El Cereso Prison (Steel Butterfly & Adam)

Harvey Forrest locked at the file that was spread out on his mahogany desk. It wasn't a beautiful story. According to the report Joanne, the convicted girl, was affiliated with Vicente Carrillo Fuentes, a ruthless drug cartel infamous for it's violent clashes with the rival Sinaloa cartel. On the attached photo she looked like a sweet girl, far to young to be an hardened criminal, but her appearance was deceptive. The little cutie on the photograph had actually committed a triple homicide, brutally slaughtering three innocent bystanders who out of bad luck had become witnesses to her gun fight with two unidentified opponents, believed to be members of the Sinaloa. She had shot the victims, a couple and their daughter, while they were trying to flee from the crime scene. The parents had died immediately, while the merely fourteen year old girl, who had at first only been shot in the leg, died when the cold hearted perpetrator had fired a second shot though her forehead at point blank distance. Her beautiful green eyes seemed so playful and alert on the photograph, almost like she was flirting with the photographer, but behind them hid a disgusting monster, not a human being.

With the three witnesses out of the way, Joanne must have thought she had covered all her trails. What she did not know was that she had been followed by an American agent, who had kindly provided a detailed account of the incident to the Mexican police. The speedy treatment of the case in Mexico's otherwise famously slow course system as well as the harsh verdict - three lifetimes in jail, one for each victim - was all thanks to his inviolable work.

Harvey found the whole story lamentable. Through the years he had seen a lot, after all he had worked for the CIA for more than a decade, but this pointless brutality was just deplorable. However there was a bright side to the story - the dangerous criminal would be kept away from the streets, and would instead have to suffer a harsh punishment in his prison. Harvey had first arrived at El Cereso Prison as a US "adviser" as a part of the War on Drugs. Concerned with the effect the dysfunctional Mexican prisons had on the drug trade, the US government sent in some help to steer up the situation. He had been very effective and succeeded in turning the violent chaos that used to be El Cereso into strict order. At first his superiors were very pleased at the results, but when rumors about the methods he used reached them, they quickly got cold feet. He was promptly discharged from his position, but Harvey had no intention of giving up. Instead of returning to the US, he turned to the Mexican government who was less picky with human rights abuses, and they immediately offered him the position as warden.

Harvey's thoughts returned to the girl. She might as well be innocent, off course, just a victim of a cruel set up. The fact that she had been sent to his prison, who technically was in the wrong district, indicated that something fishy was going on. But the warden was not interested in boring details such as her possible innocent. It really didn't matter, because the only fact that was of any importance was that she would be his property soon. After all, female inmates was always the best, he thought as he reached down to stroke the pet he kept under his desk.


After the judge had read the short verdict and declared the trial to be over, Joanne had been escorted directly to the prison transport, an old shabby delivery wan, by two armed med in the grey prison guard uniforms. They were both in their early to mid 30's, and a quick comparison between her thin body and their muscular carcasses made it obvious that one of them would have been more than enough to keep her in check. But they had sent two anyway. One was a tall, bald man whose thick neck made his head look like nothing but a weird tumor sticking up from his wide shoulders. The other was a short but broad guy with his thick arms covered in tribal tattoos and his mousy, straggling hair hanging down all the way to his shoulders. Both wore sunglasses, and their stone like faces was just as void of any expression as the dark surface of their glasses. To be honest, they looked more like two criminal henchmen than enforcers of the law

None of the two had spoken a single word to her so far. In complete silence, they had cuffed her hands, and led her to the car. There the bald one had tossed her into the storage area of the wan like if she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. A few second after they had closed the doors, leaving her in complete darkness, the car drove off. After what felt like an eternity but in fact was no more than an hour, they had arrived at the prison and let her out. Now the two guards, the bald to her left and the short to her right, were escorting her down the roomy, shining corridors of the prisons well maintained administrative building. Without knocking, they open the double doors leading to the wardens office and barged in.

For the first time one of the two spoke. "Here's the cargo, sir." the bald one reported in a militaristically sharp and loud voice, as he gave his prisoner a firm push forward so she ended up standing right in front of the desk. The warden slowly raised his gaze from the documents he had been reading, revealing a rugged face with a angular jawbone, and two cold, apathetic, dark eyes. His hair had the same army hair cut it had had since his youth, even though it was more grey than dark brown now. The black suit he was wearing, an expensive piece that probably cost more than most Mexican workers earned in a month, did not hide the fact that his robust body still in shape, even though he was more than fifty years old. When he was younger he had exercised to attract women. Now that was not a problem he had to deal with anymore, since attraction had ceased to be a requirement, but he was well aware of the fact that his job was dangerous, and one day his physical fitness could be the difference between life and death.

Harvey's judging eyes wandered over the new prisoners body, from top to toe. He made no effort to hide the fact that he spent quite some time staring at the girls boobs. The hunger that lit up his previously empty eyes signaled that he like what he saw. "Welcome to El Cereso." he said in a hoarse, low voice, and his poker face broke down into a smug smile. "Or perhaps I should say welcome home?"

The cargo.
Was such the way in which her presence had been announced? The way in which one of these so called cops had deemed it fit to describe a human being?

Joanne felt the previously dormant anger within her flare anew as she was roughly pushed forward, the sudden movement almost tipping her off-balance. The momentary struggle to remain on her feet only added to her humiliation, which in turn fed her frustration as she glared at the man who had so unceremoniously presented her to the man behind the desk.
It was not that the research journalist - assuming that she would ever be able to return to her home-country and exercise her profession once again - had not suffered from likewise indignity. It was not that she had been treated with much kindness the past few days, the days leading up to the trial in which she found herself condemned for a crime she had not committed.
Charged for a murder which supposedly had been committed in the name of the very drug cartel whose activities she had been tracing.
It...

Even now, the mere realization - or perhaps, her lack of understanding, the inability to comprehend just how she had ended up in all of this - still dazed her. Her feverish mind had never ceased its seemingly futile struggle as it tried to wrap itself around the events from the past few weeks.
First, there had been the lead, the initial peaking of interest when she had stumbled upon something. She had been helping a colleague who was working on article on Mexican prisons, which in and of itself had been nothing special.
Everyone knew how corrupt the Mexican system was; how the few honest law enforcers were out-numbered by their many crooked and corrupt colleagues. How the violence of the drug cartels had infected the entire society - prison bars unable to stop most if any of it.
The files had been documenting several interviews with prisoners, described some of their activities. But there had been more, Joanne would quickly find. More to the often sad and harsh stories of those who had ended up behind the bars.
The bloody trails of the cartels did not stop at their prison bars. Instead, she had found clues pointing that the corruption had spread towards the States. Which again, was nothing new. Money was money and for all the violence and death that surrounded the drug cartels, it was the promise of decadent riches that kept them going.
However, this time the trail had not led to a simple US cop near the border.
It had been far worse.

The dedicated journalist had found traces leading all the way to an US senator and like any proper research journalist, she had continued to follow the trails, determined to bring out to the truth. Even when the trails led her back to Mexico, where she hoped to meet up with some people who might provide her with more substantial evidence, cementing the information she had found up until now.
Everything had went well - or well enough - when suddenly events had taken a grim turn.

It had started with the call. A call from the security company, telling her that her home-alarm had been set off.
Joanne found it odd, given how she had taken great care to make certain that her neighbor turned on the lights every now and then, closing the curtains at night and what-not. In fact, very few people knew that she was away from home.
It had been enough reason for her to return to the small motel where she was staying - to make sure that it was just a coincidence. That someone had simply broken into her apartment in hopes of stealing the over-sized TV perhaps.
When she had returned to the motel however, things went really awry. There had been two police cars outside the building. The kind lady behind the improvised reception had regarded her nervously as she saw her appear, saying something to the cop which stood next to her.

Then things went fast. Too fast. The cop had approached her - gun drawn. Shocked, Joanne had simply complied with his demands, vaguely recalling something about a murder as she was forced onto the ground. She had been taken to a small police station, where she had to confirm her identity, which she did. Charges had not been made still - even though one of the cops had regarded her with disgust as she was rough-handled into another car, a day later.
She had been taken to another police station where she learned that she had been arrested on suspicion of murder. A triple murder at that. The outrage did not stop there however, for they presented her with the evidence. Photos of a murder so horrid and callous that she found herself looking away in disgust were shoved in her face over and over. The gun, which had been found in her motel room. With her prints. A witness. More witnesses. It had all been one big blur and her profound lack of sleep in the small holding cells and damp interrogation chambers in which she had spent most of her time had done little to improve her situation.
She denied, of course.
She begged for a lawyer. Which was denied too, of course.
The evidence was overwhelming and were it not for the fact that she knew that it had not been her finger pulling the trigger on those three people, she might have believed herself guilty too.

And then there had been the actual trial. Her denial had made little difference; within an hour she was found guilty and sentenced to three lifetimes in prison. One for each of her victims.
For once, the Mexican legal system had worked surprisingly swift and quick.

Now, she found herself here. Her hands cuffed behind her back like the dangerous criminal she was thought to be, her two handlers ready to surrender her to the next step in the justice system: prison itself. Where she was to remain for the rest of her life.
Joanne still refused to believe it, telling herself that she would be proven herself innocent soon enough.
Her fierce eyes studied the man as he 'welcomed' her into the prison, trying to determine his worth. El Cereso. The name sounded vaguely familiar to her. Her thoughts however were interrupted by the sudden hunger she noticed in his previously cold eyes.
He was staring at her. Or more precisely, staring at her breasts and the dirt bag was not even trying to hide it..!
Offended by his almost hungry stares at rather specific features of her slender frame, Joanne found herself struggling with her cuffs, instinctively wanting to cross her arms in front of her chest - obscuring them from his view as her cheeks began to glow. She growled softly when she felt the cuffs straining against the flesh of her wrists, the pain reminding her that all of this was more than just a horrid nightmare.
Her green-brown eyes stared at him angrily as she felt herself taken aback by the shamelessness of this man.

"Get your eyes off of me!" Joanne hissed, feeling how the pent-up frustration with her situation, with everything, began surfacing anew. Perhaps it had even been inspired by the smug smile which had accompanied the man's comment - or had it been the comment itself, the suggestion that this could become her home, that strangers like him could stare at her like that without any consequence.
Perhaps it simply had been her, that inability to cope with injustice of any kind - that same drive which had caused her to follow the trail of corruption all the way to Mexico. And also, the same drive which no doubt had landed her here. In what appeared to be nothing short of a set-up by those same corrupted people she had sought to persecute...

She knew not what had caused the anger, but she was grateful for it. Grateful for the anger that steeled her backbone rather than the feverish fears which had plagued her for the past days, weeks even.
Instead, she now faced up to the man behind the desk with defiance, biting back her fear and forcing herself to narrow her previously wide-open and more fearful eyes. Of course, there was little victory to be had here, the woman unable to shelter herself completely from his bold stares, but she would not have him treat her like that.

Harvey leaned back in his chair. Behind him was a panorama window, giving a magnificent view of the dry Mexican landscape. In the distance, the outline of Juarez could bee seen through the hazy, dust filled air. There were plenty of people for whom this had been their last view of the world outside of the prison walls, and most likely that would be the case for Joanne as well.

When the cuffed girl spoke, the smug smile exploded into a croak laughter. What was this? A rabbit caught in the head-lights a truck, that did not freeze or even flee, but instead tried to command the truck to stop? It was just as fun as it was naive, because no matter what the rabbit did, it would still be hit by the truck. "Or else what?" the hardened prison warden asked, with a mocking interest in his voice. "You'll kill me too?" He laughed at his own joke, and the two guards joined in as well. They did not sound very amused, but they were smart enough to know what was expected of them, so they played along in their superiors game.

