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El Cereso Prison (Steel Butterfly & Adam)

At least her throat, that had gone dry and sour from the perpetual chanting, became lubricated once the yellow lake overflowed her face and gushed down her open mouth. But despite this the chanting became much harder with her words broken off by forced gulps and queasiness. The steady stream of urine that kept flowing from the broken pipe, raising the water level and making her swallow even more of it, served to make her chant become true in the most literal way. Her mouth, her body, was a hole and it was in fact being filled up with the most disgusting of body fluids without her being able to do anything about it. Was the second part true as well? Was her mind a hole, an empty space to be filled? Just as the stream of oozing piss kept flowing down her throat and filling up her body, was the stream of words finding some kind of entrance to her mind and seeping into it, filling her thought, her soul, her very identity, up with piss?

Danielle had told her to find a place to hide so that they could not find her and change her. Joanne's body was caught in an inescapable predicament, but neither the noose nor the padlocks could restrain her mind. But could the chant? If one repeated a series of words hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of times would that not make it true somehow? There was no corn field and there was no ocean. That was just imagination, a childish dream created to avoid reality. But could something that was not even real protect her from the very real words she uttered? Could a figment of her imagination shield her from the physical reality of liters and liters of human piss, of sharp sound waves bouncing against the steel sides of her containers and echoing against the concrete walls of her new cell? Perhaps once, or rather if, she got out of this contraption she would know the answer to those questions. If there was a "she" left to know anything, that is.

Eventually the breakfast seamed to have ended in the hall above her, and the uninterrupted flow was replaced with occasional showers of piss. But a new pressure was building up, inside of her this time. She had already drank liters of liquid, more than she would normally drink in days. Some of it had gone to restore the hydration of her dried body, but there was a limit to how much fluid it needed even after the hours of torment in the hot sun outside. The quantities she forced herself to swallow here were excessive and sooner or later her body would need to get rid of them the way it got rid of excess fluid. She desperately needed to pee, and the trickling sound from the waterfall of piss just made it even harder to keep it inside of her.

The logic of what would happened when she eventually was forced to piss was quite simple. Her own piss, that was just a mix of hundreds of unknown men's urine, would cause the water level to rise and she would have to drink an amount of urine equal to the one she pissed out. That would just make her body even more desperate to release more urine, forcing her to drink even more and so on into eternity. There was no way around this physical inevitability. Her body could hold a limited amount of fluid, but the broken pipe just kept pouring more and more of it over her. At some point in time, may it be in hours or in days, she would not be able to drink any more. And if she did not drink she would not breath. And if she did not breath...
 
Joanne's almost desperate moaning was almost completely lost amidst her struggle for breath and air. The few sounds she was able to spare for anything else than her compulsory chanting were soft and more often than not, muffled as yet another gulp of the disgusting mixture was forced down her throat.
She felt tears sting in her eyes as she fought against the urge; against the urge to puke, against the urge to gag and especially, against the urge to expel the fluids in a more natural way. The woman was unable to press her legs together, unable to provide herself with any respite from the increasing pressure on her bladder. Her cheeks were heated, flustered with shame and humiliation as she was well-aware that she was fighting a losing battle here. Even now, with her painful legs trembling from the unconscious efforts of trying to press them together, struggling against her bound she knew that the volume of fluids within her tired body had reached a critical mass.

Her voice momentarily broke when her body caved underneath the pressure. A gulp and smothered sob interrupting the monotonous chant when she felt the pressure on her legs fade. A warmth spread between her legs when her body involuntarily began to contribute to the rising level of golden liquid in the tub. The heated tears which now freely ran down her cheeks did little else to ease her suffering; its salty taste intermingled with that of piss and Joanne felt disgusted as she tried not to think of the incredible amounts of piss which had gone through her body already.
The desperate struggle of her body did not do much to ease her mind however. Instead, the grim realization that she was truly fighting a losing battle now, caused her to focus on the words she was still uttering.
Insult to injury; the pain in her body becoming increasingly stronger and yet faint due the tiredness in that same flesh. How she was even denying herself bouts of air in order to continue the disgusting chant amidst the seemingly endless golden fluids.

Exhaustion was slowly extracting its toll upon her body. No longer suffering from a shortage of water - or rather, fluids - her body was now facing the risk of drowning. Drowning in piss. Even though her belly was filled to the brim with the disgusting liquid, her stomach was growling - hungrily asking for anything nutritious. The rest of her body simply yearned for oxygen. For a relief from the painful struggle while her lips still formed the damning words, her throat adding sound to the increasingly faint movements. Her wrists and ankles were fiery red, a deeper crimson beginning to form there were the skin began to tear underneath the continuous pressure. The skin around her neck was already sour and bruised; its swollen blue and black skin sporting more crimson speckles as blood began to trickle against the rope. Joanne did not even feel how the liquid softly bit into the newly exposed flesh; she had gotten used to the softly stinging sensation in the rest of her torn flesh quite a while ago.

There were there was no crimson, blue or another sign of injury, her skin became paler. The color of her skin began to fade along with the strength of her voice; her lips becoming more bluish which each failed attempt to gulp in air.
Hints of crimson began to stain the water while her struggle against her bonds became more desperate; the ropes biting deeper into her soaked and swollen flesh as she tried to breathe, drink and chant at the same time.
Joanne could not believe it, not even when her heart seemed to try and claw its way out of her increasingly heavy chest.
She would die here. Surrounded by piss. Drenched in piss. Filled with piss.
And curse Joaquin, the last words to leave her lips would tell him that she was nothing but a Zero, an empty hole to be filled with whatever they would desire...
 
It was not until an other night had passed that the compact silence was broken off by something else than Joanne's chanting or the splashing of even more urine. After more than 48 hours in the tub - 48 hours of humiliation and desperation, of fighting for survival - someone walked up to the door. A key was placed into the look, and it was opened. Joanne could not yet see her visitors, but the sound of the steps gave away that there were two of them. The light that flooded the room dazzled her eyes, but the mere shape of the overgrown man who leaned over the tub was enough for her to know that it was Jordán. "Get her out of there quick. This place stinks!" the other man who she could still not see said, but the voice was clearly Hugo's. Without hesitation Jordán lowered his large hands into the piss and untied the rope around her throat without seeming to care about what it was he was immersing his hands into. Then he grabbed the keys that were still hanging just above Joanne's face and clumsily fumbled to unlock them one by one. After opening the last one he lifted her up from the pool of piss and placed her standing on the floor in front of him. "Jordán got Zero up." he reported with a proud smile accompanied by a foolish smile, while he wiped his wet hands off on his orange suit.

"Then let's get out of here!" Hugo, who was holding his noise to keep the stench out, said and headed for the door. Jordán gave Joanne a push to get her to move along, and followed behind her. They walked through the corridor Jordán had carried her down, up the stairs and into the canteen. Apparently it was past lock-down, because the dining room was completely empty. Three days ago, when Joanne had first been brought to the prison, Hugo had seemed all to eager to get his hands on her, or more precisely get her lips around his cock, bu now he behaved like if she was an smelling bag of garbage he had to take out. He kept his distance and didn't even look at her as he lead the way through canteen to the hall with the cells.

They stopped at Jordán's cell, that Hugo opened for him. As the barred door was closed the big man looked at the wet, nude girl on the other side. "Jordán will dream about Zero tonight." he said. It was hard to tell from his voice if it was intended as a compliment or perhaps a threat, or maybe just a factual statement. She did not get much time to ponder it, because once the door was locked Hugo waved for her to follow him as he continued down the hall. "Tonight the Americans will entertain the night shift. Had they not been required to deliver your sorry body to us, you would still be down there." he said with a gruntled voice. "But before you can be any entertainment you will have to be fixed up."

What he meant with fixed up became clear as they reached the end of the hall and he pushed the door to a bathroom up and led her inside. There were a row of four sinks with mirrors above them on one side of the room, and four toilets without any booth to provide privacy for their users on the other side. In the far end of the room there were two showers with just as little protection from insight. Tits and Ass, or Danielle and Caroline, were already there preparing for the night. They occupied one mirror each, carefully applying excessive amounts of makeup. The no clothes rule seemed to have been relaxed - Ass had a pair of fishnet knickers on as well as a black leather corset, and Tits had a pair of red, high stockings and a wide, red satin collar on. The clothes did not do much to cover up their nudity, in fact they more drew attention to their exposed bodies than it veiled them. All the parts that the guards would be interested in, that happened to coincide with their names, was still on display.

When Joanne entered the room, Ass turned around and stared at her with eyes painted dark with mascara. The thick red lipstick and the generously applied rouge that only served to draw attention to the pale lifeless of her face made her look like a cheap whore. And in all sense but one that was what she was, but tonight she would not get paid for her services. She wrinkled her nose as she looked at the newcomer. "You smell, Zero." she said in a sharp voice. "Get into the fucking shower. Now." There was nothing friendly in her voice and nothing humble in her eyes, just genuine disgust. She turned to the mirror again, continuing to apply her mascara. "She's fucking repulsive." she mumbled to Tits, but she said nothing in reply. She just stared at her own reflection in the mirror in silence.
 
Joanne's extremely tired body would have dismissed the sound of keys turning in the lock as yet another of her feverish hallucinations, instilled by her desperation. Even the sound of approaching footsteps which had coincided with a sudden influx of what she assumed to be light was insufficient reason for the piss-drenched woman to cease her chanting. Her desperate struggle for breath continued even a shadow fell over her, granting her eyes a momentary respite from the light's assault.
Her deep blue lips curled up in something which might have resembled a faint smile when she heard Hugo's voice. Had she grown so desperate for rescue that she even imagined that those who brought her to this cursed prison were now coming to her rescue?

That odd smile still lingered around her lips when she felt how the rope was removed from her neck. Rather than savoring her relative freedom, Joanne stared at the large hands which continued to free more parts of her swollen and bruised frame. She had to admit, this hallucination seemed almost real.
When she tried to move her neck, her mouth still uttering parts of the chant, it even felt as if the rope had indeed been removed. The swollen, bloodied skin still stung and hurt - but the pressure of the rope was gone. Truly, she must have fallen asleep or anything, Joanne wondered - her half-open eyes staring with disbelief and confusion at her now free legs.

