Terrorists

Terrorists

Sara and Carol stepped up to the counter.  Sara

handed over her driver's license as identification

and asked for her ticket.  Carol did the same with

the other agent.  "Why are you flying on a one-way

ticket?"

"We're going to visit my family for Christmas, and

my father has bought me a car, so we'll drive back

to college instead of flying."

"Miss Porter, would you please step over there?"

Apparently Carol was getting the same treatment.

For some reason,. The Transportation Security

people suspect people who travel on one-way

tickets, even though the 9-11 terrorists did not.  A

uniformed security man ushered the two room

mates through an unmarked door.

"You are Sara Porter?"

"Yes."

He took her driver's license and looked carefully at

it.  "5 feet, 8 inches.  A hundred and five pounds.

She looks even skinnier.  Red hair, blue eyes.  That

checks.  Do you use the screen name, Redgirl18?"

"Yes."

"Carol Lepska, 5 feet,  4 inches, 155 pounds. Black

hair, brown eyes."

"I've lost some weight."

"Do you use the screen name, Hunnybun69?"

"Yes."

"Give us your back packs.  Empty your pockets on

the table."  When they complied.  "Cuff 'em."

Sara felt a wave of panic.  "What have we done?

Are we under arrest?" she asked, as they cuffed her

hands together behind her back.

"You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit acts

of terrorism.  We have dozens of intercepted e-

mails to prove it.  You, Sara, suggested poisoning

the congress with ricin by putting castor beans in

the chili in the Capitol Cafeteria.  You, Carol,

wanted to steal a propane truck and cause a fuel-air

explosion that would have destroyed several blocks

of downtown Washington."

"It was only a game," protested Carol.  "It's called

American Ninja X, and it's just a fantasy." 

"Take 'em away."  They had black hoods placed

over their heads and agents guided them down a

hall, down stairs, and outside, where they could

hear the sounds of the airport.  They were loaded

into a helicopter, which took off and flew for some

time.  Sara was nearly airsick, but she didn't vomit.

When she tried to talk to Carol, someone punched

her in the belly and told her to shut up.  When the

helicopter landed   it must have been a roof-top

heliport --- they were led down three flights of

stairs.  When the hoods came off, they found

themselves in a grim room with institutional green

walls and four people, two men, two women,

dressed in camouflage trousers and boots, green tee-

shirts, no name tags or insignia.  A woman wrote on

Sara's forehead with a marking pen, and she saw

Carol marked also, 454.  Sara was sure she was

455.

"OK, bitch, strip."

"You can't expect me to do that.  I'm not getting

undressed in front of men."

The woman had a small object in her hand.  She

pressed against Sara, just above the waistband of

her jeans, and a powerful electric shock made Sara

double up and fall on the floor, writhing with pain.

"I said strip."

Sara could see that Carol was already down to her

bra and panties by the time Sara could regain her

feet.  Sara pulled off her tee-shirt.  She wore no bra,

for her breasts were no bigger than English muffins

on her chest.  When Carol took off her bra, Sara

saw altogether more womanly breasts.  Sara undid

the waistband of her low-rider jeans and unzipped

the fly, sliding them down her skinny legs, hardly

thicker than a man's arm.  She had to kick off her

canvas shoes to step out of the jeans.  Then she

removed the pink panties she wore.  She saw the

men look at her sparse red pubic hair, until Carol

dropped her thong panties, and they all looked at

her.  Carol had a dense black triangle of pubic hair.

One of the men took several photos of the naked

women.  Sara wanted to protest but decided not to

risk another electric shock.  She had a flash image

of her picture, complete with red pubic hair, on a

web page with a headline about police brutality.

She was certain things were getting worse by the

minute.

The woman pulled on latex gloves and instructed

Sara to open her mouth.  She ran a finger tip around

Sara's gums and under her tongue, then combed her

fingers through Sara's short red hair.  Sara saw

Carol being subjected to the same sort of search,

except that a man was doing it.  "Bend over and

grab your ankles.  Feet apart.  Farther!"  Sara

assumed the position.  The woman inserted a finger

into Sara's vagina and swirled it around, then.

Quite apart from the humiliation, it felt strange,

being raped, as it were, by a latex-clad finger. With

no preparation or lubrication, she forced her way

through Sara's anus and felt around inside her.

That was a weird feeling.  "This one needs an

enema."  Sara shuddered at the thought.  She had

never had one, and she didn't want anyone raping

her rectum.  The man was still "searching" Carol,

three fingers in her vagina, as Sara was led into a

nearby room.  It was a sort of communal bathroom,

with several toilets, washbowls, shower heads with

drains in the floor, no privacy at all.

The woman hooked Sara's cuffs to a chain which

hung down from the ceiling, so Sara had to stand

there, bent over, with her arms wrenched upward

until her shoulders hurt.  The woman had a hose

with a pistol-grip valve and a long nozzle; it might

have been useful for washing a car or watering

plants.  Sara felt the nozzle pressed against her

"nasty place", and cold water surged into her.  In

seconds, she was screaming in pain, as the water

stretched her rectum and gurgled up her colon.  Just

when she felt she would pass out with pain, the

pressure lessened and she spewed brown stuff

behind her.  The woman hosed the shit down a

drain, repeated the process, and left Sara hanging

from her arms.  Now Carol was beside her, and the

woman gave her the same treatment.  Carol, being

heavier, seemed to have a harder time of it, having

her hands pulled up behind her.  Her breasts hung

down like softballs in socks.  As the woman sluiced

Carol's shit down the drain, Carol protested that

such treatment was sexual abuse, and she would see

to it that the proper authorities would be informed.

The woman laughed and then spoke with her teeth

clenched.  "Listen, bitches, we are the proper

authorities, the only authorities, and we say enemas

are required to assure you are not concealing

contraband.   After all, you might have swallowed

capsules of drugs.  You will get enemas anytime we

feel like it, and if we feel you need some discipline,

some remedial training, I know how to give you an

enema that will be more painful and last for hours.

Let me warn you; I enjoy doing that.  Now shut up

and don't speak unless you are spoken to."

When the young women were once more standing

naked in the green-walled room, a man made each

one swallow three large capsules, washed down

with tepid water, and gave each an injection in the

buttock.  They were then led to a large room with

overhead lights, almost like an underground parking

garage, where a number of  cells had been erected.

They were about six feet on a side, a bit taller, and

were made of woven wire fencing, both walls and

ceiling, as if they were dog kennels.  There was no

privacy at all, and on the way to their cell they

passed several cells with naked men in them.  The

men all stared lustfully.   Two, Sara noted, had

erections --- but neither Sara nor Carol could do

anything to cover their naked breasts and genitals,

as their hands were cuffed behind them.

Sara and Carol were put in cells which faced each

other across a six foot wide aisle.  As soon as the

guards had left, male prisoners started calling to

them.  "Hey, honey, how would you like to swallow

my cock?"  "Come on, Sweety, stand up and show

us your beautiful cunt.  Show us some pink."  A

male guard returned, yelling, "Silence!  You know

talking is not allowed."  Just to emphasize his point,

he thrust a long baton through the wire mesh of the

swallow-my-cock man and jabbed expertly at the

prisoner's scrotum.  His cock was too limp to use

after that. 

There was no way to tell time.  Bright lights shone

through the mesh ceilings of the cells, and no

sounds from the outside world penetrated the place,

which had no windows and was probably

underground.  There was only the concrete floor to

sit or lie on.  After a while, the capsules they had

swallowed began to have their intended effect.

Sara felt pains in her stomach and intestines and

soon had an irresistible urge to defecate.  There was

a sort of trough on the back wall, the closest thing

to a toilet, though there was no way to flush and no

seat to sit on.  Sara saw how Carol, her hands

cuffed of course, was able to squat over the trough

with her arms against the wire wall to steady her.

Sara did the same, as runny brown stuff exploded

from her bottom, and watching men snickered.

Feeling a bit better, Sara stood and tried to lie down

  to sit would have soiled the floor --- but another

wave of cramping went through her belly, and she

could barely make it to the trough on time.  Some

of the men laughed louder.

"They are cruel," said Sara to Carol, who was also

busy defecating.  "The guard with the enema hose

reminded me of Dr. Kohler."  Carol and Sara called

Dr. Kohler, who taught Western Civ., the Feminist

Bitch from Hell.

Carol said, "Remember what Dr. Kohler said about

how Hitler asked for and got extraordinary powers

after the Reichstag fire?  He said the security of

Germany demanded the right to tap phones, read

mail, arrest people and hold them secretly."

"Yes, she said President Bush was like Hitler, and

after 9-11 he asked for and got the same powers."

"Well, the Nazi Gestapo used the same techniques

to humiliate prisoners.  If they ever released them,

they gave them a dose of castor oil, so they'd shit

their pants on the way home and be humiliated in

front of their families.  When they cuffed us at the

airport, I suddenly understood how it was that

German Jews obediently boarded the railroad cars

that were going to take them to the gas chambers.