The laughing awoke his pet that had been sleeping under the desk. Lying completely still in it's sleep until now, it was not strange that it had gone unnoticed. But now that she yawned, letting out a little high pitch moan, and lifted her head up, it was hard not to notice her. The pet did not look the way normal people would expect a pet to look like. It was not a faithful dog or a graceful cat that was curled up in the straw basket under his desk, no, it was a human being, a woman in her late 20's to be more exact. Apart from the pink collar around her neck and the long hair, so blonde that it was obvious that it was dyed, that fell down over her shoulder, there were nothing that covered her pale skin. Actually, the hair color was not the only thing on the girl that was fake. No woman with such a slender, athletic body would have been blessed, or cursed, with such large breasts.

Harvey reached down to his little toy and scratched it behind the ear. The girl, or maybe thing was a more appropriate description, let out a purring sound of pleasure as her hole body shivered under the touch. The wave of sensation that run through her ended with her wiggling her ass. The light tone of the skin on her petite abdomen was broken off by deep red stripes, the fading evidence of a thorough beating. It focused it's clear blue eyes on the fingers that had been scratching it, and then proceeded to lick them eagerly. She let them slide in between her shrill pink painted lips and started to suck on them like a baby given the breast, like if there were nothing else in the world. "Calm down, Pussy, you will get your food soon." the warden said as he pulled his fingers away and patted the poor creature.

Harvey looked up at his new subject again. "Here at El Cereso we have a very special system. It keeps the inmates calm, it keeps the guards happy and it keeps my bosses satisfied." From the distant tone in his voice, it was clear that he had given this little speech countless times before. "You, like many female inmates before you, will fulfill an important function in this system. You are the oil that keeps the machinery running." He paused for a while, not to contemplate what to say next, but to savor the moment. By know, the expression on the bitches faces was usually priceless. Some would be scared, others would be angry. He wished that he would have been able to save all their expressions, and frame photos of them and make a little exhibition. "You can not choose not to fulfill this function, to not play your role, because no matter what you choose to do, it will reinforce this system. I encourage you to try to break it, only so that you can learn to fail."

The pet, now that it had been deprives of his fingers, had started to enthusiastically lick his black leather boots instead. "Now you will be given a choice. I want you to think it through carefully." There was something about the way he said it that made him sound sincere, maybe it was because he was actually looking straight into her eyes now, and not at her tits. "You can either be taken to your cell, and live your life as a prisoner, or you can curl up with Pussy under my desk and live your life as a pet."

Joanne had not joined in the laughter - of course she had not. Instead, the still furious woman found herself clenching her jaws at his stinging remark and flashes of the past few week momentarily flooded her feverish mind anew. The panoramic view behind the laughing man, too, triggered memories. Its view almost seemed designed to mock the newcomers, to punish criminals for their crimes by showing them what they had lost.
Cruel. Crude. Like the man's snide remark.
Even if she had somehow been able to appreciate the grim and dark humor in his mocking remark, the smile would have faded the moment her eyes caught sight of.. A human.
A human female, curled up under the creep's desk like a pet.
Or no, not like a pet.
An actual pet.
Because the naked woman responded exactly like a pet; her every manner and detail reminiscent of an animal and above all, breathing submissiveness.
It was almost as if her human appearance, her unnatural breasts and dyed hair - as if all of it was nothing but mere details, intended to confuse the observer and tricking him into thinking that the creature underneath the desk was indeed a human.
The manner in which she - it? - allowed herself - itself? - to be treated shocked Joanna, who watched the proceedings with a mixture of disgust and shock.
And anger, slowly creeping onto her cheeks.

All of these emotions were visible in her fierce green eyes when the man in the black suit directed his attentions towards her again. All of them - even though Joanne tried to disguise her shock and disgust at least somewhat. Part of her felt an intense compassion towards the thing - human - for even the former journalist had to remind herself that it was a human being underneath that desk. The deep red markings on the woman's skin had told Joanne that the woman had most likely not willingly surrendered herself.
How could anyone willingly surrender to such a horrid existence?
The mere thought of the beatings which this woman no doubt had suffered before she was broken was enough to infuriate Joanna again. Indeed, there was very little she needed to fuel her rage, very little nourishment was required to feed her anger.
And this was more than very little.
This was shocking.

And yet, the man's words would paint an even bleaker picture. He never detailed the exact role of the women or in what precise ways the so called 'special' system of this prison worked. Still, his words were enough to leave a grim impression on the young female.
As she continued to look him in the eye, forcing herself not to look away no matter how vile his suggestions were, she felt grateful for the many shocking interviews which she had had. While none of the interviews could ever have prepared her for this, she could draw on her professional experience at least somewhat. She was unable to keep all of the emotion out of her face - far from able even, but she would not cry nor shout. Her hands might have clenched themselves into frustrated, angry fists more than once throughout his talking, but she would not shake or tremble.
No fear.
Joanne would not give the man such satisfaction, she decided.

Thus, it was despite her creeping fear that she spoke up, straightening her back.
She kept her own bright eyes locked with those dark orbs as she faced him.
She would not find herself servicing this man or showing him any sort of affection, let alone lick his fingers in a sickening fashion.
"Take me to my cell."
Her voice was calm, surprisingly calm even given her outrage. And especially given the slight hints of fear which had crept into her very bones the moment she had seen the little pet. Yes, her voice had been calm. Brave.
But where would that calm and bravery take her..?

Harvey was not surprised with her answer, but he was very surprised by the clear and steady tone she delivered it in. This would be a tough one to crack, and he did not expect to see her again soon. But the more pride they came in with, the more satisfying it was to deprive them of it. And the one who waits for something good never waits to long.

"Many women have passed this room, and they have all made the same decision as you did. The funny thing is that they have all regretted it." His voice didn't exactly give the impression that he shared the regret of his prisoners, on the contrary he seemed to find this fact rather amusing. "Pussy, for instance, could tell you about what she had to go through to earn the position she so easily turned down two years ago when she was standing right where you are standing now."

When Pussy herd her name she lost focus from licking her boots, getting to exited by the fact that her master talked about her. Instead, she looked up at the mans crotch. Like a cat spotting a mouse, her concentrated eyes focused on it. Then suddenly she attacked, plunging herself forward in between his legs, so she could eagerly start to lick and sniff his crotch. "Bad bitch! Bad bitch!" Harvey exclaimed, giving the disobedient animal an audible slap over its left chin. "You will get you food in due time!" The pet backed away, looking down with her face red, looking somewhat like a dog who knew it was guilty of defying its owner.

After averting the incidence, Harvey continued his lecturing. "Off course, nowadays Pussy is not allowed to stand at all, and she could not tell you because it was more than two months since she uttered her last human word. Her destiny may seem horrible to you, but in time you will learn to understand that it is in fact a blessing." As if to reinforce what the warden had just said, Pussy let out a whimpering grumble and resumed licking the boots. Harvey turned to the guards. "Take this lady to her room, as she wished for." he said with a voice dripping with irony. "I don't have time for her anymore, I need to feed this bitch. When she's in heat she gets crazy if she has to wait, and I don't want her drooling on my pants."

The two guards did not hesitate a second in following his instructions. The bald one grabbed her left arm, and the short one her right, and in silence they started to drag her out of the office. Just as they walked out into the corridor they came from, the second before the bald one closed the door, Joanne got a glimpse of how the warden pulled his zipper down, and the pet, panting in anxiety like a dog running after a bone, promptly buried its face in his lap. Then the pair of thick oak double doors closed with a bang, leaving her with only her imagination to tell her what happened next.

In silence, they two guards led her down the corridor to a door in the very end with a sign saying "Goods reception" above it. The bald one opened the door, and huddled her inside. The room was not very big, only about four meters across. On the other side of the room there was another door and along one of the walls there was a big metal cupboard, but apart from that the room was empty. The walls were covered with tiles. Probably they had been white once, but now they had more of a yellow-greyish tone to them. The linoleum mat that covered the floor was cracked, and some kind of green mould, or maybe it was just some sort of dried up dirt, seemed to be flourishing in the cracks.

The bald guard locked the door behind them, and then he started to unlock her cuffs. "Do you think the boss will mind if we try her out, Geraldo? Just a quickie?" he said to the short one in Spanish, probably assuming she wouldn't understand him, as he fiddled with the key to get the lock open. Geraldo just sighed. "You know the rules, Hugo. Is your wife on her period or whats the problem?" Finally Hugo got the lock open, and released her from her cuffs while he muttered a couple of hardly audible curses in response to his friends joke. Switching to English, Geraldo turned to the captive girl. "You'll have to undress. You can't wear your civilian clothes on the inside. And hurry up, its already past lock up."

Joanne tried not to stare at the poor human female as her two handlers began 'guiding' her out of the room, almost having to force herself to look in front of her once the sturdy doors had been closed. She drew in a sharp breath, her shocked mind still trying to wrap itself around what she had seen. Her mind vaguely registered that the woman had apparently worked really hard to get herself underneath the man's desk. It made her wonder - fear even - what horrors had caused the barely human female to crave such a degrading position.

Instead of allowing herself to continue that train of thought, the former journalist focused her attention on her new surroundings. They approached a door and she offered no resistance as one of the men urged her inside. Her lips curled downwards in disgust as she took in the once-white tiles and worn linoleum as well as the exotic flora which they probably harbored.
As if wanting to add to the unclean atmosphere, Joanne heard one of the men make a rather disturbing suggestion.
She tried to contain herself, forcing the slight shivers to stay where they were rather than betraying her knowledge of the Spanish language along with her discomfort.

Surprisingly enough, the other guard provided her with a somewhat reassuring response and the tense journalist found herself relaxing a bit again. Well, as far as anyone could feel relaxed in her current environment, having witnessed what she had witnessed.
Still, the relative freedom which the removal of her cuffs had provided her with, was encouraging. Geraldo's order to undress herself, far less so.
Of course, she knew it was procedure. The restriction on civilian clothing, that was. She briefly wondered what kind of outfits this prison offered and felt almost relieved at the idea of wearing something which would obscure her female curves through its loose and shapeless fit. Nonetheless, undressing in front of these two was not at all what she intended.
Joanne turned around, facing the two men with what she hoped would at least resemble confidence.
"Could you please turn around?" The journalist would have preferred to request for a female officer but she knew those were rather rare in these places. The rather annoyed tone in which Geraldo had addressed her too, suggested that she only had little leeway.

This fact was confirmed when Geraldo simply raised his eyebrow in response, a slight smirk curving his lips. His companion however, seemed less amused and with anger crossing his face, he stepped forward. He brought his body uncomfortably close to her own' and Joanne had to struggle not to step back or show any other hint of fear. She had to raise her head slightly in order to be able to look him in his dark eyes and found that it did not help with her trying to bite back her fear.
"What part of 'hurry up' don't you understand, senorita?!" He spat, the word 'senorita' barely more than a sneer as his warm breath washed into her face.

Joanne flinched but rather than yielding, she opened her mouth in protest: "Could you perhaps get a female officer then? In the US*
Her sentence was interrupted by Hugo's hand, hitting her squarely in the face. Stunned by the sudden impact, the woman staggered back, clutching her now fiercely glowing cheek.
She was still struggling with the rather humiliating gesture when Geraldo stepped next to his companion, putting a rather firm hand onto the latter's shoulder. She could see the barely contained anger in the eyes of the other man when his colleague grabbed his shoulder, still clutching her burning cheek with sheer disbelief herself.