She was still debating whether she had fallen asleep or whether she had finally died when she felt something cold touch her feet. The cold sensation was followed by a shiver once Joanne's exhausted body found that it was no longer surrounded by the luke-warm piss. Another shiver, another and then the cold hit her lower legs, turning into a stinging sensation near her knees before the cold spread towards her sour buttocks. The floor. She was actually sitting on the floor, the journalist realized. Her tired gaze was still fixed on the metal tub, her eyes narrowing themselves with suspicion as she looked at it - when she felt something prod against her. First, it was a gentle prod, then a more urgent push.

Frowning, Joanne found that it was the giant. The giant man. He had freed her. But she had heard Hugo's voice too?
Her world seemed to turn upside-down and back again when she attempted to move her unwilling legs. Her body was exhausted and it took several attempts from her - and an equal amount of giggling and pushing from Jordán - before she managed to get upon her feet again. About half-way throughout her clumsy stumbling through the prison that she noticed the male figure in front of them. Hugo?
She parted her lips in an attempt to pronounce his name, as if saying it out loud might help her identify the distant Hugo-like shape. It was only then that the journalist's tired mind realized that those lips had still been uttering the words of her chants, soundless words forming themselves onto her painful and dark lips despite the fact that she had left the tub already.
Provided of course, that all of this was indeed real.

The sound of another cell being opened stirred in her faint mind and the exhausted woman opened her eyes more fully. Jordán's cell. Or so she assumed, because suddenly, a face appeared behind those bars: Jordán's face. His words made that Joanne decided that she was neither dead nor dreaming. Either that or she had a sick imagination indeed. The cold and wet woman shivered before Hugo's voice drew her attention away from thinking about what the giant's dreams would be like.
His mentioning of 'Americans' made that she jerked up her head, hope springing in her eyes until her exhausted mind realized that her former handler was talking about her... And the other female American inmates? The notion of being entertainment in her current state did not even stir anger; instead, Joanne felt a faint amusement upon the idea of anyone considering her as their 'entertainment' in her current state. Her amusement was followed by a tug of fear, the emotion spilling into her tired mind and sharpening her surroundings for the first time.

What she saw made little sense however. That was, she recognized the two women who stood near her. Tits and Ass. No, those were not their real names. They were... Danielle? And... Something? Her mind was unable to provide her with the second name, causing Joanne to frown as she stared at the dressed-up woman. One of them, the one whose real name she could not remember, moved her lips when she looked back at Joanne. Something about her smelling.
The remark curved Joanne's lips into a faint smirk rather than an angry scowl; as if she felt that Ass had made a bad joke of some sorts. Still, when she mentioned the word shower, the journalist suddenly felt herself being filled with longing.
Her exhausted mind provided her with some blurry memories of warm and comfortable showers, intermingled with the scent of lavender soap and the feeling of being clean.

Clean.
The very notion of her being clean felt almost alien to her exhausted body. Yet, it was that very notion which allowed the dripping woman to force her legs forward anew. One step before the other. Another shaky step. It was like with the race outside. Only the hurt was faint rather than sharp now. Or had it been faint too, then? Joanne did not remember clearly, her foggy mind refusing to provide her with much more than blurry interpretations of a sharp light, pain, blood and dirt.
Perhaps it was for the best that the woman was too tired to look into the mirror once she passed it. She would not have recognized the figure which was reflected in the mirror anyway. Her eyes were surrounded by dark circles - which in turn provided a stark contrast to the rest of her pale (or had it turned an odd shade of yellow due to the excessive amounts of piss?) skin. The only other truly dark feature in her face were her still bluish lips which every now and then seemed to repeat parts of a chant of some sorts.
Her auburn wet hair was plastered against her head and face, every bruised bit of her body swollen. Most of the stitches had held... Somewhat. Dark pieces of thread were barely visible against the blue and purple hues of her bruised skin, flecks of crimson staining the rest of her pale body. The cuts on her back had swollen slightly and the red gashes and cuts on her back almost seemed to pout as their swollen bits were barely held back by the stitches.

Oh no, she would not have recognized herself. Not a chance. She might even had thought that the figure in the mirror was some sort of twisted projection of her mind, triggered by the fact that she had been called 'Zero' instead of Joanne.
But she was Joanne. And Joanne had not looked into the mirror.
Instead, the foul-smelling female struggled to make it to the showers, her gaze fixated on the white-ish tiles which indicated her destination. It took her a while before her feeble hands managed to make the water flow, but once they did, they unleashed a stream of icy cold water onto her head and back. Joanne's world spun around again as her body struggled with the sudden cold. She shivered, perhaps even shouted in surprise before she leaned against the wall, slowly surrendering herself to the seemingly constant stream of ice. It was refreshing, the cold flow biting into her skin and slowly but surely beginning to instill a sense of cleanliness into the woman.

However, long before she felt that she was even close to getting clean, close to replacing the piss which had been soaked into her skin with cold water, Joanne had begun drifting away. Even as the cold water continued to rain down on her exhausted form, she began slipping away. She was so tired. So tired.
Joanne only prayed that her next dream would at least involve a warm shower of some sorts. This whole scenery had been quite a disappointment, really - resembling more of a nightmare than some benign dream.
 
The others let the poor woman sleep. After all, she still smelled horrible and no one wanted to touch her disgusting body before she had gotten some time to rid herself of the stench. Tits and Ass continued to put on make up, something their frayed and rugged faces desperately needed to regain some kind of feminine luster. The luster and femininity would probably only encourage the guards to do things to them that would void their faces of more of the little life that was left in them, and so the circle would continue. But there are certain things that can not be hidden by make up. By putting rouge and mascara on the girls did not look human again, they only looked as if they tried to imitate the humanity they had once possessed. They looked like a pair of whores preparing for a long night at the intersection of Hollywood and Vine, but tonight they would not be as lucky as a pair of LA prostitutes.

When Ass had finished her transformation she walked up to the blacked out body in the shower. Hugo, who had spent the time playing some boring game on his cell phone, got up as well to study the sleeping beauty. "I will show her how it works in here." Ass said, and Hugo chuckled. Tits was intensely staring at her own reflection in the mirror, pretending to be fixing her make up even though she was already done. She knew what would happen next, and she did not want to see it. Not even back when Ass was not Ass but Caroline had she been nice to other girls. She was a fierce competitor and a bad looser - Danielle had always lost everything on purpose when they were kids. When she wanted something nothing was allowed to stand beside her and it, and now Ass wanted to be the Wardens next toy. Tits had been subject to Ass' treatment herself once when she had been a bit to nice to one of the guards. Had she been capable of feeling strong feelings other than fear and pain anymore she might have hated Ass for it, but now she just silently accepted it like she had learned to accept everything else that happened to her.

Hugo gave Ass some kind of strange contraption made out of wood and rope, and Ass strapped it around her waist. It was a strap-on, a thick and long cock carved out of wood. Apart from its size it was very realistic, almost artistic, with a carved out head and even blood vessels along the shaft. Ass turned the water off and crouched to smell the girl sitting on the floor. Her hair still smelt a little, but at least the water had got rid of the worst. It was acceptable. Ass grabbed a handful of what she could guess had once been very beautiful auburn hair and dragged the body it was attached to across the floor to one of the toilets. To make sure that the girl was completely awake again she pushed her head down the toilet, submerging it in the water before flushing.

When she decided that Zero deserved a little oxygen again she lifted her head up, but only enough to keep it just above the water surface, her wet hair still floating around on it. "Rumor has it that the Warden is looking for a new pet." she said with a shrill and squeaky voice. She sounded like an angry little barking dog asserting itself. But this dog, this bitch, did indeed bite, Joanne would soon learn. The wooden tip of the carved out cock was pressed in between the cheeks of her ass that was sticking up in the air as her head was pressed down. At the same time Ass pressed Zeros head down into the water again and thrust the wooden cock into her ass. She only got the head in with the first push - then the friction of the dry wood against Zero's clenching unlubed ass became to much. Not being one who gives up easily Ass thrust her hips again, forcing it down another couple of inches. It was not until after five thrusts that Ass got the dildo all the way down Zero's body, and it was not until then she let her victim get another breath of air. "That pet will be me." she hissed. "Do you fucking understand, bitch?" She was panting heavily as she spoke. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was fear, maybe it was something else... arousal? "Don't you think you can come here and steal my prize, slut!"

Again Ass violently pushed Zero's head down into the bowl, banging it into the porcelain. She pulled her cock out of Zero's ass just to ram it in again, Zero's head banging into the porcelain once again. With steady thrusts she began to fuck her ass, all while keeping her head pressed under the water. At first she had to use all her strength to be able to penetrate the tight hole, but after a while the splintering wood cock had created enough bleeding for the blood to lubricate Zero's violated ass.

After a minute or so, just in time to keep her fucktoy conscious, Ass lifted Zero's head up again. "Tonight you will provoke the guards. You will disobey them, make a scene, and become punished. The Warden hates disobedient whores, so that is what you will be." She continued to pound Zero's ass while she spoke and slapped it hard to underline what she had just said. "And if you don't, I will push my fucking cock so deep into your ass it comes out your fucking cock sucker mouth." With her cock stuffed all the way up Zero's ass, Ass forced her to look back over her shoulder at the women who was fucking her. "Now, will you be my little bitch and do as you are told? Will you make the guards punish you?"

Hugo stood beside them and smiled as he watched the scene. "Sucking my cock don't sound so bad anymore, does it?" he mumbled and laughed. Tits just continued to stare into the mirror, pretending to fix her make up. Soon she would really have to, because tears were forming in her eyes. Then she took a deep breath, and thought about the corn fields. Endless fields of corn swaying in the wind...
 
