Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 61508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
My cheeks burned as I turned toward the metal thing in the corner of my cell. The cold steel of the combo unit gleamed dully in the dim light, reminding me once again of my complete lack of privacy. I hesitated, my bladder aching, but my mind rebelling against the humiliation of relieving myself under Mr. Samuel’s watchful eye.
“Come on, girls,” Mr. Samuel’s deep voice echoed down the hallway. “I want to hear those pretty little streams hitting the metal. Don’t be shy now.”
I could hear the shuffling and whimpers from the other cells as my fellow inmates struggled with the same mortification. Closing my eyes, I lowered myself onto the frigid metal seat, my bare skin prickling at the contact. I tried to relax, to let go, but my body seemed frozen with shame.
“Having trouble there, Amy?” Mr. Samuel’s voice suddenly came from right outside my cell. I opened my eyes to see him peering in through the barred window, his gaze intense and unwavering. “You better start peeing soon, or you’ll be earning yourself a whipping.”
His threat sent a jolt of fear through me, and suddenly my bladder released. The sound of my urine hitting the steel seemed deafening in the small space, and I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my lips.
“That’s it, good girl,” Mr. Samuel praised, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Look at you, blushing so prettily while you pee.”
I could see his dark eyes raking over my flushed form through the little window as I continued to relieve myself, whimpering at the sensations between my thighs and the sound of my stream splashing noisily against the metal.
“My, my,” he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. “You have no idea how hard those pretty blushes make my cock, little one. The way that crimson spreads across your cheeks, down your neck, painting those perky breasts… it’s a sight to behold.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear, but his words continued to wash over me. “There’s something so exquisite about watching a girl pee submissively on command,” he continued, his tone rich with satisfaction. “The way you struggle against it, the shame in your eyes, but your body obeys anyway. It’s a beautiful thing, Amy. A reminder of just how much control your daddies have over you.”
To my horror, I felt a fresh wave of heat bloom between my legs, my still-sensitized clit throbbing with unwanted arousal. How could this be happening? How could my body betray me like this, responding to such utter degradation?
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mr. Samuel chuckled, as if reading my thoughts. “I can see the conflict in those big brown eyes of yours. You’re wondering how you could possibly be turned on by this, aren’t you? But your body knows what it needs, even if your mind is still catching up.”
I bit my lip hard, trying to deny it all. At last the enormous guard moved on, and I heard him commenting on Jenna’s hygiene, telling her to wipe thoroughly.
What is this place doing to me? I wondered, as I stood up, and the ache in my backside and between my thighs brought a terrible, helpless twinge of need. For a moment I had to clench my fists and hold them in front of me, looking at them sternly, just to keep from putting one of my hands down there, where the discomfort should have meant I didn’t have the slightest desire to touch myself.
I sat down gingerly on the thin foam mattress that covered the narrow bed. I whimpered at the sensation, and I put my hands firmly on my knees.
What happens now? I wondered desperately.
Nothing happened, for two days. Sure, they fed us; Mr. Samuel or the other enormous, strap-wielding guard, a hulking Latino named Mr. Juan, led us to the cafeteria. The food wasn’t terrible, but it was definitely basic. Extremely nutritious though; more veggies than I’d ever eaten in my life.
They let us watch videos in the rec room and exercise in the yard. I almost got used to being naked all the time. Rather to my surprise, no one got whipped; the marks on all our backsides, which I couldn’t help sneaking mortifyingly heat-inducing peeks at, faded away. None of us seemed to have any desire to act out, or even to step out of line on the way to and from the showers or the cafeteria.
On the third day, though, the voice that woke us up on the cell block wasn’t Mr. Samuel’s or Mr. Juan’s, but Miss Frieda’s.
The sharp click of the terrifying woman’s heels echoed through the cell block, a staccato rhythm that jolted me from my fitful sleep. My eyes flew open, heart racing as I sat up on the thin mattress. The familiar ache between my legs, a constant companion these past days, flared to life once more.