"I suggest you get it over with, miss K." The cold voice of Hugo drew the woman's attention away from his companion. "Unless you wish for him to assist you." The smile which had appeared as Hugo spoke these words was everything but kind, its cold unpleasantness sending a shiver down Joanne's spine.
This time, she yielded. "Very well," she managed, finally letting go of her fiery red cheek - the red stains indicating that the whole situation was considered not even close to 'well' by the woman.

Squaring her shoulders in an attempt to muster confidence, she turned away from the men. She would not show them the quiet horror which was still upon her rather shocked face as she finally began undressing herself - the movements hesitant but not overly slow out of fear for any 'help'.
Her 'civilian clothing' had not been anything special: a pair of snug jeans, a plain white t-shirt and equally simple undergarments. She had taken very little fancy-looking outfits on her little undercover-trip to Mexico, favoring the plain and unremarkable kind of clothing during her interviews. Joanne felt incredibly reluctant to part with the clothing. It felt as if she was leaving yet another part of herself outside these prison walls and despite her brave anger, a part of her worried if she would ever be able to retrieve them.

Still, in the end she found herself stripped bare - her back towards her two handlers in a sad attempt at modesty. Joanne's shed clothing had revealed a fairly slender figure, the softness of her gentle curves belying the cruelty of the crimes she had been charged with. Her skin was fairly light in comparison to those of her two 'handlers'. Her creamy skin was unblemished safe for a few light bruises near her wrists and arms - both of which were thanks to the hospitality from some of the more insisting Mexican officers. And of course, the vaguely outlines a hand, staining her left cheek with red.
"I am done," she plainly stated, as if not realizing how superfluous the statement was. Even as she tried to compose herself - succeeding somewhat - she felt a slight shiver running down her spine, feeling not at all comfortable in her current state. Joanne tried to ignore her slightly glowing cheeks as she crossed one of her arms in front of her - praying that they would get over this part quickly indeed.

While Joanne turned her back to the two guards, Geraldo opened the steel cupboard. He grabbed two black, plastic chaperons, hanging one over his own neck and giving the other one to Hugo. Then he rolled out the thick, long water hose that was hanging on the inside of the door. He directed the nozzle towards the beautiful, almost hour glass shaped figure in front of him, and placed a hand on the tap. Before he turned it, he took a couple of seconds to admire the sight. Her ass cheeks were so beautiful - he could feel his dick growing hard in his pants - and he could understand why Hugo was so impatient. "We will get our turn", Geraldo thought as he turned the tap, releasing a high pressure stream of ice cold water at her back. The shear force in the eruption of water was enough to sting her skin and make it hard for even the most skilled acrobat to keep her balance, but Geraldo just let the chilly water spray her body. He could not resist the temptation to focus the stream on her ass, watching how the water splashed out over her nude body. "Turn around so I can clean your front!" he shouted in broken English, trying to shout down the roar of the water stream.

Meanwhile, Hugo put on a pair of matching black plastic gloves. They had been through this routine many times before, and they did not need to talk to know what should be done. Hugo grabbed the bottle of disinfection soap, and squeezed out a large puddle into his left hand. When Geraldo let the stream of water fade away, he promptly walked up to the girl. He hugged her from behind, her cold, wet back pressed against the plastic apron, so he could hold her in place while his soap covered hands moved all over her body. Whatever it was he was smearing her with, i was no ordinary soap, because wherever it touched her naked, unprotected skin it left a tingling, almost burning feeling. His big firm hands did not miss a single spot of her soft skin, but some areas seemed to interest him more than others. He squeezed her tits hard, his lathery hands eager to feel them out. Playfully he let his fingers, one by one, caress her nipples. Even through the chaperon, Joanne could feel his thick hard on pulsate as all his blood was drawn down into his cock. "Geraldo, I promise, this perra want's it!" Hugo exclaimed, laughing as he gave her breasts another squeeze.

His interest soon went towards the south, and so did his hands. Before she knew it, he had plunged three thick fingers into her pussy, just showing them into her tense body without even a word of warning. The soap did not seem to be meant to be used in such sensitive areas, because the second his plastic clad fingers touched the inner walls of her forcefully penetrated vagina, a flash of pain went through her body. It felt like if her pussy was an open wound, and he was pouring salt into it. That did not stop him from swirling his fingers around inside of her, making sure that she became completely clean by sliding them in and out of her, fast and deep, a couple of times. "Just look at her! She is horny as fuck!" he said, trying to convince his friend in Spanish, as he slid his fingers out of her a last time.

Geraldo just sighed at his nagging colleague. "For fuck sake, Hugo, you know that the boss wants the putas to be delivered unmarked. He want's to be the one who brakes them in, and we will let him." After Hugo had let go of the nude girl, her body now covered in the lathe from the soap, Geraldo turned the hose on again, carefully spraying every square inch of her body with the cold water. The concentrated jet felt like thousands of needles stinging her body, but at least it washed the soap away.

"But sure, if you can get her to agree to do you without resistance, be my guest." Geraldo told Hugo while he washed the prisoner. He did not mean it as a realistic alternative, because he understood that this cheeky bitch would never pleas anyone without a lot of force. Still a gleam was lit in Hugo's eyes. "Hey, senorita!" he said as he picked up the soaked remnants of her old clothes and threw all of them into the trash bin, except her old panties that he quite indiscreetly sneaked into his own pocket, "Do you want your prison outfit?" he asked, and the smug smile on his face made it clear that he was up to something. "Then you will have to work for it..." He grabbed the skin of her left cheek in a strong grip, and used it to shake her head around. "...and use this pretty mouth of yours. Either you blow me and my friend here, or you'll go to your sell nude. Pick whatever you like, but I sure know what your new cell mate hopes you will pick."

A surprised scream erupted from Joanne's mouth when an intense cold suddenly slammed itself into her back, knocking the wind out of her. The impact toppled her over and soon the naked woman found herself on all fours, her hands and especially her knees flaring up in pain. She found herself not only struggling to get back onto her feet, but also gasping for breath, her body desperate to restore its oxygen supply after the freezing cold.
Both her mind and body were still recuperating from the initial shock when she finally managed to scramble onto her feet, the slippery floor not at all helpful. The woman glared over her shoulder, her slender frame shivering as she crossed her arms in front of her in an instinctive move to protect herself from the cold. It was futile - just like her angry glances at the man who did not even bother to look at her face as she continued to subject her to the cold force from the hose.
The stream of curses which she unleashed in protest lost in the sounds of the roaring water and interrupted by her gasps for air.
Frustrated and chilled to the bone, she reluctantly began turning around - reminding herself that she wanted to get all of this over with quickly. Her movements were slow and unsteady, her gaze fixed on the ground as she clenched her jaws upon another.

However, the sudden chill which now sprayed her front would not be the most shocking of events. Still dazed by the cold, Joanne heard the other man approach. She looked up and before she even realized it, she felt - rather than saw - Hugo grab her from behind.
Another surprised scream, followed by more audible curses made up the verbal part of her physical resistance. She struggled against his hands, writhing in unexpected pain when the burning sensation seemingly set her icy skin on fire. She tried to kick and punch the best she could, putting up a genuine but desperate and ultimately, futile fight. The man held her firmly in his grasp, ignoring her thrashing as he allowed his hands to roam her panicked body. Her face betrayed a mixture of shock and anger as she continued to struggle underneath his grasp, her body returning to life due to both the liquid and Hugo's greedy hands which grasped at her exposed flesh.

Tears stung in her angry eyes when he finally managed to hold her down, her cheeks streaked with crimson embarrassment when he subjected her stiff nipples to his fingers. She growled angry, almost desperate when the man informed his colleague about her 'willingly' undergoing his rough treatment, biting back the humiliation when he squeezed the tender flesh of her breasts anew.
But still he was not done with her and despite her continuous struggling - or attempts to - she suddenly found the burning trail of his hands going lower and lower.
Joanne refused to scream, her angry glares resulting merely in laughter from her assailant and an amused smirk from his observing companion.

Still, she did scream when she suddenly felt his fingers forcefully enter her, the impact of it all intensified by the burning sensation from the soap which seemingly set her innermost walls on fire. Sheer shock was visible in her widened eyes as she felt his fingers violate her forcefully, roaming inside her and clawing at her flesh. Joanne found herself momentarily unable to continue her desperate struggle, powerless as she felt the fingers dance along her intimate flesh while she winced and writhed in pain.
Again, her eyes - this time almost desperate and clearly shocked - were ignored by Geraldo. Instead, he covered her in the cold water once again and Joanne simply let it happen, quietly praying that the cold would wash away the burning sensation.
Of course, it could not - not entirely.
She could barely suppress her writhing as her intimate flesh continued to sting and burn, and the only thing which stung more than her raped body was perhaps her pride - her very dignity having been stripped from her by the forceful invasion.

Her eyes flared anew when she heard the creep call out her name, her arms subconsciously crossing themselves in front of her shivering body. Disgust crossed her face when she saw the man stow away her panties, unwilling to think about the things he would do with them. The disgust was replaced with suspicion when Hugo approached her and she pressed her legs together, her body remembering his previous and rather painful intrusion only too well. However, this time he did not go for her lower parts but instead grabbed her cheek - the same which he had hit earlier - and unmercifully squeezed it as he shook her head.
Her green eyes widened in shocked anger once he had laid out his proposal and with a painful jerk of her head, she freed herself from his grip.

"You bastard," she growled, cursing the tears which stung in her eyes anew. Joanne felt desperate, caught in a situation which she had never imagined possible. And still, she knew things would only get worse from here on. Sucking off these two pathetic men was more than humiliating and yet Joanne felt terrified with the idea of having to enter the prison naked. Still, her body burned with pain and anger alike when she looked first at Geraldo and then back at Hugo, her eyes narrowing themselves.
Who was to say that this creep would even allow her her clothing back once she would submit to their depraved wishes? If anything, it could inspire them to demand more from. And as for her future cell mates... For some reason, Joanne doubted that a layer of fabric would be able to stop them if they truly wished to ravage her.
It was a grim realization which did little to lift the shocked woman's mood, but at the very least it gave her the opportunity to refuse these men.
"Did you really think.." She raised her still trembling frame as she faced the man in front of her, her eyes filled with disgust. "I will bite it off if you even so much as put it near me." Her words were spat at the man rather than spoken, each word pronounced with furious precision as she bared her teeth slightly - allowing the man to get some inspiration for a more visual interpretation of her words.

Hugo did not seem pleased with Joannes choice, his smug smile turning into a sour grimace. "Jodidamente puta!" he muttered. Geraldo, on the other hand, just chuckled. "Nice try, hombre." he said, giving his friend a pat on the shoulder.

When Joanne revealed her teeth in a threatening gesture, the smile returned to Hugo's face. "Didn't the warden show you Pussy? Didn't you notice what's so strange about her mouth? Maybe all the plastic that they stuffed into her lips hid it." While he spoke, Hugo spun Joanne around and grabbed her hands, pulling them up behind her back. He could not resist the temptation to push them up a bit to high for a few seconds, just to send a wave of pain from her shoulders through her body. It was a small retaliation for her little rebellion, but it was not much. "She will repay later, and I will make sure that she pays both principal and interest", he thought as he once again snapped the cuffs around her wrists.

