Life In A Foreign Jail - Part 2, Captivity

part of the Life In A Foreign Jail series by Ademetos

Heavy, F+, f, M+, Real Life, Bondage, Domination, Humiliation, Rape, Scat, Water Sports, Non-Consensual

Sunday

Finally Sunday came round, after an awful, exhausting week of work in the laundry and constant taunts, humiliation and rape. On Sundays, the laundry stops work in the early afternoon. After that we were allowed to shower in freezing cold water, and to wash our clothes. As you'd imagine, no soap, towels or shampoo were provided, that was part of the supplies that each prisoner's family brought - meaning that I had none. After that, it was visiting time. Each visit lasted just half an hour, but since there weren't many visiting rooms they were staggered throughout the afternoon and early evening. In the spirit of making the prisoners' lives, and their families', as unpleasant as possible, nobody knew when their visiting time would be - the visitors had to arrive after lunch and maybe wait until six or seven o'clock, while the prisoners were on tenterhooks to know whether their visitor would show up or not. Some girls would break down sobbing when visiting time finished and nobody had come for them. But I had no expectations anyway.

The prisoners were allowed to wash their clothes, but there were only a handful of spare robes for them to wear while their own dried. Those were snapped up by the "alpha prisoners" like Shika, who might generously let another prisoner use them once their own had dried after a couple of hours in the hot sun. The others had to choose between staying in their filthy, sweaty, greasy robes, or going round naked for a couple of hours. Nobody cared about that, although there was a good chance that the guards would take advantage, or sometimes even one of the top-dog prisoners. But it was a big risk for a girl who was expecting visitors, because if she was naked when their turn came up, she wouldn't be allowed in. Their visitor would be sent away, taking the precious supplies package with her (only female visitors were allowed). Once a girl's visitor had left, if there was time she could wash her robe, but if visiting time finished before it was dry, too bad - she'd have to wear the heavy cloth still wet until it dried out on her body. For the "moral criminals", there was no possibility of a change of clothes. Some of them just never washed them, and their miniskirts or hot-pants, and their skimpy tee-shirts, had turned filthy grey, their original colour lost for ever. For me it would be easy - my micro-bikini would be dry in minutes. But I never washed it anyway, there was little point.

The rest of the visiting time was spent cleaning. Each cell was cleaned by its inmates - which in the case of my cell, meant me. There was no question of anyone else doing menial work while they had a foreign sex slut in there with them. I swept it, mopped the floor, washed down the walls and even the ceiling. Then I was assigned to the gang cleaning the laundry, the hardest job since it is so big. There were five of us but again the others took it slowly while I got to do all the hard work. A guard stood beside me the whole time, encouraging me enthusiastically with his crop. It hurt me much more than it would have hurt the others, striking my bare skin instead of through the thick, rough cloth of their robes. When I'd nearly finished, a whole gang of guards showed up and decided to have some fun with me. They stuck the mop in my cunt and made me clean the floor that way, taking it turns to use their crops on my bottom and my tits.

When I'd finished - or so I thought - one of them unzipped his trousers and pissed on the floor, for a long time, making a big puddle. They all laughed, then started shouting at me and slapping me, obviously saying that I hadn't finished the job. Trying not to cry, I mopped it up again, tormenting my poor bruised cunt, until it was gone. Then another did the same thing, and this time they pushed me down and made me lick it up. It was awkward and painful because the mop was still in me, twisted at an awkward angle. The men laughed at me, and when I'd finished one of them made me kneel with my mouth open and pissed into it, then another pissed all over my head. But then, I rather like drinking fresh piss like this, it was much better than mopping the floor with my cunt.

When I really had finished, and the guards had had their fun, I was led outside, into the yard around the prison wing. This was the first time I was let outside. There were already a couple of other "moral criminals" there, and they made us stand around and wait until there were five of us. I was the only one with my body completely exposed. The others wore what seemed to be the tart's uniform there, a very short skirt, white (once) skimpy tee-shirt, heels, and the remains of stockings around their legs. A couple of them had been mutilated, not seriously but very visible. We were led round the outside the building, into another door, and found ourselves in a guardroom of the men's prison. There were many more male prisoners, and so there were a lot more guards too, about thirty in the large, smoky room. This was obviously the time the guards would have their fun.

And they did. After a couple of hours, all four of us had been fucked in every imaginable way. My cunt and anus ached, cum and blood dribbling down my thighs. My mouth had been filled with cum and piss. They'd done things like fucking my anus while two others used their crops on my tits. When I really thought I just couldn't take any more, the room went very quiet and in walked a short, fat, bald man, older than most of the guards, smoking a cigar. It wasn't too hard to work out that this must be the boss, the prison governor. Two of the girls he greeted by name. They tried to smile and look sexy, despite their suffering and in once case her tears. Then he went to the third girl. He sized her up, groped her tits and her bottom, said a few words, and turned to me. He ran his hands quite gently and appreciatively over my poor bruised, overworked flesh, grabbed my tits, was fascinated by the rings that were still in my nipples. He grabbed my cunt and seemed even more intrigued by the rings down there. He turned me round and spanked me, in a way which felt rather nice. Then he said a few words to the guards, who whisked me off to a shower and made me clean myself up, including trying to wash all the cum out of my orifices.

Cleaned up, I was taken to the governor's office. It was spartan but big. He had a big wooden desk, some chairs, and a large sofa. Up to then you might have wondered why a prison governor would need a sofa, but it was beginning to seem obvious. For the first time since I'd arrived, I was fucked gently. He spread me out on the sofa and had me suck him until he was hard, then he came into me and fucked me slowly and gently just like a lover. Even with the fresh bruises from that horrible mop, it still felt very nice and I got more and more aroused. Finally I managed to time it so I came, a nice strong orgasm, just as he came as well. At last, I thought, a real gentleman.

Once he'd finished, it was over quickly - he zipped up his trousers and shoved me out of the door, where a couple of guards were waiting. To make sure I didn't get any ideas about being important, they slapped my face hard and frog-marched me down a series of corridors until finally I was in what must have been a visiting room. The walls were thin and I could hear that my fellow prisoners were already being well used in the next rooms. They pushed me down onto a rough wooden table and stood there while about ten prisoners came in, one after the other, and fucked me. These were completely opposite from the governor. They pushed down their prison uniform trousers, stuck their already-hard cocks in me, and in a few strokes they were done. Once the prisoners were done with us, we were marched back to our own prison, sticky cum once again running down our legs.

Isolation and Punishment

The second week went much the same as the first, backbreaking slavery in the laundry all day, an hour or so of humiliation at the hands of Shika and her friends, and the rest desperately trying to sleep. It was my job to empty the slop bucket every day, carrying its stinking load down the corridor in my high heels to a kind of drain at the end. I couldn't take too long but I was still ravenously hungry all the time, and I managed to scoff down a few handfuls of shit on every journey. Shika for once made my life easier. She arranged with all of the cells on our corridor that I would empty their buckets, too. She meant to humiliate me, but actually it was quite good. Nobody was really checking how long it took, and now I could be choosy about what I ate. I suppose I was lucky not to get really sick, living mainly on shit for all that time, but if I hadn't then I would have starved. I was raped and beaten routinely by the guards, but I was getting used to it. It was really just a question of being resigned to the tiredness and the abuse, and it all started to seem quite routine. I did manage to spend some time every day talking with Deila. I'd already learned a few essential words of their language, and I was teaching her some more English as well as learning more about the prison and the prisoners, and what passed for justice in their awful country.

