The Destruction of Jennifer – Chapter 02

In Chapter 2, Jennifer struggles with the aftermath of the day’s events. Yesterday she was an up and coming executive and trader at a top tier Wall Street firm. Today, framed for crimes she did not commit, she has a choice. If she does nothing her fate is sealed; it will mean hard time. But her boss gave her a way to avoid prosecution. All she has to do is write a full and detailed confession… and then accept a menial position as eye candy at the receptionist’s desk.
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Jennifer didn’t sleep that night as she tried to come to grips with what had happened, and the decision that she had to make. One moment she would be defiant, deciding to go to the authorities herself and tell them exactly what had transpired. But she couldn’t hang onto that defiance for long. She knew full well that Mr. Jameson was a very powerful man, and that neither regulators nor the police would believe her story without his support.

At other times she would think of running. She had resources! She would lose a lot if she cashed out now, but she’d still have plenty of money to make a life in a non-extradition country somewhere!

As Jennifer thought about escape, her mood lightened considerably. There was a certain romance to the thought of living a comfortable life as the beautiful American woman with the mysterious past, somewhere in a picturesque corner of the Third World. Besides, as she thought about it this was the only real option.

Her optimism didn’t last long when she went online to see how much she might be able to pull together quickly. Her accounts had all been frozen! Even the money in the small checking account that she used for day-to-day expenditures was beyond her reach. She couldn’t lay her hands on a $5 bill right now if her life depended on it! That shouldn’t have been possible, even for someone like Mr. Jameson. Only federal regulators were supposed to have that kind of power!

She wondered if her boss had changed his mind and turned her in without waiting for her decision. There was no way she could know until some official with handcuffs appeared at her door. Jennifer pounded her fist on the table. “What a fucking asshole!” She decided that she would rather go to prison than give Jameson what he wanted!

A white-collar criminal like her – and yes, despite her innocence, she had begun to think of herself as a white-collar criminal – would wind up in a minimum security facility, she was sure. Those were the prisons that people laughed about and called country clubs. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Surely she’d only be behind bars for a couple of years before she was paroled. Maybe she’d use the break to write a book.

But when she started to search the web for information about prison she was in for a shock. Since the crash of 2007 prosecutors and the public wanted Wall Street blood that almost a decade later they had still been denied. Federal and state authorities had both announced their intention of making white-collar criminals pay for their crimes just like everyone else, and had implemented new policies to that effect. She would be the first Wall Street executive tried under those new policies. The state and Feds would both insist on making an example of her. Then she remembered the intensity of Mr. Jameson’s anger and her earlier certainty that he would make sure that she had the harshest judge on the bench. For Jennifer, incarceration would mean decades in the general population of a maximum-security prison. That is one thing an Ivy League background does not prepare you for.

When Jennifer looked more deeply into what “hard time” really meant, what she read terrified her. She was totally unprepared for the stories of overcrowding, rape, abuse, gang violence, and even murder. And no one seemed to care! Guards and inmates alike seemed free to do whatever they liked to defenseless women without fear of retribution. Every now and then someone might get their hand slapped if a reporter made a big deal about a case, but then it was right back to business as usual. Mr. Jameson’s comment about the dykes taking good care of her took on new menace.

She thought about what prison would be like. In her first months behind bars she would probably be tied up and beaten over and over. She knew that she was beautiful, and was certain that she would be a favorite of the male guards. There probably wouldn’t be many days when she wasn’t dragged into a room somewhere and raped. Those were rough, low-class men. They wouldn’t see her as a woman at all. To them she would just be a piece of meat, some rich bitch who deserved what she got. They wouldn’t wear condoms or care what holes they came in. Men like that would cum quickly inside a girl like her, but that wouldn’t matter because there would always be another cock ready to take the place of the last. They would do all the vile things to her that their fat wives would never allow.

Without realizing it, Jennifer squeezed her thighs together and licked her lips at the thought of being held down, raped repeatedly and forced to suck filthy cocks fresh from her tight cunt and asshole. She was sure that the taste of her ass and having those huge cocks shoved down her throat would make her puke, but that they would just keep fucking her face anyway.

The other inmates would be jealous of her of course. What would they do to the new girl who was suddenly getting all of the male attention? The girls would surely make her nights hell. They would rape her with their fists and dildos cut from broom handles. They would make her service them. She imagined having her face shoved into nasty smelling cunt after nasty smelling cunt and forced to lick and suck until each girl came and squirted cum and piss down her throat.

Yes… they would certainly use her as a toilet. Her rough and violent cellmates would make her squat in the corner and swallow their piss. Or worse. At meals they would piss on her food and then watch, knowing that the guards would make her eat every bite. And they would torment her. They would laugh as they pushed her to the edge of her own orgasms, but they would never let her cum.

She imagined prison tattoos of hard cocks and gang symbols on her inner thighs and what it would feel like when they used a makeshift needle to pierce her nipples and cunt lips and tongue and clit. She knew that she would never climb the social ladder in prison. She would always be an anybody’s girl. They would make her work out of course so that she would remain desirable…

…right up until the day some jealous bitch shoved a knife into her kidneys!

Jennifer snapped back into the moment and quickly pulled her hand away from her pussy! She wasn’t sure how it had gotten there, and was disgusted with herself for her thoughts and the wetness running down her taint. No! She couldn’t go to prison! She would die in prison. There was no doubt about that.

Her earlier shock was giving way to a real appreciation of the full gravity of her situation. She put her head in her hands and cried steadily for an hour, her mind racing in endless circles, until she finally accepted the only possible conclusion. She was trapped.

She would accept Mr. Jameson’s terms, and she knew what that meant. Mr. Jameson didn’t want a simple admission of guilt. He wanted her to tell the story of what she had done. He wanted details. He had trusted Jennifer as he trusted very few employees, and was now certain that she had betrayed that trust. He demanded that she tell him exactly how she had carried out her crimes. If she held back anything he would know it, and that would be the end.

It was after 10:00 before Jennifer had her emotions well enough under control to open the file folder and actually look at the records through the eyes of a brilliant trader and accounts executive rather than as a victim.