"She bit one of the guards when she was new here, and was properly punished." Geraldo explained. He smiled as he remembered the incident. Carlos had been so infuriated that he almost killed the poor girl. Maybe he would have, if not Geraldo and an other guard had held him back. Once things had calmed down, Carlos had got to administer the punishment by himself. His fists had been bloody afterwards, both hers blood and his, since he had chosen to do it without brass knuckles. That way, the suffering would last longer for her, he had said. "Off course you can follow her courageous example - just see how far it got her - but I would not recommend it, not unless you prefer fluid food over solid. But at least Pussy gives the best blowjobs now, without any teeth in the way."

Both men took the aprons of, and put everything back into the cupboard. Then Hugo grabbed a handful of Joannes auburn hair. "It's time to take you to your cell." he said. Apparently they had no intention of drying her before they left - her body was still dripping wet from the cold water. To make life a little bit harder for Joanne, Hugo lowered his hand so that she had to bend forward, her ass sticking up in the air. As the men exited the room through the door opposite the one they had come in from, their prisoner had no other choice than to tag along. It was not easy to walk forward leaning like that, with her face pressed down to the same height as her waist, but the two guards did not adjust their pace for her. Hugo had never had much patience with the prisoners - if they could not walk by them selves they could always be dragged, he figured.

She was lead down winding corridors and through looked doors monitored by surveillance cameras. After a while, they entered a big hall. With her head bent down, Joanne could not see much other than the two guards polished leather boots and the worn, bare concrete floor. It was only the echoes of their steps against the cold floor that gave a hint about the size of the room. After a while they stopped, and Hugo lifted the hand that held her hair so tightly, allowing her to get a view of the room. It was a wide and deep corridor - in the dark she could see neither end of it - and on both sides the grey concrete walls were interrupted by sections of thick metal bars that gave no privacy to the cells behind them. Above them, there were at least two more levels of cells, beyond that it was to dark to see, surrounded by walk ways made of a tight steel grating.

Geraldo picked up a big key chain from his pocket and unlocked the door to the cell they were standing in front of. With a loud rattling sound he pushed the barred steel frame to the side. Meanwhile, Hugo removed the cuffs from her wrists with his free hand. "See you later!" he said with a fake sweetness in his voice, and the next second he used the grip around her hair to shove her into the cell, tripping her forward so she ended up in a pathetic little pile on the floor.

The cell was small. It was only big enough to hold two simple beds, one on each side of the narrow aisle, and between them a chappy, drab porcelain toilet attached to the wall opposite the bars. In the bed on her right side, a man was lying on top of the stained sheet. He looked old: even if the harsh reality of prison life made people age faster, he must still be above 70. His tall but scrawny body was covered in a creased and pale skin that looked somewhat like dried leather, and the sinews were visible on his bony arms and legs. The only thing he was wearing was a pair of loose fitting, soiled, white boxer shorts, but most of his chest was covered in thick, greyed hair. His face, covered in a couple of days stubble, was slim like that of a weasel, and his head was only partly covered by unevenly distributed wads of grey hair. He almost looked like a mummy as he peacefully lied there, sleeping on his back.

"By the way, el Estrangulador has only killed two, a pair of seventeen year old twins, so you're one ahead of him." Geraldo informed her before he closed the door with a loud bang. In that instant, the old man opened his eyes, revealing a pair of mat, yellowish eyeballs with dark irises.

Joanne clenched her jaws upon another when the pain shot through her arm, muffling what might otherwise have been a more vocal expression of the pain. She refused to reward Hugo's harsh movements with screams yet again, instead wincing slightly before his grip eased around her hands. The momentary relief was followed by the familiar cold sensation of metal and Joanne knew that she was cuffed once again. The only difference being that this time, she was butt-naked, her wet body still shivering due to the lack of clothing.
However, her mind was not on her own body at the moment - instead dwelling upon the poor human... Creature which had sat underneath the desk. Now that she thought about it, her wary mind producing little scraps of the woman's face - she realized that there had been something off about the sounds she made, about the way in which her lips had moved.
Joanne felt a shiver run down her spine - one not inspired by the cold - once the mental picture which Geraldo had painted - was completed in her mind. How the poor thing would have suffered, her mouth - and most likely considerable parts of the rest of her face and even neck - a bloody mess. She winced in sympathetic pain while she ran her tongue along her teeth, trying to force the image out of her mind again.

Of course, Hugo was so kind as to provide her with a painful distraction when he suddenly grabbed her by her hair. For a moment, she felt panicked - suddenly afraid that Hugo had found himself inspired by Geraldo's story and that he would eagerly follow Carlos' example. But the pain remained limited to her head, his rough hand yanking her head forward.
The gesture forced the woman into a position which left even less of her already shattered dignity.
She struggled to keep up with the pace, her legs fumbling to keep herself moving without stumbling over her own feet.

Only once did Hugo let go of her hair - but rather than release her fully, she suddenly felt his flat hand slam against one of her shivering ass cheeks. She would have fallen at that exact moment, the sudden sting against her now glowing cheek sending her off-balance were it not for Hugo's quick response. His hand was once again where it had been before - grabbing a handful of her hair and yanking her upright, forcing her to maintain balance in an extremely painful manner before he simply forced her head downwards again. Joanne had yelped in surprise when the hand had impacted her cheek - leaving yet another imprint of Hugo's hand on her body - before it had turned to a low growling as she was forced to keep her dazed body marching along.
She faintly registered the chuckling of one of the men and needed not to look up to see the smug grin on Hugo's face while he continued to pull her along by her hair, humiliation, pair and anger causing painful tears to sting in her eyes anew.

The pain in her head had dimmed to a more constant nagging when she was forced to stop. Joanne registered the sound of a lock being opened just before her arms were released from the cuffs once again.
A cell was being opened and while she was still processing the annoying sweetness in Hugo's voice, the pain in her head flared anew. It was followed by pain flaring up in her knees, arms and hands - the impact with yet another floor harsh and painful.
She scrambled on all fours, moaning softly as pain continued to blossom throughout her utterly confused body. Vile smells stung at her nose, causing her lips to curl downward in disgust while her gaze swept the little cell.
The seemingly ancient man which laid on one of the beds caught her by surprise. Her brow furrowed with concern as a horrifying image of herself reaching such an age in this environment crossed her mind. Her clouded mind was still processing the man's appalling appearance when Geraldo's voice gave the peacefully sleeping man a more sinister outlook.
El Estrangulador.
Not exactly a reassuring name - even though Joanne doubted she would find any such names here. Still, the name inspired a quiet fear - strengthened by the fact that she not at all 'ahead' of this man, having been charged with murders she never committed instead.

Joanne found herself instinctively backing away from the man, resting her slightly shivering back against the other bed while she stared at the sleeping figure. She doubted the man's apparent age would proof to be in her favor either - surely anyone who managed to survive in prison this long had to be quite...
Her trembling body was still dealing with the pain and shock of moments before when Geraldo suddenly closed her prison door, sealing her away from the two handlers at last. However, the sound had unfortunately awoken her new cell mate. Joanne did not even dare to look to see if her two handlers were leaving or not - keeping her green eyes on the sinewy figure on the bed near her instead. She masked her slight fear quite admirably, trying to focus on her anger and indignation instead rather than her naked and vulnerable body and the cramped space which she shared with another convict.

The old man slowly turned his head toward the girl, as if he was scared to brake anything if he moved to fast. His eyes were directed right at her, where she curled up against the opposite bed on the floor, but his gaze did not seem to be directed at her nude body, but more on some distant point beyond her. With cautious movements he slowly sat up on the bed, his eyes still fixed at the same invisible, distant place. Then suddenly he smiled wide, his dry cracked lips revealing two sparse lines of yellow teeth, with almost half of them missing. "It's you, Julia!" he said with a hoarse, croaking voice that was hardly more than a whisper.

Suddenly a lot more vigorous, he pushed himself off the bed and down on his knees in front of Joanne. He leaned down over her, placing his callous hands on the bed. One wiry armed on each side of her blocked her escape routes, and upon closer inspections the old mans boney arms in fact seemed to be quite strong. "You... you must be an angel?" he whispered. "I killed you. You are dead." He gently stroke her hair, pushing a wet auburn lock away from her face, like if she was his long lost love. "You know I didn't mean to squeeze so hard... to squeeze so long." He was curling a lock of hair around his finger now. "I didn't mean to make you an angel..." Behind all the rattle in his low voice there were something more sincere, something sad and longing. Tears were slowly running down his cheeks. "...but I just didn't know how to stop."

He placed his heavy hands on her shoulders. His rigid fingers were cold, even to her wet skin, but as he grabbed hold of her shoulders and his thumbs pressed on her skin just under her collar bones it became clear that even though he seamed old and week his hands were strong like those of a manual laborer. "And your sister... She knew... I had to. Do you know that I pretended that she was you while I did it?" he whispered. His musty breath flowed over her, and mixed with the mix of dried sweat and old urine that was his body odor. "Do you forgive me, Julia?" he sobbed. "Please... Julia... Forgive me!"

Joanne stared at the man, her green eyes studying the almost leathery face of the man intensely. Her breathing was barely audible, having dimmed to a shallow and almost mechanical inhaling of the stale prison air. His sudden smile had caught her off-guard - her brow furrowing in confusion when the man spoke. His croaking, soft voice seemed to match his almost withered appearance and the few yellow teeth which were revealed by his smile only added to his worn and old look.
The woman's eyes were still upon his face, disbelief slowly overtaking her previously fearful expression. A slight disgust was still visible around her soft pink lips, subtly curving them downwards with hints of distaste.
Slowly, Joanne tried to steady her still painful hands - placing her wet palms onto the stained and cold prison floor so that she might lift herself onto the bed, increasing the distance between the seemingly mad man and her own naked person.

However, she was too late. Caution and fear crept back into her eyes when he placed his arms beside her, denying her the space she needed to move herself out of his way. The woman cautiously glanced at his arms, not at all reassured by the fact that they looked quite strong instead of adhering to the rest of his worn and tattered appearance. Instinctively, she raised her hands, crossing her arms in front of her gently heaving chest. The skin of her arms was cold, its moist skin sending a shivering down her spine as she pressed it against the soft skin of her breasts.

She inhaled sharply when he suddenly moved towards her face, wincing in anticipation of pain. But the pain did not come and instead, he surprised her with his gentle touch. It was not a pleasant surprise however, the strange and seemingly out of place gestures confusing her just as much as his delirious whispers.
It was clear that the man was not talking to her - at least, not to Joanne. The fact that this man seemed to believe that she was one of his victims only served to inspire more caution and tension within the former journalist, her mind feverishly trying to analyze the situation, trying to help her interpret this man.

A surprised gasp escaped from Joanne's lips when a sudden cold interrupted her thoughts, the calloused and hard skin of his fingers pressing against her tender and wet skin. She barely dared to breathe as he continued to beg forgiveness from a woman named Julia, most likely one of the twins whose lives he had taken through strangulation.
And yet, a part of her felt pity as she regarded the man, leaning her head back in response to his sudden warm breath. Carefully, Joanne lifted her hands, breaking the protective barrier in front of her and instead placing her hands upon his'.
"Hush," she told him softly, her green eyes anxiously scanning for any hint of danger. She had no desire to die in the same manner as the poor girls. Gently, she folded her fingers around his hands, trying to pry them away from her shoulders as she continued, her voice a soft and reassuring whisper. "It is all right."
She paused, searching for the strength to steady her trembling voice. Her entire body seemed to echo with the previous pains and indignation she had suffered, various places stinging as if to urge her to be very cautious.
"I forgive you."

