Condemned to Slavery (10 page)

As the officer stepped back, she noticed Lydia for the first time and peered under for a better look. The guard glared at her intensely, keeping Lydia quiet with the severity of her gaze as it wandered across her dangling body, some soft frowns revealing the desire arising in her mind. The jailer leant in and cupped her chin with gloved fingers, turning her face for perusal before smiling broadly and departing at a swift march.

Perplexed and more than a little anxious, Lydia tried to soothe her addled thoughts and frayed nerves by seeking solace in the soft daze of her deprivation.

Chapter Five

Warden Folter leant back in her soft chair, her legs parted, her thighs resting on the rubber clad shoulders of her pet as the girl nuzzled and lapped at her sex.

The girl had been broken to her will a couple of years ago and had been her faithful hound ever since. Like Lydia, she had been a tourist that had been arrested in the former country, before Guenerros had been born. Heading for Europe she had been caught smuggling opium, resulting in a compulsory life sentence.

Her inability to speak the native language or English had left the Italian girl bewildered and lost, unable to communicate with virtually anyone. This more than anything had caused her to be singled out by the Warden, for it made her like a true puppy, an animal unable to speak or understand, one that had to be trained by gesture and harsh punishment to obey her commands.

Sprinkles
was encased in a form hugging latex body suit. The sleeves ran down her slender arms and locked her hands within featureless tight bulbs, the interiors filled with an array of wickedly sharp spines to further dissuade any use of her hands. The limbs had been twisted up behind her and several stern straps locked them to her body, depriving her of movement. Two apertures allowed her impressive breasts to emerge, the elasticized hoops at the base making them swell taut and proud. The silver rings transfixing her nipples sparkled in the sunlight pouring through the window. The crotch band bore a slit at the front, permitting her clit ring to emerge into view as the rear bulged with the push of the large dildo that filled her tracts. Each morning she was given a long and deep enema to flush her out, allowing her to ride the massive intruder perpetually.

The waist of her suit dropped several sturdy rubber suspenders that locked to the hem of her stockings, the sheaths condemning her feet within paw shaped shoes that were connected via a short chain to the base of the dildo. Whenever she moved in her eternal crouch, the dildo rode against her.

The final part of her attire was a close fitting hood that ran over her head and dropped into a high leather collar, the front bearing a name tag on a small chain and her leash. The chain links swung up into the Warden’s hand, keeping the girl under firm control as the small mouth slit allowed her to throw her tongue out and into her owner. Snorting through her nostril vents, two buckles on her cheeks were ready to grab the deep penis gag she was forced to perpetually wear, the black shaft resting on the table for now, the saliva upon it slowly drying in the warmth of the office.

Molded ears were pricked and alert on her head, and she peered through two acute plastic eyepieces, her eyes glazed and near vacant from her ordeals under the Warden’s hands. Despite her level of training, bondage and punishment still formed a large part of her life.

Drinking the heady delights of the cunnilingus, the Warden caressed her own breasts, feeling the stiff nipples as she luxuriated and listened to the soft lapping sounds between her legs.

Lydia’s hideous trials with two of the most vicious women in the prison were a necessary horror for the poor captive. The Warden knew she would not break. Either Lydia was genuinely innocent, or was such a crafty operative that there was no way the stringent ordeals that were constantly heaped upon her would ever break her.

Lydia would have to be sent downstairs to be truly rendered truthful for sure. None ever resisted after they had been sent into the lower levels. The Warden was going to leave Lydia in the prison awhile longer though, soften her up a bit more, let her be used and abused before the succulent fate of dispatch to below the prison was inflicted.

She would of course come to love such a sentence, that after all was the point, it was the very reason that confessions afterwards were so utterly flawless of error. But hardship and strife would speed the process, make her more malleable.

Tensing, Folter started to give into delicious orgasm, her loins rubbing against the rubber smothered face of her pet, her hands clenching to the arms of the chair as she dreamed of Lydia bound and helpless before her. The image of that nubile woman weeping and torn by anguish was a tempting one, convincing Folter that before she was sent to be broken, she would take one last opportunity to interrogate the hapless girl.