The almost comatose sleep to which her body had so readily surrendered itself was peaceful. Dark. Quiet.
Cold, too, since the icy water still rained down over parts of her body, its chilly touch sending the occasional shiver down her otherwise completely still body.
Not even the rather painful dragging by her hair was sufficient to fully wake up the exhausted woman. Instead, her depleted body simply decided that the burning pain in her head was, while decidedly uncomfortable, ultimately harmless. Bearable. And at first, not sufficient to fully seep through Joanne's mind once she closed her eyes again, sealing their dazed look behind those still incredibly heavy eye-lids.
She only vaguely registered how she was being moved - which, given the fact that her frail skin was dragged over the tiles in everything but a gentle fashion - proved only how tired she was.

More moans escaped from her lips the longer Ass moved Joanne around; the latter's skin beginning to tear anew as it suffered from yet another rough treatment. The pain in her head, stemming from Ass' firm grip on her auburn strands, began to swell and blossom. Slowly but surely, the exhausted woman began to wake, consciously slowly returning to her stiff and sour limbs.
Her slow awakening was hastened in a rather cruel fashion when her head was suddenly surrounded by a cold liquid-like substance. Water? Joanne tried to gasp in surprise but the panicked response resulted only in more of the cold and filthy-tasting water entering her mouth and nose. The sudden lack of air sent her coughing, her arms and legs flailing in blind panic until the water receded again.

Or rather, her head was lifted in that same painful manner; painting Joanne's panicked face with more confusion while she greedily began gulping the once-again available air. A shrill, odd voice caught her attention and Joanne's heavy breathing became somewhat softer as her muddled mind tried to focus on the sounds and words produced by the voice. The words seemed distant and far-away at first, but when more adrenaline fueled her otherwise extremely tired and damaged body - the meaning of them slowly began to seep through.
The Warden. A new pet?
Joanne vaguely reminded herself that she did not want to be the Warden's new pet - or did she? But then, another fact drew her attention. The voice had been female. Not male.
It had not been Tit.. Danielle's voice. It...

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted when Joanne felt something force itself between the tender flesh of her ass-cheeks. Reflectively, she tensed, her body trying to repel whatever was trying to assault her. However, at the same time that this alien object tried to force its way in, Joanne's head was submerged anew. Panicked, she struggled for breath once more - her screams and gasps lost amidst a series of drowned and impossible coughs. Whatever it was that was trying to force its way into her already damaged body continued to do so. And while Joanne's exhausted body put up an admirable fight it was far too weak to provide a true challenge to her assailant.
Instead, the drowning journalist cried in vain for both breath and relief until the burning sensation in her lower body had increased to an inferno; pain raging through her raped body.

The sounds of the female voice reached Joanne's ears anew when she was finally allowed to breathe again. While the latter struggled for breath, desperate gasps and gulps gaining precedence over the suppressed sobs of pain - the female voice continued. The sounds and words seemed both faint and clear at the same time; Joanne's exhausted body clearly playing tricks on her.
Despite the heavy blanket of exhaustion which covered her mind and despite the fiery pain which raged through her ass, the journalist managed to identify her assailant. Ass.
However it was only when her head was submerged yet again, banging painfully against the hard porcelain that she understood what was going on. Well, beginning to understand what was going on. Her tired mind realized that Ass was scared that Joanne would somehow try to steal away an opportunity to escape. Why - and how - Joanne was even perceived as a threat in her current condition was beyond the exhausted journalist. Had she not been so tired, she might have picked up on the odd desperation and fierce anger in her assailant's voice or perhaps even remembered something about prisons and the downward spirals of violence and abuse.

But now all Joanne did was faintly attempt to scream and cry while her head impacted with the porcelain over and over. The tender flesh of her ass still burned fiercely, but after a while, a warm sensation began to run down her legs - somehow muffling some of the otherwise excruciating pain. She was only vaguely aware of the fact that the liquid in which she was slowly drowning was, in some ways, similar to the one which had surrounded her the past two days. Piss. Toilet water.
If she had been even half more awake, half as exhausted and depleted as she currently was, Joanne might have smiled at the irony of it. Now however, she was too tired to even properly cry.
Cry because she was raped. Raped by a woman. Raped for the... How manieth time? Violated anew? Drowning anew? Denied even the shortest of respites?
Slowly becoming Zero...?

Instead of resisting or struggling, Joanne was surprisingly still once her head was lifted up again. The breaths which she drew were short and hasty, careful almost while Ass' voice rumbled in her ear. Every now and then the pain in her ass threatened to drown out the sounds and words but with effort, the journalist managed to entangle the words and their meaning. Even Hugo's voice was recognized and registered, their words sending a cold realization down her already terrified mind. Sucking his cock - or any cock for that matter - did not sound that bad anymore indeed. Not in comparison to this. Or in comparison to what her forced defiance would earn her later on.
Joanne was shocked to find that she was indeed more than happy to obey the guards. That she did not want to earn their wrath later on. She was simply too tired, too exhausted to fight.
The only problem was that someone else, someone who was decidedly in charge of her at this very moment, was ordering exactly that. Her defiance.

"Yes," Joanne managed; her words barely more than a hoarse and extremely tired whisper. Her head was heavy with pain and emotion, heavy in general actually. She could barely keep it straight as she ordered her lips to form more words, ordered more of the precious air to become sounds rather than greedy gulps for air. "I will be bad. Make them... Punish me."
She almost felt too tired to be terrified at the prospect of more punishment. Almost.
 
For the first time Ass smiled. The worthless whore who's hair she was holding seemed to understand. Through her thick skull she had got the idea - don't mess with the more powerful bitches. Maybe some more blatant disobedient wasn't necessary to prevent the new slut from stealing her position, but you could never be to sure. Besides, it didn't hurt that the girl learned her place and got taught who was her superior. When Ass was new here they had told her that pain was the only way to make a woman understand, and they had been right. No matter what she said, words alone would never communicate the message that the pole driven deep into the sluts ass did. Maybe it was painful, but it was necessary.

Not yet ready to come down from her high, Ass forced the wooden cock into the moaning fucktoys ass a couple of extra times before she finally stopped the rocking motions. Even though she had not received any physical stimulation - she had never been into girls, not even a little - she found herself panting of excitement, her pussy wetter than any boyfriend had ever made it. To her own surprise she found herself comforting herself with the knowledge that the guards soon would fill it with cock. Somewhere at the back of her confused mind she was still aware that the horny tramp was a role she had choose to play, not her true identity, but now in the midst of her aroused state of power the thin line between character and identity seemed to have dissipated. She did not even stop to think about how she had become what she was, why she had become it, she just instinctively reached down to touch her own damp sex, shivering with pleasure as she did it.

"That's the spirit, Zero." she hissed and pushed the poor girl down on the cold floor, the stake sliding out of her ass. Getting up on her feet she looked down at her inferior. Without knowing why she was filled with hate and disgust of what she saw. The lamentable excuse of a human being reminded her of something, of someone, that made her guts turn. Had her mind not been so distorted, her feelings veiled in layers of guilt and denial, she would have recognized herself in the poor girls face. The hopeless despair in her face, the desperation in her voice, the slow descent into a lifeless detachment, she had been through it all. She had even been through the exact same punishment. But Ass was to distracted by her own forlorn quest to reclaim some kind of dignity or self worth to think about those things. All she saw was a broken body, not a fellow soul.

Even though she tried to keep the thoughts out Ass could remember the chant they had made her repeat. "I am Ass. I am made to be fucked. My only value is the pleasure others derive from me and from fucking my ass. Therefore, I am Ass. I am made to be fucked..." She could hear her own voice repeat it over and over again inside her head. But she was not Ass now. She was not getting fucked, she was the one who had banged this tragic slags brain out. It almost made her feel like Danielle again.

Ass filled her mouth with saliva and then spat down right into the face of the auburn haired girl, the warm spit splashing out over her forehead. She wanted to cover it all with spit so she would not have to look at it. "I like a slut who does what she is told." Ass said with a voice filled with confidence. She was towering up above the girl lying on the floor. Her wood penis was coated with blood, some of it dripping down from the tip onto Zero's chest. "Now clean up the mess you have created! Suck my dick clean, and then kiss my feet."
 
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
That odd sentence played through Joanne's tired mind as she looked up at the woman with the improvised and bloodied strap-on. The exhausted journalist had been too shocked and overwhelmed by the situation at first. She had been busy dragging her sour and torn skin over the small stones outside, too occupied with torturing herself. She had been desperately trying not to drown as she struggled against the endless sea of piss, her body having absorbed and drowned in the golden liquid for hours on end. But the wounds could heal. The piss, she could wash away. The stench... It would fade. Eventually.
But what about those words? What about the chant which she had repeated all those hours? The words which her blue-ish lips had continued to form? Could she wash those away too? Could she make all of it, every last one of them disappear?

She was not Zero, she told herself as she stared up at the figure that towered over her limb form.
Spit. On her face. Surprised and only moments later, did she realize it and flinch as she felt the warm substance seep down her face. Joanne's wide eyes tried not to look at the wooden torture device, tried to ignore the blood that dripped down on her chest.
She was Joanne. Even now, the fact that she had to repeat this, found herself repeating this in a manner almost similar to the brain-numbing chant, made Joanne wonder about how long she would manage to survive in here. And with 'survive' she did not mean how long she would remain alive. She did not mean the amount of days in which she would be able to keep her rag-doll like body breathing, but how she would remain... Joanne. Would she lose it? And what would she be like then?

Her tired mind was surprisingly creative when it came up with several possibilities. Some involved her shrieking like El Strangulador, muttering about past lives and intimidating newcomers with her disgusting lack of hygiene. Others involved her running in large fields of corn, unable to ever truly escape the horrors which awaited her outside of the ocean of green and yellow. Yet others painted an image of her wearing the wooden strap-on, breathing heavily as she leaned over someone's broken and battered form.
Her exhausted body seemed frightened enough by any of these prospects. They added to the fear which was inspired by the woman in front of her, who pressed her lower body forward so as to present the bloodied horror even more clearly to her.