The young woman prayed that this would be enough to settle the man's troubled conscience, feeling rather vile for speaking to a killer on behalf of one of his victims. Still, cruel as it might sound, the girl in question was already dead. Joanne was not and had no intention of dying either. Quite the opposite.
She managed a careful smile, her fingers continuing their soft prying at his strong hands, tugging them away from her tense shoulders.

The room was dark, and the two would have hardly been able to see each other had they not been so close. Some other prisoners seemed to have been woken up by the slam of the door. "The new girl is here!" an exited voice shouted. "I bet a pack of cigarettes she doesn't make it 'til tomorrow." someone in a cell closer to them said, his cell mate replying "Taken. Shes not giving in before I have had a go with her." They both laughed. "I've got something hard for you, wanna taste it tomorrow?" someone else shouted. But the old man seemed cut off from the world outside, he showed no sign of even being aware of the shouts.

Once the girl he believed to be his victim reassured him that everything was forgiven, he let her push his hands away from her shoulders. Yes, he let her, because the fact that she was able to move them away was only due to the fact that he accepted her will to have them removed, not that his old but strong arms could not have prevented her. Now his arms were like over cocked spaghetti, relaxed from the comfort and relief her words gave her, but the second he choose to use those muscles Joanne would not have a say anymore.

"Oh, Julia, how I have missed you." he sobbed as Joanne held his hands. Her skin felt so warm on his hands, even though the girl was almost shivering from the cold. "Now everything can be as it used to be, as it should always have been." Suddenly, it was no longer she leading his hands away from her, but he leading her hands toward him, pushing one of her hands downwards. Before she knew it, she had it pressed against the sweaty skin of his belly. Her hand rose and fell with his slow, rattling breaths as he firmly guided it downwards, in under his dirty prison edition underpants. There, his big, scraggy hand carefully folded her slender fingers around his cock. The already rock hard member seemed to be the only part of his body that was actually warm, and as he pressed her fingers tighter around his greasy shaft she could feel the swollen blood vessels pulsate.

"Do you remember this?" he asked. "Do you remember what you used to do with it?" He had started to slowly move his hand, and thereby also hers, up and down, rubbing his throbbing cock. In the darkness of the room a single gold tooth shone as his smile widened. "Every night, before I went to your bed, I would go to your sisters. And I fucked her." His voice was starting to get exited now: he spoke faster and every word did no longer sound like a dying mans last one. Now he spit out the words, especially the f one, and his saliva sprayed down over Joanne. "I'd hold her throat so she couldn't scream." He was making her rub his cock faster now, mirroring the pace of his words with the pace of his hand. His other hand went exploring her body, the rough and bristly skin of his palm caressing her belly, moving upwards and finding her left breast. His strong, bony fingers started to knead it roughly like it was a dough on the breadboard.

"And then I would go back to you, and you never knew that it was your sister juices that you sucked of my dick." He could not help to start to chuckle hysterically at his own story, like it was some kind of funny joke. All the remorse was gone from him now, swept away by his arousal. He let go of the hand he had wrapped around his, probably expecting her to continue her task on her own. Whit his right hand free as well he could squeeze her right breast as well, giving it the same heavy-handed treatment. "Do you forgive me for that as well, Julia?" he asked with an accusing voice.

The occasional lewd shouts and harsh comments reached her ears and yet Joanne barely registered them. She heard them, perhaps even understood the suggestions which had been made concerning her person - or in most cases, specific parts of her person. And still she did not respond, the look in her eyes still tense as she stared at the man in front of her.

Her slender shoulders almost slumped in relief when she felt the pressure of his touch disappear, even more so because it had become painfully obvious that he was letting her. That little fact, reflected in his old but yet strong and sinewy arms, was what kept her on edge. What kept her from moving further away from him, suddenly scared that she would trigger a whole different response when she moved too quickly. Of course everything here kept her on edge; the occasional shouts and laughter a clear reminder of the fact that she would not be safe here for long even if she managed to handle this situation.

Which... She did?
Joanne's eyes widened with surprise when the man suddenly began to sob, holding her hands like she was the most precious thing on earth. How anyone could regard her as such in her current state - shivering, cold and incredibly tense, an almost feverish look in her eyes - was beyond the former research journalist. But if this man could be put at ease with empty words from her frightened person, then she would settle for it.
But of course it was not meant to be and soon Joanne found her eyes widening in fear rather than mere surprise, the feeble hints of compassion chased away by disgust and panic when she felt his calloused hands drawing hers closer to him. She inhaled sharply when her cold hand was pressed against his sweaty skin, feverishly trying to pull her hand away. It served only to cover her palm with more sweat, her fingers trailing his filthy skin even more while he continued to guide her hand with incredible force.
Within moments she felt how her hands enclosed something warmer, the flesh stiff underneath the touch of her now grease-covered hand. The woman visibly paled as she realized what her slender fingers were forced to caress, his filthy digits pressing hers tightly against the grease-covered shaft, moving them up and down as if it were his own.

His words, accompanied by bursts of warm, nauseating breathing on her face, sent her shivering - the little droplets of saliva filling her with a quiet but intense disgust while el Strangulador continued to describe what he had done to the girls. Each of his words was emphasized by a forceful squeeze of his hand, forcing her extremely reluctant hand to dig into the stiff flesh of his manhood as he rubbed it up and down.
As his pace intensified, Joanne felt increasingly panicked, disgust and anger coming in at a close second. Her breath was hurried now, mirroring her feverish attempts to free her captive hand when he suddenly assaulted her in yet another manner.
She gasped in shock when his other hand found her breast before clenching her jaws in pain. His hand molded her tender flesh without any tenderness - whatever pity she might have felt for the men now completely gone. The woman found that tears were stinging in her eyes anew - those thrice-cursed tears - as she continued her futile struggling against either of his grasps.

When he suddenly released one of her hands - the now smeared and greasy hand no longer pressed around the eagerly throbbing member - Joanne felt everything but relieved.
Eyes-wide, Joanne stared at the now loudly chuckling man - her soft growling when she found her other breast subject to his harsh touch easily drowned out by his cruel laughter. She felt herself trembling, shaking and realized that it was no longer merely from the cold, for her panic and anger had fueled her shivering body with a tense and feverish heat. It was fear, panic, anger - shock upon hearing the man's vile words and sheer indignation as she thought about those two girls. Those poor, poor girls.

The anger which rose upon the man's last question tipped the scales in favor of the anger, a new warmth spreading through her body upon hearing the despicable undertone of accusation in his voice - in his voice. He, who had abused, raped and murdered at least two girls without any sign of remorse.
The accusation - or even the intent of accusing her, whether it was her-Julia or her-Joanne, was infuriating enough for the naked woman to forget about self-preservation. Instead, her free hand rose up with surprising speed as she lifted her arm.
The movement was followed by a loud smacking sound as the greasy hand impacted with the cracked skin on the man's face.
"You pig!" she hissed, readying her by now trembling hand for another satisfactory meeting with his face. "I am not your Julia!" she sneered, her voice trembling with emotion in manner similar to the rest of her captive body.
The fingers of her other hand began digging into the skin of one of the man's hand and Joanne pulled with all her might at it, hoping to release her own tortured breasts as she more fiercely renewed her attempts to move away from him.

When Joanne declared that she was in fact not the angel of the murdered Julia, the old man froze. He hardly reacted to the loud slap across his cheek, and instead just stood there on his knees like a petrified statue as his deluded mind tried to puzzle together the pieces and understand what was happening to him. His jaw was hanging open, as if he had forgotten how to close his mouth, and saliva was slowly dropping down from the corner of his mouth. She could easily move his limp hands away from her bosom, now that his fierce grip on them had turned into nothing.

Then suddenly he seamed to realize where he was and who he was, and most importantly of all: what the girl was, or rather what she was not. The dull, dry film that had covered his yellowed eyes were gone, and when he for the first time focused them upon the human being right in front of her instead of his imagined past beyond her, they shone with a fiery anger mixed with cold determination. His hands broke free of hers, and before she could even draw her breath he had them firmly gripping around her neck. He still gave her enough room to breath, but only barely, and given the strength his hands seemed to possess it was hardly because he couldn't squeeze harder but because he wanted to keep her with him longer.

Using only his grip around her throat, he easily threw the light girl up on his bed like if she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. He got up on the bed after her, standing on his knees between her spread out legs. His pants had been pushed down by the rubbing, and his large, crocked penis was fully erect. "You are not an angel!" he shouted, his horse voice cracking as he yelled louder. "You are just another demon disguised as my only love so you can lure me to hell!" He was banging her head against the bed over and over again, and had it not been for the thin mattress, she would have got a concussion by now. "But I will not go to hell yet! I will send you back to the devil, you filthy creature!" With those words, he bend down over her, still with his boney digits entrenched around her throat. Suddenly she could feel the warm and hard head of his dick brushing against the lips of her pussy. It was already wet from a mix of precum and sweat. "Return to hell!" he roared like a worked up preacher in the climax of the sermon, and at the same time he thrust his thick manhood into her petite little body. It strained her pussylips and forced her open as he sank it all the way into her until it was stretching her cervix.

With surprising vigor, the delusional old man started to pound her pussy with steady, rhythmic thrusts, the sound of his rumpled skin slapping against her soft echoing against the thick concrete walls of the cell. Every time he pushed his throbbing cock deep into her cunt, his grip around her throat tightened and completely cut off the stream of oxygen, just to allow her a quick, light breath while he pulled it out. To begin with it was enough to keep her afloat so she could experience the pain of her pussy being ravaged and the smell of the sweat that dripped down from the old mans body on hers, but as his excitement steadily rose his grip grew tighter and her breaths smaller.

For one short deliciously sweet moment, Joanne had had the audacity to think it had worked. That the combined impact of her small hand against his face and the venom in her words had awoken the man, stunning him with the grim reality in which she was not one of his unfortunate victims.
Her breath expressed every bit of her short-lived relief; her chest heaving more gently once she had pushed away his now limb hands, thereby freeing the sour flesh underneath it. She had even felt a sudden release in her eyes as some of the tears which had previously stung in her eyes now rolled down her heated face, leaving a wet trail on her shivering skin.

But it seemed that one mere moment, only one breath in relative freedom was all which her words had spared her - for suddenly her very breath was denied her. Her neck stung as if it was on fire when the man's hand suddenly clutched its flesh, his greasy and filthy fingers digging into her skin. The woman would have screamed were it not for her inability to do so; a meager and shallow breathing was all which Joanne managed while she looked up at the man in sheer terror. Her eyes became wider when she felt the pressure around her neck intensify, sending her almost gagging for breath when she was lifted up from the ground. Her landing was harsh - just like the extremely tight grip around her struggling body, his hands clutching her throat with force.

Joanne's dazed mind was not given any respite however and even as she instinctively tried to reach for the hands which denied her a more steady supple of air, she suddenly found herself lifted again before she was slammed down with that same brute force.
Up, down. Up, down.
No, not everything. It was... Just... Her head?
Yes, her head. Slammed down against the bed. Raised up in a rather painful manner before he would force her down again. And up. Down.
It hurt, it stung and the pain both confused her, dulling her senses with its occasional flares as much as it sharpened her once-again panicked mind. Even his shouting, his seething words were only partly registered by her increasingly oxygen-starved body.