They were just like us.  Dr. Kohler said that, but I

thought she was just ranting."  A guard showed up

and poked Carol with his baton, once on each

breast, and Carol spoke no more.

When she was empty enough to stand up, Sara

realized she was dehydrated and very thirsty.  There

was big bag of liquid hanging on the outside of the

door, with a tube entering the cell through the

mesh.  On the end of the tube was a realistic black

penis of rubber.  The only way to get a drink was to

kneel on the floor and suck on the penis.  Sara tried

to think of it as a nipple on a baby bottle; she had

never sucked a penis and couldn't imagine wanting

to.  Then it was back to the trough.  There was no

way to flush, and the smell was sickening.

Ultimately, Sara managed to empty her bowels and

slake her thirst and get a bit of sleep.

Male guards woke Sara and marched her back to

the green-walled room.  One of them pinched her

butt and squeezed her little breasts, but without

much enthusiasm.  Sara supposed it was all part of

the standard operating procedure to humiliate

prisoners.  From the green room, the woman who

enjoyed giving enemas took Sara to the bathroom

and hosed her off, using a high-pressure blast of

cold water.  Sara thought the sadistic guard spent

rather a lot of time aiming at Sara's breasts and

vulva, and, of course, the multiple enemas were

repeated.  This time Sara did not resist.  She didn't

have to have her arms chained and raised behind

her; she bent over when so ordered.  Sara, to

herself, named the woman, Enematrix.  E. left Sara

in the green room, as two male guards and an older

man, who was evidently in charge, told Sara to

stand over a spot on the floor.  By now, Sara was so

used to having her naked body stared at by men that

it was no longer a torment.  She stood tall and met

the older man's eye.

"Well, 455, we have all the evidence we need to

convict you of terrorism.  You have been designated

an enemy combatant, so you will be sentenced by a

military tribunal."

"I want a lawyer."

"Enemy combatants are not entitled to a lawyer."

"I'm an American citizen.  I have rights."

"Have you never heard of the USA  PATRIOT Act?

You can be held indefinitely, even without charges,

though the Supreme Court did say that, someday,

you should get a hearing.  The outcome, of course,

is certain."

"My family.  They will report me as missing."

"Just another missing teen-age female student.  The

police will round up some known sex offenders

and... whatever.  It is illegal for anyone to reveal

what has happened to you.  We wouldn't want the

other terrorists to know that you have been arrested

and incriminated them."

"But I'm not a terrorist.  I can't incriminate

anyone."  Sara realized she was in real trouble, and,

unlike the old pulp covers, there was no GI in the

background, gun in hand, to rescue her from these

Nazis.

"You will cooperate."  The man drew an automatic

pistol from his holster.  "Are you a virgin?"  She

shook her head.  She had let David have his way

with her, after the senior prom, but she was hardly

sexually experienced.  The man  approached her

and parted her lower labia with the muzzle.  "How

would you like a 9 millimeter hysterectomy?"

"Then I could not incriminate anyone."  She felt a

sort of false courage.  Don't give into the bastard.

"We will give you an opportunity to think about it.

I don't require much.  When I return, you will tell

me the name of the leader of your terrorist cell, the

name of the person who recruited you."  Then, to

the guards, he said, "Let her rest in the special

chair."

The special chair was an ordinary wooden chair

with two additions.  Down the middle of the seat,

from back to front, was a wooden board, on edge,

about as long as the seat and about four inches high.

The upper edge was narrowed to a wedge shape, no

wider than a pencil.  The second addition was a lap

belt, like the seat belts on airplanes.  The guards

placed Sara's cuffed hands behind the chair back

and lowered her so the board pressed against her

perineum, pressed from her anus to her vulva.  The

lap belt prevented her getting up, even if she could

have managed it, and the back of the chair

prevented her from leaning back or leaning

forward, and of course she could not move

sideways, with the board pressed up between her

thighs.  The concentrated pressure, her weight

supported an the tiny area, caused pain, which

seemed to increase with time, as the blood was

squeezed from her tender tissues.  She tried rocking

her pelvis as much as she could, which only hurt

her anus or shifted her weight to the tender

membranes of her vulva, squashing her inner labia.

She resolved to sit still and bear it.  The older man

observed her and smiled.

"I thought, after that Iraqi prison scandal, that they

prohibited torturing prisoners," she said.

The man chuckled.  "Armies have always abused

prisoners and always will.  The chair you are

enjoying is a variation on the wooden horse, which

the US Army used to torture rebels during the Civil

War.  Do not think you can bear the pain

indefinitely.  When it starts to go numb, that's when

you are getting nerve damage.  When used with a

male, of course, the effect can be quite dramatic.

He will never father children.  In your case, you will

still be able to have children, but if the perineal

nerve is damaged, you will never experience

another orgasm.  Think about it.  I'll be back."  The

guards followed him out of the room.

Sara wasn't sure she had ever experienced an

orgasm, and she had never heard of the perineal

nerve, but she knew the pain was increasing.  She

tried to keep from screaming, but she moaned

through clenched teeth, while, distractedly, she

tried to figure out what to tell her torturer.  After

what seemed like hours of torment, the pain began

to fade, as numbness set in.  Sara was desperate to

get out of that chair.

The interrogator returned.  Before he could even

ask, she blurted out, "It was Dr. Kohler.  She

recruited me."

"You confess, then, that you were part of a terrorist

cell headed by Dr. Kohler?"

"Yes, yes.  Let me up. Please let me up!"

The man nodded, and guards released the belt and

lifted Sara to her feet. She screamed, "AHHHH!" as

the blood returned to her tortured flesh and the pain

was as bad as before.  Some nerves, at least, were

functioning.  They held her as she danced in their

grasp, gasping and moaning until the pain subsided

some.  They put a ball gag in her mouth.  She

walked bowlegged, with her knees apart, as they

steered her down the hall to another room and

pushed her through the door.

Sara was shocked at what she saw.  They had

passed ropes round Carol's breasts, constricting the

base, so that her breasts stood out, round and red,

like pomegranates, and she was hanging from her

engorged breasts, with her feet inches from the

floor.  Enematrix stood there holding the first

section of a fishing pole, about 4 feet of fiberglass

rod, the ultimate cane.  It swished through the air,

striking Carol's thighs, leaving a distinctive pair of

red welts and eliciting a yelp of pain.  Sara could

see that Carol had been caned over all her body

from her shoulders to her knees, except for that part

of her back which was covered by her bruised arms.

There were streaks of blood on Carol's swollen

breasts, which looked like red party balloons,

streaked with jam.

"Your room mate has confessed and named the

leader of your cell.  Now, there is nothing to be

gained by your silence.  Confirm who it is."  Carol

met Sara's eyes.  Sara nodded, but she could not

communicate a name.  She concentrated, hoping for

mental telepathy or something to save them both

from further torment.

Carol twisted slowly, hanging from the rope which

bound her breasts.  Perhaps she remembered the

conversation in the cells.  "Dr. Kohler," she said. 

In a matter of minutes, they were back in their cells.

Time passed.  They were still cuffed, but they could

drink from those obscene penis-nipples.  They had

had nothing to eat for many hours, a day or two?

That was a small concern, under the circumstances.

Sara's pain subsided, and she was pleased to see

that Carol's breasts had returned to their normal

color, more or less, and still looked like breasts, in

spite of having been squeezed and stretched

incredibly.  They tried to sleep, lying uncomfortably

on the cement floor.

Again guards came.  The men led them to an

unfamiliar room and fastened chain collars around

their necks, each with an identification tag which,

of course, could not be read by its wearer.  Their

hands were released, and they were given orange

coveralls and told put them on.  Well, they were no

longer naked.  Things were looking up.

After a wait, Carol and Sara were led into another

room, where three army officers, in dress uniforms,

sat behind a long table, and a man in civilian dress

stood by.  "Sara Parker and Carol Lepska are

charged with conspiracy to commit terrorist acts.

You have before you transcripts of their e-mails and

of their confessions.  There is no question of guilt."

The officer in the middle pronounced, "The

defendants are pronounced guilty as charged and

sentenced to five years to life in close confinement

at hard labor.  Next case."

"Don't we get to say anything in our own defense?

Confront witnesses?"

"No.  Take them away."

Their hands were cuffed, they were fitted with

opaque hoods, and it was off to another helicopter

ride.  When the helicopter landed, they were

transferred to a C-130 transport and given sedative

injections, so they passed out.

Carol woke first.  Perhaps, with her greater body

weight, the drug wasn't as strong.  She was actually

lying on a bed, in a room which was cheerfully

decorated.  A young man in medical corpsman's

whites came in and unlocked the handcuffs.  "You

need to clean up," he said.  It was true, Carol had

wet herself sometime during her unconsciousness.

"Take off your jumpsuit and take a shower, in

there."