Chapter Six

A bright metallic peal of ringing clatters began to ascend in volume as a guard ran her baton along the bars, the steel xylophone awakening everyone with its stuttering din.

Lydia came to, her body adorned with pearls of sweat, the heat of the day already rising to make the tiny cell a box of withering heat. The very air was saturated with moisture and raised to a temperature where the humidity could be discerned in every breath, the fires warming the lungs.

The tropical climate had her dizzy and feeling weak, her skin tickling and riven with flushes that crept along her spine. It was only morning and already she was being cooked. What would she do when the midday sun had finished lashing the walls of this communal oven? She had never been able to adapt to heat, and had always loathed the coming of summer for this very reason. Yet she had chosen to send herself to warmer climates for her vacation, but she could handle idleness in the heat, the lazing around in the sun with cool drinks, watching the world about her battle to work in the heat. It was toil she could not face. Would she be called upon to perform chores or labor in this prison? Or was she to simply lounge here in the insufferable hell, contemplating her supposed crime, sweating out her guilt?

The guard passed her and failed to even grant a second glance to her position, uncaring as to what the prisoners did to each other.

The two tyrannical criminals stretched and yawned, slipping from the crude beds and removing the stiffness in their bodies before bothering to release the enfeebled captive. Lydia crumpled into a lifeless heap, her frame deprived of vigor and unable to support itself after its lengthy entrapment.

Sounds of locks being opened took up the path of ascending sound as the guard charged with their awakening moved out of earshot and another opened the doors and used no more than an intimidating aura to herd out the denizens of this bleak penitentiary. Listening as they drew closer, Lydia tried to rise and failed as her limbs suddenly gave out and she slipped back down. Again she attempted, applying more effort, straining to defeat her intense lassitude and get to her feet before the guard arrived, knowing that she would incur painful wrath if she could not comply with the evacuation.

The rigid uniformed officer stepped out and slotted a key into the lock. There was only one, not a bunch, indicating that one sole key opened everything along this line. Already Lydia was pondering escape, and though her mind was dulled from its straits, it was alert and sharp when offered clues that might augment and facilitate her break out.

Turning the lock, the guard slid back the door and with a sharp jab from her thumb indicated for them to leave. The two females skipped quickly in response, leaving Lydia trailing, her legs shuffling. The sloth of her passage inspired retribution and the baton sprang into the guard’s hand before skimming into the backs of her legs. The crushing impact drove out all feeling in favor of a nova burst of pain that crippled her balance and dropped her into a crouch with a shout of shock. As she clasped the aching joints, a booted foot shoved her shoulder, sending her sprawling forward onto her hands and knees, the baton following in the wake of this push to batter her rump. Goaded forward with a scampering flurry of limbs she sought to evade the continuing abuse. With the inmate out of her range, the guard ceased her attack and moved on to the other cells.

With a hateful scowl splashed across her visage, Lydia trembled with rage and used the bars of the adjacent cell to help aid her rise before staggering in pursuit of the others, keeping herself close to the walls for extra support and balance. The stream of naked females were heading along the balcony and down through the curling stories to the ground floor, where several guards stood like adamant sentinels, ushering the flow of bare flesh into an open portal.

Mindlessly following the meek flock, she pursued the several dozen captives and entered a short corridor. The air was more heavily laden with water here, the walls caked in mildew and mold, the fungi having thrived on the damp to embellish the rotten paint as though they were furry jewels, making Lydia reluctant to lean against them.

Suddenly the passage opened into a large chamber, the shower block a stark and filthy affair. The large tiled room was divided in half by a wall with an aperture at either end, the openings entering a slender corridor where rows of overhead and wall mounted shower nozzles awaited to pelt the convicts with water. Mildew and mold served to paint the cracks surrounding and weaving crazily through the tiles a deep and furry black. The pipes dripped and were a mass of dangling damp strands of paint, while a most disconcerting shuffling, scuttling sound could be heard wafting up through the drains.