Then, suddenly, she felt a hand gripping her hair anew and all of a sudden, the wooden horror was pressed against her face. Its rough surface rubbed painfully against the soft skin of her cheek, smearing blood and God-knows-what onto her face.
"Is there something wrong with your ears, Zero?"
Joanne's eyes fluttered away from the bloodied strap-on, its odd musky and earthly scents still tingling in her nose as she looked up at the woman, her tired eyes studying the source of the words.
The woman greeted her distant yet fearful look with a broad grin, pressing the wooden strap-on even harder against Joanne's blood-smeared face while her hand tightened its grip on her head. Joanne was too tired to resist her grip, too exhausted to protest even when Caroline allowed the bloodied tip to rest against her lips.
"Or would you like me to fuck another of your holes first, hm?!"
That question, at last, was sufficient to stir more than fearful thoughts from Joanne. Slow but intently, the battered woman shook her head, trying to ignore the impatient prodding of the wooden device as she did so.
Her green eyes still betrayed confusion and even hints of pity as she looked at the other girl; possible images of her own future self flashing in front of her eyes yet again. Joanne noticed how the eyebrows of the other female rose in response to her head-shaking, looking at her expectantly. The latter simply stated in a cold voice: "Then get over with it."
Joanne found herself looking away upon hearing those words. She focused her tired gaze on the wooden dick instead. She hesitated for a moment, which earned her another slap with the phallus-shaped device.
"Last warning, Zero."

The bloodied woman closed her eyes before she parted her lips, sticking out her tongue.
She smelled it. Musk. Earth. Blood. Sweat.
Even worse, Joanne could swear she smelled the strap-on-wearing-woman too. Her arousal. Perhaps it was Joanne's own sick mind playing tricks on her, but the power-hungry look on Caroline's face had been hard to deny - as was the distinct scent of female arousal. And since Joanne was quite certain that her own Frankenstein-stitched-up-body was not aroused in the slightest, it had to be the bitch.
The bitch.
This thought was all she managed in terms of anger as she began to carefully lick the wooden surface of the strap-on, eyes closed with disgust. She felt disgusted with herself as she tasted the gross mixture of blood and whatever remains covered the rough material. As if it had not been enough that she had drowned in piss, drank her own piss and shed her skin - she was now forced to degrade herself in yet another manner. Sample the taste of another humiliation as her tongue flicked over the strap-on. The blood and even the spit felt almost cool on her heated, feverish face as Joanne cleaned more and more of its surface.
Her body was too tired to do anything but to obey at this point. Too exhausted to listen to her panicked and angry thoughts. Joanne instead struggled whether or not she wished to withdraw from all of this, whether she wished to separate herself from her body. Even that weak form of self-protection, that pathetic denial seemed too exhausting for her body.
That, and an odd sense of stubborn pride forced her to focus on what she was doing. Perhaps it were those thrice-cursed journalistic tendencies, the ingrained habit of keeping her mind with whatever she was doing and finding the reason behind. Whatever it was, her tired mind registered every scent, every taste as she sucked and licked the horrid thing clean. It registered Ass' labored breathing, her disgusting arousal and even managed to imagine how she would smile as she looked down upon Joanne.

A small string of drool connected the exhausted woman when she finally withdrew herself from the now clean - or cleaner - strap-on. Caroline did not comment on her actions - or perhaps she did and Joanne simply refused to hear it. The journalist was slowly preparing herself for the next step in the humiliating ritual.
Oddly enough, it almost felt natural when she finally bend her head forward again, lowering her upper body while her weak arms supported her. Even the fact that she had to stick her own ass up in the air in order to kiss Ass' feet painted an odd smile on Joanne's face. Or rather, it would have, because her blood-smeared lips were pursed in an odd kiss-like motion instead.
The journalist' eyes settled on Ass' feet as they stood firmly on the cold bathroom floor. She wished she could bite those feet off, chew on those toes instead of what she was about to do. She might have done that, given in to the frustration and tiredness, were it not for that odd feeling. That odd feeling and that extreme exhaustion.

Instead, her pursed lips pressed an oddly soft and almost tender kiss on the feet of her former assailant. If Joanne had not reminded herself that she was indeed Joanne, she might have started to believe that she was Zero - a mere hole to be filled.
Even if the one filling that hole did so with a wooden strap-on.
 
"Good whore." Ass muttered as she looked down at the girl kneeling in front of her, humiliating herself on command. "Now get yourself ready for the party - we are already late because of you." With those words she untied the strap-on and dumped it on the floor, turned away from Zero and headed over to Hugo who had sat down on one of the toilet seats again. He had been watching the whole scene with a smirk smile on his lips, and his smile did not fade when Ass approached him. "Let me do you a favor for keeping you waiting." she said with an oddly seductive voice as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

When Ass lost interest in Zero, Tits suddenly woke up from her self induced coma. She hurried over to the poor girl on the floor and helped her up on her feet. "Come here, sit down and let me fix you up." she said as she guided Zero to the toilet next to Hugo's. Beside them Ass was pushing her face down into Hugo's lap, his hardening dick sliding past her newly painted lips. Clearly she had done this before, because her eyes showed no hint of queasiness as she forced his dick down her throat. Hugo sighed relieved and took a deep breath as her lips reached the base of his member and her extended tongue swirled over his balls.

Tits ignored what was going on next to them, and instead quickly got to work. She covered Zero's pallid face in a foundation with a more carnation tone. On top on that she added some rogue, and around her lips a thick layer of pink lipstick that hid the blueish tone of her dry lips. The sad state that Zero's body was in was concealed under the makeup, her human misery replaced with a doll like faked sexiness. She could slowly descend into endless despair under it, but the growing mask of makeup would make sure she still looked like a styled porn actress. Or at least a plastic blow up doll. The guards wanted a pretty face to jam their cocks down, and they would get one.

Every now and then Tits leaned in closer to whisper something into Zero's ear. "I'm sorry about Caroline..." she whispered. "That's just the way she is. But I would advise you to honor your promise to her. She is far to powerful to have as an enemy - she has some of the guards under her spell." She nodded towards Hugo who seemed to be lost in heaven with Ass' head bobbing up and down his cock in furious tempo, making a sloppy sound as it penetrated her throat. "Believe me, I know, she can turn your life into a living hell." Tits' whispered, but then went silent as she realized how stupid it sounded. Living hell? This was already hell.

When Tits was satisfied with Zero's new look, she started to inspect the wounds and remove the few pieces of plaster that was still left. Most of the wounds seemed to have healed quite OK, even though they had scarred bad. The lacing pattern on her back would not go away anytime soon, if ever. At least it was a rather artistic addition to her appearance...

Next Tits helped Zero to put on her outfit. She removed the pink high heels, and thread long, pink, laced stockings up her legs. They looked like the kind no one but a stripper would wear, or maybe a horny boyfriend would buy as a "gift" more to himself than to his girl. No descent girl would every wear anything like them, especially not outside of the bedroom. They were held up by a suspender belt, but the panties that would usually go with a set of underwear like this were nowhere to be found. After having put the heels back on, Tits strapped a matching pink bra around Zero's torso. It was cupless, providing no coverage for her breasts, that were still criss-crossed with blood red stitches. The bras function was not to conceal but to highlight - her tits were pressed up and together in an inviting way, encouraging anyone who laid eyes on them to make full use of them. As an extra finish, she put on a pair of gloves. Just like the stockings they were long, pink and laced. Were it not for the horrifically bright color they would have been perfect for a ball.

"Ok, you're done." Tits said as she looked at the whore she had created with a sad face. The makeup and the clothing failed miserably to hide most of her scars and bruises. The contrast that it created only made her look strange, like some kind of frankensteins monster sewn together from random body parts. She did her best to hide the disgust from her face as she extended a hand and helped her creation up at her feet. Beside them, Ass swallowed demonstratively and then opened her mouth wide open, extending her tongue to prove she had been a good girl and eaten it all. Hugo got up and took the lead. "Finally..." he muttered as he walked out of the bathroom with the three sluts towing after him.

After navigating through a couple of corridors and stairs, and opening numerous locked doors they arrived in what looked like some kind of living room for the guards. Five of them, all wearing similar grey uniforms, were sitting in a large brown corner sofa with a low table covered with empty beer cans in front of it. The dimly lit room was lightened up by the glow of an old TV that they were all silently staring at with bored faces. When Hugo entered the room, loudly announcing "The entertainment is here!" their gazes were averted from the car commercial to the girls. The speakers voice drowned in cheers and applauds. All of them stared in anticipation on the three dressed up girls, and the new one in particular. More precisely all but one of them stared - Geraldo still had his empty eyes directed at the TV.

Tits and Ass was used to the routine. They knew what to do. Ass quickly scanned the room to find the highest ranking of the guards, and the straddled him in the sofa intent on keeping him all for herself. Tits got down on her knees between two of the other guards, and seconds later she had two erect cocks to swap between. Hugo cleared the table by pushing all the bottles down on the floor. "May I present the new talent?" he said, sounding like a circus director marketing a freak show. "Up on the table and dance for us, Zero!"
 
A living hell...
While Joanne had remained silent throughout all of Danielle's talking, her fierce green eyes studying the woman without betraying much if any emotion, a slight smile curved her now painted lips upwards.
The former journalist had been convinced many times that a particular point in time, a particular horrendous scene within these prison walls had been just that: hell. Whether it had been the strong hands of her filthy cell-mate, clutching around her slender neck while he raped her or the horrendous race in which she had left more than just parts of her skin behind - she felt oddly amused by Danielle's words. It was not that Joanne had forgotten how to be afraid or even that she had snapped already - or maybe, part of her had - it was just that her tired mind failed to understand how some stuck-up bitch could possibly make things worse.
In the end, did it really matter whether it was her old and smelly cell-mate banged her head against the bed while he penetrated her with that greasy dick or whether it was some power-hungry woman with a wooden-strap-on who forced her replacement-dick into Joanne's bruised body?

Both options frightened her. Terrified her even in her current and exhausted state. Joanne knew that she might regain some of her will after she had rested. Fed. Healed. Anything, any short respite from any of this.
Perhaps that was why she so meekly allowed the dark-skinned woman to dress her as if she was little else than a human-sized doll. A human-sized Frankenstein fuck-doll. Those words caused Joanne's smile to broaden even further - as if all of this was some sort of horrendous joke. Which it was - but sadly enough, the joke was on her. And what a cruel joke it was: Joanne Rachel Karcher, up-and-coming journalist who would have struck gold with her last item.... Were it not for the fact that said item had rebelled and turned her into this bruised and battered human thing. They had raped her, cut her up and covered her in bruises and worse. And now they - who was this 'they'?, the inmates, the Cartel? The guards perhaps? The man behind the desk? All of them? Her tired mind did not know, cared not and instead focused itself on the pink of her laced stockings.
Pink.
The color of little girls.
Only Joanne was not a little girl anymore. And the outfit itself was decidedly not suitable for little girls either.
Nor were the things she would be subjected to, Joanne decided.