The word 'hell' seemed to signal indeed just that, for a pain suddenly flared between her thighs. Something almost literally tore its way into her tender flesh. Joanne's desperate attempts to breathe were momentarily interrupted by an equally pathetic attempt at screaming; its intensity dulled by the sheer lack of air behind it. The man's forceful thrusts inspired her to try and scream over and over however, gurgling and gagging sounds intermingling with her shallow and raspy breath while his greased member forcefully invaded her trashing body.
The realization of what he was doing with her - to her - stunned her as much as it sent her tortured frame trashing anew, her arms flailing with more intense panic this time.
He was raping her. Raping her.
Forcing himself into her.

Joanne barely registered the heated tears which were released upon this realization, unable to distinguish the wet sensation on her face from the manner in which the man's increasingly excited body covered her with his filthy sweat. Her breaths began to mimic his thrusts, desperate to find a way to manage a way to increase her quickly dwindling oxygen supplies. But she found none.
None.
Instead, the woman felt increasingly faint while at the same time, everything within her seemed to explode. Her chest and back ached as if on fire, mirroring the cruel pain in her lower abdomen each time the man tore into her while her head pounded with the same madness as her heart. Was she going to die, here? Raped and killed in the same manner as those other girls whom had fell at the man's hands..?
She tried to read his face, but her vision was blurred and growing increasingly dark - or was it light? - as she felt herself beginning to slip away, her desperate flailing slowly becoming less violent and even her feverish mind growing more quiet.
At last... At last they would be even, her oddly quiet mind realized, the faintest hints of a smile appearing around her now bluish-lips, giving her extremely pale face a strangely peaceful appearance.
Three victims each.

The old man kept banging her bruised head against the bed, while piercing her tight cunt with his sloppy cock in the same pace. Every bang sent two waves of pain through her body, one from her head and one from her stretched pussy, intensifying each other as they met. But every time he thrust into her the pain felt a little more distant as her oxygen supply slowly depleted. Slowly the world around her seemed to collapse into itself and disappear until all that existed was his relentless hands around her slender neck and his lumpy cock inside her ravaged pussy. Then they faded away as well, together with the pain, and all that remained was darkness.


A sudden bright light combined with the sharp, loud, electronic sound of ringing bell brought Joanne back to reality. She was lying on the cold, dirty concrete floor in an uncomfortable position; probably her cell mate had just pushed the lifeless rag doll out of the bed once he was done with it. Her throat was dry, and her neck, that was now covered with bruises, still hurt. She was covered in dried in sweat. Judging from the foul smell, it was just as much his as hers. Some cold and sticky fluid had run down the inside of her leg from her pussy, and it did not take a lot of imagination to guess what it was. As soon as she just slightly tensioned a muscle, a sour pain emanating from her butt was added to the cacophony of ailments. The same thick fluid had dripped from her asshole, forming a little pool on the floor.

On top of his bed the old man lied in the exact same position, with his hands joined over his belly, as he had when she was first thrown into the cell. He showed no sign of the nights activities, it was almost like it never even happened. In the bight, white light coming from a light bulb in the ceiling covered by a metal grid, the cell seamed even less hospitable. The floor was covered in a greasy layer of filth, the porcelain of the toilet was cracked and stained and a smell of urine rose from it, and not even the cheats seemed to have been changed in anticipation of her arrival. They were covered in stains of all sorts, some of them looking alarmingly much like blood. On the grey wall above her bed, some previous inmate who must have had an abnormal sense of irony had carved the word "FREEDOM" in large letters.

A series of clicking sounds echoed through the hall, as the looks of the cells were automatically opened. Soon the wide corridor outside was flooded with inmates, all wearing orange overalls. The room filled up with shatter, of which she could only hear fragments: "Is the new one still alive?", "Here's your cigarets.", "I hope her pussy isn't all loosened up before I get to her."

Surprisingly, they did not crowd around her cell door to get a look at the new arrival, on the contrary they seemed to carefully avoid it like if it was infected with the plague. Or more precisely, they were avoiding the two men who stood in front of the bars, both wearing orange inmate dresses. One of them was huge, no matter along which dimension you measured him. He was well above two meters tall, his broad shoulders spanned so wide he almost had to walk sideways through doorways, and his fat, swollen belly stretched the cloth of his overall. It was hard to tell where his thick neck and all his dewlaps ended and his bald head begun, and his face seemed somewhat undersized for the fat head. Maybe that was good, because it was no beautiful sight. Most of his round nose was missing: it looked like someone had cut it off with a knife. His left eye was grey, and instead of his right one there were a blank porcelain ball without even an iris painted on it. Despite all this the man did not look mean; instead the big smile over his dry lips just mad him look a bit... stupid.

The man standing next to him looked small in comparison. However, he showed mush more class. His black hair was water combed into a perfect back slick, and on his upper lips below his slim, pointy noise a meticulously kept thick, black mustache rested, looking a bit like something that could be expected to appear in a porno from the seventies. His taut skin with its Latino complexion gave no hints to his age, but there were something in his stern dark eyes that signaled that he had been in this game for a while. In contrast to the tall man beside him, who's hairy, dirty feet were bare, he wore a pair of shining, black dress shoes in leather.

As the lock clicked open, he turned to the big one. "Jordán, will you?" he said in a calm voice, and the big one promptly stepped forward and flung the barred door open with a bang. "Girl out, hit boy." he repeated over and over again in Spanish with a thick mushy voice, as if he had trouble memorizing the simple order. Lifting Joanne up by her shoulder, he said "Girl out!" a last time, smiling even wider and nodding as if he was proud of himself, before he tossed her body out of the cell. To him, she did not more than a pillow.

She landed with her head right at the black lustrous shoes, and the man in them courteously extended a hand to help her up on her feet. When it was Joanne who stood beside him, and not Jordán, he suddenly did not seem so small anymore. "Welcome to El Cereso, Joanne Rachel Karcher." he said in a polite and professional tone. Even though Joanne stood there stark naked in front of him, he did not avert his dark eyes from hers for a second. "I am Joaquin Cortez, the concejal of mister José Cruz Fuentes." he explained in flawless English. The name of his master was by no means unknown to her - it was the younger brother of the infamous Vicente Carrillo Fuentes who was the leader of the Juarez cartel, the very cartel she had come to Mexico to expose, and been sent to jail for belonging to.

Joanne squinted against the bright light, her ears still ringing with the sharp sound which now echoed in her muddled mind.
The first thing which struck her, was a rather obvious one. Or perhaps not so obvious, given the things she last remembered:
She was not dead.
This important yet grim realization was not met with an unwavering sense of joy however.
Instead, it was accompanied by pain. Pain was blossoming throughout her humiliated form in all its aching forms. It ranged from the sourness of most of her tender flesh; a dull pain drumming throughout the various darker spots underneath her sometimes swollen skin to the more sharper pains whenever she tried to move, filth and fluids of a nature of which she preferred not to dwell too long - staining her inner thighs and upper legs. Even the scents which now clung to her tired form seemed to conspire in this: their foul smell vigorously assaulting her still dazed senses.

The rest of her environment did little to ease the growing worry in her mind, its filth and decay not providing her with any distractions. Any thought which would take her slowly waking mind away from what had happened last night. Away from that terrifying realization:
She had been raped. Raped.
Her body violated in ways she preferred not to dwell upon, but of which her body provided her with an ample supply of reminders.
Joanna's eyes rested upon the sleeping figure near her, his peaceful slumber almost an affront to the violent intrusions he had subjected her to. A part of her wished to wake him up, scream at him and make him pay for what he had done.
But her frail body already had trouble just sitting up, pains flaring up and drumming in both familiar and seemingly odd places as she tried to adjust herself to the cold prison floor.
That, and those thrice-cursed tears were stinging in her eyes again. But she would not cry, Joanne stubbornly decided, pushing away her tears the moment she forced her green eyes away from him.

It was then that she noticed the two figures. Or perhaps she had noticed them already but her blurred and muddled mind had refused to deal with their presence up until now. Perhaps it had been the calm voice; a stark contrast to the cacophony of shouts and laughter beyond the pair. Joanne did not know but she instinctively cringed when she heard the giant speak.
Girl out. Hit boy.
She did not wish to be forced to drift off into darkness yet again - tempting as the empty slumber might be to both her violated body and shocked mind.
But the darkness did not come. Not even after the momentary weightlessness, air streaking past her naked form.
More pain, blossoming throughout her already hurt body when she impacted with the floor.
Pain, and not the benevolent darkness.

Moaning softly, the woman stared at the shoes, finding herself oddly intrigued with their perfect and shiny appearance. Her body refused to respond at first, not willing to leave the cold certainty of the floor in exchange for yet another chance at pain.
But the hand, outstretched and like the shoes, devoid of any stains, triggered something within the woman.
What it was, she did not know, but it allowed Joanne to lift her own arm and place her own, smaller hand, into hers as she accepted his help and found herself upon her feet once more.
Her body was still shaking from the rather physical impact with the floor when the impact of the man's words hit her.
Joaquin Cortez, concejal of José Cruz Fuentes.
The latter being the brother of Vicente Carrillo Fuentes. The leader of the Juarez cartel, the very cartel she had been trying to expose, but had failed to.
Instead, she stood here, outside the prison cell in which she most likely would spent the rest of her life. Naked and covered with bruises and filth alike, facing one of the councilmen of the Juaraz cartel who looked every bit as unfazed and unblemished as she imagined their leader to be - or whomever was behind her incarceration.
Joanne struggled to think what he would want from her. That was, her half-conscious experiences from the past few days and most notably those from last night, provided her with quite some inspiration for things which he might want for her but this man seemed awfully polite instead. Which, of course, did little to ease her anxiety. If anything, it did the complete opposite.

Still, her green eyes did not waver for so much as a moment when his gaze caught hers. Which was not to say that there was no fear in her eyes - for the guarded look in those fierce orbs betrayed at least a hint of fear, the name sparking recognition in her momentarily widened eyes.
She sought for words, wondering what it was he expected from her, what she was to say to him in return. He knew her name, she only knew his' after he had given it to her. That little bit had already established the power-relation between them.
Aside from the fact that she had been thrown at his feet in the most literal way possible.
"Ah."
It was all that she managed - and even that simple sound hurt her parched throat, sending shivers of pain down her bruised neck. She, the research-journalist who had interviewed countless criminals and other people of ill-repute now found herself at a loss for words.
It was not a very promising start.
Her already severely injured pride would not put up with it, demanding something more. Thus, her feeble mind struggled anew and finally she managed an actual string of words. A question even:
"Are all of the new prisoners welcomed by the esteemed Juarez concejal himself?"
Her voice was almost completely devoid of any venom - which given the position this man claimed - as much as her genuine interest in the answer to this question. Still, as she continued to look the man straight in the eyes, stubbornly ignoring her own nakedness, Joanne doubted she truly wished to hear the answer to said question.

"No, not the ordinary arrivals." Joaquin replied. "But then again, you are no ordinary arrival. You are more of a..." He paused for a couple of seconds to search for the right words, and then his face lit up in a satisfied smile. "Shall we say a special delivery?" he said and nodded without giving any further explanation to what that might actually mean.

With a sturdy hand, he grabbed Joanne's wrist and started to escort her down the hall in the same direction as all the other prisoners seemed to be heading. Even though the corridor was packed with orange wearing inmates, they were given a bubble of space as no one seemed to want to get near her or her companion. Off course she received plenty of hungry looks, but only quick peaks as if just looking at her to long could be dangerous, and not a single taunt was shouted at her. Just as they walked away, a rattling scream of intense pain could be heard from Joannes cell. The voice was all to familiar to her - it was that of her cellmate.