On the Friday, Shika and her friends were having fun with me again at dinner time. They were making me crawl around the dining hall floor, with something heavy on the end of a piece of string tied to my clit ring. Once she'd understood their possibilities, Shika had become very partial to my piercings. It really hurt. Then a fight broke out, I've no idea why since I was much too busy trying not to tear my clit out by her roots. Once again the guards - who had been watching all along - came and broke things up, and sent the others back to the cells. And once again the victim - me - became the guilty party. This time they didn't let me back to my cell. After they'd finished fucking me and beating me, they cuffed my hands behind my back and made me follow them, crawling on just my knees on the hard concrete floor. It quickly became extremely painful, dragging the weight behind me with my clit. We had to go down some stairs which was just awful. They put me in an isolation cell. It was tiny, too small to stand up or stretch our in any direction, and almost completely dark. The only light was from a dim bulb in the corridor seeping under the bottom of the heavy door.

In a place like that you lose all track of time. It was dark, silent and cold, despite the sometimes unbearable heat above ground in the prison. They could feed me by pouring things through a wide pipe in the wall, so there was no need to open the door. In the morning (or so I supposed) they poured some gruel down, which collected in a puddle on the floor, and in the evening some of the usual dinner swill. They hadn't cleaned it after the previous occupant, even though, to judge from the smell, this had been several days previously. I curled up on the hard, cold floor and tried to sleep. When I was hungry I ate my own shit and the decomposing remains of the previous occupant's. When I was thirsty I lapped up piss from the floor.

How long they intended to leave me there, I have no idea. But I was saved in a rather strange way, which Deila told me about afterwards. On Sunday evening they had the usual orgy for the guards and privileged male prisoners, to which she was "invited". When the governor came to choose his pleasure for the night, he was furious not to find me there. He yelled at the guards and even demoted one of them on the spot, cutting off the stripes that marked his rank. The first I knew of this was when two breathless guards arrived at my isolation cell, burst the door open, and practically dragged me out. Not only did they undo all my bonds, they even made me take my shoes off - which just never happened - so I could run with them. I was filthy and stinking, since I'd been soaking in my own shit and piss for a couple of days. I was terribly cramped from the awkward position and the cold, and my eyes hurt even in the dim outdoor light.

He put me in his private bathroom so I could wash myself in hot water, an amazing treat. When I was clean he treated me the same as the last time, making love to me almost tenderly. This time, though, when he'd finished, he bent me over his desk and laid into me with a thin cane, giving me about thirty painful strokes and making me cry out no matter how hard I tried not to. But afterwards, he kissed me, on my mouth and on my poor abused cunt, taking my rings into his mouth and teasing them with his tongue. He tormented my clit until I came again. Then he handed me back to the guards, and once again I was gang-banged by a selection of the prisoners.

But this was only a temporary respite. I spent another two days in the awful isolation cell, living on slops licked up from the floor and my own waste.

Discovery

It had to happen, and soon after I was let out of the isolation cell it did. I was greedily slurping up a turd from the slop bucket, when one of the other women happened to wake up and see me. I knew because she immediately puked, all over her blanket. Shika knew all about it within minutes of waking up. At breakfast she told the others. A few of them managed to shit on the floor, and I got to slurp it up. After lunch, in the laundry, Shika grabbed me by one of my nipple rings and dragged me to the corner of the room. There were no toilets in there, just another slop bucket, so the guards could see what was going on. In full view of the other prisoners, she pushed me down, squatted over my face, and pushed a big mound of sloppy shit into my open mouth. Then she sat down on me until I'd swallowed it all, and then lifted herself up so I could lick her clean, between the mountainous flesh of her bottom. I let my tongue stray a bit and teased her cunt and clit as well, and she was obviously enjoying that. She got up before she came, and to my amazement she winked at me. This looked promising. Once she had used me as a toilet, that was an open invitation to some of the other alphas, and I was used several times that afternoon. I was feeling a bit full by the end - at dinner I didn't eat any of my serving of swill, I let the other women share it. The guards in the laundry turned a completely blind eye to all this. I'm sure they thought I was hating it, as any normal woman would, but they did nothing to stop it happening.

That night, Shika made me climb up onto her bunk, which naturally was at the top, and finish what I'd started during the day. Her cunt smelled, of stale piss and stale cunt and stale sweat, as I lapped at her clit and her inner lips, slowly teasing her to orgasm. When she eventually did come, she made no effort to hide her pleasure. The whole corridor must have heard. Then she abruptly turfed me off her bunk, back onto my mattress on the floor. Our relationship slowly changed after that. She still treated me like dogshit in public, and did all sorts of unpleasant things to me, but she never went as far as she had in the early days. And if anyone else threatened me, they quickly understood to back off. She made me pleasure her two or three nights a week, and I was her personal toilet whenever she needed one in public. In the cell she still used the slop bucket, but I always had to lick her clean afterwards.

Deila and I were also giving each other some pleasure. This didn't seem to worry Shika, from time to time she even watched us. Deila was revolted at first by my shit-eating habit, but she soon got used to it and let me drink her piss although it was a long time before she fed me her shit. Which didn't stop me salvaging it from the slop bucket when I could.

That week my period started. I was working in the laundry when I felt warmth running down my leg. I had nothing for it - this was something the others kept in their supplies box, which I didn't have. But I couldn't really work in the laundry while covered in blood. The guards didn't want to touch me, but one of the older women found an old rag, a worn-out pillow case, and made me stuff it into my cunt, a kind of improvised tampon, held in by my micro-bikini. When we left the laundry, Shika ripped it out of me - which hurt a lot - and held it out daring me to suck it. I love sucking period stuff, especially other girls', but my own is good too. A couple of the girls looked pretty sick as I did it though. At dinner - which I didn't eat since I had again been a toilet all afternoon - I had to sit in a growing puddle of my own period stuff, which I licked up afterwards.

On Sunday, I was working hard. Shika had convinced all the others prisoners on the corridor to let me clean their cells too, and the others were having a great time teasing me, making me work with the mop in my cunt and so on. Then a guard appeared and called me to a visiting room. I was amazed, there was nobody I knew in the same country. When I got there, a young woman was on the other side of the table. She explained to me in broken English that her friend had been the guy who came with Bianca to try and rescue me on that first day. She had persuaded him - with money of course - to try to help me. He'd been in touch with the British Consulate, and they'd said they'd see what they could do. Knowing the local customs, she brought me some supplies and even a plastic box to keep them in, with a padlock. There were various kinds of hard biscuits and crackers, some toilet paper (which I didn't need but I wasn't going to tell her), some tampons (ditto), some dried fruit and some mangy looking apples. I thanked her profusely. It turned out that the prison was about forty kilometres from the place I was arrested, which doesn't sound much but in a country where most people can't afford a car, it meant she'd made a big effort to visit me and spent all day on slow cross-country buses, rattling along their primitive roads.