These thoughts and more crossed the mind of the battered woman when Tits - no, Danielle! - helped her onto her feet. Clumsily at first, Joanne forced her unwilling body to move after the others. After Hugo and the two other bodies. Her feet were as sour as ever and on top of that, her legs were heavy. Extremely heavy, like the rest of her tired body.
The only upside of all the tiredness was that it coated everything in a thick blanket, muffling signals from the outside world. Joanne had only vaguely registered Caroline's intense efforts between Hugo's legs for example, nor truly taken note of the disgusted expression on Danielle's face when she extended her hand towards her.
Instead, Joanne trod after the after two girls to the best of her ability. Every now and then, she would unconsciously repeat the chant in her head. The amount of times at which she reminded herself that her name was 'Joanne' and not 'Zero' had diminished but she still denied the name whenever she actually realized she had almost started the chant anew.
Luckily, the mere task of walking was quite a demanding one for the woman and allowed her to take her exhausted mind away from her angry and fearful thoughts, focusing them on the here and now rather than either the horrible past or the terrifying future.

Once they arrived at the room, Joanne lingered near the door. The applause and cheers were loud enough to penetrate the thick blanket which had so blissfully coated her tired mind and she looked almost disturbed at the guards. However, with the current make-up plastering her face, it could easily be interpreted as an odd pout instead, her pink lips pursing themselves defiantly.
Her eyes followed the other two girls but no actual physical action was undertaken in order to follow their example.
That was, Joanne managed to keep herself standing on the high and rather unstable heels and that actually was quite an accomplishment in and of itself given her current exhausted state.

But of course, she had not been taken here to stand still and balance herself on those heels.
When Hugo cleared the table and announced that her Frankenstein form ought to move onto the table in order to dance, Joanne paused for a mere moment. Caroline's threat still resounded in her ears - the more physical part of her threats drumming in her sour ass in concert. The journalist decided that her little act of disobedience would have to wait - provided that her complete lack of skill in the kind of dancing they were expecting of her would not be interpreted as such.
Instead, the woman made her way to the table - even forgetting to tell herself that she was 'Joanne' and not 'Zero' while her steps small and careful while her tired legs struggled to balance themselves on those horrid heels. She kept her gaze focused on the table, unwilling to face any of the guards or even one of the girls as she forced her damaged body closer towards the table.

In front of what would be her small and improvised podium she paused, her eyes seizing up the material before they went down her scarred and bruised legs and her pink stockings until they rested on her too-small heels. With effort, she managed to get herself on the table, having to use both hands in order to lift herself on the small platform. Only when she fully lifted herself, her slender frame stretching itself completely, did she look at her audience. She was uncertain whether she felt disgust or pity at the sight of their faces, uncertain whether she was amused in some twisted way by the fact that they had gathered to see her stitched-up body move to some unheard rhythm.
However, when she met with their gazes - even if only briefly - she felt that there was more than fear which began to stir in her body, more than mere obedience in fear of some horrid punishment which began to fuel her movements. It was... Stubborn pride? Joanne was uncertain what it was, her tired mind truly unable to distinguish such subtle emotions while having to focus on her body as well. Instead, Joanne slowly but surely began to sway on her heels, her mind ordering her exhausted body to bend in the same way as she imagined a stripper would. Or well, not a stripper - her movements were too unprofessional for such a thing. If anything, it was more akin to the clumsy attempts of a girlfriend who wished to impress her first boyfriend.
Joanne was not entirely aware of her body's movements however. Instead, she could swear she heard the sounds of waves crashing down on the beach while her eyes lingered on this or that guard...
 
Zero got a round of applauds as she got up on the table. Even the two guards who got their dicks worked by Tits - she switched between sucking the one on her left and rubbing the one on her right and the reverse - had their eyes fixed on her body. The wet auburn hair clinging to her cheeks, her mysterious green eyes, her ragged breasts and her bruised skin. It was all so strange but at the same time weirdly alluring. For a moment there was silence in the room as they waited for her to start to dance. Even Tits stopped her frenetic sucking to peak over her shoulder at the girl on the improvised stage. The two guards were to caught up in the moment to notice or bother to reprimand her for the inattention. The only one who did not watch the shivering girl in anticipation was Geraldo. He still just stared at the TV with a blank face, deliberately ignoring the world around him.

In a strange way there were something dignified about the women who slowly raised herself up on the table. She looked like a deer kid taking its first trembling steps, and when she finally stood upright it was like she could just as well have started to deliver a passionate political speech. Then she started to dance, or at least tried to dance, and the moment and the silence was broken. Again the room was filled with laughter and whistling. One of the guards Tits was pleasuring, a fat man in his early 50's who seemed to need a shave, picked up an empty beer can to throw at her. It hit her right on the forehead, the last few drips of lukewarm beer splashing out over her hair. "Come one! Dance so my dick gets hard for your friend!" he shouted.

They let her dance for a while, despite her shortcomings as an entertainer. Meanwhile Tits went on practicing her oral skills, making sure to press the two cocks all the way down her sour throat every single time. It made her cough and gag, she had still not managed to suppress that unpleasant reflex, but she knew it was better for her to force herself to do it than to fail and have the two men give her a helping hand. It was all about strategy, picking the marginally lesser or two big evils, and right now that dictated that she would droolingly penetrate her own throat causing emerging tears to ruin her mascara. So that was what she did.

Ass had got the zipper of her guard open and she quickly lowered her skinny body on the hard dick that sprung out of it, smiling as she watched the man moan and gasp in pleasure. She buried his face in her breasts and started to ride him slowly, letting out obviously fake moans every time she pushed her pussy down on his cock. She was not a very convincing act - not even a porn star would get away with that kind of overacting - but the man seemed to like it. "Who's you favorite slut here?" she asked while the guard sucked her nipples hard, one by one. "I know I am... And that new bitch is not going to take my place, is she?" she asked in a seducing voice as she started to rock her hips faster. "You be a bad boy... oh yeah, right there... and give that slut your worst... fuck me, oh fuck... give her a rough time... aaaah... your dick feels soooo gooood... just like you did with me when I was new... make her suffer... oh god take me harder... do it for me... pleeaaassseee..." Her voice was turning into a high pitch moan as she pretended to near her climax.

The commercials must have ended, because music was coming from the TV behind her. And what strange music to hear inside a prison! Two ladies were singing in Italian, and anyone with some classical schooling - something the guards hardly had - would have recognized it from "The Marriage of Figaro". Quite soon the guards grow bored with her fumbling performance, and Hugo decidedly ended it by grabbing her legs and pulling them forward so she fell backwards. With a bang she ended up on her back on the table with her head hanging of the edge.

She got a perfect view of the TV, but upside down. The music had ended, and instead there were a group of prisoners, not very different from her fellow inmates, sitting at a table in a canteen not very different from the one at el Cereso. Then the light from the TV was blocked by a pair of legs in black trousers with neat creases. The tall form of Hugo, his broad shoulders, thick neck and bald head, was towering up above her. Against the bright light of the TV he looked like nothing but a black silhouette. "Patience is a virtue, or so they say." he said with a surprisingly calm voice. "That blowjob you denied me, you'll be paying that back now. With interest." He pulled the zipper of his pants down, reaching in to pull out his already hard dick, a both thick and crooked thing that was bent upwards. "A good advice for your stay here: when someone ask you to blow them, open your fucking mouth."

With those words, he pressed four fingers into her mouth, the sweat from his digits tasting salty, and pried her jaw up. He placed the tip of his dick between her over painted pink lips, but he wasted no time on letting her suck it. Instead he jammed it in between her lips and down her throat with a single thrust, letting his balls slap against her nose. When her tight gullet tried to reject the intrusion the force of his thrust simply bent her neck until she could not bend anymore, and there were nowhere for his hard tool to go than deeper into her.

Between his legs she could see the TV. "...you need it so you don't forget." a blonde man, looking a bit to well groomed, to classy or educated to really fit into a prison, said. In that respect he was not very different from Joanne - he genuinely did not seem to belong there. Or at least he was no very different from the way Joanne had been back when there still existed such a thing. "Forget?" an Afro-American prisoner asked. A pair of sweaty big hands grabbed Joannes, or was it Zero's, ankles and spread her legs. She could not see the man who did it, but even without seeing it was all to obvious what would come next. Just as Hugo began to rhythmically pound her mouth with his thick manhood, another cock was pressed balls deep into her vagina. "Forget that... there are places in this world that aren't made out of stone. That there's something inside... that they can't get to, that they can't touch. That's yours." the out of place blonde man answered, his voice so sincere. The man started to fuck her fast and hard, she could feel his fat belly slap against hers every time he banged his cock inside her.

"What are you talking about?" the other inmate replied. Hugo and the other guard had synced up their pacing, so they both thrust into her petite body at the same time, compressing it between them. Her mouth was filled with the taste of Hugo's sweat, and with her lips forced apart there were no way for her to contain her own saliva. The view of the TV was starting to get blurred as her eyes clogged up with the slow rivers of spit that was running down her face. "Hope." The man who fucked her pussy was moaning loud and breathing heavy, his sweat was running down her legs that he had lodged on the side of his swollen beer belly and over his shoulders. He was panting and snorting, sounding like an exalted pig, but he just kept going on banging her. "Let me tell you something, my friend." the black man replied. He sounded upset now. "Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane. It's got no use on the inside, you better get used to that idea."

"Change the fucking channel, I don't want to listen to that shit while I bang this fuck." Hugo sputtered. Geraldo, who still hadn't gotten up from the couch pointed the remote at the TV and the parallel world that Joanne had peaked into was gone, replaced by the evening news from CNN.
 