When Carol undressed, in the privacy of a real

bathroom, and was adjusting the shower --- such

luxury --- the corpsman came in and said, "Sorry,

but the doctor ordered an enema."  Well, thought

Carol, I'm getting used to those.  The corpsman was

gentle.  He used a lubricated nozzle and gravity

feed from a suspended bag.  After about two quarts

of soapy water, all she could hold, he let her sit on

the toilet, watching her while she expelled the

solution.  Then there was another two quarts, clear

water.  She needed no more, for by now she was

empty from stomach to anus, it seemed.  At last she

got her shower, in privacy, with soap and shampoo

and a wash cloth and nice towels.  She was feeling

much better.

When she indicated that she was done, the

corpsman led her into an examining room, where he

weighed her and took her blood pressure and some

vials of blood, for the lab, he said.  A doctor came

in, a middle-aged woman with Lieutenant Colonel

rank insignia on her white lab coat.  She scanned

Carol's ID tag with a bar code reader and read the

file which came up on a screen.  Methodically she

examined Carol, listening to her chest, checking her

breasts for lumps or damage.  "Your skin,

especially on your breasts, suggests that you were

caned rather severely.  Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Any other injuries that I should know about?"

"I don't think so.  I've had some pretty painful

enemas, and it must be days since I've eaten, but I

guess my body is pretty intact, except for bruises."

The doctor made some entries on her keyboard

while the corpsman took pictures, whole body and

close-ups of Carol's breasts.

"OK, up on the examining table, " said the doctor,

and Carol climbed up.  The corpsman helper her put

her feet in the stirrups.   It was all so "normal" that

she didn't even feel ashamed that the corpsman, a

man about her own age, could see right into her

crotch.  "Are you sexually active?" asked the

doctor, as she put on latex gloves.

"No.  Well, I'm not a virgin.  I lost my virginity in

high school, but I haven't had sex since.  Guys

don't like fat girls."  The doctor examined her

external genitalia.  "Fairly lush growth of pubic

hair.  Labia majora are full and almost conceal the

inner labia.  The hood of her clitoris is just visible,

with her legs spread.  Do you masturbate a lot,

454?"

"Some.  Doesn't everyone?"

The doctor spread Carol's labia and tried to push

back the hood of her clitoris.  "Let's get a better

look at that."  The corpsman handed her a small

plastic cylinder with a tube to a small hand pump.

The doctor placed it over Carol's clitoris and pulled

a mild vacuum on the cylinder.  The little pink

clitoris engorged with blood and poked out into the

clear plastic like the end of a little finger.  "Looks

good," she remarked.  "Did it feel good, too?"

Carol did not reply.  The doctor released the

vacuum, and the little pink clit retracted.  She

unwrapped a cheap plastic speculum, and inserted it

in Carol's vagina, twisting a little ratchet to spread

the walls of her vagina. Carol grunted in protest.

"I can believe you haven't had sex lately."  She

took a smear with a swab and took a close-up flash

photo of the cervix.  "When was your last period?"

"It's due any day now.  I'm pretty regular, every full

moon."

"OK. Tell the guards when you have your period,

and I'll see you after that.  Don't want you

pregnant."  Then she collapsed the speculum and

tossed it in the waste basket.  She put a dab of

lubricant on Carol's rosebud and explored the  anus

and rectum, as far as she could reach with her

finger. There was something about a finger in her

most private place that disturbed Carol.  She was

aware that she was breathing heavily.  "No evident

tearing or hemorrhoids," the doctor noted.  "Still,

we'd better take precautions."  She selected a

conical butt plug, lubed it, and began to press it into

Carol's anal passage.

"Ow.  That hurts.  You'll tear me."

"No, I know what I'm doing.  It's no bigger than a

good bowel movement.  If we loosen things now,

there's less chance of tearing later."  The plug

popped in, and as the anal sphincter muscles

contracted around the smaller diameter near the

base, the pain subsided.

"How will I go to the bathroom?"

"You are a bit overweight, a bit Rubenesque, for

modern fashions.  I'm going to put you on a special

diet, very low fiber.  You shouldn't need to have a

bowel movement for at least a week, and weekly

thereafter.  When you have to have one, you will

come back here, and one of the corpsmen will clean

you out and probably give you another anal

obturator, a bigger plug.  Now, stand up and let me

measure you."

Carol stood while the doctor measured her bust, her

spine, her waist, her hips, every which way , it

seemed.  Carol had to stand there, letting the

corpsman feast his eyes, while the doctor

rummaged around in a store room.  She returned

with, of all things, corsets, an old fashioned affair

out of the nineteenth century.  Humming to her self,

she tried it on Carol, then went back for another.

The new one seemed satisfactory to the doctor, and,

with the corpsman's help, she put it on Carol.  In

front, it went from just below Carol's breasts to just

over her pubic bone. "Oops, the busk is a bit

long, but that's alright."  She had the corpsman

shave Carol's pubic hair at the top, so that the

garment would contact the skin.  Carol wasn't

happy, having that guy shaving her pubic hair, but

she was in no position to complain.  "Now, you see

why they call them corsets.  There are two halves,

joined in front with a sort of parachute ripcord.  I

zipper might be better, but of course they didn't

exist when these things were designed.  There's a

loop on this wire, which functions like the hinge pin

of a piano hinge.  If there's an emergency, you faint

or something, someone can pull the wire out, and

the two halves will come apart.  It's only for

emergencies, because it's a lot of bother to get

things back together.  There are steel stays in there,

which will make it impossible to bend at the waist,

but you won't need to.  It will do wonders for your

posture.  Now, it seems to be cut high enough at the

hips and buttocks, and it doesn't cut into your

breasts, does it?"  Carol shook her head.  The

doctor got the corpsman to help her with the laces

in back.  "When we lace it up properly, it will

compress her floating ribs and move her waistline

upwards from its present location.  Men think that's

sexy.  It has to be that high, so as not to strangle her

intestines, which could be fatal.  Instead, her

stomach will be compressed, which means she will

eat much less, and, voila, she will lose weight."

As the laces were tightened, starting at the bottom,

above the crack of her ass, Carol felt more and

more uncomfortable.  "I can't breathe," she

complained.

"No, not the way you are used to, with your

diaphram.  You will have to breathe by expanding

your upper rib cage.  You'll get the hang of it, and it

will make your bosom heave enticingly as you

inhale."  When they were done, Carol was breathing

in shallow pants, but she was getting used to it.

"Go sit over there and get used to it.  Wait while I

see the next patient.  We may have to tighten the

laces again.

By then, Sara was awake, and she went through the

same routine, the enema, the shower, then the

examination.  Sara was surprised to see Carol

sitting there in a fantastic black thing that even

Victoria's Secret probably couldn't match. The

doctor was methodical.  "Breasts, symmetric, but

not prominent, barely an A-cup."  Photo.  "Pubic

hair sparse, wavy, the same reddish color as her

hair, must be a natural redhead.  Outer labia thin

and flat." Photo "Inner labia protrude, perhaps half

a centimeter.  Color normal.  Hmmm, I can't find

the clitoris or its hood.  It seems to be completely

covered."  The doctor felt around with her finger,

moving it from side to side.  "Yes, there is a ridge-

like structure under there, but there is no opening

for access. 455, do you mastubate?"

"A little, I guess."

"Do you have orgasms easily?"

"I'm not sure.  I'm not sure what an orgasm feels

like.  It feels good, but not like the other girls

describe it."

"Are you sexually active?"

"No.  I'm not a virgin.  When I was thirteen, a

friend of mine dared me, and we took my virginity

with a zucchini."

"Has a man ever ejaculated inside you?"

"Once, after my senior prom.  He used a condom, of

course.  Last month, I had one ejaculate on my leg.

I gave him a hand job."

"So, you don't exactly enjoy sex?"

"I'd like to, but... I guess I can take or leave it."

The doctor shook her head.  "You may not have

much choice, here."  She went on to the vaginal

examination, using a smaller speculum.  "When

was you last period?"

"Two or three months ago.  I'm very irregular."

"When did you have your first period?"

"I was thirteen.  It was right after the zucchini, and I

was afraid I'd injured myself, but of course my

mother explained it to me and gave me some

sanitary napkins."

"So, you don't use tampons?"

"No."

"I didn't think so.  And you can't be pregnant, but

you are sexually mature.  I'm a little concerned, that

with your irregular periods you might get pregnant

and not know it.  We'll have to have a follow up

visit and make sure you are protected.  I'm going to

give you a shot.  It may make your breasts a bit

tender, or make them grow, but that's alright."  She

finished up with the photo of the cervix, the smear,

and the injection, right into the lumen of the cervix.

Then she added some additional pregnancy

insurance, "super glue" in the vagina, to make

penile penetration impossible.  It burned for a

moment, but Sara bore the pain.  Better than rape.

Last item was a butt plug.  "Most of the women

prisoners have them.  It saves a lot of grief.  OK,

wait there with 454, while I write some orders."

Then to the corpsman, "Call for an escort to take

these prisoners to the women's block."

The prison, such as it was, seemed to be an annex to

a large, irrigated farm, in a desert.  There was a ten

foot tall steel fence, a wall, really, which concealed

what was behind it.  It was painted sand color.