The evening was spent in the usual Sunday way, satisfying the guards and prisoners in the male prison. My interlude with the governor was getting both more and less romantic. This time he gave me a vicious caning first, leaving my bottom and my tits covered in thin red lines which hurt like hell. But then he made love to me more tenderly than ever, groaning in pleasure as he emptied himself into me. I've always been rather partial to gang-bangs and I enjoyed the session with the prisoners. For some of the other girls, though, it was a living hell. With Deila's help they talked to me about it. Just because they'd tried to make a bit of extra money by fucking tourists (the most common moral crime), didn't mean they had no feelings or expected to become unpaid sex slaves. There was one girl in particular, very attractive with a beautifully sexy face as well as a gorgeous body with curves in all the right places and so one of the guards' favourites, who always returned sobbing her heart out. I did manage to console her a couple of times with my tongue, when nobody was looking, and that seemed to help.

Flogging

I wondered from time to time what had happened to the thirty lashes that were part of my sentence. I hoped they'd just forgotten. But in the fourth week I discovered that nobody had forgotten anything.

It turned out that floggings and other punishments were a great public spectacle. They were advertised in the local paper and news about what punishments were expected spread like wildfire by word of mouth. On the Tuesday afternoon a huge crowd had gathered in the prison yard. There were three of us "moral criminals", as well as several men and women who were being flogged for ordinary crimes. Repeat offenders suffered more, mutilation wasn't reserved just for us moral sinners. It wasn't an Arab country, so nobody lost whole hands or feet, but smaller parts were routinely chopped off, in public.

The prisoners, including me, were handcuffed and bound to a row of poles. Before the actual punishment, the public came round to look at us and grope us. Many of them spat in my face and on my bare flesh, or slapped or punched me. It was very unpleasant, and hard not to cry. The other girls weren't as strong, and by the time the punishment started they were already sobbing, their own tears indistinguishable from the gobs of spit that covered their faces.

There didn't seem to be any particular order to the punishments. The first half dozen were men, getting 25 or 50 lashes for things like theft. Their shirts were removed, they were tightly bound to a stake, and the whipping started. The whip was a single braided lash, used with a lot of force though not enough to do serious damage by removing the skin. The men were stoic at first, but all of them were screaming by the tenth stroke. Those who got 50 lashes had a short break after 25. Their screams during the second half were even more pitiful. Afterwards they were hauled off and taken back to their place in the row of those waiting, but this time they were wrecks, barely able to stand as they moaned in pain.

The first woman came next. She was an ordinary prisoner, a woman of about 40. Her robe was removed but to protect her modesty a cloth was wrapped around her waist although her sagging tits were left in full display. She started screaming in a high-pitched yell with the first stroke. Between the lashes she was screaming for mercy, struggling and tearing at her bonds. Probably it was the first time she'd ever been whipped - after all, most people go through their whole lives without experiencing it. Shame, they don't know what they're missing. Half way through she shat herself, clearly visible as the shit oozed down her legs, and the crowd cheered. The last two lashes went to her tits, making her scream even more.

The next victim was the first of the "moral criminals". She was only about eighteen, but she was a repeat offender which meant that she would get her first mutilation. As Deila explained it to me afterwards, she was serving twelve months. The first 25 of her 50 lashes had already been given, and the second would come at the next session. This time was for the mutilation. The punishments were spread out like this to make it more unpleasant as well as to add to the crowd value. They stripped her, showing the marks and scars from the first beating on her back. Then she was strapped down tight on her back, naked, on a table in the centre of the courtyard. She already had a small brand on her belly, but this time she would be fully branded with the words for "shameless whore". The torturer had an old-fashioned gas-powered soldering iron, which he heated up in a very showmanlike way in front of the crowd. Finally everything was ready. A filthy rag was stuffed into girl's mouth, and he went to work, carefully tracing the letters on her tender belly flesh with the hot iron. Even from several yards away, the stench of burning flesh was pungent and horrible. She screamed hideously, her body tearing at her bonds as she writhed in agony. The crowd loved it, cheering and jeering at her. Finally he finished, throwing cold water over her and ripping the cloth from her mouth. But he hadn't finished. He took a big pair of scissors and neatly snipped up each side of her nose. Blood spurted from her torn flesh, making a puddle all around her head. Now she sobbed, her snot mixing with the blood. The crowd cheered even more, to see this shameless hussy disfigured permanently. Finally he shaved her head, and rubbed some acid or something into the front of her scalp. She screamed again as the acid burned her skin, destroying the hair follicles for ever. As her almost lifeless body was bundled back to her post, the crowd cheered as though their national football team had just scored a goal, waving their arms and throwing things into the air.

A couple more men were flogged, and then finally they came for me. I was in a terrible state of fear and anticipation. I've been whipped before and I know what it feels like, but always by someone who ultimately cares about me in their own twisted way, and never in front of a bloodthirsty crowd of apparently ordinary people. As I was tied to the stake, I could feel juices from my treacherous cunt running down my thigh. My whole body was trembling and I was taking short, panicky breaths.

But even so I wasn't prepared for the searing, burning agony of the first stroke of the whip. I heard myself scream in a disembodied sort of way. My whole body was on fire. None of my pain-slut beatings had come anywhere close to this. I had barely got my breath back when the second stroke tore into me. And it went on. Somewhere I lost control of my bladder, but I was barely aware of the hot piss streaming down my legs. I could hear the crowd cheering, and I could feel the bindings tearing into my flesh as well.

I completely lost count, or any sense of anything except the fire tearing my poor back apart. I felt a blow on my tits which was even worse, there just aren't words to describe pain of this intensity. But it was a good sign, and sure enough after one more agonising blow on my tits, cold water was thrown over me. When they untied me I collapsed in a heap but they just shoved me back to the post and tied me there. I felt blood trickling down my back, and I could see the marks on my poor tits. But at least it was over.

By the time all the other punishments were over, I was at least able to stand up straight. The pain in my back and tits was almost unbearable, but I was shown no mercy. With the other prisoners, I was led back to work. I was expected to carry on in the laundry as if nothing had happened, as were all the other victims. It was impossible, but we staggered around trying to avoid any further punishment. The girl who'd been branded and had her nose slit was just huddled in a corner, sobbing uncontrollably and squirming round in pain, holding her hands to her mutilated nose in disbelief. Her brands were impressive to see, deep burns that would take months to heal and would leave huge scars for the rest of her life.

At the dinner break, I was for once a hero and not the butt of Shika's and the others' taunts and jibes. Today's victims were gathered together and the others caressed our wounds, even licking them sometimes, murmuring in sympathy. They'd seen it many times before, and some of them had suffered in the same way, but still they lavished their sympathy on us. The branded girl was still sobbing. Her nose had stopped bleeding but still she couldn't stand, and had to be helped when she needed to move around. She recovered physically in a few days, but she didn't stop sobbing for the whole time I was in the prison, running her fingers over her nose and around the brands on her belly, imagining the ruins of the rest of her life.

Another Visitor

The next couple of weeks followed along the familiar pattern. I could understand simple conversations in their language, and with Deila I could manage quite a good chat, switching back and forth from English and helping out with gestures and sign language. I was still Shika's toilet, although most of the other women had given up using me in the laundry once the novelty had worn off. The weeks were spent in fatiguing drudgery, and on Sundays I worked even harder cleaning and then being gang-banged. The governor continued to demand me at the orgies every Sunday, and made love to me in his own strange way. His canings were almost a pleasure after the whipping. He got very excited the first time afterwards, running his fingers over the partially-healed wounds, digging his nails in and getting excited by my yelps of pain. After the first couple of days the pain had mostly subsided, although the memory still had the power to reduce me to a trembling wreck.