"Please let me explain to you how things are run here. Here at El Cereso we have always enjoyed law and order, thanks to the good relationship between the inmates and the guards. That order would not survive were it not for the benevolent mister Fuentes. He is the only thing that stands between us and complete anarchy. During your stay here, I am sure that you will learn to appreciate, if not love, his talents and wisdom." Joaquin said to her, sounding more like a slick car salesman than a rugged criminal. It was something about the way he talked and the way he moved that made it easy to imagine him wearing an expensive suit instead of those orange rags. Indeed it was hard to believe that he was in prison; he walked more like if he was taking a casual stroll in the park.

Changing subject, he went on: "I see that Eduardo has already given you a warm welcome." he said, lowering his gaze to her bruised neck for a second. "He is a constant problem. He thinks all the female inmates are the angels of the girls he killed, and all male cellmates he accuses of being the 'messengers of the devil' and tries to kill them. Since he almost succeeded with his last cellmate - the poor thing survived but is completely paralyzed from the waist down now - he has been kept looked up alone in his cell for the last ten years or so." He paused, and grabbed her other wrist as well, forcing her to face him. "Tell me, Joanne, how many more nights with him do you think you will survive without protection? Ten? Five? One?" The question did not sound as a threat; his tone was monotone and matter-of-factually, as if the prospect of her death was nothing to take special note of.

Joanne tried to maintain some sense of dignity while she followed after down the corridor, now even more aware of her nakedness then before. The complete lack of clothing had been disturbing enough when she was thrown in her cell last night but now, being surrounded by multiple other inmates and no longer having the protective cover of darkness, it was especially taunting.
Said darkness might not have offered her much in terms of protection the night before - nor had the fact that there had been but one other inmate - but even the more subtle leers were enough to make her quite self-conscious about her naked form. There was also a stinging irony to the whole situation - the man whose presence was clearly shielding her from the other inmates, preventing them from showing her more than the occasional distant appreciation - belonged to the cartel without which she would not have been here in the first place.

Despite the fact that all of this felt like yet another example of the horrid power-shift, Joanne managed to keep her eyes focused on the man in front of her rather than lowering her gaze in shame. Of course, her cheeks glowed slightly as they passed inmate after inmate, their hungry stares not having gone unnoticed by the still quite wary female.
The sudden scream caused her to inhale sharply - the research-journalist oddly enough having little to no personal experience with such up-close violence, despite the fact that she had been catching up quite well ever since her arrival in Mexico. Much to her own distaste, she found that her lips curled up in a smile, an eerie sense of satisfaction spreading throughout her still aching body.

Such satisfaction was not to last however, something which Joanne found herself partially grateful for. The man who had raped and nearly killed her in the process might be little more than a beast, it was painstakingly clear that the man was mad.
While it seemed like a suitable punishment to have a murderer being haunted by the loss of life he caused, Joanne was still experiencing mixed feelings over the treatment to which he was subjected at this very moment.

"I was surprised to find myself alive this morning," the woman stated, keeping her voice surprisingly straight despite the myriad of emotions which were triggered upon being faced with the grim outlook of having to spent yet another night with Eduardo in the same cell. She was well-aware of her extremely slim chances of surviving yet another night. "And not pleasantly surprised per se."
The latter comment was added in a rather dry manner even though she meant every word of it. Her fingers lingered near the dark bruises around her neck for a moment, loathe to touch them in the same manner as her mind was loathe to even go near the other... Infractions on her body.

The man's intentions were clear, his talk as smooth as his surprisingly well-maintained appearance. Joanne had felt invisible shivers run down her back at the mentioning of yet another man maintaining a 'smooth system', reminding her very much of the man behind the desk. While she did not know mister Fuentes, there was anger swelling inside her when Joaquin sang his praises to a person who seemed to have quite a bit in common with the warden. Even his referral to her as a 'special delivery' did little to ease her nerves but then again, it had been made quite clear to her that this environment had not been chosen with regard to her sensibilities. Quite the opposite even and the former research journalist was well aware that she had only just begun to see the grim outlines of what awaited her here.
Nonetheless, Joanne could not help but to wonder about quite a few things and rather than asking for the price of his protection, some stubborn part of her asked something else - which, given the earlier venom she had almost spat upon hearing about the prison owner - was actually quite a show of self-restraint.
"Still, why have you not... Taken care of El Estrangulador yourselves yet? Surely mister Fuentes would agree with you?"
Joanne realized what she was saying, what she was asking: why have you not killed this man, removed this threat to your system, yet? Surely, it was not because they lacked the manpower or strength - like the gurgling scream had proven already. And somehow, this slick man - while not seeming to belong in prison - did not seem to be type to eschew violence or even murder.
The faint smile which had been lacking in any sort of warmth spread ever so slightly when Joanne quietly added: "Unless mister Fuentes was the one to place me in the cell with this man after his ten years of solitude, of course."
There was no sarcasm in her voice, no dripping venom as she posed this hypothesis to the dark-haired man. It was simply a statement made by a woman who had been shocked by what she had witnessed and now found herself trying to make sense of it like the research-journalist she no longer was.
Old habits died hard. Even here, in a place where everything else seemed to die with a surprising ease..

Joaquin let go of her wrists, and slowly clapped his hands while rolling his eyes. "Bravo! The renowned journalist strikes again!" he said in a dry, sarcastic voice. Then he grabbed her wrist again and continued their journey. "Then I guess there is no need for me to explain to you why this prison is calmer than any other prison in Mexico? I suppose you have already worked out that it's because mister Forrest, the warden, has delegated the task of keeping order inside the prison walls to the only organization that has outsmarted the Mexican government outside the prison walls." He paused to look down at the nude girl. "And I assume that I don't need to tell you that the organization is the Juarez cartel?"

"I also take it that you have realized what function you play in all this?" he went on. "In here, the currency is human flesh. More precisely, female flesh - pussy and ass are the dollars and cents here. The cartel - led by mister Fuentes, or the Boss as people call him - controls the stock of pussy, and therefore we control the prison. Those who mess up don't get to play. And for those who mess up really badly, we have people like Eduardo and Jordán." He sounded like a teacher lecturing a school girl on the working of the Congress. "The warden gets order, the Boss gets power, the inmates gets pussy and the guards get to borrow the girls every now and then. Everyone gets happy!" He really sounded proud as he explained it all to her, as if the system he described was the very crown achievement of civilization. "Isn't it splendid? So simple, but yet so elegant!"

While speaking, he led her through a pair of double doors into a huge canteen. There were no less than ten rows of long wooden tables, continuously being filled by more and more inmates coming from a long queue to a counter at the left side of the room. They were all carrying bowls with some kind of greyish porridge. At the far end of the room, there was a table placed perpendicular to all the others, like a table of honor at a fancy party. That seemed to be where Joaquin was leading her.

Whoever sat at the table they did not have to stand in line to wait for their breakfast. Instead a stark naked girl of afro-american decent, probably around just 20 years of age, was carrying it out for them like a waitress. A pair of high heels in a glittery silver color was the only piece of clothing she had got that Joanne had not, and her nudity did not go unnoticed by the people to whom she handed out the food. For every plate she got a slap on the ass or a squeeze on her breasts as a reward, along with comments along the line of "Thanks, Tits!". The name was not without reason, because her tits were truly her most salient feature - they were remarkably round and firm for their large size. But apart from the full breasts, the girls body looked gaunt bordering on the unhealthy. Her shoulder long, lustrously black hair framed a slim face with thick lips painted dark red and a pair of dark brown eyes. Even though she responded to every slap and every comment with a little moan and a giggle, the expression of her face told a different story. Anyone who was not blind could see the tiredness in it and the desperation in her eyes.

At the short side of the table, where the chairman would be seated on a board meeting, sat a man who for some reason did not have to endure the same tasteless porridge as the others. In front of him stood a plate with a real breakfast - fried bacon, eggs, toast with jam and peanut butter - together with a glass of beer and a fuming cup of coffee. The mans eating habits was reflected in the shape of his body: his arms were like big sacks of fat resting on the table, his neck was nothing but a series of double and triple chins, and were he to stand up he would probably not be able to see his own feet. The lower parts of the arms of his orange overall had been torn off, probably because they could not accommodate the girth of his swollen wrists, and the thick, oily mat of hair that covered his light brown complexion was on full display. His face was round because of his chubby cheeks, and were it not for the overgrown mustache that was hanging down over his mouth with small pieces of egg and bacon fat in it, he would have looked somewhat like a scaled up baby.

The fat man did not even look at Joanne as Joaquin led her to his end of the table, and showed with his arm that he expected her to sit down next to the fat blob. Joaquin seated himself on the other side of the table, opposite Joanne. "Miss K., may I introduce mister José Cruz Fuentes." he said, but the fat mans brown eyes still did not leave the bacon on his plate.

The little 'applause' which she received in response to her questions confirmed what Joanne already knew - that the answer to her questions were indeed going to upset and frighten her. They would fill her with the same quiet sense of dread which had been creeping into her very bones ever since she had arrived back at her little motel on that fateful day: a cold suspicion which would slowly but surely turn into a frightening cold which numbed her body despite the initial denial..
Only here, in this prison, such emotions tended to be magnified, accompanied by the physical pains of the events which always seemed to accompany if not predate such horrid revelations. The irony was that Joanne was well-aware that it was also much more dangerous to show such fear in an environment like this. Just like it could be equally or even more dangerous if one did not show fear, if one did not yield, at the right times; the numerous injuries on her slender body being the painful proof to the cold truth - with the burning sensation which flared anew every time she set one foot before the other being the most arduous of her injuries.

The fact that she realized that she had been right thus brought her very little in terms of a joyous victory. Instead, her facial expression went to a more trained neutral expression - the kind which Joanne had taught herself in order to deal with the more gruesome parts of her interviews and other research work. There had been few people who had detailed such cold truth without any sense of emotion however and Joaquin's disturbingly proud and always happy intonation filled her with both outrage and terror. The two emotions were barely hid underneath the guarded look on her face as he laid out the cold and grim reality of this prison and its inner workings.
There was little doubt that she belonged in the cartel's category of people who had 'messed up very badly' - which made Joanne feel even more anxious as to why this man was dragging her along instead of simply cashing the currency which her body represented.

However, when they entered the canteen, the young woman realized that perhaps that is what he was about to do after all. She glanced at her new surroundings, her eyes guarded as she recognized some of the more typical scenes within prison - the horrid food being one of the prime complaints of the prisoners. Of course, there were always those who managed to make arrangements for themselves - often with the help of threats, bribes and whichever currency governed a specific prison.
The cold hard cash in this prison seemed to consist not merely out of cigarettes and better seating however; the gaunt and butt-naked woman immediately drawing Joanne's attention. Her fierce eyes rested on the dark woman as the latter went on servicing the people of the privileged table. The emotional void in those dark eyes were what struck Joanne most and her half-hearted attempts at moaning and giggling only served to emphasize the woman's desperation. Yes, corruption was rife within prison and she had very often heard how men had been raped and abused behind those same prison bars - often under the supervision of the very guards who were supposed to maintain order.