When the women were led through a gate, they

could see that the prisoners were housed in large,

wall-less barns, but they had seen horses and cattle

in similar barns and fenced enclosures, so, from the

air or even from a distance, one would identify the

complex as a farm.  Sara wondered where it could

be: Arizona, New Mexico, Old Mexico, Iraq?  It

was evening, in winter, so the air was cool.  Sara's

bare nipples rose to the occasion.  One of the guards

escorting her pinched her nips and gave her ass a

squeeze, but she took no notice.  She'd experienced

worse in the halls between classes in high school.

Carol, of course, got rather more attention,

particularly her breasts, which were lifted and thrust

forward by her corsets.  In the middle  of the

enclosure, they were met by an older woman,

dressed in green tee-shirt and camo pants like the

other guards.  She was deeply tanned, with a face

like a prune.  Her race was in doubt.

"Well, girls, welcome to Camp Dreary.  Unless you

volunteer for special duty, you can plan on being

here for years.  There's plenty of work for you,

weeding the crops, mucking out the livestock barns,

that sort of thing, and if there isn't enough real

work to keep you busy, we can have you carry rocks

or dig holes and fill them up again.  You will

behave yourselves and obey any guard without

question.  If you are good girls, life won't be too

bad.  If you are not good girls, we have many ways

to make you regret your misbehavior.  Take a look

over there."  She pointed to a pillory, in one of the

barns.  A bald woman, gagged, was bent over, her

neck and hands held between wooden boards, just

like colonial days.  "I assure you, her ass is red.  It

will be a while before she refuses an order again.

"For various reasons, you will mostly work at night

and sleep during the day.    Do not even think of

escape.  It wouldn't be so difficult to slip away

from a work detail in the dark, but you wouldn't get

far out there in the desert.  The sun would fry you,

your bare feet would get cut to ribbons, and the

nearest water is more than thirty miles away.  I

won't tell you which way.  If you are missing from

the count, you will be found, dead or alive.  You

may wish you were dead, for you will be punished."

Since Carol was on light duty status, she was

assigned a cell at the end of the barn, pretty much

out of sight of the others, since many of the cells

were still vacant.  The guard, an older man with

desert leather skin, said, "Since you are a special

case, you can sleep tonight, and we'll find light

work for you tomorrow.  When they call out the

others for the count, don't leave your cell."

"I haven't eaten in days.  When can I eat?"

"You get the standard prisoners' liquid diet.  You

have to suck on the dispenser."  He indicated a pair

of those awful rubber penises.  "On the left is water.

On the right is liquid food.  It's kind of like melted

ice cream.  Normally, one of the prisoners is

detailed to fill the dispensers  twice a day."

"Toilet?"

"That bucket under your bed.  You'll be told when

you can empty it.  There's a trench over there.  The

crops get running water.  You don't."

"Thank you.  Can I go to bed now?"

"Just one more thing.  Bend over, legs apart, and

press your tits against the bed."  After the warnings

from the older woman, Carol complied without

delay.  It was awkward, with her torso held rigidly

straight.  There was no blanket on the bed, just a

plastic-covered pad, so her breasts felt strange

against the plastic, already cool in the evening.  She

supported some of her weight on her elbows, as her

breasts were still sore from their beating, and she

didn't want to open any healing wounds.  The guard

pulled her butt plug with a quick pull and

immediately put the head of his penis in its place.

"Please, I've never had... Ahh!"  Her plea was cut

short when the guard thrust the full length of his

big dick into her ass, heaving her forward against

the bed and mashing her breasts against the

padding.  There were a few seconds of confusion,

as Carol was bumped against her bed, and then the

guard ejaculated into her.  He quickly pulled out

and re-inserted the butt plug, which slipped in

easily in the stretched anus.  He dropped his condom

in her toilet bucket.

"I don't suppose you enjoyed that, but I did," he

said.  "Camp Dreary is a hell hole assignment, but

there are compensations.  I have the power to do

anything I want to you.  Any guard does.  Don't

forget it.  I'm sensible enough to use a condom.  A

guard can get an Article 15 for contracting a

venereal disease, but some guards will take the risk.

If you think you have picked up something, notify

the commandant, the woman who greeted you just

now.   Any questions?"

"No."

"Good night."

Carol knelt and sucked on the food dispenser,

reminding herself once again that, while it looked

like a penis, there was no man attached.  She

couldn't think of anything more disgusting than

sucking on a man's penis, though getting raped in

the ass was pretty close.  She reflected that her life

was very different now.  Forced sodomy, back

home, was a felony, but here the guard took it as his

due.  At home, he could get twenty years in prison

and be branded, life-long, as a registered sex

offender.  Here, all he got was a smile.  Everything

considered, her first experience with sodomy wasn't

all that bad.  It didn't last long.  It wasn't as bad as

a painful enema.  It surely was better than being

caned.

Even though Carol was very hungry, she found she

couldn't drink as much as she expected.  It was

true, about the corsets compressing her stomach. 

As the light faded, Carol lay on her bed --- it looked

like a World War two surplus cot --- and hugged her

breasts.  She would have liked to curl up in a ball,

as she had as a child, but the corset stays prevented

that.  She felt the plug in her anus.  There was

almost something reassuring about it being there;

she didn't know why.  She heard some noise, a

whistle, clanking of doors and shouting, but she was

already half asleep.

After the pep talk from the female commandant,

Sara was taken to her cell, the standard woven wire

model, by a female guard who looked only a year or

so older than Sara.  She carried one of those fiber-

glass rods.  Sara hoped she didn't use it.  She had

seen what they did to Carol.  The guard had short,

bleached, blonde hair and, under her clinging tee-

shirt,  a bra full of breast, a C-cup, Sara estimated.

The guard showed her the assigned cell, explained

about the toilet bucket and feeding provisions.  "In

a few minutes, you will hear a whistle.  That is the

signal for you to leave your cell and line up outside.

The doors normally aren't locked.  Just go to the

right of the line of other prisoners.  There will be a

count, to assure that everyone is accounted for.

Don't be late, or you will be punished.  Prisoners

will be taken to various work details.  About dawn,

you will be brought back here.  You will be given a

few minutes for personal things, like emptying your

toilet bucket, and then, at the whistle, you will go to

your cell for the day.  One other thing.  You see

those fences.  They are there so no one outside sees

you and you don't see what goes on outside.  There

is a "dead line", a white tape, on the ground, about

8 feet from the fence.  Don't cross it.  Used to be,

you'd be dead, shot by a guard, but we don't do that

any more.  You will, however, be punished, and you

may wish you were dead."

Sara sucked on the right hand penis until it was

empty, and drank some warm water, too.   She sat

on her bunk, feeling the butt plug trying to stretch

her anus under the pressure of the mattress pad.

She was overwhelmed by everything.  Some time

ago, she didn't know how long that was, she was a

college student on her way home for Christmas.

Now, she was a prisoner, maybe for life, in a

hellish, isolated, inhumane prison camp where

everything seemed contrived to make her miserable.

A whistle blew, and Sara instantly opened her cell

door and ran outside, to the right of a line of

similarly naked women who wore nothing but the

chain collar, and maybe a butt plug.  As more

women arrived and forced their way into the line,

Sara had to side step to the right.  The woman who

had been in the pillory stepped into line next to

Sara.  Yes, her ass was red, and her wrists and neck

showed the abrasions from being in the pillory.

There was no opportunity to talk.  It was dusk, with

the sun below the level of the fences, so the "parade

ground" was in shadow.  The moon, not quire full,

was visible low in the eastern sky, but it did not

shed much light.  One last woman ran to get in line.

The busty blonde guard strode toward her.

"No, please!  I was going to the bathroom," the

prisoner said, softly.  The guard said something

Sara couldn't hear.  The woman, crying already,

bent over with her hands on her knees and received

three whacks with the rod on her bare bottom.

A male guard led them in calisthenics, jumping

jacks, deep knee bends, toe touches, a dozen or so

exercises while he counted out, "One, two, three,

four."  Then, "Left face."  The prisoners turned left

and ran in a line around the parade ground, staying

a couple of feet inside the dead line until they

returned to their original position.  Sara, of course,

was last in line, and she had to try very hard to keep

up, as the blond with the fiber glass cane came up

behind her and shouted encouragement, emphasized

by the whiz of the rod through the air behind Sara.

Two guards on horseback, with rifles in scabbards

and long whips in their hands, led the way, and the

prisoners were marched, single file, through several

gates and fences.  Sara could see another enclosed

area, even bigger, which she supposed might be the

men's portion of the prison.   They were marched a

mile or more along a track between fields, followed

by a Hummer carrying the female guards.   Sara

estimated there must be nearly fifty women ahead

of her, ranging from teen age to middle age.  When

they reached their destination, a huge potato field,

the Hummer provided a flood light, and the women

were each assigned a row to weed.  A plastic hose

along each row provided drip irrigation, which, of

course, irrigated the weeds, too.  Sara and the others

progressed along, stooping over or on their knees,

pulling weeds.  The woman from the pillory was in

the next row, almost at Sara's shoulder.