The girl who'd been branded was a great hit at the Sunday orgy. They fucked her belly-up so they could be turned on by her mutilation as they thrust into her. They seemed undistracted by her constant weeping and occasional sobbing. Even the prisoners stood waiting for her, preferring her to ordinary, unmutilated girls like me. Deila told me this was quite normal.

I was very surprised, one working day, to be fetched from the laundry in mid-afternoon, and taken to a visiting room. In there, with the guard, was a young guy, casually dressed, who stood up and held out his hand to greet me, as if we were business acquaintances. He didn't appear to notice that I was naked apart from the tattered remains of my micro-bikini, or that my back was covered in the bright red scars from my whipping, or that my whole body was covered in the smaller marks from the guards' crops, or that I stunk of shit like an old toilet, a consequence of it being the major part of my diet. He introduced himself as so-and-so from the British Consulate as he sat down elegantly, making sure his trousers fell correctly at the knees. He explained that they were doing everything possible to get me released as soon as possible, but that it was difficult given the nature of my crimes against the country's high moral standards. I found it hard not to laugh, knowing the constant debauchery at the prison and no doubt elsewhere, but I tried to keep a straight face. He admitted that standards of justice in the country were not high. I started to tell him about the barbaric punishments and the constant rapes, but he told me to be very careful what I said, that exaggerated stories that put the country in a bad light would not help me at all. I quickly realised that he was in fact completely useless. Once he had finished his little speech, he asked the guard to leave us alone for a few minutes, his command of the language just about good enough for that. To my surprise, the guard snorted and left the room. Then my visitor grabbed me, pushed me down over the table, pulled his trousers down, and rammed himself into me, thrusting hard and coming in just a few seconds. Then, quite casually, he tidied himself up and sat opposite me again.

"Nice to have girls like you around. I can fuck you senseless and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. You're just a load of worthless old slags anyway. Amazing what they pay us to try and do. The country's a shit hole of course, straight out of the dark ages, but you should know that when you come here, not go around fucking in public like animals. By the way, speaking of shit holes, you stink of shit, I don't know what you've been doing. Nice bikini though, I should get one for the girlfriend, although yours looks like it's seen better times."

He prattled on like this for a bit longer, confirming my impression that he was useless. When he finally shut up, I told him he was a useless tosser. He accurately retorted that whatever his failings, he wasn't stuck in a third-world jail being constantly raped and beaten, then got up and left. The guard returned and made me suck his cock before leading me back to the drudgery of the laundry.

Monotony

For the next few weeks, nothing much changed, just the exhausting drudgery of work interrupted by the Sunday gang-bangs. I was raped regularly by the guards, in all of my holes. It didn't seem to bother them that I smelt like a blocked toilet. Deila would laugh about it when we cuddled each other, saying, "Pauline, you stink real bad, you know that? Maybe eating shit not so good." I did get another visit from the same girl, with a new stock of biscuits and apples. Shika had her period, and made me suck her tampons. Yum, one of my favourite things, although she didn't know that. I tried to look suitably disgusted and humiliated when she made me do it in the dining hall, after all she couldn't see the juice oozing out around my bikini and running down my legs.

By now the whole prison knew about my strange diet, including the guards. I think they were mainly fairly revolted by the idea, but a couple of them made me lick them clean. One Sunday, though, that all changed. Somebody must have told the governor, and he obviously didn't like the idea of having a human toilet as his fuck toy. This week, when he appeared, instead of leading me away to his office, he spat in my face and slapped me. (Sometimes I thought this must be the traditional national greeting, it was so common). He hurled a torrent of abuse at me, in which I made out the words "shit" and "eat". Then he barked some orders to the guards, which also included those words. They shoved me roughly down on the floor, on my back, then shuffled around looking a bit embarrassed. Finally one of them dropped his pants and squatted down over me, and after groaning for a while managed to push out a small, hard turd into my mouth. The governor yelled at me to swallow it, to show him what a worthless shit slut I was (or something like that anyway). I did as instructed, trying not to gag at the foul taste of this guy's shit. That encouraged the others, and finally about half a dozen of them shat into my mouth. Despite the governor's anger, I could see clearly that this was exciting him, and I wondered what he was going to do about it.

I found out. He grabbed me and shoved me roughly to his office. Unlike the tender lovemaking of previous weeks, he bent me over and rammed himself roughly into me, mauling my bruised tits as he fucked me. When he'd come, he pissed into mouth, making me swallow it, then slapped me again before calling for the guards to get me. As they marched me out, he called out "Bitch!" in English. Our relationship had changed, that was for sure.

That night, for the first time despite my diet of shit, I was violently sick in the slop bucket, puking up all of the men's shit that filled my belly. The stench of shit-puke filled our small cell, making the others complain even as I retched continuously over the bucket. Deila climbed down and gave me a big hug, and eventually I managed to get to sleep. This didn't stop Shika using me in the morning, but it was strangely comforting to feel her familiar shit sliding down my throat.

Outside Work

On Monday there was a change in our routine. It was the beginning of the harvest season. Some of the women, including me, were taken away to work in the fields. This was normally the work of the men, who helped out the local farmers with slave labour which I'm sure they greatly appreciated. All of us were "moral criminals", which didn't really seem like a coincidence. We were shackled at our ankles, our wrists were all bound behind our backs, then we were piled up in the back of an old farm trailer which was pulled by a tractor over a couple of miles of rough mud tracks. We were bounced around and could do nothing to hold on or help ourselves, so it was extremely uncomfortable. Especially for me, with the old splintery wood and the rusty metal bolts digging into my exposed flesh. My micro-bikini, that I'd been so proud of in that unimaginable old life before I was a prisoner, was so worn and chafed in places now that it must surely fall apart. My lovely tart shoes were worn and split, and the clear plastic straps looked as though they wouldn't last much longer. I wondered vaguely what would happen when even the skimpy clothes I had fell apart. Would they just leave me naked? Or what?

Despite the conditions, it was wonderful to be outside in the open air. I'd hardly seen any sunshine for weeks, although I'd suffered from it in the stuffy indoor heat and the dreadful steamy conditions of the laundry. Whatever was in store for us, the day started with heavy manual labour. Despite the heat, the ground was very wet. My sexy tart shoes just sunk into the thick mud. Soon you couldn't tell where my feet ended and the shoes begun, I just had thick lumps of mud up to my ankles. The other girls were the same, their cheap stilettos caked in thick mud. There were dozens of men working with us, both prisoners and regular farm workers. The only way to tell the difference was by the shackles that the prisoners wore.

The work was much harder and more tiring than the laundry. By the time the sun was high I could barely take another step. But any hesitation brought a stroke of the whip, not the normal small crop that the guards carried but something much bigger and more painful, that cut easily through the thick layer of mud that covered me from head to toe by then. All of us had stumbled many times, with the combination of our heels and the shackles.

