Hi, folks:
I've been plugging away on my next book and the end is in sight. My vision is compromised so it's tedious and frustrating.
In the Nikki series, there is discussion of a Nevada facility. Nic Ramage has expressed disappointment that no details about the facility were revealed.
So, I'm writing "The Nevada Facility," a two-part series. Nikki and Mr. K are major characters. And there are some new ones, among them Robin Meadows, a detective sergeant who is on what starts as a murder case.
If you're among the tiny group of people who've read my Narvaez County books, you'll recognize the special guest appearance of Paul McCready and Danielle Travis.
Then, in the background, is Selene, who is a prisoner in the Facility. I've decided to tell some of her story in the foreword.
And, as a teaser for my upcoming book, I'm inserting that foreword here:

***** START
The bus was more like a school bus than a long-distance vehicle built for comfort. The seats were lightly padded and the backs were short – short enough that even a person as diminutive as Selene had no upper back support. And she was so strictly restrained that she couldn’t shift position to make herself more comfortable. She told herself that she had at last achieved her goal – inescapable bondage completely at another’s mercy.
Unfortunately, by the time the slits between the louvers of the bus windows were turning black, the erotic stimulation was fading, to be replaced by aching in her lower back, her neck, and her knees. She had to twitch from side to side within the limit of her seat belt in order to shift the weight from one butt cheek to another. Sleep, of course, was out of the question. The best she could do was to allow her head to slump forward and close her eyes. But when the bus hit a bump, or her head rotated sideways, she was rudely jolted awake. The dome lights in the bus, dim as they were, burned into her open eyes and were a glow through her closed eyelids.
She had been sternly warned not to speak or she would have requested a blindfold. Much as she was stimulated by a ball or penis gag, she didn’t want more discomfort.
She sought a condition known as subspace – a sort of blissful absence of thought produced by submission – sometimes by pain or a painful predicament. She had endured such predicaments many times – being strung up by her wrists while standing on tiptoes for example. Or, more frighteningly, being bound hand and foot and placed on the deep end of a swimming pool, depending on her “boyfriend” to hoist her up by a rope looped under her arms so that, every minute or so, she could take a quick breath. Her chest ached for days afterward but she was also powerfully aroused. When she was alone and she recalled that incident, her hand moved automatically to her clitoris.
Would she remember this grueling bus ride that way? That was hard to imagine. But she had to endure, hoping against hope that she could endure until she reached the bondage paradise she’d been promised.
The ride was endless. Occasionally, the female guard would walk to the rear of the bus and return with a wheeled cart that carried a large plastic bucket. She stopped beside Selene’s seat, used a metal dipper to scoop out about a cupful of water, and held it up to Selene’s face. Selene gratefully gulped down the lukewarm liquid, regretting the significant portion that dribbled down her chin, down between her breasts and into her lap.
After what seemed an eternity, the bus made a turn onto a much rougher road. Selene was too tired to keep her head from lolling side to side. She silently prayed that the ride was finally over. She risked looking around. Both the woman and the male guard each crouched next to women near the front of the bus. After some fiddling with the belts, the two bedraggled women were helped to their feet.
A flicker of hope. Then despair as the guards maneuvered the women past Selene and toward the back of the bus. A bathroom break! Her heart sank She watched desolately as the grim parade passed her seat. The girls were bedraggled, their hair damp – arranged in separate greasy strands. Slack faces, pale, sickly skin. Hollow eyes….
The women disappeared, along with their guards, for what seemed to Selene to be an unaccountably long time. Then they were returned, staggering in their chains, needing guards to keep them from sinking to the floor.
Agonizing long minutes to secure the women back in their seats. Another two women, their bare teats flopping as they proceeded, staggering, unable to remain upright without the efforts of the guards.
Another long wait until the two girls were pushed and pulled unresisting to their seats. Selene took long sighing breaths. At last the guards stood, and it was Selene’s turn. It was the heavy set woman who undid her belts and unlocked her feet from the D-ring on the floor. The woman pulled her to her feet. Selene’s head was spinning and her legs gave out under her. The woman placed her hands under Selene’s armpits and held her upright until she steadied herself.
With the guard holding her upright, Selene shuffled toward the rear of the bus. There was a stainless steel panel that separated the “bathroom” from the passenger compartment of the bus. It consisted of a stainless steel commode, a one piece assembly. There was no door to the bathroom compartment and the female guard, arms crossed on her chest, stood in the doorway and watched, her face stern.
It took Selene several minutes to get started. And it took her a while to realize that she was through. “Dehydrated?” the guard asked in a low voice. Selene nodded tiredly. The woman nodded, stepped away for a moment, and returned with a dipper of water. Selene gulped it down gratefully. The woman disappeared from sight and returned, holding a gray washcloth in one hand and in the other a plastic milk jug with part of the top cut away. The woman dunked the washcloth into the jug. “Look up at me,” the woman said. Selene, still sitting on the commode, obeyed. Her fatigue and general stiffness made the movement excruciating.
The woman sponged Selene’s face and squeezed water into her eyes. “Try to close your eyes more,” the women advised. “Maybe get some sleep. You’ve still got a long way to go.”
Selene nodded. Minimally refreshed she became conscious of the smell of the bus: Sweat, urine, farts, the background scent of diesel fuel. The woman muscled her back to her seat and began the long process of securing her.
Another two women helped to the bathroom, one more dipper of water for each woman, and the bus hissed, traveled on the rough road for a while, then turned around. Selene stayed awake enough for a while, watching the lights that passed the window slits. Headlights, brightly illuminated places along the road. She tried to wonder about them but the tiny flicker of curiosity was overwhelmed by the vast and weary apathy which was now her life.