After a while, during which Sara discovered

muscles she didn't know she had, muscles which

ached in protest against the unfamiliar work, Sara

said, "My name's Sara.  What's your's."

"392.  We're not allowed to use our old names.

What's your number?"

"455. How is it you are bald?"

"Just part of the punishment, the humiliation.

Usually they take your pubic hair first, and then, if

you misbehave, they shave your head. They rape

you, front, rear, and topside, to break your spirit.

The shitheads are pretty good at it, considering how

dumb they are.  There must be a field manual

somewhere on abusing prisoners."

"What did you do to get sent here?"

"Shhh, keep your voce low.  We're not supposed to

be talking.  I was convicted of providing material

support to terrorists.  My boyfriend, who was

unemployed and living with me, was convicted of

terrorism.  He may have been dealing drugs, but he

wasn't a terrorist.  Of course, the Feds got more

points and an easier conviction by charging him

with terrorism.  You've heard the lies, that terrorists

are financed by drug sales.  Shit, if that's the case,

the DEA is guilty of treason, for granting a

monopoly in drug dealing to the terrorists.  The

Drug Enforcement Agency ought to be called the

Drug Price Support Agency.  They eliminate any

honest competition.  Anyway, they gave me five to

life."

"Same here," said Sara, "except they thought the

role-playing game we were playing on-line was a

genuine terrorist plot."

"The shitheads are dumb.  Just like the airport

inspectors who take away a GI Joe doll, because it

comes with a plastic gun.  Anything that looks like

a gun is equally illegal.  You realize that if

passengers could carry guns, 9-11 wouldn't have

happened.  If I was armed and somebody tried to hi-

jack my flight, I'd shoot the fucker.  Ooops, here

comes a guard." 

When the guard had passed, 392 was several feet

ahead of Sara, and they couldn't talk.  A C-130

transport flew overhead and landed somewhere

behind the farm/prison complex.  About midnight,

judging from the moon, they called a break.  The

women prisoners crowded around the Hummer,

taking turns sucking water from a water bag

equipped with several  rubber penises.  Sara

realized that, in the dry desert, sweat evaporated so

fast that she did not realize how much water she

was losing. A female guard, maybe thirty-five and

somewhat overweight, called to Sara.  "455, you,

the new girl, come here."

Sara approached the woman and stood at attention.

"You are a cutie."  The guard reached out and felt

Sara's left breast, gently at first, but ending with a

painful squeeze.  "Follow me."  She led Sara

around the Hummer, to the dark side.  She drew

Sara too her and kissed her mouth, as she slid her

finger between Sara's labia.  She tried to penetrate

Sara's vagina but could not.  "What the shit!  Have

you no cunt?"  Sara shook her head.  "Jesus Fucking

Christ, I can't find a clit either!"  She squatted in

front of Sara and examined her with a flashlight.

"Shit, you aren't a woman.  You're a dickless boy.

Get back to work."

Sara found 392, her only friend, now that Carol had

disappeared.  "How many guards are there, all

together?"

"I don't know much about the men's section, but

there are four men and four women with us, plus

the commandant.  That guard who called you out,

we call her Dyke.  I don't know how you got back

so fast.  Can you eat her out that quickly?"

"No, she called me a dickless boy and sent me

back."

392 actually laughed.  "Lucky you.  I guess no one

would call you  voluptuous.  The busty blonde

guard, we call her Tits.  She's straight, I think, and

she's not bad, just strict, doing her job.  The two

guys on horses, we call them Bruce and Willis.

They're gay, a couple.  The army looks the other

way, you know, don't ask don't tell.  They have a

tough enough time keeping men.  The older guy, the

one who butt-fucked your friend... You didn't

know?  I saw.  Anyway, we call him John.  The guy

who led the exercises, we call him Big Dick,

because he has a huge cock, and that's where his

brains are, if you know what I mean."

"Does Big Dick..." asked Sara in a frightened tone,

"actually... I mean does he have sex with the

prisoners?"

"Every one.  It's a point of pride with him, even the

older women and the ones who don't speak English.

Just wait.  Your turn will come.  Not just Big Dick

and John, sometimes they invite guards, men and

women, from the men's prison to come on over and

have a party, with us as the party favors."

"That's awful.  Doesn't anyone stop it?  The

commandant, or her superior?"

"No, 455.  You don't understand.  It's policy.  It's

part of the punishment.  It's compensation for the

guards, being stuck here in Camp Dreary.  Would

you want to work here, if there wasn't something

extra in it for you?"  A whistle blew, sending the

women back to work.

By the time the prisoners were marched back to the

compound, the sun was high and the air was

warmer.  The prisoners were hot and dirty, but they

were allowed to wash   sort of.  There were three

stock watering tanks, galvanized iron tubs about

three feet high and ten feet long, arranged in a line,

with wooden steps between them.  Prisoners lined

up and went single file up the steps to the first tank,

down into soapy water, on to the next, a rinse, and

on to the last, a final rinse.  It was much like

washing dishes, and it conserved water, since all the

prisoners could wash without using more water than

that which clung to their skin.   Sara was worn out,

all aches and pains, but she waited in line and took

her turn scrubbing the dirt off, especially her sore

knees.  Back at her cell, after drinking "food" and

water, she flopped on her plastic covered pad and

fell asleep.  When the temperature is over 80, it's

easy to sleep in the nude.  She was awakened by the

sound of her cell door opening.  "Slut, get up!"

roared Big Dick.

Sara jumped to attention, instinctively trying to

cover her private parts.  She could see the

inhabitants of nearby cells were all awake and

watching.  Big Dick turned her around and cuffed

her hands behind her.  Then he dropped his trousers

--  he didn't seem to believe in underwear --  and

lay down on her bed, on his back.  His huge cock

was erect.  He held it straight up and said, "Climb

aboard and sit on by cock."

"I can't," said Sara.

"No, is not an option for you.  You'll be punished

for that.  Now climb up here and slide down on my

cock."

Sara got up onto the bed, with her knees either side

of his body, facing him.  She slowly moved until

she felt the tip of his huge tool touching her labia

minora.  "Sit," he commanded.  She lowered

herself, but the thing would not go in.  "Tight pussy,

eh?  Come on, it will stretch."  He bucked his hips,

so forcefully that Sara fell over backward, but the

glue held and the cock would not penetrate.  "Shit,

she was right.  "You're a dickless boy."  He thought

for a moment.  "Well, I'll pretend you are a woman.

Suck my cock."  Sara was shaking her head.  "No,

you can't say no.  Suck it.  Go ahead, you've had a

enough practice on the rubber pricks."

Sara resumed her kneeling and leaned forward.  His

big cock slid up the crack of her ass, bumping

against her butt plug.  She backed up until she could

put her lips around the end of it, while Big Dick

held his foreskin back.  Tentatively, trying not to be

sick from the smell of it, she licked and sucked the

tip.  Big Dick smiled, and then her grabbed her

head with both hands and pulled her down on his

monster prick.  Sara gagged and got a panicked

look in her eyes.  Her chest heaved, as she tried to

suck air and got only meat in her throat.  Big Dick

moved her head back, just far enough for her to

gasp for air, and then he  fucked her throat again.

For Sara, any thoughts of shame or sexiness were

displaced by her fear of death by asphyxia.  At last

he ejaculated and released her head.  She sat up,

straining to suck in air and choking on semen. She

coughed, spraying cum over Big Dick, coughing

and gasping for air.

Big Dick exploded with rage, throwing her off him

and onto the concrete floor.  "Bitch, you've got it

coming."  He picked her up --- she didn't weigh

half of his weight --- and plopped her on her back,

crosswise on the bed, on her cuffed arms.  He

pulled up his trousers and, out of one of the big

cargo pockets, he took a coil of  rope and a pocket

knife.  "I'm going to beat your ass and cut your clit,

bitch."

Sara heard a collective sigh from the female

spectators.  She was paralyzed  with fear and did

not resist as he spread her legs obscenely and tied

each ankle to an end of the bed, cutting lengths of

rope for the purpose.  Her legs were so spread that

her hip joints hurt and the muscles of her inner

thighs were stretched painfully.  Her head was up

against the wire wall of the cell.  She could see her

upthrust pubes.  He still held the rest of the coil of

rope, and he used it as a whip, the loops of rope

thudding on Sara's mons, on her labia, on her

thighs, her buttocks, and her butt plug.  From time

to time, he would beat her breasts, but mostly he

aimed at her vulva, where her inner lips were

visible to hit when her legs were spread so wide.

Sara cried out in pain with every blow, but a strange

thing happened.  Every time a loop of rope struck

the upper end of her female cleft, the end away

from her sealed vagina, she felt... tingles.  The more

he beat her, the more she concentrated on the

strange feeling.  Even her breasts, abused as never

before, seemed almost to enjoy the pain.  To her

surprise, she became  lost in another world, seemed

absorbed by the quivering of her insides, seemed

oblivious to pain, sensitive only to the shuddering

inside her.  She writhed in her bondage and sighed,

relaxing in a state she had never before

experienced.