Under the hot midday sun, the locals stopped work. But the prisoners were forced to carry on. Luckily the thick mud protected me from getting sunburn, cheaper than the stuff you get at Gatwick and a lot more effective. Eventually we did stop for a meal break. We got dry bread, as usual, but a much bigger piece of it, half of a big loaf each. It was dry and as hard as anything, I suppose the prison took all the unused bread from the local bakeries, or maybe they had a special recipe for almost-inedible bread in the prison kitchens. We also had an apple each, the first time I'd ever seen fruit. It wasn't much good, obviously stock that the farmers couldn't sell even in the local market, but it was like a gift from heaven. I tried eating the bread but I was afraid of breaking my teeth, so without even thinking I stuck it between my legs and pissed on it, which got some strange looks. The other women dipped theirs in the big vat of drinking water.

When we finished eating, we were lined up along a fence, our legs apart, and used by all the workers, prisoners and locals alike. Some of the girls took it stoically, I rather enjoyed it, and a couple of them started sobbing. If they put up the slightest resistance they were whipped - I suppose the guards were making money out of selling us as sex slaves. It tells you something about human nature that the girls who were in obvious distress proved a lot more popular, with men standing waiting for them while others were idle. Afterwards these girls looked rather fetching, big tears smearing the mud on their faces. I hugged and kissed them, licking at their tears and the mud. The guards didn't seem to mind, a lesbian show was a nice extra for the punters. So I threw caution to the winds and sat one of them on the fence, pushing my head between her legs under the mud-soaked remains of her once-pretty denim mini-skirt, lapping at her cunt, tasting the mixed cum of all these peasants, until she did finally come.

The next day started the same way, but we went to a different place where there were different work gangs. It was obviously just an excuse to give the farm workers - prisoners and others - a bit of fun. For myself I didn't mind, in fact I rather enjoyed it, but it was tough on the girls who didn't like being gang-banged regularly - although after a few months at the prison they should have been used to it. My spontaneous lesbian show had obviously been a hit, because this time they made me do it at the very start, as a kind of warm-up exercise. With some gestures I persuaded one of the girls to piss in my mouth, which got some applause. It was gorgeous, I was desperately thirsty and so was she, so it was really rich and concentrated.

The rest of the week went the same way, back-breaking slave labour in the fields all day, which left me utterly, totally exhausted, unable even to stay awake to eat the swill at dinner time. And an intermission of rape and abuse at lunchtime.

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Ademetos 2019

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Life In A Foreign Jail - Part 2, Captivity

part of the Life In A Foreign Jail series by Ademetos
9
Sunday

Finally Sunday came round, after an awful, exhausting week of work in the laundry and constant taunts, humiliation and rape. On Sundays, the laundry stops work in the early afternoon. After that we were allowed to shower in freezing cold water, and to wash our clothes. As you'd imagine, no soap, towels or shampoo were provided, that was part of the supplies that each prisoner's family brought - meaning that I had none. After that, it was visiting time. Each visit lasted just half an hour, but since there weren't many visiting rooms they were staggered throughout the afternoon and early evening. In the spirit of making the prisoners' lives, and their families', as unpleasant as possible, nobody knew when their visiting time would be - the visitors had to arrive after lunch and maybe wait until six or seven o'clock, while the prisoners were on tenterhooks to know whether their visitor would show up or not. Some girls would break down sobbing when visiting time finished and nobody had come for them. But I had no expectations anyway.

The prisoners were allowed to wash their clothes, but there were only a handful of spare robes for them to wear while their own dried. Those were snapped up by the "alpha prisoners" like Shika, who might generously let another prisoner use them once their own had dried after a couple of hours in the hot sun. The others had to choose between staying in their filthy, sweaty, greasy robes, or going round naked for a couple of hours. Nobody cared about that, although there was a good chance that the guards would take advantage, or sometimes even one of the top-dog prisoners. But it was a big risk for a girl who was expecting visitors, because if she was naked when their turn came up, she wouldn't be allowed in. Their visitor would be sent away, taking the precious supplies package with her (only female visitors were allowed). Once a girl's visitor had left, if there was time she could wash her robe, but if visiting time finished before it was dry, too bad - she'd have to wear the heavy cloth still wet until it dried out on her body. For the "moral criminals", there was no possibility of a change of clothes. Some of them just never washed them, and their miniskirts or hot-pants, and their skimpy tee-shirts, had turned filthy grey, their original colour lost for ever. For me it would be easy - my micro-bikini would be dry in minutes. But I never washed it anyway, there was little point.

The rest of the visiting time was spent cleaning. Each cell was cleaned by its inmates - which in the case of my cell, meant me. There was no question of anyone else doing menial work while they had a foreign sex slut in there with them. I swept it, mopped the floor, washed down the walls and even the ceiling. Then I was assigned to the gang cleaning the laundry, the hardest job since it is so big. There were five of us but again the others took it slowly while I got to do all the hard work. A guard stood beside me the whole time, encouraging me enthusiastically with his crop. It hurt me much more than it would have hurt the others, striking my bare skin instead of through the thick, rough cloth of their robes. When I'd nearly finished, a whole gang of guards showed up and decided to have some fun with me. They stuck the mop in my cunt and made me clean the floor that way, taking it turns to use their crops on my bottom and my tits.

When I'd finished - or so I thought - one of them unzipped his trousers and pissed on the floor, for a long time, making a big puddle. They all laughed, then started shouting at me and slapping me, obviously saying that I hadn't finished the job. Trying not to cry, I mopped it up again, tormenting my poor bruised cunt, until it was gone. Then another did the same thing, and this time they pushed me down and made me lick it up. It was awkward and painful because the mop was still in me, twisted at an awkward angle. The men laughed at me, and when I'd finished one of them made me kneel with my mouth open and pissed into it, then another pissed all over my head. But then, I rather like drinking fresh piss like this, it was much better than mopping the floor with my cunt.

When I really had finished, and the guards had had their fun, I was led outside, into the yard around the prison wing. This was the first time I was let outside. There were already a couple of other "moral criminals" there, and they made us stand around and wait until there were five of us. I was the only one with my body completely exposed. The others wore what seemed to be the tart's uniform there, a very short skirt, white (once) skimpy tee-shirt, heels, and the remains of stockings around their legs. A couple of them had been mutilated, not seriously but very visible. We were led round the outside the building, into another door, and found ourselves in a guardroom of the men's prison. There were many more male prisoners, and so there were a lot more guards too, about thirty in the large, smoky room. This was obviously the time the guards would have their fun.

And they did. After a couple of hours, all four of us had been fucked in every imaginable way. My cunt and anus ached, cum and blood dribbling down my thighs. My mouth had been filled with cum and piss. They'd done things like fucking my anus while two others used their crops on my tits. When I really thought I just couldn't take any more, the room went very quiet and in walked a short, fat, bald man, older than most of the guards, smoking a cigar. It wasn't too hard to work out that this must be the boss, the prison governor. Two of the girls he greeted by name. They tried to smile and look sexy, despite their suffering and in once case her tears. Then he went to the third girl. He sized her up, groped her tits and her bottom, said a few words, and turned to me. He ran his hands quite gently and appreciatively over my poor bruised, overworked flesh, grabbed my tits, was fascinated by the rings that were still in my nipples. He grabbed my cunt and seemed even more intrigued by the rings down there. He turned me round and spanked me, in a way which felt rather nice. Then he said a few words to the guards, who whisked me off to a shower and made me clean myself up, including trying to wash all the cum out of my orifices.

