Read Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition Online
Authors: Jurgen von Stuka
“We
can’t go home like this,” Lucy said to the rest of the group as they sat in the
central room of a large and pleasant suite at the Intercontinental Hotel
overlooking the river, on the day after their release. Her sister, Brenda,
nodded, pulling her cotton robe a bit tighter around her shining,
latex-enveloped body.
“It
is going to come off, just like peeling a banana,” said Glenda, released from
the hospital with her wrists bandaged and sitting in an overstuffed leather
chair, absorbed in the conversation and happily not having to deal with a latex
second skin.
“Well,”
offered
Bibi
, who was dressed in a pair of dark blue
silk pajamas, “I think this stuff is already coming off. Look at my feet.” She
held up her small pink feet and everyone noted that the toes and most of the
soles were already exposed where the rubber had worn off.
“Mine
too,” said Groff, pulling one foot out of a fur-lined boot. Her soles and toes
were also exposed. “But I think we should get the doctor out of jail and in
here and have him come up with a removal solution so that we can all get
cleaned up...that is, unless someone wants to stay rubberized,” she said with a
grin, looking directly at
Bibi
.
“Hey,”
Bibi
replied quickly. “I admit I enjoy the thrill of
being encased in latex, especially when I’m tied up. It’s just one of those
things that sort of developed over the last few weeks, sort of like the first
time I tried on a Lycra body stocking. I have no shame about that, but I would
really like to get out of this right now because I’m beginning to itch all over
and it’s like having a plaster cast on a broken leg, if you know what that
feels like.”
“Me
too,” said Lucy. “And as my hair, such as it is, grows back, the feeling is
less comfortable. You too?” she asked, turning to Brenda.
“Ah,
well, I guess so. I have to agree with
Bibi
. It’s
pretty erotic and if I could, I’d find a way to do it again when I felt like
it. The enclosure in this totally flexible material has so many uses.”
“Like
what?” asked Groff, in a somewhat nasal voice because of the bandages on her
nose.
“Like
if we went swimming or SCUBA diving,” Brenda said quickly. “Or skiing,” she
added, looking at
Evie
who had already said that as
soon as she got out of Prague, she was going skiing in Switzerland for at least
two weeks.
“I
agree,”
Evie
offered, sitting with her legs pulled up
to her chin. She wore only a tiny thong and matching bra and seemed immune to
the chilly weather. “I would love to see the expression on a few faces of the
stuffy characters at The Palace Hotel in Saint Moritz if I walked in and took
off my parka and had nothing but this rubber skin on.”
Everybody
laughed.
“But,
on the other hand, we all must be practical and at least come up with some way
to get this off. I don’t think it’s healthy. Sooner or later, it has got to
have bad effects.”
“Right,”
said Groff, nibbling with her teeth at a finger and discovering that she could
peel away the rubber coating, albeit slowly, finally exposing the entire
finger. “I think we can start peeling it now, especially at the seams and ends
where it is worn anyway. Besides, I think my thoroughly beaten ass is already
peeling rubber as well as skin.”
Everyone in the
room started peeling back the rubber edges on their own hands and feet and
found that the more they worked it, the more rubber came off.
“Wow,”
said
Evie
, as she peeled away an entire arm. “I think
we’ve got it.”
“Feels
like a bikini waxing coming off though,” added Brenda.
The
sounds of the five young women ripping long strips of latex from their bodies
were all that filled the room for nearly an hour. There were giggles and
shrieks and a few curses as the rubber came away with a bit of body hair that
had grown back since their initial
encapsulization
.
In the end, a pile of shimmering rubber lay on the floor and the five bodies
were now bare skinned bodies that were rubber free, but had a somewhat anemic
tone from not being exposed to the air for so long.
“So
screw you, Doctor Brenner,” shouted Brenda. “It is not permanent and you better
go back to the drawing board,” she laughed, tossing a long shred of rubber into
the pile.
“Well,”
added Lucy, scratching her bare and hairless crotch. “In some
places, it may take a while longer to
loosen up. I swear they sprayed the inside of my pussy with that stuff.”
Everyone
giggled.