The pain in her head seemed to signal a rather literal fall of grace, indeed. While a fiery pain shot through her head, burning and momentarily stunning the poor woman who kept blinking with her eyes Hugo's voice seeped through her dazed mind.
She stared at the black pants, the meaning of the words slowly dawning upon her when it was accompanied by a more visual element: a slowly hardening penis.
Joanne was not forced to stare at it overly long however because even before she realized what was about to happen, she felt sweaty digits prying her mouth open, wriggling themselves forcefully between her lips until they managed to part the painted lips fully. They stubbornly ignored their attempts at uttering some form of protest and had little trouble batting the pink and soft skin aside. The dazed woman was still trying just that - finding a way to vocalize her surprise, or perhaps a way to share the drumming pain in her head - when the finger tips were replaced by something bigger and more demanding.

Her green eyes went wide with shock when it entered her. If she had any doubt concerning the exact nature of the throbbing flesh which forcefully penetrated her mouth and even throat, the heavy balls which impacted with her face would have taken it away. A strong, musky scent filled her nose and tears stung into her mouth as she began to gag on the stiff flesh. However, the throbbing member which filled her up completely would not go away, resting heavy inside her throat for a moment, completely still.
The torturous meat suddenly moved away again but Joanne would be unable to breathe still. Instead, her tear-filled eyes were focused on the screen - her mind reeling when the stiff member was pushed back in again, triggering a new bout of coughs and gags from the by now flailing woman.

The sophisticated music which resounded in her ears was familiar somehow and provided an odd contrast with the rather crude actions to which she found herself subjected. Her tired mind was only too eager to listen to the faint music and the dialogue - which too, was oddly familiar - while Hugo stuffed her mouth and throat yet again with his hard member. It was then that she found her feeble attempts at distracting herself interrupted by yet another stiff intruder.
Her scream in response to said intruder was stifled by the large member which forced itself down her throat yet again and quickly turned into a muffled gagging and coughing.

"Forget that... there are places in this world that aren't made out of stone. That there's something inside... that they can't get to, that they can't touch. That's yours."
Joanne's widened eyes stared feverishly at the screen while the men seemed quite intend on finding exactly that spot, penetrating her exhausted body with a lust-inspired vigor. She did not want to think about what was happening to her. Even though she had been raped before - and not in the gentlest of manners, if such a thing even existed - this seemed almost unreal. The pain, the humiliation whenever Hugo's balls slapped against her flinching face or even the way in which the sweat of her assailants dripped down on her body, mingling with her own...

Joanne's back turned increasingly sour and painful while her body was shoved over the table at first, being impacted by both dicks at different times. Once her assailants found a joint rhythm, things did not truly improve for the desperate woman. Her tear-and-spit filled eyes stared frantically at the screen. She forced her exhausted yet panicked mind to focus on the moving images on the distant television rather than focusing her attention on the painful pounding of her body. She recognized the movie at last.
The Shawshank Redemption. A movie about a prison. About escaping from that prison and making oneself free even within the confines of its cold concrete walls...
Joanne had always found the movie inspiring, moving. This time was no different. Perhaps even more so, her dazed and bruised body desperate for any hope of respite, any hope of relief from the relentless assault. Her head pounded loudly as she focused herself on the man which she knew as 'Andy Dufresne', focused on his clear blue eyes - filled with something she was desperate to hold on to herself at this very moment: hope.

And then, with the simple click of a button; those eyes vanished, being replaced by another familiar face: one of CNN's new's anchors. Oddly enough, it was not so much the fact that her visual representation of hope had been changed into the grave face of a young woman - as much as it was the channel itself. CNN. Reporters. Breaking news.
And here she was, Joanne. Joanne Rachel Karcher, being in the middle of the results of her own breaking news. She watched the woman's lips move before the screen shifted to a crowd of angry people, but she could not truly hear what the other reporter said. Her water-filled eyes blurred the image and when she flinched for the so manieth time as Hugo's musky balls impacted with her face, the image was gone completely.
Even when she opened her eyes again, tears streaming down her cheeks at last, she failed to compose herself enough to focus on the screen, even though she tried. She had to. Try. And try. And keep trying.
Some said hope was a bitter-sweet taste. Joanne found that whatever it was she was currently tasting, it was far from sweet.
 
The flickering fatso who fucked her pussy soon started to thrust faster and faster, his balls slapping against her ass every time he sunk his dick deep into her tight snatch. His puffing breaths rattled and his moans became louder and louder. He put his hands on her thighs and pushed her petite body up his cock, meeting his thrusts. Hugo, who did not want to have his fuck doll pulled away from him, responded by grabbing the meat bags' tits with his sturdy hands, his strong fingers squeezing them hard as he used them to pull her towards him. The tug of war did not end until the fatso released his load deep inside of her warm cunt, howling like an injured wolf as he rammed his fat dick into her a last time. Still panting to catch his breath, he slid his cock out of the cum-dripping pussy and stepped back.

His position was not left unfilled for long. Another guard, the object of the gangbang could not see who, grabbed her legs and pushed them back to lift her ass up. With her pussy already soaked in semen he preferred the dry hole. Even though his hands were strong and his hips thrust hard it took him several chocks to push his long and hard member all the way down her ass. Once he had manage to force himself into her clenching hole, he continued to rock deep inside of her.

All the while Tits continued to work thoroughly on her two cocks. In due time she received her reward in the farm of hot spunk in her mouth. The man who had thrown the beer can at Zero pointed towards the table, and Tits immediately knew what to do. She crawled up on the table and pressed her head down between Zero's slender legs. Her mouth was still filled with jizz, and when she opened it to extend her tongue it flowed out, running down over Zero's pussy and belly, the stream filling up her navel before it continued down towards her bra. Tits brushed her warm tongue over Zero's pussylips, inadvertently licking up some of the cum that had spilled out of it. She repeated the exercise a couple of times before she zoomed in on her clit. She pressed her soft lips down on it and sucked, stopping only to flicker her tongue over it fast. Tits knew how to lick pussy. Ass had taught her in detail, training her in front of the guards as entertainment, making sure to punish her when she did bad. So by know she was good enough to pass as an experienced dyke. The man who had commanded Tits up on the table got up on his knees behind her and joined the fucking. He grabbed Tits hips and started to fuck her ass. Every time he penetrated her, her head would be pressed harder down on Zero's pussy, conveying the wave of sensation through her body as well.

After a while Hugo started to reach his climax. As his body tensed up in pleasure, he pulled harder on Zero's breasts, holding her nipples firmly between his fingers. The first shot of cum went down her throat, but then he put pulled his dick out so he could shoot two more spurts over her face. The only thanks she received was the cum and and some spit on her face, then he walked away without a word. She only got enough time to take a couple of deep breaths before a new cock was forced down her throat - the fatso was still hard, and the taste of pussy was mixed with that of sweat and cum as he shoved his dick in between her pink lips.

The guards continued to share her. As soon as one came, another would take his place. Sometimes they would shoot their loads inside of her, and sometimes on her. Her legs, her belly, her face, her tits, soon they were all coated with sperm as well as sweat. With her eyes covered with cum she could not see the men who were abusing her, only feel their dicks, hear them moan and smell their stale scents. Sometimes the dicks that were pushed into her gaping mouth tasted of blood when they had been in her ass, sometimes they tasted of pussy. All the time they tasted of cum. And without a seconds pause Tits went on stimulating her clit, frantically licking her pussy like if there were no tomorrow.

After one of the men just had shot a watery load of cum over her tits a new form appeared in front of her. It pressed it's crotch down on her face, but there were no cock. Instead Zero got a warm, wet pussy, dripping with cum pressed down on her mouth. "Lick me clean, bitch." Ass commanded. "Stick your tongue in there, suck out all the cum."
 
The music was long-gone, as was the almost cruel dialogue between the 'prisoners' on television. Even the soft sound of the news-reader's voice was decidedly unable to penetrate Joanne's ears as her captive body struggled against the fleshy intruders.
Instead, her ears were filled with the sounds of the guards - moans, grunts and rattled breath - which intermingled with her own muffled protests and breaths, interrupted by faint sounds of coughing and gagging whenever her throat found itself unable to cope with Hugo's thick member.
The tears - or whatever fluids flowed from her half-closed eyes - continued to streak her face as she desperately tried to protest her rough treatment. Her tired body tried to wriggle itself free from either captor - and found that neither man would let her.
Instead, she felt a couple of greasy hands clasp her upper legs, fat digits burying themselves into her thighs as the guard claimed her body with even more ferocity. Hugo somehow seemed inspired by this, for only moments later did Joanne feel how a pair of strong and sweaty hands grasped her breasts, his fingers digging deeply into the soft skin of her exposed flesh.
The poor captive tried to scream and growl, tried to protest this treatment but even this attempt was stifled by the throbbing cock which continued to pierce her mouth and throat. Not even her teeth were allowed to scrape the sensitive flesh of the meaty invader; whenever she even so much as tried to close her mouth, Hugo pressed it down more violently. His hands followed his cock's example and Joanne cringed when she felt his fingers press against the barely healed and tender flesh of the stitched-up hole in one of her breasts.

Slowly but surely, tiredness overtook Joanne again, dulling the already weakened protests of her body. Instead, she now allowed both men to pound her, stifling screams and moans while her tender back scraped over the table.
She felt how her body grew more sweaty but she was uncertain whether the salty drops on her body were solely hers' alone. No matter what the blonde prisoner on television had said, she was beginning to doubt that there was truly a refuge from all of this. She could not even open her eyes; the constant stream of saliva and sweat causing her to keep her eyes closed longer and longer. Without any actual sight to distract her, Joanne tried thinking of the beach. But the image of waves crashing down on the beach - the guards' sweaty bodies banging into her sorry body - did little to reassure the exhausted journalist.

Then, for one sweet moment, she was allowed to believe that her predicament improved. Howls of pleasure and a sudden increase of warmth within her pussy signaled the departure of at least one of her assailants. When another pair of hands grasped her legs however, Joanne realized that her hope had been in vain: another had come to take his colleague's place. When his stiff member forced its way into her other - and perhaps even more sour - hole, not even Hugo's cock could muffle the scream entirely.
Not that this fact helped her in the slightest; her scream earned her only laughter and perhaps even a doubling of the guard's efforts as they struggled to find a joint rhythm once more.