Cleaned up, I was taken to the governor's office. It was spartan but big. He had a big wooden desk, some chairs, and a large sofa. Up to then you might have wondered why a prison governor would need a sofa, but it was beginning to seem obvious. For the first time since I'd arrived, I was fucked gently. He spread me out on the sofa and had me suck him until he was hard, then he came into me and fucked me slowly and gently just like a lover. Even with the fresh bruises from that horrible mop, it still felt very nice and I got more and more aroused. Finally I managed to time it so I came, a nice strong orgasm, just as he came as well. At last, I thought, a real gentleman.

Once he'd finished, it was over quickly - he zipped up his trousers and shoved me out of the door, where a couple of guards were waiting. To make sure I didn't get any ideas about being important, they slapped my face hard and frog-marched me down a series of corridors until finally I was in what must have been a visiting room. The walls were thin and I could hear that my fellow prisoners were already being well used in the next rooms. They pushed me down onto a rough wooden table and stood there while about ten prisoners came in, one after the other, and fucked me. These were completely opposite from the governor. They pushed down their prison uniform trousers, stuck their already-hard cocks in me, and in a few strokes they were done. Once the prisoners were done with us, we were marched back to our own prison, sticky cum once again running down our legs.

Isolation and Punishment

The second week went much the same as the first, backbreaking slavery in the laundry all day, an hour or so of humiliation at the hands of Shika and her friends, and the rest desperately trying to sleep. It was my job to empty the slop bucket every day, carrying its stinking load down the corridor in my high heels to a kind of drain at the end. I couldn't take too long but I was still ravenously hungry all the time, and I managed to scoff down a few handfuls of shit on every journey. Shika for once made my life easier. She arranged with all of the cells on our corridor that I would empty their buckets, too. She meant to humiliate me, but actually it was quite good. Nobody was really checking how long it took, and now I could be choosy about what I ate. I suppose I was lucky not to get really sick, living mainly on shit for all that time, but if I hadn't then I would have starved. I was raped and beaten routinely by the guards, but I was getting used to it. It was really just a question of being resigned to the tiredness and the abuse, and it all started to seem quite routine. I did manage to spend some time every day talking with Deila. I'd already learned a few essential words of their language, and I was teaching her some more English as well as learning more about the prison and the prisoners, and what passed for justice in their awful country.

On the Friday, Shika and her friends were having fun with me again at dinner time. They were making me crawl around the dining hall floor, with something heavy on the end of a piece of string tied to my clit ring. Once she'd understood their possibilities, Shika had become very partial to my piercings. It really hurt. Then a fight broke out, I've no idea why since I was much too busy trying not to tear my clit out by her roots. Once again the guards - who had been watching all along - came and broke things up, and sent the others back to the cells. And once again the victim - me - became the guilty party. This time they didn't let me back to my cell. After they'd finished fucking me and beating me, they cuffed my hands behind my back and made me follow them, crawling on just my knees on the hard concrete floor. It quickly became extremely painful, dragging the weight behind me with my clit. We had to go down some stairs which was just awful. They put me in an isolation cell. It was tiny, too small to stand up or stretch our in any direction, and almost completely dark. The only light was from a dim bulb in the corridor seeping under the bottom of the heavy door.

In a place like that you lose all track of time. It was dark, silent and cold, despite the sometimes unbearable heat above ground in the prison. They could feed me by pouring things through a wide pipe in the wall, so there was no need to open the door. In the morning (or so I supposed) they poured some gruel down, which collected in a puddle on the floor, and in the evening some of the usual dinner swill. They hadn't cleaned it after the previous occupant, even though, to judge from the smell, this had been several days previously. I curled up on the hard, cold floor and tried to sleep. When I was hungry I ate my own shit and the decomposing remains of the previous occupant's. When I was thirsty I lapped up piss from the floor.

How long they intended to leave me there, I have no idea. But I was saved in a rather strange way, which Deila told me about afterwards. On Sunday evening they had the usual orgy for the guards and privileged male prisoners, to which she was "invited". When the governor came to choose his pleasure for the night, he was furious not to find me there. He yelled at the guards and even demoted one of them on the spot, cutting off the stripes that marked his rank. The first I knew of this was when two breathless guards arrived at my isolation cell, burst the door open, and practically dragged me out. Not only did they undo all my bonds, they even made me take my shoes off - which just never happened - so I could run with them. I was filthy and stinking, since I'd been soaking in my own shit and piss for a couple of days. I was terribly cramped from the awkward position and the cold, and my eyes hurt even in the dim outdoor light.

He put me in his private bathroom so I could wash myself in hot water, an amazing treat. When I was clean he treated me the same as the last time, making love to me almost tenderly. This time, though, when he'd finished, he bent me over his desk and laid into me with a thin cane, giving me about thirty painful strokes and making me cry out no matter how hard I tried not to. But afterwards, he kissed me, on my mouth and on my poor abused cunt, taking my rings into his mouth and teasing them with his tongue. He tormented my clit until I came again. Then he handed me back to the guards, and once again I was gang-banged by a selection of the prisoners.

But this was only a temporary respite. I spent another two days in the awful isolation cell, living on slops licked up from the floor and my own waste.

Discovery

It had to happen, and soon after I was let out of the isolation cell it did. I was greedily slurping up a turd from the slop bucket, when one of the other women happened to wake up and see me. I knew because she immediately puked, all over her blanket. Shika knew all about it within minutes of waking up. At breakfast she told the others. A few of them managed to shit on the floor, and I got to slurp it up. After lunch, in the laundry, Shika grabbed me by one of my nipple rings and dragged me to the corner of the room. There were no toilets in there, just another slop bucket, so the guards could see what was going on. In full view of the other prisoners, she pushed me down, squatted over my face, and pushed a big mound of sloppy shit into my open mouth. Then she sat down on me until I'd swallowed it all, and then lifted herself up so I could lick her clean, between the mountainous flesh of her bottom. I let my tongue stray a bit and teased her cunt and clit as well, and she was obviously enjoying that. She got up before she came, and to my amazement she winked at me. This looked promising. Once she had used me as a toilet, that was an open invitation to some of the other alphas, and I was used several times that afternoon. I was feeling a bit full by the end - at dinner I didn't eat any of my serving of swill, I let the other women share it. The guards in the laundry turned a completely blind eye to all this. I'm sure they thought I was hating it, as any normal woman would, but they did nothing to stop it happening.

That night, Shika made me climb up onto her bunk, which naturally was at the top, and finish what I'd started during the day. Her cunt smelled, of stale piss and stale cunt and stale sweat, as I lapped at her clit and her inner lips, slowly teasing her to orgasm. When she eventually did come, she made no effort to hide her pleasure. The whole corridor must have heard. Then she abruptly turfed me off her bunk, back onto my mattress on the floor. Our relationship slowly changed after that. She still treated me like dogshit in public, and did all sorts of unpleasant things to me, but she never went as far as she had in the early days. And if anyone else threatened me, they quickly understood to back off. She made me pleasure her two or three nights a week, and I was her personal toilet whenever she needed one in public. In the cell she still used the slop bucket, but I always had to lick her clean afterwards.