She tried to think of Dominick. Was that his name? Yes, Dominick Reyes. He was the man who had sent her here. She recalled his shaved legs, his balls, tight in their pebbly sack, his penis with its purplish glans thrust to her face until it was out of focus. She had only the vaguest memory of his face – pale skin, thin lips framed by buzzcut hair and a close cut beard. And dark piercing eyes that stared at her with contempt as he demanded the most humiliating and painful things from her – to stand for hours on the “one bar prison,” held in place by a dildo atop a post. Or, on his orders, stripping naked and giving blowjobs to a half dozen of his friends – she on her knees with her hands cuffed behind her back – while the other women at the party fully clothed – the girlfriends of the men in attendance. They mocked her and criticized her technique.
At one such affair he had produced a long riding crop and invited the other girls to flog her/ Two were drunk enough to do so and to squeal with delight as she writhed, trying to escape his hand holding her bent over the table.
But such memories were not enough to keep her conscious. Her head slumped forward and her eyes closed. From time to time she would wake up, unaware of where she was or why she was in chains. But she couldn’t generate the vitality to care and could not roust herself beyond semi-consciousness.
The slits in the window turned bright and the bus jolted to a stop. Selene’s head jerked forward. She felt a wave of relief. They had arrived!
But no. The two guards disappeared through the front door and closed it. Through the bars, Selene could see them as they exited the bus, followed by the driver. She tipped her head back, feeling the bare steel bar against her neck. Precious tears dripped down her swollen and puffy face.
After another eternity, a driver and two different guards climbed onto the bus, each of them carrying white bags that smelled of grease, meat, and French fries, as well as coffee. The smell of fast food made Selene nauseous, but also desperately hungry. She hadn’t eaten since that tasteless bar in the remote past, before this hellish journey began.
The bus didn’t move while the guards ate their late night snack. Selene had some hope that the prisoners would be fed. But that was not to be. Instead, the guards went through the laborious process of muscling each of the naked women back to the stainless steel commode, giving each of them a couple of dippers of water. Then, with all the female prisoners immobilized and restrained, the bus hissed, shuddered, and pulled back onto the highway.
Selene tried to make sense of her situation, but her brain could produce nothing but random pictures…some of naked men, some of pretty flowers, some of meaningless lights and shadows. And always the pain – in her shoulders, elbows, knees. By now her butt was numb, her face swollen, her mouth dry.
She was not in an unchanging hell. She opened her eyes to discover that bright light was pouring through the bands between the window louvers. The woman guard – the new one, red faced, wide waisted, with short dirty blonde hair – was sitting with her back to the wall and her legs up, as comfortable as possible in a bus of this sort. The man, a buff black man wearing a BOP cap, was sitting in the floor, knees up, back resting against the bars of the exit door.
The light was another torment. Her eyes were burning, even when closed. But now the cabin was warming noticeably. Soon, besides the various other discomforts, she began to perspire. Droplets of sweat began trickling down her sides and pooling between her legs. Her face felt uncomfortably hot and moist. Her hair became damp and her scalp itchy.
Apparently the guards were under orders to keep the women minimally hydrated because occasionally an alarm would ring and the female guard would sigh, maneuver to the back of the bus and return pushing the water cart. Selene would gratefully gulp down her two dippers of water and even lick her lips to catch the runoff. It tasted salty.
A bathroom stop. More dippers of warm – almost hot – water. More hours of aching, burning eyes, painful immobilized joints….pure pointless suffering.
The sound of the tires changed as the bus slowed. The windows and the windshield as seen through the bars dimmed. The bus rolled to a hissing stop, The guards stood up. The male guard opened the barred door. The female went to the first prisoner’s seat and began the process of releasing the prisoners from their seats.
One by one they were walked out of the bus, helped down the steps, and guided to where they could stand leaning against the side of the bus. The air was like a furnace. Apparently, inadequate as it was, the bus had been air conditioned. Selene started to faint as her legs buckled. A tall guard – appearing military in his dark blue well creased uniform and expertly cut hair – caught her as she fell. He held her upright. Another guard, similar in appearance, stepped up and poured a pitcher of cold water over her head. Selene woke up immediately.
As her head cleared, she looked side to side and saw two of the women sitting on the ground being attended by men in uniform. The others were leaning, exhausted, against the metal – except for one who had managed to sit on the pavement with her knees drawn up.
Selene looked around. They were inside – a cavern of some sort. The roof overhead was brown rock or concrete, for some reason marked with regular ridges. As she examined the structure more carefully, she noticed that the ceiling was rounded and blended seamlessly into the rounded walls.
Two more guards, a man and a woman, both of them wearing caps and black badgeless uniforms, rolled a cart up to the line of chained, naked women. They dispensed dippers of ice water – as much as each woman wanted. After the water, the guards dispensed squared biscuits. Selene appreciated hers. It was warm and buttery. She began to feel a little better, although any movement was still excruciating.
One of the guards stepped up to face the women.
“Good day. Welcome to the Nevada facility. Or, as some call it, hell. You are now slaves in the most severe meaning of the word. You will be kept naked. When not in use you will be kept in solitary confinement. You will be chained at all times. While you are here, you are forbidden to speak. Your purpose here is to suffer. And you will suffer until we think that you’re ready to go back as exquisitely trained slaves to your respective doms.
“Remember, you volunteered for this. You may free yourself by simply saying aloud that you withdraw your consent. If you do that, you will be given some clothing, some money, and you will be transported to a destination of our choosing. And you will know that you have failed yourself and your master.
“Now, face to your left and start walking.”
Thus did Selene find herself in the custody of the Nevada facility.