The herd of prisoners were driven forward and into the showers where hot water suddenly erupted to scorch those too close to the source. Lydia leapt away as her skin was seared, her body gently bumping another convict who turned and shoved her angrily away, pushing her deep into the boiling flow. The wet tiles conspired to make her slip and careering unsteadily through the scorching rain she struck the occupant of another shower. With a hiss of outrage and a mumbled insult in her native tongue, the woman lashed out, driving a slap across Lydia’s face. The stinging blow span her head and removed all balance, making her feet skid and her wet body slap to the ground. A kick swept into her stomach, ripping the wind from her chest and leaving her curled in a coughing ball, spluttering as the torrential downpour thundered onto her.

There was a soft chuckle and she felt her wrists being snatched. Before she could respond, her arms were pulled fully back and held as a knee sank into her spine, the full weight of the attacker pining her down and making hot suffering play within her torso as it was crushed to the slick tiles. With a cry she tried to slip free, but no sooner had the first sounds slipped from her mouth than a hand clamped across her lips, muting the sounds of distress as the guttural conversation of the prisoner’s shared their plan and mocked her with gleeful titters.

Her pumping legs were fastened down and she fought with all her depleted strength to try and break free of the grappling holds. The wild brawl to cease this bullying became all the more frantic when she felt her rear being touched, and her look of shock and alarm screwed up into a shriveled yowl as a cake of soap was shoved into her. The rounded orb made use of the lubricating waters to slither in unopposed, the substance burning her insides, its presence unexpectedly and intensely caustic.

While the fiendish heat of the intruder continued to spread through her insides, she changed her tactics and applied all her determination into ejecting the baleful object. Her muscles gradually excreted the searing block, only to have it halted as it began to emerge by the application of a second that was brutally crammed into her, pushing the first back in and giving it the company of another.

Laughing merrily as though this was the most entertaining spectacle, the attackers waved a third bar before her eyes and then handed it over to be roughly driven in. Screaming into the smothering hand, the barbarous introduction of yet more had her spasming hysterically in their grasp, the violation and captivity leaving her in a tempest of indignation. How could this be happening to her? Only a short time ago she was heading to Brazil for some lazy days under the sun after her vacation in Florida. Now she was a prisoner and had been demeaned, violated, tortured, all through a mere misunderstanding and a lot of paranoia.

The guards barked the order for them to leave the showers and with a heartless chuckle the women disdainfully deserted their holds and swiftly marched out, leaving Lydia to force out the inserted soap bars, tears streaming down her cheeks to become lost amongst the pounding waters. While each lump rode through her sphincter she grimaced, the fiery passage of the scathing orbs making the tender flesh light up with new waves of heat.

“Lo veo pero no lo creo!” spat one of the guards in a revolted murmur.

Snapping her gaze up, Lydia saw that the prisoners were all gone, leaving her alone in the passage, desperately trying to eject her infernal companions. Another guard stepped out and sneered in contempt as the other beamed with amused fascination.

“Perverso sucio!” growled the nauseated guard before turning and indicating for the water flow to be stemmed.

With a cranking grind the pipes protested and strove to accustom to the lack of pressure, the metal shuddering before the waters slowed to a slight trickle and then stopped. The echo of dripping dregs resounded through the acoustics of the barren chamber, accentuating the ambient sense of dread as the last piece of soap came away and was cast aside with a sickened and angered sweep.

Footsteps closed upon her and as two more jailers arrived, the guards moved around, scrutinizing her while she remained on her knees, too intimidated to dare risk rising.

“I didn’t do it, they did it to me,” she protested in a meek whisper.

“Don’t lie, you filthy degenerate. We’ve seen your kind before,” barked a guard.

“And we know just how to deal with you,” added another.

“But I—”

Her words ascended into a shrieking pip of pain as she jerked forward, her muscles flicking to attention when an electrical jolt blasted through her frame. For a moment she simply lay upon the wet tiles, quivering, her body frail, the unexpected deployment of a shock prod leaving her unable to respond. Gloved hands grabbed her hair and used the strands as a terrible anchor with which to haul her to her feet, her face scowling while she croaked and tried to reply more aptly to the pain as sensation returned in slithering whispers.