by. Catcalls and whistles broke out as we hurried to the far door.

"Mmmmm, mmmm, mmmm! I can smell that pretty little cunny of yours, all nice and clean. Let me have a taste!" A voice yelled.

"I'll cut your teats off, you cunt!" Another voiced screamed.

Sarah squeezed against me tightly. I looked down at her and she was frightened beyond description. "I'm not enjoying this." She said, the screams and lewd comments nearly drowning her voice out.

George heard her as he unlocked the door and put his back to it, pushing it open. "You aren't supposed to be enjoying it, but one thing is certain -- they are. They will."

He pointed down the corridor, urging us to continue. The hallway was well lit and clean in comparison to the areas occupied by the filthy patients. It smelled of bleach and floor wax, not piss and shit. George led us to a row of green upholstered chairs arranged against the wood paneling of the hallway. It appeared he had led us to the administrative area of the building. Signs hung perpendicular above to the doors: records, accounting, secretary to name a few. The sign above the door next us read "Dr. H. Grabels."

"Sit down." He ordered, no hint of friendliness left. "Dr. Grabels will see you shortly."

We both sat down and George knocked on a the door. After waiting several seconds, he entered and closed the door behind him.

"I don't like this." Sarah told me in a faint whisper.

"Me neither." I whispered.

"I want to leave." She whispered back.

"I'll tell them as soon as they come back." I assured her.

CHAPTER 5:

Several minutes later, the door opened and George emerged. "Dr. Grabels will see you now."

"George, we want to call it a night. We appreciate it, but my wife isn't feeling all that well." I told him.

"Duly noted. I can assure you the end is near." He said, pointing into the office.

I took Sarah's hand and led her into the office, I could feel her hesitation as we crossed the threshold into the dark room. Three sides of the room were glass and beyond the glass were three separate rooms. The rooms were brightly lit and had a green hue to them. They looked like operating rooms.

In the center of the room, an office I assumed, was a large wooden desk. Books were scattered about and an old school banker's lamp lit the array of materials with a yellow glow. A scrawny man sat behind the desk. He was balding and was sickly in appearance. His eyes were sunken and dark circles formed beneath the beady eyes. The man stood and his bony fingers formed a steeple in front of his chest.

"Good evening, I am Dr. Hans Grabels." He had a heavy European accent that could have been German or a language very similar to it. "I trust my staff has treated you with the upmost courtesy and professionalism."

"Yes, they have." I responded. "We'd like to leave now if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Certainly." He spoke hurriedly. "As Mr. George indicated, the end is near. Please have a seat."

"No, we need to leave." I was becoming angry.

"Please sit." His tone darkened. "Unless you have keys to the many doors in this facility, I'm afraid you can't go far. Furthermore, I cannot guarantee your safety if you decided to run. You are indeed in the heart of Pandora's Box."

I led Sarah to the worn, dark brown leather chairs and we both sat down. Sarah continued to hold my hand as I sat in the chair next to her. I could feel my blood pressure rising, my face growing hot and my pulse pounding in my temples. I was becoming angry, but also afraid.

He took out a cigarette from a brass case, tapping the filter on the lid before placing it between his narrow lips. He produced an ornate, silver lighter and lit the end the end of the smoke, the cherry burning bright as he inhaled deeply. Grabels exhaled the smoke upwards, into the air. He briefly coughed.

"Before you leave, I want to clarify this place. Have either one of you heard of Eugenics?"

We both sat silent and motionless.

"I didn't think so as most haven't. Eugenics is the science of identifying traits that are most desirable and seeking ways to advance those traits, all the while determining ways to repress less desirable traits. Eugenics, or versions thereof, has been practiced since ancient times, reaching as far back as the classical Greeks."

He took another long drag from his cigarette, crossing his legs and holding the cigarette in the air in the distinctly European manner.

"Unfortunately, most research has focused on furthering the desirable. I, however, have focused my life's work on determining if negative traits can be repressed through selective breeding. If a defective individual is mated with someone with exceedingly desirable genes, can the non-desirable disappear?"

Another drag.

"The problem with society is this rarely occurs in a natural setting. The strong prefer the strong and the weak are left weaken even further. The burden this places on society is evident—soaring crime rates, birth defects and rampant mental illness are all examples. So it is my goal to right this inherent wrong and offer a true solution to our weaker nature. Breed it out."

"Before I show you the extent of my research, I must assure you that you are absolutely safe and that no harm will come to you." He signaled to George. George turned and opened the door we had entered and two additional white clad men entered the room. One carried a wad of off white canvas.

"Mr. George, if you could please demonstrate the safety device to our guests."

George walked up to me and told me to stand. "Put your arms out to the side."

I put my arms out, fearing what would happen if I didn't. George and the other two men slid the material on my arms. It was a straitjacket. I began to resist, but was easily overpowered by the bigger men. They forcefully secured the buckles tightly behind my back. I wasn't able to move my arms.