And yet, in this prison all of the corruption seemed even more scandalous, even more outrageous. Perhaps it was because of the more obvious wealth of some of its inmates - their meals a definite improvement on the unidentifiable grub which the rest of them had to endure. Perhaps it was the fact that the man who absentmindedly gestured that she ought to sit down next to him, the proportions to which his body had been swollen striking a stark contrast with gaunt woman who served him and the others at the table. Perhaps it was because Joanne's own petite body still resounded with the blows and humiliation which she had had to endure.
Most likely all of it, blending together in the intoxicating and fear-inducing mixture which governed all of Mexico's prisons. Only worse.
Far worse - especially since she was not merely observing this time, not merely taking notes - but instead, she too, was one of the people trying to survive within the confines of the cold prison walls this time.

Still forcing her face to resemble neutrality rather than allowing hints of any of the strong emotions which ran through her body to show on her face, Joanne sat next to the rather well-fed man in silence. That was, she took care to do as he had wordlessly asked without allowing her naked legs to brush against his voluptuous form, her hands folded almost chastely into her lap. Lest they would tremble and betray her disgust at his appearance. Or the quiet indignation. Or that mind-numbing fear. Yes, especially that fear.

They just sat there for a while in silence. Further down the table there were plenty of chatter but the closer to the boss one came the more silent it was. The loudest sound around was the mushy noise from the Boss eating his breakfast. The prisoner to Joannes left, a slim, old Mexican with a crocked nose, made sure that the orange cloth of his dress did not even brush against the skin of what he considered to be his boss' property.

Some of the prisoners behaved rather strange. Every now and then one of them would distort their faces in spasms, breathe heavy and loud and even let out a panting groan. When Tits was done handing out the bowls of porridge, she promptly got down on all four at the other short side of the table, and crawled in under it. Suddenly the behavior of the inmates got a natural explanation.

After a small eternity, the Boss finally spoke. However, he did not speak directly to Joanne, but instead he looked up at his consejal. "Explain to el perra why it is here." he mumbled in Spanish with a squeaky voice, the words hardly distinguishable since he did not care to stop shewing his bacon while he spoke. Joaquin readily complied, and in fluent English he explained: "The Boss wants you to know that he saved your life. His brother wanted to just dump your body into the Rio Grande, but the Boss insisted that you should be sent here so that he can personally oversee your punishment to make sure you suffer to pay for your crimes." The Boss just continued to munch on his fried eggs without taking any note of what was said to Joanne. He had still hardly acknowledged her existence.

While Joaquin talked about punishment and suffering, the old inmate next to her suddenly let out a loud, pleasureful moan, and when Joanne looked down she could see a face as white and pale as a ghosts squeezed between the mans legs. The girl had his cock so far down her mouth that she could lick his balls while she sucked his dick. Her long, curly brown hair was in a complete mess after having been manhandled by numerous inmates, and she had stains of cum splashed all over her red painted lips. The mascara around her wide open brown eyes had been messed up by emerging tears, and sweat glistered on her forehead. For a short second her dark eyes met Joannes, and she stared at her intensely as if she wanted to say something without using words. But then she slid the dick out of her mouth and crawled on to bury her face between the fatty tights of the Boss instead.

"Usually new girls go through some quick training and are then put to use with the inmates, but courtesy of your track record, you will receive our special attention." Joaquin said in his usual euphemistic manner. "As we know what a though and resilient breed you journalists can be, we will begin by testing your endurance." The girl with the brown locks rubbed her body against Joannes knees as she bobbed her head up and down in the Boss' lap. Her body was not as meager as Tits', and her breasts were of a more normal size. To compensate for that, her round butt wobbled with every move she made. The Boss' chubby face shoved no indication of what was done to him. He just continued with the only thing that he seemed to care for: eating his breakfast.

After a while the girl with the brown locks crawled out from under the table, and she was soon followed by Tits. They were holding a glass each, both filled with some kind of white mess, and they both put down the glasses in front of Joaquin. Were it not already obvious, it was now beyond doubt that the content was sperm, diluted only by the girls saliva. The pale, brown haired girls glass was filled to the brim, while Tits' was only half full. The Boss threw a quick glance at the glasses, and then instructed his concejal in Spanish: "Ass is the winner. Ten raps to the looser." Joaquin just nodded in reply, while Tits did not show any reaction to the verdict, her face completely frozen.

After the brief intermission, Joaquin returned his attention to Joanne. "Endurance. Willpower. Resistance." he said slowly, as if he wanted to feel the taste of every one of the words. "We will see how much of that you have inside you. The rules are simple: you will not get any water before you drink these. How long do you think it will take before you give up?"

Joanne noticed how her neatly folded hands had remained relatively calm throughout the tense silence; the only sign of her nervousness being the cold sweat which had begun to form inside her palms. The scent of the bacon and eggs was familiar - the more intense smell of the hot coffee even more so. It were the only familiar things within these prison walls however and the young woman was well-aware that she would be denied its familiar taste. Perhaps the foods would be available to her, she mused, but there would be a price attached to such precious food. And having heard what this prison's currency was she sincerely doubted that she would be willing to pay its degrading price.

Still, it was only when she noticed the pale, almost ghostly face between the legs of the man next to her that she found herself clenching those hands into angry fists. It was not that the Boss's behavior had not upset her; the way in which he pointedly ignored her presence, designating her with 'it' and using other, less flattering descriptions as he urged the council man to speak to her instead.
The very idea that this had been someone's idea of 'saving her' - which of course, had not been the intent at all - sent a chill throughout her slender body and she instinctively pressed her legs closer against another.
Having her lifeless body being thrown into one of Mexico's famous rivers almost sounded merciful now and Joanne was well-aware that this had been the exact intent of the corpulent man next to her: why give her such an easy escape when they had a whole prison at their disposal to make her realize her mistake..?

Her green eyes followed the girl as she moved to subject El Jefe to her oral skills - or rather, to subject herself to his extremely meaty flesh. Joanne shuddered to think what the girl was dealing with between those fat legs, allowing her gaze to rest upon Joaquin instead. She subtly tried to shift her leg as she felt the girl move against it - already having trouble enough to get the image of the extremely large man out of her mind. She quickly found out that Joaquin was kind enough to provide her with something else to concern her thoughts with; her brow furrowing ever so slightly when he mentioned 'testing her endurance'.

She was less able to contain her emotion when she realized how these men would test her endurance; slight disgust curling her lips downward upon seeing the glasses.
Oddly enough, her mind provided her with an answer almost right away.
Three hours without shelter. Three days without water. Three weeks without food.
Of course, it was not the answer they were looking for, nor the answer Joanne was looking for. Dehydration was an incredibly nasty process and could be drawn out over multiple days if the circumstances were right. Its symptoms were not pretty and the consequences of prolonged dehydration even less so.
But nothing was pretty here. Not the circumstances under which she would be engaging herself in this challenge, nor the stakes.
She would not find herself in some desert, forced to go without water.
No, she would be battling her own pride - knowing that all she would have to do in order to give her body the fluids which it would crave more strongly over time - was give up a part of her dignity. Empty the contents of the sperm-filled glasses in her by then dry mouth.
Because of course she would not drink the humiliating mixture of saliva and sperm right away.
She was too stubborn for that. Too damn proud.
It would also be foolish to give in right away. It would open up the door for even more humiliating assignments. Not that they would necessarily have to wait with those. In the end, her little resistance might not even matter.
But right now, it did. To her.

Joanne's green eyes met with those of the consejal, ignoring the Boss in the same way as he had ignored her before.
She placed her hands upon the edge of the table, gently folding them around its edges as she leaned towards the man.
"Let's find out, shall we?"
The smile on her face almost seemed genuine, bordering on pleasant were it not for the fact that her very appearance belied such bold words. Her hair was messy, loose strands over auburn spilling over her shoulders while others hung over her back, tangled with another. Her face was just a tad bit paler than usual; her new sleeping arrangements had clearly not provided her with the rest which she needed. Nor had she been fed ever since she had entered the prison and she knew her stomach would overcome its nausea and fear-induced silence. The rest of her body did not fare much better and while her neck was covered with the most obvious injuries - its tender yet swollen flesh displaying a variety of darker colors - there were signs of pain all over her body.
Oddly enough, it were the spots which were hidden from view that hurt the most and even the semi-proud stance which she tried to maintain by straightening her back sent bouts of pain throughout her lower abdomen.
Still, she maintained the illusion of calm when she removed her hands from the table again, folding them in her lap once again.
With a bit of luck, the dehydration would make her as delusional as her unfortunate cell mate within days. Provided he did not strangle her before that, of course. Even that prospect seemed less grim now that Joanne realized just how parched her sour throat was - and how disgusting the contents of the glasses looked.

"Oh, yes. Indeed we shall." Joaquin replied, smiling a peculiar smile. After studying her for a while with judging eyes, he concluded: "You look tough." It sounded like a compliment, but he soon devalued it by adding: "That will not work towards your advantage in here. The weak ones find their peace, while the strong ones suffer all hell."

The Boss ate up the last bits of egg from his plate, and let out a loud, satisfied burp as he put the cutlery down on the table. Grunting, he slowly rose up from his seat. Standing up he was only a couple of inches taller than Joanne, but his body was impressive along other dimensions. The Boss leaving seemed to signal the end of the breakfast, since the rest of the inmates also got up from the table. They all headed towards a big door with the rather ironic word "Exit" written over it. Joaquin was not late to follow the others example, and as usual he took hold of Joannes wrist to drag her with him. On their way out Ass, who was on her way to clean up the plates, bumped into Joanne in what at least was supposed to look like an accident. The brunette was drenched in some kind of rosy perfume, but it still could not completely cover the musky scent of manly sweat that oozed from her body. She only had time to whisper three short words: "Drink it now!" Her voice was not stern and demanding, on the contrary her comment was more of a compassionate pledge.

The not so aptly labeled door did off course not lead out of the prison, instead it led out to a big exercise yard surrounded by tall, grey concrete walls with barbed wire on the top and watch towers in the corners. There was nothing sprouting in the yard, not a single green plant except for a few dry weeds growing in the reddish, dusty gravel that covered the ground. The yard was filled with inmates. Some were engaged in a frantic game of basketball, while others lifted weights and some just sat around waiting for better times. The sun was shining and there was not a cloud in the clear blue sky; hardly surprising the temperature was above 30° C. Joaquin led her towards the middle of the yard where the Boss had already sat down in a lounger, it's legs bending slightly under the pressure of his weight. He was shaded from the hot sun by a parasol and on a small table next to him stood a glass of orange juice with some ice cubes floating in it. They stopped a couple of meters in front of the Boss.

"Since you are such a headstrong girl and we don't have all the time in the world, we will have to make it a little bit more tricky for you." Joaquin said while another inmate handed him a single tailed whip made of black leather and dropped a pair of pink shoes with ridiculously high stiletto heels in front of Joannes feet. "You will be running, wearing those." Joaquin informed her in a factual tone. Even though he apparently knew a lot about her, he did not seem to have researched her shoe size, because the shoes looked at least a couple of sizes to small.

"If you run to slow, I will hit you." he said and tried out the whip by lashing it in the air with a loud snap. "If you fall, I will hit you." Another snap as he tried out the whip again, this time closer to Joanne. "If you pass out your body will be free for all to use until you wake up." He lashed the whip a third time, and now it was so close that Joanne could feel the wind. "Need I say that you will resume running or be whipped once you wake up? But off course you can end it all at anytime by just taking your drink." he said gesturing towards the Boss on who's table an inmate just placed the two glasses with the despicable content.

The man who had come with the whip and her shoes had prepared a track for her to follow by scraping his foot in a circle with a diameter of about ten meters around the boss. "So what are you waiting for?" Joaquin asked. "Get the shoes on and start running! You have 30 seconds before I start hitting you!"