After what seemed like an eternity of painful pounding, both her throat and the holes between her legs quite sore, a new sensation was added to the mix. Joanne's faint consciousness signaled the presence of a third person. Her brow furrowed, she tried to open her eyes - but her sight revealed little else than the faint outlines of a distant television and parts of Hugo's legs and ass, the fleshy mass rocking around her.
Then, she suddenly felt how a warm liquid-like substance spread - dripped? - onto her belly and between her pussy lips. Puzzled, Joanne tried to identify this sensation - expecting the oddly gentle sensation to be followed by something harsher, more painful. But it was not, even though the humiliation of what was about to follow was at least as bad as the feelings of shame which accompanied the two cocks each time they forced themselves into her body. She felt something warm, something wet caress her pussy lips, tenderly stroking along and even between the wet flesh. A surprised gasp tickled Hugo's dick when she realized what was causing this new and not entirely unpleasant sensation: a tongue. Much to her humiliation and shame, Joanne noticed how the quite skillful tongue began to stir her exhausted body back to life, luring her tired frame towards excitement.
The journalist felt how her cheeks were slowly flustered with more than mere shame and anger; her face slowly but surely glowing with the first signs of arousal. The woman moaned in protest, trying to wriggle her hips away from the third intruder - not wanting to have yet another layer of shame being added to her predicament.

But despite her wild thrashing - or attempts thereof - all intruders stayed. The two firm dicks continued to force their way into her writhing body while the other wet muscle was assisted by soft lips as it clamped down on her most sensitive spot. Again, Joanne tried to fight it, tried to deny her body the pleasure granted by the sucking of that glistening nub. She even tried to focus on the pounding now, on the forced entrance and re-entrance of the cocks rather than giving into the pleasure.
At first, it worked. Somewhat.
Even as she tried to direct her attention solely to the rape, desperate to turn her attention towards a violation of her body than something which she perceived as perhaps even more shameful in this state: a forced arousal - she could not help but to feel how her breathing turned more shallow and quick.

Hugo's hands were a welcome and painful distracting from her increasingly excited body, her slowly stiffening nipples relaxing somewhat underneath his far-too-firm grasp again. But even this 'relief' was not allowed to last long; soon, she found herself gagging on cum, before she flinched in response to the same substance being squirted on her face, followed by a well-aimed bit of spit which landed between her eyes.
Within mere seconds, another piece of man-meat was forced between her lips and Joanne was lulled back into the same routine of being fucked and shoved over the table.
Only this time, there was another sensation: the horrid pleasure caused by the extremely skillful tongue and lips of her unknown assailant. Joanne cared not who - or what - it was, she only wished it to stop. And yet, she did not - her body beginning to get more and more aroused by the flicking tongue, her clit swollen because of the oral attentions which it continued to receive. The journalist was uncertain how long she managed to stop herself from cumming, how long it took her tired body to stop its futile struggle while the wet muscle continued to wrestle with her extremely sensitive nub.
She did not know how many times her holes had been filled with still-stained dicks, how bruised and sour her breasts or back were by the time that she suddenly felt herself tense.
Joanne squeezed her eyes even further shut as she felt the heat on her face increase in the same manner as the heat in the rest of her body did. However, the heat seemed to explode between her legs, the lips sucking down even more intently while her body began to shake more violently. Joanne tried to suppress the emotions the best she could in the same manner as she had tried to deny the increasing wetness between her legs and her stiff nipples. Unfortunately for the poor girl, her pussy was being pounded even as the first waves of the orgasm began to crash down on her. With fiery red cheeks, the climaxing woman sent out raspy bouts of breathing - most of them stifled by the large cock in the same manner that her breath had before.
The tensing and relaxing of her inner muscles were less easy to dismiss however; her pussy clamped down on its intruder with an unexpected hunger and she heard several surprised gasps and moans from the man which worked her lower hole. She felt his grasp around her legs tighten, his fingers digging painfully deep into the tender flesh of her thighs as her climax brought on another.

The humiliation which this realization brought forth, was worse than the actual pounding and raping of her body. To Joanne, proud and stubborn as she always had been - even if in her current broken state - it was, at least. But it would not be the first time that those lips and skillful tongue would force her to cum during the assaults. The poor exhausted woman was brought to an exquisite and extremely humiliating orgasm at least two more times before she found herself shuddering underneath another new sensation: a woman's pussy.
New scents stung into her nose when the wet flesh was pressed against her gaping mouth, her tongue tasting a variety of familiar and less familiar flavors. Ass. Surprisingly enough, Joanne felt little remorse when she used the woman's more humiliating name. She did wonder whether her spirited struggling - futile as her thrashing might have been - would count as disobedient enough. It was only too bad that the woman whose wetness slid up and down her face at this very moment, had told her that her disobedience ought to be directed at the guards and not in general...
Reluctantly, and only after a short struggle within her tired mind, Joanne stuck her tongue between the wet and exposed folds. Her tongue slowly began swirling around the wet flesh while Joanne's face became heated by yet another humiliating experience. She tasted the odd mix of flavors as her mouth and tongue lapped and sucked at the exposed skin, fluids of dubious origins slowly seeping into her mouth. Joanne felt herself tense when the tongue which was teasing her own wet flesh was replaced by a pair of lips before an entire mouth enclosed her sensitive nub. She moaned softly when said mouth began to suck even more vigorously on her clit and Joanne felt herself panic. She would not cum. Not now.
Focusing herself on that thought, the journalist tried to think about how much she felt disgusted and humiliated by this experience - tasting the foul liquids and the woman's lewd folds as she increased her efforts on cleaning Ass - suddenly desperate to please the woman so that she might leave Joanne before she would cum yet again...

But not even this humiliation was to be spared her; amidst an almost feverish licking and sucking which could have fit the description of 'hate sex' just perfectly - Joanne gasped. Her rushed breath tickled the moist folds which she had been cleaning so thoroughly and even when she managed to smother her moans with more of the wet flesh, the rest of her body quivered as yet another forced orgasm was brought about. Almost clutching Ass' drenched intimacy with her mouth, the auburn-haired woman forced herself to suck on and on, tears of humiliation running down her heated face anew. She tried not to let her exhausted mind combine the two sensations; the one of pleasure, forced as it might have been, and the continued raping of her body while she serviced Ass. However, she was very tired indeed...
 
Without a cock down her throat to muffle her cries, moans and screams, Zero's climax became much louder. The guards laughed and cheered as they heard her quick grasps for air and watched her squirm on the table, Ass holding her face firmly in place between her legs. Zero's moans were accompanied by Ass', but there were nothing natural or genuine about hers. She was obviously faking her orgasm, panting and gasping just to impress the audience with her performance. Of the girls Zero was the only one who actually came.

When she was satisfied with Zero's licking, Ass let go of her head. She bended down over the cum covered face and wiped the sticky mix of various body fluids away from her eyes, then wiping her fingers clean again using Zero's hair. Staring into her subordinates eyes with her clear brown gaze, Ass slowly moved her red painted lips, miming the words "Watch out, bitch." Then she left her there on the table, and instead headed for the couch where she lied down and spread her legs waiting for someone to come and claim her body once more.

Zero's mouth was not left unutilized for long. A thin but alarmingly long cock was showed down her throat. Judging from the foul taste it had been down someones ass recently, but since it lacked the iron taste of blood it could not have been hers. Maybe Tits'? No matter who he had fucked before her, he was still rock hard and ready for more. Zero was getting her own ass pounded as well, for the fifth or maybe it was the sixth or the seventh time just today. Tits had stopped licking her pussy, because she was to occupied with moaning and screaming loud as someone forced a thick cock into her pussy from behind. "Yeeesss... fuck me like a whore... fuck my stupid whore brain out!" she yelled with her shivering voice filled with pain.

With her eyes cleared Zero could see the TV again between the legs of the man who was thumping his cock into her throat. A female reporter, about Joannes age, is standing outside a building. Not just any building - it's the 1150 15th Street, N.W. The Washington Posts head quarters. "It has now been four days since the Washington Post journalist and American citizen was sentenced to three life sentences for a triple homicide. According to the Posts lawyers as well as numerous civil rights groups and experts on the Mexican justice system the trial was a set up." He grabbed Zero's nose, sealing it shut so that no air could get in that way, and then pressed his cock balls deep into her mouth. Without her being able to breathe in any way, he released his pressure. With his penis down her throat, he started to urinate. At least she did not have to taste the horrid liquid this time. "Ain't it handy to always have a urinal nearby?" he asked and the others, Ass included, laughed.

Katharine Weymouth, publisher and CEO, sits in her lofty office looking straight into the camera with determined eyes. "We will not tolerate this. Miss Karchers outrageous conviction is a direct result of her ongoing investigation into the Mexican drug trade. I have a meeting with the secretary of state scheduled for tomorrow and I will make it absolutely clear that we expect nothing less than the full backing of the United States diplomatic weight." Her voice is fierce - she sounds like a general about to declare war. Once the golden stream down her throat had dissipated the man let go of her nose so she could breath again, at least a little, and resumed hammering her throat with his tool.

Someone else shot a load of cum over her belly and a dick was pressed into her cunt again. The camera pans the familiar yard of the White House. "It is believed that a cautious stance from the administration could compromise endorsements for democratic candidates in the upcoming 2014 midterm elections." the reporters voice said. "No please, put it in my ass instead... I want it in my ass!" Tits begged, but her voice told another story. "While the diplomatic game goes on, all Joannes friends and family can do is to hope for the best." A shaky shot of Joannes mother walking into their house. Her back is turned to the camera as she tries to avoid the journalist, but just before she close the door she looks over her shoulder. Her eyes are filled with tears. Someone came inside of her cunt, the tight snatch overflowing with semen. The image blends into an old photo of Joanne. "Demonstrations are planned outside of the Mexican embassy tomorrow."