Sarah had screamed and started to stand up, but one of the men pressed her back into the chair by the shoulder. "Please remain calm and keep in your seat."

One of the men behind me told me to open my mouth.

"No." I defiantly told him.

"Open your mouth or we'll open it for you." He said, his voice calm and collected.

"Paul, just do it." Sarah said to me from the chair. "Just do it so we can leave."

I looked at her and opened my mouth. The man inserted a leather wrapped bite stick and passed one end of the leather thong through a brass ring on the other end. He attached a long leather leash to the ring and held it loosely in his hands.

CHAPTER 6:

Once secured, the second man entered one of the operating rooms and retrieved a large rolling device that was a mixture of chair and something altogether else. It had a work light attached to it and numerous gears and levers. The man banged it through the double doors and rolled it up next to Grabels' desk.

"Ma'am, if you'd please have a seat." He smiled as he extended his arm to the chair. Sarah looked at the chair, at me and then Grabels. She was wide-eyed with fear. I tried to tell her no, but the bit prevented me from saying anything intelligible. Muffled cries were all that came out.

"Please." Grabels still smiled as he invited her to sit in the contraption. Sarah slowly stood and walked to the chair, every step was one of terror. She turned and slowly sat on the edge of the chair, leaving her boots resting on the ground. Her hands were clenched together in her lap.

The second man stepped forward. "Sit all the way back." She did.

"Put your legs in the stirrups." She did without protest, but she moved as if it took tremendous mental exertion to make her legs move.

The man placed her forearms on the arm rests of the contraption and began to strap them to the wood. He did the same to her legs, wrapping heavy leather straps around her lower legs, just below her knees. Sarah was restrained in the chair and was unable to move.

"Thank you for your cooperation." Grabels said in a friendly manner. "Gentlemen, you may leave."

The two men turned smartly and left the office, securing the door behind them. George walked to the door, leading me by the leash, and locked the deadbolt. He led me back to the chair and had me sit down.

Grabels lit another cigarette and paced in circles around Sarah. "It is amazing how gullible people are these days."

"I only recently started using the Hidden Oaks Home ruse to attract unsuspecting people to me. Once difficult to find, they now come to me like moths to the flame. A perfect means to find perfect research subjects."

He continued to pace. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched his slow, calculated steps.

"Being you two are so eager to leave, I suppose we shall dispense with the pleasantries and get straight to point."

Grabels extinguished his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. He took off his white coat and unbuttoned each sleeve, turning the material several times until he had formed two crisp cuffs. Without saying anything, he walked to a sink against the wall and began scrubbing his hands and arms with soap. After washing, the dried his hands and arms with a green towel and dropped it on the counter. He put on two latex gloves and picked up a pair of heavy shears. He turned and walked to the device Sarah was strapped to.

He looked at her and smiled. "I detest screaming, never could stand it. If you scream, your husband will pay the penalty. Do you understand?" Sarah slowly shook her head yes, tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

"Excellent." He began stepping on a pedal at the base of the contraption and the seat began to lift into the air. Once at the desired height, Grabels released the pedal. With one hand, he released a pin at the bottom of the device and the seat dropped out from under her bottom causing her to slightly sag. He began turning a wheel on the side of the chair and Sarah began to flatten out, almost prone. Once satisfied with her position, he began to slowly cut through the flannel shirt she wore. She began to sob as he tossed pieces of the cloth on the floor.

CHAPTER 7:

Once the shirt was cut from her, he stepped back and studied his work. "You should do quite well." He stepped forward swiftly and without hesitation, grabbed her bra by the material between the cups and cut it. The tension of her navy blue bra was released and her heavy breasts spilled out. He made a few more cuts and the bra was gone.

He stepped back like a painter and viewed his work. "Yes, you will serve my research well. Excellent genes."

Sarah's chest was heaving, her pink nipples hard with fear. I watched as goosebumps broke out over her skin. Her eyes closed as Grabels began to rub a gloved hand over her taut stomach, I watched helplessly as she shuddered at his touch. He caressed her skin with his fingers and traced the tip of his index finger up the thin, shallow line of her belly until he reached the base of her breasts.

Grabels smiled as he grabbed her right breast with his hand, squeezing the softness. He pinched her erect nipple with his other hand before moving to the left breast. "Such soft, succulent flesh." He hissed as he turned to me. "Wouldn't you agree?" His eyes were dark with lust.

Grabels jiggled her left breast, watching as the flesh roll under his gloved hand. He switched to the right and then back to the left. He turned to me again. "One must never mix business with pleasure."

Grabels grabbed the opening of her shorts at her left thigh and began to cut the denim material away. After removing the shorts, all Sarah had left of her fading dignity was her blue panties and her cowboy boots. Grabels pulled the boots off along with her socks, leaving her small feet dangling in the air.

