She could still barely comprehend the obscene sexual abuses they had been slavishly made to endure at the hands of an evil group of older men and women called the Spaxtons. That their tormentors had been wealthy and influential state officials of prominence only added to her sense of helplessness; yet, as morally shattered and fitfully despondent as she was, the determination to fight and resist them still burned intently within her curvaceous young body, and to all outward appearances she was far from being the mind-broken sexual tool the stunningly beautiful Maggie Keele made of her unfortunate inmates.

"This way, Wilson," the big boned, heavy breasted Matron known to Jean only as Seybor ordered, guiding her onto an elevator with a painful knuckle in the small of her back. "And I'd advise you to drop that snooty, stuck-up chin of yours a couple of inches before you walk into the Super's suite. You ought to have learned by now that she doesn't take kindly to smart-assed young pussy like you, oh?"

Jean made no motion of acknowledgment to Seybor's lewdly phrased statement, though she was well aware that what the coarse woman had said was all too true. Whether it was a youthful envy, or plain sadistic degeneracy on the part of the statuesque Superintendent, she didn't know and hardly cared. Her one concern was, and had been, since emerging from her drugged coma, only of her twenty-year-old husband, whom they had framed on false drug charges as they had her, then had committed to a prison upstate. Because of her age, seventeen, and for obvious other reasons befitting their lustful desires, Maggie and Max Keele had seen to it that she had been put in the Home.

God, she could still hardly believe the deplorably sordid course of events which had placed her on that elevator ascending them upward to the raven-haired Superintendent's personal suite… another impregnable den like the Keele private home some five hundred years from the institution.