It was not until then that the guards noticed what was going on. "Isn't... isn't that Zero?" the guy who had just shot his spunk into her pussy asked with a trembling voice. His softening cock slid out of her body. No one answered his question, instead they all stared at the TV in silence. The cock was pulled out of her mouth as her tormentor turned around to be able to see. Hugo stopped with his cock only halfway down Tits' ass. "Fuck..." he mumbled. "Fuck!" Even Ass stopped sucking on the dick she had in her mouth and watched the TV.

Then the report was over, and the news cut back to the studio. "It is a very tragic story, indeed." the news anchor said. "I hope the weather won't be as bad? Over to you, Tim."
 
Watch out.
The almost soundless words continued to ring within Joanne's mind as she stared back up at the woman who held her face. Her own fierce green eyes were tired, betraying an immense humiliation and strong feelings of disturbance and suppressed anger.
She felt how Ass' grip tightened on her now semi-clean face for a moment and Joanne felt a pang of fear. More than a pang of fear even; the memories of the wooden torture device were still fresh despite her current mental and physical state.
Joanne was too tired, too humiliated to try and hide that fear from the stern gaze of her female tormentor.
Perhaps it was for the best - Joanne imagined that a bitch like Ass preferred her victims scared and trembling.
Even if those trembles were actually thinly veiled quivers of arousal, the last remains of yet another humiliating orgasm...

Then the cruel woman stepped out of sight, her slender frame being replaced with that of yet another male. Joanne felt herself tense when yet another cock was shoved down her painful and sour throat. His mere length would have been enough to make her gag anew but the foul taste of his flesh brought forth an even more inspired bout of coughing from her exhausted body, causing tears to well up in her red-rimmed eyes anew.
At least the other woman - because Joanne was convinced that it had been Tits - had stopped licking her. Well, convinced? Joanne prayed that it had been the other woman's tongue which had brought forth a whole series of humiliating orgasms. The idea that one of the cruel guards could have stirred such pleasure disturbed her even more - and thus, Joanne's anxious mind settled for the former option.

Then, another set of fake screams tore through the air; causing Joanne to shiver as she realized that they were from Tits. No, not Tits. Danielle. A firm resolve formed itself within the exhausted woman as she repeated the human name of the woman. Her own name.
She was human. Not Zero. Not a thing. Not a...

Joanne's eyes widened when she recognized the image on the television. Even though the image was turned upside-down due to her own uncomfortable position on the table, she would have recognized the place from anywhere. The Washington Post building. The reporter's words took a moment to settle within Joanne's mind. Journalist. Four days. Triple homicide...
Where they?
She felt her heart miss a beat before it suddenly began drumming with a renewed intensity.
It was then that her nose was suddenly squeezed shut, her mouth sealed off hermetically by the man's excited flesh and heavy balls. Joanne's green eyes widened even further, disgust and shock clear upon her half-covered face when she felt the foul warmth run down her throat. She tried to fight the liquid as it trailed down, her coughs almost inaudible due to the fleshy mass which was still pressed into her mouth and throat.
Of course, it was useless.

And thus, another set of tears welled up in her by now angry eyes. Heated tears were barely contained within those green lookers as the raped woman stared at the television, focusing her attention on the screen to the best of her ability.
She tried to ignore the sheer indignation, the feelings of outrage and humiliation as she forced her gaze to remain on the television, praying that her mind would follow her example.
Her eyes went wide with recognition yet again when she saw the woman, Katharine Weymouth. Joanne had only rarely spoken to the woman but she immediately identified her as the CEO.
Miss Karcher.
That was she. She, Joanne. They really were talking about her.

Joanne found her attention fading - her dwindling oxygen supply making it feel as if both her heart and head were about to burst. The golden liquid continued to trail down her throat, the steady supply of piss ignoring the futile gags and coughs of the weakened woman.
Then, a sudden release. A respite.
Her nose was released and Joanne greedily inhaled the air, her fading vision turning more sharper. Several scents pricked into her nose as she inhaled through her nose, her nostrils flaring in a seemingly angry fashion as she hastily drained the air of oxygen.
The pressure in her lower body, too, was suddenly relieved, followed by a warm sensation on her already soiled belly and Joanne shivered with disgust before she was filled up yet again, another dick forcing its way into her raped body.

The next images were an odd contrast with the fake begging of Tits, her hollow words belying the building which Joanne had always associated with freedom. Even the pride which filled her as she saw the familiar colors of the American flag outside the perfectly white building seemed to emphasize her current state of gracelessness, the extreme humiliation of her situation.
However, even those strong feelings were replaced by sheer.... Surprise? Outrage? Worry? Sadness?
... Another set of emotions - another train of thoughts - when that woman, her mother, her poor-poor mother, came into view.
Joanne swallowed as if she was suddenly unaware of the large member which still rested between her lips, her throat dry despite the flow of liquid which had trailed down her sour throat only moments ago.

Everything seemed to slow. Slow to an almost unnatural pace as the journalist, spread naked on a table as she was raped over and over, met the gaze of her distant mother.
The pain in the woman's eyes made that Joanne momentarily forgot about her own predicament, about the pain in her exhausted and battered body due to the intense compassion she felt for her own mother.
She felt her body protest when yet another load of hot semen was added to the already filled hole between her legs, the foul substance staining her dirty frame even further when she saw the photo of herself.
The girl on the photo beamed at the viewer, the look in her fierce green eyes intelligent while a happy smile graced her lips. The girl seemed ready for the future, knowing that it was full of promise and that she would reap every bit of it.
Nothing in the image betrayed even a hint of the horrors which Joanne now found herself subjected to.
Nothing.

At last, the guards ceased their assaults. Slowed. Ceased. The dazed woman was uncertain which of the two - if any - was the truth but both of the fleshy invaders were removed from her trembling body.
When the photo of the young woman faded at last, Joanne was left with nothing but the harsh truth of her own reality.
And surprisingly enough, the spirit and strength to defy it.
The tears in her eyes slowly dissipated as she stared at the image of the talking weatherman, her face glowing as much with humiliation as much as it was radiating anger.

"My name is not Zero."
The first words were barely audible, little more than a hoarse whisper which escaped her stained lips.
But the look in her eyes defied every bit of that initial weakness, burning with a shocked resolve and heated anger. Those green eyes instead focused themselves on the guards, on her rapists, as she slowly raised her cum-and-sweat covered body. Her trembling, bruised and bloodied frame would not raise itself fully; in fact, little more than her head and upper body managed to obey her commands.
Nonetheless, the second time she spoke, her voice was clear. Clear despite the tears which suddenly stung into her eyes.
"My name is Joanne. Joanne Rachael Karcher."

Joanne was uncertain whether the resolve which fueled her loud voice would remain. Uncertain whether she would remember her own words. But she would try. Try and fight.
Because she would not go down yet.
Not today.
Not. Fucking. Today.
 
The silence was so compact that it could be sliced it with a knife. The guards eyes switched between staring at the TV, the meteorologist going on about rain coming in over the north eastern coast, and looking at the cum covered mess of a girl that was lying at the table. She was quite a sight - her pink lips were barely visible under the thick layers of spit and semen, the pink stockings were torn already and her auburn hair looked like she had just taken a walk through a storm. Fluids were dripping from all of her holes, like the tears that had sprung from her eyes. She looked fucked, thoroughly fucked, and indeed that was exactly what she was.

When Zero, or maybe it was Joanne who spoke, uttered her words surprised gasps for breath broke the silence. No one dared to speak, or knew what to say, they just stood in chock and looked at her as if she had just committed the most heinous crime. Time seemed to stand still. Then she said her old name, and the magic was broken just as fast as a soap bubble burst when you touch it. Someone pulled her leg, dragging her up further on the table so she could look up at the ring of men that towered up above her. Hugo pulled his dick out of Tits' ass, a string of cum still connecting the head of his cock to her gaping hole, and pushed her out of the way. She fell down from the table and onto the floor.

Hugo picked up an empty beer bottle. His resolute face showed no signs of mercy - his dry lips pressed together into a straight line and his cold eyes devoid of all emotion. When he crushed the bottle against the edge of the table, leaving him with a sharp, thorny weapon in his hand, all of the men started to chuckle and laugh. Well, all except Geraldo. He was still sitting exactly where he had when it all started, still staring at the television as if nothing had happened between then and now. Suddenly Hugo bent down over her, his face just centimeters away from hers. "Joanne fucking Rachael Karcher is dead." he hissed, and a rain of saliva descended on her as he pressed the words out between his teeth. He pressed the improvised weapon to her throat and a tine of glass, sharp as a needle, pressed on her soft skin. "And if you don't mind your words..." As Hugo added just a little more pressure her skin finally yielded and the tine penetrated her flesh. "...you will wish Zero was dead as well."

"Do it, Hugo!" one of the guards shouted. "Show that bitch!" another added. Hugo's lips were twitching as his cold countenance gave way to a rabid, feverish smile. It was then that Geraldo suddenly got up from the couch. "Okay, that's it. Your fun time is up." he said with a calm but determined voice. The pressure from the broken bottle decreased and Hugo sighed. "The Warden said he wanted to see her and it is already late." Geraldo explained as he elbowed his way to the girl. He hesitated for a short second, not finding any part of her that was clean enough to be pleasant to touch, before he grabbed her glove covered wrist and pulled her to her feet.

"Fine, killjoy." Hugo muttered. "Take her to the Warden. Tits will take her punishment instead." Geraldo did his best not to lose his composure, but could not help to blink. He was silent for a second as he thought about what to do, but soon realized that there was nothing he could do. So he gave Zero a push towards the door and roared "Come on, slut! You have a date!" The last thing they saw before they exited the room was Tits' strangely serene face as she was being lifted up on the table to take Zero's place.

Geraldo took her down the same corridor that Hugo had brought her earlier. As soon as they turned a corner and were out of sight and earshot, he stopped and grabbed her shoulders with his big hands. All the assertiveness that he had displayed towards the other guards had been blown away. Despite his furrowed face and his strong, thick arms covered in tribal tattoos he managed to look small and vulnerable, like a confused and scared little boy. "You are innocent? Right? You are not supposed to be here?" he asked in broken English, his voice filled with desperation. "Tell me everything!"
 
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