His pocket knife was a multi-purpose tool, knife,

fishhook remover, saw, file, can and bottle opener,

pliers. "I'm going to twist your clit off, bitch," he

said, parting her labia.  "Shit, no clit!"  He pulled

on her inner lips with his fingers and the pliers, but

he could not see her clitoris.  Sara was half drugged

from her orgasm, and as he pinched the place where

he expected a clit, she had another shuddering

orgasm.  Then he used his pliers to pull out the

wavy strands of her pubic hair, a tuft at a time.  He

worked his way down, from top to bottom, ending

by searching out the stragglers close to her butt

plug.  "That's two punishments," he said, staring at

her naked, reddened, bruised "bikini area".  "You

get one more.  I said I'd cut your clit."  There were

gasps again from the spectators. "You don't have

one, so I'll cut your cunt."

With one hand, he pulled her inner lips toward him,

stretching them.  Then he slipped the blade of his

knife between them and cut toward her navel, as if

opening an envelope or gutting a fish.  Sara

screamed and fainted, a vasovagal response to stress

which deprived her brain of blood.

The guard, Big Dick, looked at her bloody cunt and

closed eyes, afraid that he might have killed her or

something.  He left in a hurry, leaving Sara spread

on the bed.

Before long, Tits arrived. She dabbed at the blood

with a Kleenex, then concentrated on releasing

Sara, who was now fully conscious.  "I don't

suppose you feel like walking," Tits said.  She

picked up Sara in a fireman's carry, over her

shoulders, and went out a gate toward the clinic.

Sara was placed on her back on an examining table.

The corpsman was there, and he swabbed Sara's

wound and held a gauze bandage against it until the

bleeding stopped.  The doctor arrived.  "How did

this happen?"

"Sanchez cut her with his pocket knife."

"Hardly sterile.  I suppose he thought she needed to

be punished?"

"She coughed when he came and spattered him

with semen."

"Yes.  Herself, too.  Corpsman, can you clean her

up a little?  455, can you raise you knees for me so I

can get a better look?  That's it, spread them as

wide as you can."  The doctor peered at Sara's

mutilated labia.  "I can't just sew her up without

evaluating the damage to the underlying tissues.

Corpsman, get me some local anesthetic, please."

Tits held Sara's head and talked to her, making sure

she couldn't see what the doctor and corpsman

were doing.  The doctor seemed very busy, with

swabs and a cauterizing scalpel, some stitches and

liquid bandage.  She finished with an injection,

which would have been very painful, had Sara's

vulva not been deadened.  Finally, the doctor held

up a mirror and said, let her look.  Sara looked.

"You see here, 455," indicating with a gloved finger

tip, you do have a clitoris.  What you don't have

very much of, anymore, is a hood over it.  I couldn't

just sew up the knife wound.  There would have

been scarring and adhesions and God knows what

complications, probably infection and no drainage.

Now, 455, where other women have a hood, like the

foreskin on a penis, that protects the clitoris, you

have a more or less permanently exposed clitoris.

See, this tubular structure, like a miniature penis.

With the covering membranes trimmed back, they

can heal without adhering to the clitoris, and the

wounds will stay dry.  I'm afraid you will find your

clitoris is very sensitive, when the anesthetic wears

off, but you may find you like that.  Also, I opened

up your vagina, removed the glue with acetone.

That may burn a bit, from the acetone, but don't let

that worry you; there's no damage internally.  We

do have a problem, how to protect the area while

your trimmed back membranes heal.  If I simply

bandage it, it will get wet and stay wet and infection

will set in.  I could keep you here, with your legs

spread, but that would be very inconvenient.

Fortunately, my hobby is antiques, and I think I may

know just the thing for you, a chastity belt.  It will

take a few minutes to make"

Some time later, Tits led Sara back to her cell.  Sara

walked a little awkwardly, getting used to the

apparatus the doctor had fitted to her. There  were

chains, like her collar, which went around her waist

and down the crack of her backside.  The butt plug

was removed.  From just in front of her anus to a

point not far below her navel there was an

aluminum piece, cut from sheet and hammered into

shape, held against her body by the chains.  It was

solid, except over her vagina, where there were

several holes.  She could urinate, or even

menstruate, but nothing much bigger than a pencil

could be inserted into her vagina, and her exposed

clit was entirely covered, with a quarter inch of air

between the inside of the metal crotch piece and the

sensitive pink tiger button.

455 was assigned light duty, with a daily check-up

by the doctor.  Tits said, since they would be

sleeping at night and might get cold, perhaps 454

should share 455's bed.  She gave them a blanket

they could share.  They were room mates once

again, though they had to share a narrow cot.  The

other prisoners assembled for their exercises and

work details, leaving Carol and Sara alone in the

barn, huddled together under the blanket.   Sara told

Carol what had happened.  "I guess I was lucky in

comparison," said Carol.  "It was John who butt-

fucked me."

"No, how awful."

"Not as bad as being choked by a penis or having

your clit cut."

"Yes, you are right.  I hope you never get a visit

from Big Dick, his real name is Sanchez, but they

say he fucks every prisoner.  What are you doing?"

"Just touching myself.  All this talk about sex...

Well, it doesn't seem to do much good to play with

myself.  Good night."

That morning, as Tits supervised their "light duty"

jobs, which included shoveling manure from a

horse barn, the doctor stopped by and said, "455,

when you are done, don't wash in the dip tanks; you

could get a nasty infection.  I'll tell them to bring

you to the clinic, and you can shower there. 454,

too.  She'll need her laces tightened."

So it continued for two more days, until the full

moon.  Both women had their periods.  The

corpsman removed Sara's chastity belt, gave her an

enema, and left her to finish her shower.  Sara

aimed the shower at her healing vulva and

discovered an amazing thing.  Her clitoris was very

sensitive, and just the stimulation of a stream of

water was enough to make her have a shuddering

orgasm.  Carol came in, minus her corsets, and

found Sara curled up on the floor, the classic fetal

position, amazed at her response.  Carol helped her

to her feet and then, incredulously, tried a solid

stream of water, sluicing it down Sara's vulva like a

river running down a canyon.  In seconds, Sara

called out, and her knees gave way.

The doctor seemed pleased, and she told Sara to

rest on the examining table.  She watched while the

corpsman gave Carol her enema, and then she told

him to try the stream of water on 454's clit.  Carol

squirmed and moaned, but she didn't come.  "Wait

around, 454, and help me with your friend.  I'll get

back to you."

With Sara on the table, feet in the stirrups, the

doctor examined her "circumcision."  It seemed

healed well enough.  She inserted two gloved

fingers into Sara's tight vagina and, with the other

hand, teased the exposed clitoris until Sara was

about to come a third time.  The doctor, monitoring

the expansion of the vagina, the retraction of the

cervix, knew just when to stop, leaving Sara on the

edge.  "Please, don't stop," pleaded Sara.  The

doctor smiled and gently stroked the erect clit until

Sara screamed, "Oh, God!" and went limp.

"Very nice responses," noted the doctor.  "Did you

enjoy that, 455?"  Sara nodded, still wiped out and

groggy from her experience.  Carol was amazed;

Sara was a new woman.

The doctor and the corpsman slipped a speculum

into 455; she was past objecting.  Carol held Sara's

head, which kept both of them from seeing the

details of what happened. After an injection, right

into the cervix, they dilated the cervix and inserted

an intra-uterine device.  They finished off by

putting a tampon in the vagina.  "You may need

tampons for a few days.  I'll give you some to take

back with you.  Then, you may not have another

period for about five years, but you must let me

know if you do.  I've inserted a slow-release

capsule of hormones which should inhibit your

menstrual cycle.  You may find your breasts

growing a bit, perhaps feeling more sensitive, but

that's no problem."  The doctor examined Sara's

breasts, stroking them and sliding her latex-clad

palm over the nipples.  "Nice response from your

nipples.  Does that feel pleasant?"  Sara nodded.

"Good.  I want you to do that to 454's breasts while

I work on her.  Try to keep her nipples erect.  She

has nice breasts, don't you think?  You may squeeze

them, if need be, to distract 454."   

Sara did as she was told, while the doctor and

corpsman put the hormone-containing IUD into

Carol's uterus.  "454, does having your breasts

manipulated turn you on?"

"It's OK, but I'm not turned on."

"No, I didn't think so.  Corpsman, if you wouldn't

mind, put on a condom?  It will be a bit messy, but,

while she's in the stirrups, go ahead and see if you

can make her come.  The corpsman began by

cleaning Carol's clitoris, which was streaked with

menstrual blood after the vaginal dilation and all

that.  Then he licked  and sucked it.  "No, orgasm,

yet, 454?"  Carol shook her head.  "Go ahead, fuck

her cunt.  Make her come."  The corpsman dropped

his uniform trousers and inserted his condom-clad

penis, which had been erect for quite a while.

While he leaned over and squeezed Carol's breasts,

he plunged in and out,  making slurping noises with

each stroke as he tried to make her come.  Sara

stood back and watched, fascinated.  The corpsman

ejaculated and pulled out, his penis soft.