"And now for the prize." He said as he lifted the hip strings of her panties, cutting the left and then the right. A small gauze like triangle of material fell between her legs. Grabels reached down and grabbed it, pulling the thin fabric of her g-string from her between her cheeks. He held the destroyed g-string in the air at eye-level and simply dropped it to the floor. Her auburn pubic hair formed a triangle above her exposed vagina. Grabels stepped back and shouted angrily, "This will simply not do!"

Both of us startled at his sudden anger.

He dropped the shears to the floor and walked back to the counter. He draped himself in a heavy rubber apron and pulled a shaving mug and a brush from a cabinet above the sink. He added a little water and began pacing, working the soap into a heavy lather. Before returning to Sarah, he retrieved a straight razor from the counter and quickly walked back to her.

"This must absolutely go; my test subjects detest the sight of pubic hair on women." He hissed. "Their distaste for it is likely the result of some long repressed memory, perhaps abuse by a woman at some point in their distant past—a mother probably."

He began lathering Sarah with the soap, building the white lather on her mound. He brushed between her legs, ensuring her whole sex was covered. He stood and walked back to the counter and picked up another green towel, neatly folding it in thirds. He slowly walked back to Sarah and turned on a small work lamp that was attached to the contraption, focusing the light on her lathered pubes.

Grabels sat on a small stool and appeared to take mental note of how he intended on approaching his work. Having decided, he pressed his left thumb into the soft flesh above her pubic bone and pushed upwards, drawing the flesh taut. The steel of the straight razor glinted in the light as he began to blade her auburn patch. He worked quickly and thoroughly, contorting my wife's womanhood in order to remove all hints of hair. He paused only to wipe the razor on the green towel he had laid across his left arm.

Satisfied with his work, he took the towel and wiped Sarah clean. Her mound was completely bald and bright pink from the razor's edge. I watched as he removed his surgical gloves and dropped them into the pile of Sarah's discarded clothing. He stood up and walked back to the counter. As he walked away, I looked at Sarah. She looked at me with tearful eyes, her chin quivering from fear and shame. I wanted to so badly to break free from my restraints and butcher Grabels with his own straight razor. I flexed the muscles in my arms, chest and back, trying to escape, but it was to no avail.

CHAPTER 8:

Grabels returned with a bottle of clear liquid. Taking his seat, he unscrewed the cap and poured the liquid into the palm of his left hand. He set the bottle on the ground and began rubbing his two palms together. He reached out, ungloved, and began to rub the substance on Sarah's hairless mound. Sarah tensed under his touch, trying to fight her restraints as well. Grabels continued rubbing her with the oily liquid, massaging it onto her stomach and inner thighs.

"Relax." He said to Sarah. "It's only to prevent irritation from the shave. Think of it as feminine aftershave."

I lunged at Grabels, but George quickly jerked me back with the wooden bit. The wood yanking backwards in my mouth, threatening to tear the corners of my mouth and shatter molars. I strained against the leash, tears of pain streaking from the corners of my eyes. George grabbed the collar of the jacket and pulled me back into the leather chair. Once seated, he forced my head between my knees and held me there, his weight making it impossible for me to move. The combination of rage, exertion and restraint caused me strain for breath and felt consciousness began to fade.

Grabels spoke directly above me. "I will not tolerate your pathetic outbursts while I conduct my work. Do you really believe you are in any position to alter your current situation? I can assure you, only through total compliance will you to ever hope to leave this building. Understand?"

I tried to scream "fuck you", but the bit made my words unintelligible. "Mmmm mmm" was all that would come out.

"I thought not." He said.

I heard him walk towards was likely his counter. After a few moments, I felt a jab into the meat of my left shoulder, followed by a sharp pinching sensation. I squirmed beneath George, trying to escape his grasp. As I fought, I felt warmth began to spread from my shoulder to the rest of my body and a deep sense of relaxation began to quench my rage. I sagged under the George's weight, the tension leaving my once aching muscles. My breathing became slow and I closed my eyes, white orbs danced languidly on the backs of my fluttering eyelids. My anxiety and fear faded, the foreboding sense of danger drifted away.

"Lorazepam, in heavier doses, works wonder." Grabels said, his accented voice echoing through my brain. Each word was slowly compared to the mind's catalog of word meaning, trying to ensure proper association was made. "Now I can continue my work."

George lifted me up and leaned me back into the chair. Grabels returned to Sarah and sat in his work stool. He turned to George and said, "Have Patient #4 prepared for the initial experimentation." His words echoed again and I struggled to understand what he was saying. His mouth moved and I heard his voice, but I to focus in order to piece the words together.

"Now, where were we?" Grabels picked up the bottle and coated his hands. He began rubbing Sarah's sex again. Through my fog, I could see he was no longer simply applying the liquid, he was exploring her as he did so. The bony thumb of his right hand massaged circles on her clitoris. Sarah cried out, but not in pleasure.