Deila and I were also giving each other some pleasure. This didn't seem to worry Shika, from time to time she even watched us. Deila was revolted at first by my shit-eating habit, but she soon got used to it and let me drink her piss although it was a long time before she fed me her shit. Which didn't stop me salvaging it from the slop bucket when I could.

That week my period started. I was working in the laundry when I felt warmth running down my leg. I had nothing for it - this was something the others kept in their supplies box, which I didn't have. But I couldn't really work in the laundry while covered in blood. The guards didn't want to touch me, but one of the older women found an old rag, a worn-out pillow case, and made me stuff it into my cunt, a kind of improvised tampon, held in by my micro-bikini. When we left the laundry, Shika ripped it out of me - which hurt a lot - and held it out daring me to suck it. I love sucking period stuff, especially other girls', but my own is good too. A couple of the girls looked pretty sick as I did it though. At dinner - which I didn't eat since I had again been a toilet all afternoon - I had to sit in a growing puddle of my own period stuff, which I licked up afterwards.

On Sunday, I was working hard. Shika had convinced all the others prisoners on the corridor to let me clean their cells too, and the others were having a great time teasing me, making me work with the mop in my cunt and so on. Then a guard appeared and called me to a visiting room. I was amazed, there was nobody I knew in the same country. When I got there, a young woman was on the other side of the table. She explained to me in broken English that her friend had been the guy who came with Bianca to try and rescue me on that first day. She had persuaded him - with money of course - to try to help me. He'd been in touch with the British Consulate, and they'd said they'd see what they could do. Knowing the local customs, she brought me some supplies and even a plastic box to keep them in, with a padlock. There were various kinds of hard biscuits and crackers, some toilet paper (which I didn't need but I wasn't going to tell her), some tampons (ditto), some dried fruit and some mangy looking apples. I thanked her profusely. It turned out that the prison was about forty kilometres from the place I was arrested, which doesn't sound much but in a country where most people can't afford a car, it meant she'd made a big effort to visit me and spent all day on slow cross-country buses, rattling along their primitive roads.

The evening was spent in the usual Sunday way, satisfying the guards and prisoners in the male prison. My interlude with the governor was getting both more and less romantic. This time he gave me a vicious caning first, leaving my bottom and my tits covered in thin red lines which hurt like hell. But then he made love to me more tenderly than ever, groaning in pleasure as he emptied himself into me. I've always been rather partial to gang-bangs and I enjoyed the session with the prisoners. For some of the other girls, though, it was a living hell. With Deila's help they talked to me about it. Just because they'd tried to make a bit of extra money by fucking tourists (the most common moral crime), didn't mean they had no feelings or expected to become unpaid sex slaves. There was one girl in particular, very attractive with a beautifully sexy face as well as a gorgeous body with curves in all the right places and so one of the guards' favourites, who always returned sobbing her heart out. I did manage to console her a couple of times with my tongue, when nobody was looking, and that seemed to help.

Flogging

I wondered from time to time what had happened to the thirty lashes that were part of my sentence. I hoped they'd just forgotten. But in the fourth week I discovered that nobody had forgotten anything.

It turned out that floggings and other punishments were a great public spectacle. They were advertised in the local paper and news about what punishments were expected spread like wildfire by word of mouth. On the Tuesday afternoon a huge crowd had gathered in the prison yard. There were three of us "moral criminals", as well as several men and women who were being flogged for ordinary crimes. Repeat offenders suffered more, mutilation wasn't reserved just for us moral sinners. It wasn't an Arab country, so nobody lost whole hands or feet, but smaller parts were routinely chopped off, in public.

The prisoners, including me, were handcuffed and bound to a row of poles. Before the actual punishment, the public came round to look at us and grope us. Many of them spat in my face and on my bare flesh, or slapped or punched me. It was very unpleasant, and hard not to cry. The other girls weren't as strong, and by the time the punishment started they were already sobbing, their own tears indistinguishable from the gobs of spit that covered their faces.

There didn't seem to be any particular order to the punishments. The first half dozen were men, getting 25 or 50 lashes for things like theft. Their shirts were removed, they were tightly bound to a stake, and the whipping started. The whip was a single braided lash, used with a lot of force though not enough to do serious damage by removing the skin. The men were stoic at first, but all of them were screaming by the tenth stroke. Those who got 50 lashes had a short break after 25. Their screams during the second half were even more pitiful. Afterwards they were hauled off and taken back to their place in the row of those waiting, but this time they were wrecks, barely able to stand as they moaned in pain.

The first woman came next. She was an ordinary prisoner, a woman of about 40. Her robe was removed but to protect her modesty a cloth was wrapped around her waist although her sagging tits were left in full display. She started screaming in a high-pitched yell with the first stroke. Between the lashes she was screaming for mercy, struggling and tearing at her bonds. Probably it was the first time she'd ever been whipped - after all, most people go through their whole lives without experiencing it. Shame, they don't know what they're missing. Half way through she shat herself, clearly visible as the shit oozed down her legs, and the crowd cheered. The last two lashes went to her tits, making her scream even more.

The next victim was the first of the "moral criminals". She was only about eighteen, but she was a repeat offender which meant that she would get her first mutilation. As Deila explained it to me afterwards, she was serving twelve months. The first 25 of her 50 lashes had already been given, and the second would come at the next session. This time was for the mutilation. The punishments were spread out like this to make it more unpleasant as well as to add to the crowd value. They stripped her, showing the marks and scars from the first beating on her back. Then she was strapped down tight on her back, naked, on a table in the centre of the courtyard. She already had a small brand on her belly, but this time she would be fully branded with the words for "shameless whore". The torturer had an old-fashioned gas-powered soldering iron, which he heated up in a very showmanlike way in front of the crowd. Finally everything was ready. A filthy rag was stuffed into girl's mouth, and he went to work, carefully tracing the letters on her tender belly flesh with the hot iron. Even from several yards away, the stench of burning flesh was pungent and horrible. She screamed hideously, her body tearing at her bonds as she writhed in agony. The crowd loved it, cheering and jeering at her. Finally he finished, throwing cold water over her and ripping the cloth from her mouth. But he hadn't finished. He took a big pair of scissors and neatly snipped up each side of her nose. Blood spurted from her torn flesh, making a puddle all around her head. Now she sobbed, her snot mixing with the blood. The crowd cheered even more, to see this shameless hussy disfigured permanently. Finally he shaved her head, and rubbed some acid or something into the front of her scalp. She screamed again as the acid burned her skin, destroying the hair follicles for ever. As her almost lifeless body was bundled back to her post, the crowd cheered as though their national football team had just scored a goal, waving their arms and throwing things into the air.

A couple more men were flogged, and then finally they came for me. I was in a terrible state of fear and anticipation. I've been whipped before and I know what it feels like, but always by someone who ultimately cares about me in their own twisted way, and never in front of a bloodthirsty crowd of apparently ordinary people. As I was tied to the stake, I could feel juices from my treacherous cunt running down my thigh. My whole body was trembling and I was taking short, panicky breaths.

But even so I wasn't prepared for the searing, burning agony of the first stroke of the whip. I heard myself scream in a disembodied sort of way. My whole body was on fire. None of my pain-slut beatings had come anywhere close to this. I had barely got my breath back when the second stroke tore into me. And it went on. Somewhere I lost control of my bladder, but I was barely aware of the hot piss streaming down my legs. I could hear the crowd cheering, and I could feel the bindings tearing into my flesh as well.