“There
are ways to speed up that situation,” said Glenda with an evil, but mischievous
grin.
“Yeah.
I know what you have in mind,” said Lucy. “But my entire crotch is still
covered with this junk.”
“Mine
too,” said
Evie
. “And I got multiple coatings because
they wanted to build it up.”
The
rest, as they say, is history. By the end of the day, all of the women were
back to their normal healthy selves, free of the bonds and the rubber. Brenda
was already contemplating how she might recreate the Brenner formula and be
able to get another rubber skin when she wanted it. She enjoyed the feeling of
the tight, all encompassing grip of the rubber coating and thought that with
some work and a lot of money, she might be able to turn this discovery into a
profitable business, providing rubber body coating much as shops today offered
spray-on tans. Lucy remained skeptical of the idea, but Brenda reminded her of
their father’s favorite phrase, “money will get you almost anything.”
Lucy
and Brenda’s father, Ernst von Holt, was delighted that his daughters were back
home, but he quizzed them at great length about their experience, getting names
and locations and details the girls initially were reluctant to provide. Once
he had as much information as he could get from them, he sent the data
electronically to Berlin and once again called his friend
Casalo
.
“You
have the transcripts and videos of Lucy and Brenda’s testimony that I sent?”
Ernst asked his old GSG-9 buddy.
“Indeed
we do, Ernst.”
“And
are you going to take action against the mine and the religious problem in
Bulgaria?”
“Heavens
no, my friend,” said
Casalo
. “Such action would be a
violation of a sovereign nation’s rights. It would be illegal, as you well
know.”
“Of
course,” said von Holt. “But I have talked with Minister
Thefles
and she assured me that you could prepare a sterile solution. After all, German
citizens were victims of serious crimes and there are many more still
suffering.”
“Indeed, Ernst.
Indeed. Do not worry. A solution is at hand.”
“And the
disposal will go very quietly, I assume. I’m sure that you have some folks,
(and he used the word ‘folks’ in the familiar sense, meaning local people), who
could perhaps look into the situation.”
“Oh,
yes,”
Casalo
said quickly. “The minister phoned me
this morning and suggested we dispatch a small professional group to
investigate. Satellite information from the Americans has given us more than
enough details to arrange a rescue mission and a disposal remedy. In fact, The
Company has loaned us two black aircraft with the usual caveats.”
“Good.
The caveats being that room for plausible denial must exist if anything goes
wrong?”
“Exactly.”
“As you also
know,” Ernst continued. “I will personally offer safe haven and sponsorship for
anyone who is found there, so bring them home if they will permit it. Otherwise,
give them safe passage to wherever they wish to go, after they are given a
clean bill of health.”
“I
understand, Ernst. I will advise you when it is over.”
“No,”
said von Holt impatiently. “I want to know when it begins. This is not an
infinitely open window. They may already be making changes. You must strike at
once.”
“Weather
permitting, my friend,”
Casalo
said soothingly.
“Weather permitting.”
Von
Holt snorted, knowing that that catch phrase meant “politically correct”.
Less
than twenty-four hours later, an unmarked C-130F aircraft made a routine, high
altitude flight from a small airfield near the German-Austrian border with a
flight plan showing a destination in Crete. Bad weather forced the flight to
take a more easterly heading and halfway through the flight, the aircraft
commander radioed that the plane was returning to base with mechanical
troubles. Something had fallen off the aircraft at about 0245 hours, local
time, while they were over eastern Bulgaria, he informed the base.
As
an odd coincidence at about the same time, a single jet fighter-bomber, type
and place of origin unknown and on a routine training mission over a remote
part of an almost unknown Asian nation, accidentally released an inert bomb.
The pilot reported the incident and officials in the country were informed.
Given the remoteness of the area involved, the government of the country simply
filed a note for record and forgot about the matter, assuming rightfully that
the locals in the area, if there were any, would salvage and carry away
anything that fell out of the sky long before authorities ever even got to the
scene.