"Do you think you can get it up again?" asked the

doctor.

"Maybe, with a little help."

"454, did you not enjoy being fucked by a nice

young man?  Did you have an orgasm?"

"Well, doctor, I can't say that I did."

"I didn't think you had.  Why not?"

"I don't know, doctor.  It seemed so... seemed sort

of sterile, passionless, so clinical.  I don't think I've

ever had an orgasm with a man."

"You prefer girls?"

"Oh, no, I'm straight.  It's just that... I don't know."

"Have you had orgasms when you masturbate?"

"Once or twice, maybe."

"What did you do to make yourself come?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do, 454.  Don't lie to me."

"Well, once I used a deodorant bottle."

"In your vagina."

"No, in back."

"And you fantasized.  You pretended you were

being raped, by a lustful Arab, perhaps."

"Something like that, I guess.  How did you know?"

"And you don't do that more often, because you felt

ashamed?"

"I guess so."

The doctor took the corpsman aside and had a short

discussion with him.  He stripped off the condom

and got dressed.  Then he helped the doctor

reposition 454.  They placed her face down on the

table and used surgical tape to fasten her arms to

table legs.  They taped her knees to the other table

legs, so she her legs were straight and her rump was

raised.  The corpsman went on his way.  The doctor

slipped a tampon in Carol's bloody cunt.  "455,"

said the doctor, "you will have to assist."  She

handed Sara an 18-inch wooden straight edge.

"Spank her buttocks with that."

"Doctor, she's my friend.  I can't hurt her."

"You will do it because she is your friend.  Would

you rather one of the guards beat her ass?"

Sara used the flat wooden stick to slap Carol's

buttocks, not all that hard, but hard enough that they

turned bright pink.  "Keep it up, 455.  See how wet

she is getting?"  Sara did, surprised that her friend

was getting sexually turned on by a spanking with a

ruler.

The corpsman returned with the guard, John.  John

dropped his trousers, put on a condom, and took his

position behind the prisoner.  "455," said the

doctor, "you are a wanton slut who deserves to be

degraded until you come.  You will come,

understand?"  Without waiting for a response, the

doctor removed the butt plug, smeared a large glob

of surgical jelly over Carol's anus, and motioned to

John.

"Oh, ow!" said Carol, as John's tool once more

invaded her rectum.  "Uh, uh, uh," she cried in

rhythm with his thrusts.  After perhaps only a dozen

thrusts, she called out, "Oh, Mary, mother of Jesus!

Oh, pray for this sinner!  Oh, oh, OH!!!"  The butt-

fucked prisoner writhed and sweated and very

obviously had a violent orgasm.  John, however,

was not yet satisfied, and he continued to pump her

ass until he came, and she did, too, as he ejaculated

inside her.

John pulled out, stripped off the condom, and went

to wash his limp penis.  By this time, the corpsman

was hard again.  "May I, Doctor?"

"Be my guest."

He slipped on another condom and stepped up to

Carol's exposed ass crack, gleaming with smeared

lubricant.  "Do you deserve to be fucked in the

ass?"  Carol made muffled noise.  He plunged into

her, and it took some time for him to ejaculate a

second time.  While he worked hard to achieve his

own climax, Carol wriggled and squirmed, pressing

her sweating breasts against the table and making

incoherent noises.  The doctor estimated that she

had two more orgasms before the corpsman was

spent.  The doctor handed Sara some surgical

scissors and directed her to cut 454 loose from the

table.  Carol lay there, breathing hard, in no hurry to

get up.  Sara saw Carol's reddened ass-cheeks and

oozing anus and wondered how it was that Carol

could enjoy being abused like that.  But she

obviously had enjoyed it.

Carol was fitted again with a butt plug and corsets,

laced as tightly as possible.  "I am going to have to

get a new garment for you, 454.  Report back to me

when your period is over.  You, too, 455.  Get some

sleep, because you are both going on regular work

duty."

The work details at night were boring and

wearisome, but not especially eventful.  Sara was

glad that Dyke left her alone, perhaps not realizing

that Sara was no longer a "dickless boy."  She had a

dick, a small one, but it seemed always erect.  It did

not take Sara long to discover how to play with it.

She found the best way to be simply to sit, or even

stand, with her legs crossed and to massage the

little fellow by tensing her thigh muscles.  An

orgasm would follow, and Sara practiced keeping

quiet, with a straight face, even as she was

overcome by waves of internal excitement.  Sara

did not want to advertise her sexual nature.

Carol, on the other hand, somehow attracted the

attention of the guards.  During one midnight rest

break, Dyke held her down while Tits caned  her

backside for some infraction or another, and Carol

just egged them on until she achieved her orgasm.

Another time, John showed up and fucked her ass

again, and she thanked him for it.  Carol, having

discovered the pleasures of orgasms, wanted more,

but she could not masturbate successfully.  She

needed to submit to another.

When the tampons were no longer needed, 454 and

455 were sent back to the doctor.  Carol had her old

Victorian corsets removed, was cleaned out with

repeated enemas by the corpsman, and was fitted

with a new anal plug and a new corset.  The new

garment was more modern.  It lacked the "ripcord"

in front but had laces in back which could be

quickly removed, and there was room for it to be

cinched in several inches at the waist, as 454 lost

weight.  It was obvious to both Carol and the doctor

that the compression of her stomach was causing

her to lose weight.   The thing  was black, of  a

stretchy material which was permeable enough that

it would not get wet with sweat, and 454 could

bathe in it.  There were no steel stays, and it was

not so low in front, but it was very tight.  There

were various loops and rings and places where

things could be attached or added.  One accessory

was a bra which was a network of rubber strands.

The doctor tried it on Carol.  It forced her breasts

upward and outward and squeezed them so the soft

flesh bulged through the holes of the net.  Her

nipples protruded through properly placed

openings.  Then the doctor removed the bra, saying,

"I think this should be saved for special occasions,

when you need to concentrate on your breasts.

Various interesting devices can be placed over your

nipples."  There was also a lower piece which could

be fitted to pass between her legs.  The doctor tried

it on.  "I'm sure you can imagine what might be

attached to this, and which parts of your anatomy

might be stretched or rubbed or...  Well., we'll see."

Tits took them back to the  cells and said, "Get

some sleep.  The next few days will be hard on

you."

That was an understatement.  The next morning,

after the regular all-night work detail, Carol and

Sara were made to empty the wash tank with

buckets, carrying the water to be dumped in the

waste pit where they emptied their toilet buckets.

Then they had to transfer the first rinse water to the

wash tank and the second rinse water to the first

rinse tank and refill the second rinse tank with

water they carried in buckets.  Since a hose would

have done, they assumed that this was some sort of

punishment.  Sara, with her fair skin, got an all-over

sunburn which hurt constantly.  The work took most

of the day, and they did not get enough sleep before

the next night's labor, which involved stoop labor

transplanting tomato plants.  When, extra weary,

they were ready to wash and were looking forward

to sleep, Bruce and Willis, the two gay horsemen,

took them outside the fence again.

Grinning, Bruce said, "There is an sort of endurance

test you need to pass.  Who's first."

Sara said, "I can hardly stay awake, and I have to

avoid the sun.  Let's get it over with.  I'll go first."

Dyke showed up and said, "First test.  Eat me."

"What?"

"Lick my pussy until I come.  That's an order."  She

dropped her uniform trousers.

Before her arrest, Sara could not have imagined

licking another woman's pussy, but she was now

trained to do whatever she was ordered to do.

Following Dyke's instructions, she got on her knees

and licked Dyke's clit until told to stop.  "OK," said

Dyke, "You passed that test.  Now you are going for

a horseback ride."  Bruce led Sara to Willis's horse.

Across the saddle was a rubber mat, which clung  to

the leather, and in the middle of the mat was

something approximately the shape of an ice cream

cone, about two inches wide at the base, also

rubber.  The pointy end was rounded off, and it

gleamed with lubricant.

"No," said Sara, "you can't mean for me to..."

Before she could finish, Bruce and Willis had

hoisted her up and lowered her onto the saddle.

The rubber cone entered her vagina and stretched

the opening as she slid down the cone until her

weight was supported by her buttocks.  Never, it

seemed, had she been so full.  Her legs hung loose.

The men put her feet in the stirrups, but, even with

her legs straight, she could lift herself off the rubber

invader.  She saw Carol on her knees in front of

Dyke, but then Bruce mounted up and led Sara's

horse away.

The rising sun was fierce on Sara's sunburn, and the

thing inside her, while it did not hurt, was a

distraction, seeming to stretch her every time the

horse swayed as it walked.  Then Bruce urged the

horse from a walk to a canter, and Sara found

herself jerking up and down on the rubber cone.

The motion massaged the roots of her clit, which

wrapped around her vaginal walls internally.  They

had not gone a hundred yards before the first

orgasm struck her, and then they came, one after

another, as she swayed back and forth, impaled, and

the pulling on her labia teased her exposed clitoris.

She was nearly unconscious when they pulled her

off the horse and left her, collapsed on the desert

dirt.

