****** Terrorists ****** Provided By: BDSM_Library www.bdsmlibrary.com Synopsis: Two female college students find themselves on Homeland Security's no-fly list. 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.    Review_This_Story || Email Author: Abe ****** MORE_BDSM_STORIES_@_SEX_STORIES_POST ******