What
fell out of the C-130 aircraft, which was high over Bulgaria at the time, were
five men and three women, all with sterile uniforms and equipment that could
not be traced to any allied country and all highly qualified in Special
Operations and HALO jumps. They executed a perfect freefall, utilizing the
latest oxygen, pressure suits and thermal protection gear, landing precisely in
the central courtyard of the VNR castle.
Following
a well rehearsed plan, they silently spread out through the property, spraying
a sleep-inducing gas and encountering minimal resistance from the slumbering
sisters and a bit more from a few visiting clergy. Once all were asleep, the
nuns and guests were returned to their quarters and cells and secured there
with existing instruments of restraint. Those who were foolish enough to try to
oppose the midnight visitors were dealt with quickly. One fat man who claimed
to be a high church official found himself dangling by his heels in an
underground room.
Unfortunately,
shortly after the visiting parachutists freed 23 young women from the cells,
cages and ancient underground chambers, uncontrolled fires broke out in several
of the buildings housing the nuns and their guests. Later reports indicated
that the entire order perished in the fire, which unsurprisingly began in the
distillery. Apparently, escape by the members of the order, including their
Mother Superior and a local bishop, was made impossible because of the
paraphernalia being used by them in unusual and forbidden ritual activities
taking place when the fire began. Most of the burned bodies were found chained
to posts and crosses throughout the property, some in quite grotesque
positions. Reports mentioned one notably corpulent male body found hanging
upside down in an underground chamber with his head a few inches above a
wrought iron brazier. Others were bound with collars and shackles to their own
beds. Some were in even less plausible positions.
Because of
indications of toxic material in the ruins, church and state officials
immediately sealed off the entire property. Local provincial officials declared
the area off limits and hastened to cover up the entire incident. The only news
that eventually seeped out was that members of the VNR order had met their
creator in a dreadful and accidental fire. The HALO team remained on site with
the freed prisoners until arrangements were made for them to go home. Then the
rescuers vanished, absorbed into the local population and returning to base
within a few days, mission accomplished.
In
Frankfurt the next morning, Ernst von Holt read a brief and unsigned email that
he showed to Lucy at breakfast.
Your religious problem has been taken care
of. Twenty-three involuntary novices released. Fifteen elected to go home and
are either under care in safe areas or
enroute
to
place of origin. Three in sterile hospital. Rest going on missionary work.
Details later. C.
“What
a strange message,” remarked Lucy, reading it twice and staring questioningly
at her father. “Does this refer to what I think it does?”
“Ah,
it’s something you asked me to take care of a few days ago,” von Holt said. “I
think you’ll sleep better knowing that our enemies in Bulgaria are out of
business.”
“Oh,”
was all Lucy said. But she knew. She knew what her father had done and she felt
no remorse whatsoever to know that the evil order had been wiped out. The only
remaining elements of her ordeal were the silver mine’s owners and of course,
the brand and scars from the whips. The scars would continue to heal and Lucy
knew that her father would not rest until the silver mine enterprise was also
exterminated.
Sure enough, a week later, the following
article appeared in the
Frankfurter
Allegemeine
:
MASSIVE EARTHQUAKE IN
UNINHABITED CENTRAL ASIA
SCHMOLKIST – 3
Sept -- Global seismic monitoring stations in China and the EU reported
yesterday that a major earthquake of at least nine on the Richter scale struck
areas in the central Caucasus plateau of
Kapasta
.
This vast and
generally uninhabited area is approximately fifteen hundred miles east of
Schmolkist
, a remote section of
Allisloust
,
one of several small republics that broke away from the USSR more than a decade
ago.
Scattered and
unverified radio reports coming from the area indicate that the quake center
was in a mountainous region where there is little population and virtually no
reliable communications. Bad weather has made accurate satellite observations
and air operations impossible thus far.
Officials in
Capasta
said they were sending horse-mounted rescue teams
into the area, but more information might not be available for days or even
weeks because travel was restricted due to heavy snowfall and damaged roads.
Limited
satellite images of the region showed extensive devastation to a small mining
community several miles northeast of
Capasta
and
there has been no contact with anyone there since the quake occurred.
Landslides, an unexplained large crater and open sinkholes seen in satellite
photos indicated that at least one major mining community may have virtually
disappeared when the surface ground around it collapsed