It was Carol's turn, but she did not come so quickly.

Sara watched as the horse cantered half a mile, then

turned and trotted back, Bruce leading it.  When

they were back, Dyke examined Carol's rubber-

filled vagina and told them to do it again, another

mile.  "OK," she said to Bruce and Willis, "we

don't have all day.  Shove it up her ass."

With her plug replaced by the rubber cone, Carol

was taken for another ride, and by the time Bruce

brought her home, she was as exhausted as Sara had

been, having had more orgasms than she could

count.  "OK," said Dyke, "let them wash and go to

bed.

Sara slept, as well as she could with her sunburn,

and she and Carol did another night's work, this

time hoeing row crops, back-breaking work when it

goes on for twelve hours.  They could not even get a

decent break, as Dyke made Sara eat her while

Carol orally serviced John.  That, however, was just

the beginning.

About mid-day, Sara was wakened and taken to the

end of the barn, thankfully still in the shade.  There

were three wooden saw horses.  The guards tied

Sara's ankles to the legs on one side, bend her over

the cross bar, and then they tied her wrists to the

other legs, loosely, but with short enough ropes that

she could not raise her torso above the horizontal.

Dyke pulled Sara's butt plug and smeared

lubricating jelly over her ass crack and vulva,

rubbing it into Sara's vulnerable little clitoris until

Sara came with a gush of pussy juice which

cascaded down her inner thighs.  Dyke wiped the

jelly off her hands by rubbing them on Sara's

breasts.  "I think," she said, "that we might as well

start with these."  She screwed clamps on Sara's

nipples until she screamed in pain, then hung

weighs on the clamps, so that Sara's normally

flattened tits were distorted into cones.  "Shut up,

455.  You'll get used to it."  Sara did shut up.  She

was getting used to the pain.

Carol was next, displayed as Sara was, bent over a

horse with her rump in the air and her tits extended

by weights on her nipples.  Carol had three per

nipple.

Next, to their surprise, was Dr. Kohler.  Sara and

Carol had not known she was at Camp Dreary; she

must have arrived recently.  That estimate was

reinforced by the observation that Dr. Kohler had

obviously been caned, even worse than Carol had

been.  They imagined what must have happened,

the secret arrest, perhaps in the middle of the night,

or during what seemed like a routine traffic stop.

The interrogation: Dr. Kohler's breasts bore the

ligature marks.  She had been hung by her tits and

beaten until she confessed.  The military tribunal, of

course, and now she was at Camp Dreary.  As Dyke

fastened the clamps on her nipples and hung the

weights, Dr. Kohler gritted her teeth and glared at

Sara and Carol.  They decided Dr. Kohler knew

they had named her.  Now the feminist bitch from

hell was in hell.

Time passed, while the weights and clamps tugged

on their nipples and the crossbars of the horses

pressed their bellies.  The two female guards who

had been on leave when Carol and Sara arrived,

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, taunted the

prisoners and took turns swatting their bottoms with

perforated wooden paddles that left round red

marks where they hit.  Carol seemed to respond to

the pain and degradation, and she was sexually

excited.  Sara didn't care for the pain, but Tweedle

Dee seemed adept at stimulating Sara's clit as she

spanked her, so Sara was on the edge of an orgasm,

too.  Dr. Kohler got her quota of swats with the

paddle, on her recently caned ass, but she did not

seem to respond sexually.

The rest of the afternoon was, well, predictable,

once they saw the men arriving.  The male guards,

from the rest of the prison complex, arrived in

small groups, no more than a dozen at a time, but

over the course of the afternoon, there must have

been fifty or sixty of them.  Who counts at a time

like that?  Dyke made sure that Dr. Kohler got extra

attention.  Since her anus had not yet relaxed to fit

the larger plugs, the men were encouraged to fuck

Dr. K's ass, though they also used her mouth and

cunt.  Sara was sure that Dr. Kohler's views about

the injustice of a patriarchal system were reinforced

by her repeated rape in prison.

Sara was already aroused when the first men

arrived.  An older guy with graying temples,

probably a sergeant and a veteran of Iraq, wanted

her to suck his prick until he was hard.  She did,

somewhat distractedly.  Then the sergeant slipped

on a condom ---  there were boxes of them --- and

directed his penis into Sara's vagina.  His balls

bumped her exposed clitoris, and she was rewarded

with a very satisfactory orgasm.  Another guy

wanted the use of her mouth, and as she half-

heartedly sucked, as if he were black rubber, she

heard Dr. Kohler cry out.  Big Dick was plunging

into her, giving her fucking of a lifetime--- pain,

anger, humiliation, not pleasure for Dr. K.  Sara felt

a large penis being inserted into her vagina, but,

after the horse ride,  and the resulting stretched

vagina, she could handle it.  The next guy chose her

ass.  Sara tried to relax as he pushed his way into

her lubricated anus.  She tried to think of something

else, as he did his thing.  She didn't much care for

sodomy, but she learned to put up with it.  It was,

she supposed, the ultimate humiliation.  However, it

was not so bad. Because most of the guards went

for her tight pussy, and her clit got it's share of

attention.  A good orgasm is great, and a bad

orgasm is still pretty good.  She had so many that

she was feeling no pain and her brain was so

muddled that she lost track of time.

Sara could hear Carol sounding off from time to

time, even encouraging her rapists, calling on them

to fuck her ass, harder, harder!  While Carol had a

perfectly functional clitoris, she did not have

orgasms when fucked doggy style in her vagina.

There was something about it, the humiliation, the

submissiveness, whatever, but the way to Carol's

orgasm was through her anus. Carol was sometimes

quite loud when she was vigorously fucked, and she

evidently enjoyed it.  Dr. Kohler, in contrast, was

stoically quiet.  She could not enjoy the gang rape,

not the men or the women; Dee and Dum fucked

her with a strap-on dildo in between swats with the

paddle.  Dr. Kohler must have serviced fifteen or

twenty men, as had Carol and Sara, orally, anally,

and/or vaginally.  

As the sun got lower in the sky, the commandant

appeared and inspected the three women.  Sara had

never seen the commandant up close.  The woman

was dressed, as all the "staff" were, in camouflage

trousers, tee-shirt, and desert boots.  She was not an

attractive woman, but she had a military bearing

that commanded respect.  The men, guards from the

other portion of the prison, Sara supposed, left, but

the prisoners  were still tied to the saw horses.  The

commandant squatted in front of Sara and reached

to undo the nipple clamps.  Sara, weary as she was

and groggy from multiple orgasms, couldn't stifle a

scream as her abused nipples responded to the

restored flow of blood.  When Sara settled down,

the commandant spoke.  "455, you know that life

here can be hard, and you might be here for the rest

of your life.  I am going to offer you  a chance for

an early release from this prison, if you will

volunteer for special assignments.  Are you

interested?"  Sara nodded her head.  "You cannot,

of course, be sent back to your former life as a

college student.  You could not keep secret what

has happened to you, and the American public is

not ready for the details of our anti-terrorist

activities.  The very existence of this place is

classified, SECRET.  You can, however, if you

qualify, be released on parole, to work for an

agency of the U.S. government, in overseas

assignments.   You will be given new identities,

foreign passports, and be sent on various missions,

as your aptitude suggests. You might find your

work enjoyable.  At any rate, it will be more

pleasant than at Camp Dreary.  If you do not

perform satisfactorily, you will be returned here, to

continue your sentence at hard labor.  Any

questions?"

"What kind of assignments?"

"You are an attractive young woman, attractive, at

least, to those who like little girls.  You have been

thoroughly debauched, so you should have no

scruples about using your body to serve your

country.  Perhaps you will only entertain people

whom your government wishes to influence.

Perhaps your work will be of a more cloak and

dagger sort.  Most likely, you will live comfortably:

nice clothes, good food, a soft bed,  perhaps travel

in exotic parts of the world.  Quite frankly, you will

have to prostitute yourself, but isn't that better than

whoring in your present position?  Tomorrow, the

day after, the day after that, tied to a saw horse?

How long will your cunt and asshole last, here at

Camp Dreary?"

"I'll volunteer," said Sara.

The commandant moved on to Carol and  removed

her nipple clamps.  They had a quiet conversation.

Sara couldn't hear, but she supposed it was similar

to the one she had just had.  It concluded with Carol

saying, quite loudly, "Yes, I'll be happy to serve my

country."

The commandant did not stop to talk with Dr.

Kohler.  Tits and Dyke appeared.  "Release 454 and

455 and take them over to the clinic to get cleaned

up and checked out."  Then, pointing to Dr. Kohler,

she said, "Let this one's tits stretch a while longer,

until it's  time for work call."  As Sara and Carol

were led away, they saw the commandant say

something to Dr. Kohler.  Then she picked up a

large rubber bulb with an enema tip.  She filled it

with a liquid, the color of kerosene, and injected the

liquid into Dr. Kohler's well-worn vagina.  As

Carol and Sara passed through the gate in the fence,

they could still hear Dr. Kohler's screams.