Janet Roland - The whore makers

Will Max understand the changes I've been through? she thought, frightened by the prospect of losing him because of her rape and her newly discovered sexuality. The idea that she would ever be able to make love to a woman had never crossed her mind, yet when it had happened, she had been able to respond and had reached several climaxes. The more she thought about what had happened to her and what the results had been, the more confused she became. Things were happening to her so quickly that she had little time to digest them fully.

Vivian lay down and stretched her body the full length of the bunk. She closed her eyes and tried to sort the jumble of her thoughts. She needed to concentrate on her present problems and push all the speculation aside.

The most important thing was to find some way out of this prison and the charges of smuggling. The prospect of spending nine years in a dreary, drafty concrete fortress was more frightening than all the abuse she had been made to endure. The idea of eating the bad food and having her life regulated down to the finest points was more than depressing – it was terrifying.

Vivian felt the tears of self-pity building and fought to hold them back. She knew she was going to have to learn to be strong if she were to survive. Without thinking, she slowly let her hands caress the softness of her own tits, making the nipples taut as her fingers pinched and pulled on the sensitive tips.

"Oh!" she gasped, feeling her womanly wants as they surged through her tender jugs. All the pent-up frustrations of her predicament were begging for a release, and her subconscious was allowing her to ease them. Her hands were the instruments!

Stop this! she begged herself with what was left of the innocent young girl of yesterday. All the formal education and hours spent on culture plus her deep religious training were suffering, but doing nothing to ease the hurt her mind and body were undergoing. Compared to the gentle touch of her own fingers as they lingered, lightly stroking away the humiliation, her early training didn't stand a chance.

Vivian remembered the way the first two men had degraded her, making her suck their cocks, coming all over her face. She remembered the four men with the electric cattle prod and how they had used every part of her body – mouth, pussy and asshole. She remembered the jolt of the prod on her sperm-splattered butthole and trembled; all the time she continued to lightly manipulate her tits, growing more and more excited as her body tried to strain to the same explosive heights it had reached when those pounding cocks had slammed into her.

What would my Max think if he could see me now? she thought, comparing his own innocent sex life to her current base experiences. She was suddenly certain that she would never be able to gain satisfaction from Max again.

Vivian allowed her hands to trail down her body, feeling the fingers through the coarseness of her shirt and jeans as they drew nearer her burning crotch.

I've turned into a wanton little slut, she thought as she completely dismissed the last vestige of resistance from her conscious mind and let her hands cup the tender flesh of her cuntlips through the fabric of her jeans.

"Ahhhhh…" she moaned as her palm made contact with her clit and pressed hard against it. She remembered the hot cunt that Rosita had mashed into her face. She remembered the taste and the smell. She remembered the shock she had felt at her feelings when her response to the other woman's love overwhelmed her, breaking her resistance and letting loose her passion.

Vivian opened the top of her pants and allowed her fingers to dip into them, brushing over her cunt hair and lingering on her clit. She was ready to dip her fingers into the pouting lips of her pussy when she looked up and saw the image of a sinewy matron looking at her through the bars of the cell. She blushed, not knowing what else to do.

"Not only are you a smuggler, but a sex fiend as well," the woman said in an accusing manner as she opened the heavy sliding bars.

Vivian didn't say a word. She wanted to continue to finger-fuck herself, but knew that the matron would become angry if she didn't get up and do as she was instructed.

"Put your clothing in order, you little lesbian bitch and follow me!" commanded the matron as she stood back from the cell door.

Vivian did as she was told and fastened her pants, then slipped on her shower thongs and crossed the cell into the corridor.

Vivian followed the dark-haired, big-hipped woman down the hall of the cellblock and into the main corridor. They turned out past the large wooden admission desk and into the section with the offices where she had been searched in such a brutal manner. During the whole walk, Vivian thought of only one thing.

Am I a lesbian? The words of the matron had not only interrupted her thoughts, but keyed off an inner debate about her new status as a person. Was it really so evil to be a sex fiend or a lesbian? Wasn't it men like her father who were the judges of what was right and wrong? How could such hypocritical assholes be the Solomons of society?

The real meaning of her existence struck Vivian as the matron opened the door to one of the offices and entered.

I'm no more than a hot-blooded bitch! she realized as she followed the matron. My body's on fire and I want to come so badly. My pussy's ready to explode from all the fingering it had in the cell. Face it, Vivian Long, you're no more than a fucking bitch in heat and from now on all the pomp and glory of the Queen of England won't be able to change your need for cocks and pussies and assholes and titillating orgasms that leave you drained and fulfilled.

The office was lined with white closets, all of which were padlocked. A large padded table stood in the center of the room and was surrounded by smaller tables of the type found in hospitals to hold a doctor's instruments. The room obviously served as the dispensary for the prison.

"Take off all your clothing, wrap this around you and sit on the table," the matron ordered as she handed Vivian a clean white jacket like the one she had worn from the Procuraduria.

Vivian unbuttoned the large blouse, feeling the tips of her fingers lightly brush her naked skin as she peeled it off. The same sensation swept over her as she snaked from her jeans and stood totally nude. She felt the hard cold eyes of the matron and instantly knew her jealousy; the other woman's body could never have the effect on a man that her own could. Vivian finished sliding into her jacket and assumed a seat on the table.

The matron fidgeted and looked away from the girl. It was obvious that she wanted to leave, but had to stay until the doctor arrived. She walked across the room to what served as the doctor's desk and picked up a magazine and looked through it.

Vivian restrained herself; she wanted to dip her fingers into her burning pussy and ease away the need she was feeling, but she also was certain that the matron would freak out. Maybe the doctor will fuck me, she thought, lying down on the padded table, raising her knees up and opening her thighs wide, hoping the air would cool her cunt off.

"Good morning, ladies," a strong masculine voice said, filling the room. Both women looked up instantly to see the doctor. He was young and vibrant, over six feet tall with large gray eyes that were never the same color twice.

Vivian almost groaned as she saw him peer straight at her gaping crotch, wishing her pussy was shaved and clean like the little Mexican's had been. She wanted him to see all of her lovely well-oiled young cunt.

The matron coughed, trying to get the doctor's attention as he stood looking at the brazen hussy lying on his table. He had heard about her on his arrival, but had never expected to be greeted by her gaping pussy.