I completely lost count, or any sense of anything except the fire tearing my poor back apart. I felt a blow on my tits which was even worse, there just aren't words to describe pain of this intensity. But it was a good sign, and sure enough after one more agonising blow on my tits, cold water was thrown over me. When they untied me I collapsed in a heap but they just shoved me back to the post and tied me there. I felt blood trickling down my back, and I could see the marks on my poor tits. But at least it was over.

By the time all the other punishments were over, I was at least able to stand up straight. The pain in my back and tits was almost unbearable, but I was shown no mercy. With the other prisoners, I was led back to work. I was expected to carry on in the laundry as if nothing had happened, as were all the other victims. It was impossible, but we staggered around trying to avoid any further punishment. The girl who'd been branded and had her nose slit was just huddled in a corner, sobbing uncontrollably and squirming round in pain, holding her hands to her mutilated nose in disbelief. Her brands were impressive to see, deep burns that would take months to heal and would leave huge scars for the rest of her life.

At the dinner break, I was for once a hero and not the butt of Shika's and the others' taunts and jibes. Today's victims were gathered together and the others caressed our wounds, even licking them sometimes, murmuring in sympathy. They'd seen it many times before, and some of them had suffered in the same way, but still they lavished their sympathy on us. The branded girl was still sobbing. Her nose had stopped bleeding but still she couldn't stand, and had to be helped when she needed to move around. She recovered physically in a few days, but she didn't stop sobbing for the whole time I was in the prison, running her fingers over her nose and around the brands on her belly, imagining the ruins of the rest of her life.

Another Visitor

The next couple of weeks followed along the familiar pattern. I could understand simple conversations in their language, and with Deila I could manage quite a good chat, switching back and forth from English and helping out with gestures and sign language. I was still Shika's toilet, although most of the other women had given up using me in the laundry once the novelty had worn off. The weeks were spent in fatiguing drudgery, and on Sundays I worked even harder cleaning and then being gang-banged. The governor continued to demand me at the orgies every Sunday, and made love to me in his own strange way. His canings were almost a pleasure after the whipping. He got very excited the first time afterwards, running his fingers over the partially-healed wounds, digging his nails in and getting excited by my yelps of pain. After the first couple of days the pain had mostly subsided, although the memory still had the power to reduce me to a trembling wreck.

The girl who'd been branded was a great hit at the Sunday orgy. They fucked her belly-up so they could be turned on by her mutilation as they thrust into her. They seemed undistracted by her constant weeping and occasional sobbing. Even the prisoners stood waiting for her, preferring her to ordinary, unmutilated girls like me. Deila told me this was quite normal.

I was very surprised, one working day, to be fetched from the laundry in mid-afternoon, and taken to a visiting room. In there, with the guard, was a young guy, casually dressed, who stood up and held out his hand to greet me, as if we were business acquaintances. He didn't appear to notice that I was naked apart from the tattered remains of my micro-bikini, or that my back was covered in the bright red scars from my whipping, or that my whole body was covered in the smaller marks from the guards' crops, or that I stunk of shit like an old toilet, a consequence of it being the major part of my diet. He introduced himself as so-and-so from the British Consulate as he sat down elegantly, making sure his trousers fell correctly at the knees. He explained that they were doing everything possible to get me released as soon as possible, but that it was difficult given the nature of my crimes against the country's high moral standards. I found it hard not to laugh, knowing the constant debauchery at the prison and no doubt elsewhere, but I tried to keep a straight face. He admitted that standards of justice in the country were not high. I started to tell him about the barbaric punishments and the constant rapes, but he told me to be very careful what I said, that exaggerated stories that put the country in a bad light would not help me at all. I quickly realised that he was in fact completely useless. Once he had finished his little speech, he asked the guard to leave us alone for a few minutes, his command of the language just about good enough for that. To my surprise, the guard snorted and left the room. Then my visitor grabbed me, pushed me down over the table, pulled his trousers down, and rammed himself into me, thrusting hard and coming in just a few seconds. Then, quite casually, he tidied himself up and sat opposite me again.

"Nice to have girls like you around. I can fuck you senseless and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. You're just a load of worthless old slags anyway. Amazing what they pay us to try and do. The country's a shit hole of course, straight out of the dark ages, but you should know that when you come here, not go around fucking in public like animals. By the way, speaking of shit holes, you stink of shit, I don't know what you've been doing. Nice bikini though, I should get one for the girlfriend, although yours looks like it's seen better times."

He prattled on like this for a bit longer, confirming my impression that he was useless. When he finally shut up, I told him he was a useless tosser. He accurately retorted that whatever his failings, he wasn't stuck in a third-world jail being constantly raped and beaten, then got up and left. The guard returned and made me suck his cock before leading me back to the drudgery of the laundry.

Monotony

For the next few weeks, nothing much changed, just the exhausting drudgery of work interrupted by the Sunday gang-bangs. I was raped regularly by the guards, in all of my holes. It didn't seem to bother them that I smelt like a blocked toilet. Deila would laugh about it when we cuddled each other, saying, "Pauline, you stink real bad, you know that? Maybe eating shit not so good." I did get another visit from the same girl, with a new stock of biscuits and apples. Shika had her period, and made me suck her tampons. Yum, one of my favourite things, although she didn't know that. I tried to look suitably disgusted and humiliated when she made me do it in the dining hall, after all she couldn't see the juice oozing out around my bikini and running down my legs.

By now the whole prison knew about my strange diet, including the guards. I think they were mainly fairly revolted by the idea, but a couple of them made me lick them clean. One Sunday, though, that all changed. Somebody must have told the governor, and he obviously didn't like the idea of having a human toilet as his fuck toy. This week, when he appeared, instead of leading me away to his office, he spat in my face and slapped me. (Sometimes I thought this must be the traditional national greeting, it was so common). He hurled a torrent of abuse at me, in which I made out the words "shit" and "eat". Then he barked some orders to the guards, which also included those words. They shoved me roughly down on the floor, on my back, then shuffled around looking a bit embarrassed. Finally one of them dropped his pants and squatted down over me, and after groaning for a while managed to push out a small, hard turd into my mouth. The governor yelled at me to swallow it, to show him what a worthless shit slut I was (or something like that anyway). I did as instructed, trying not to gag at the foul taste of this guy's shit. That encouraged the others, and finally about half a dozen of them shat into my mouth. Despite the governor's anger, I could see clearly that this was exciting him, and I wondered what he was going to do about it.

I found out. He grabbed me and shoved me roughly to his office. Unlike the tender lovemaking of previous weeks, he bent me over and rammed himself roughly into me, mauling my bruised tits as he fucked me. When he'd come, he pissed into mouth, making me swallow it, then slapped me again before calling for the guards to get me. As they marched me out, he called out "Bitch!" in English. Our relationship had changed, that was for sure.

That night, for the first time despite my diet of shit, I was violently sick in the slop bucket, puking up all of the men's shit that filled my belly. The stench of shit-puke filled our small cell, making the others complain even as I retched continuously over the bucket. Deila climbed down and gave me a big hug, and eventually I managed to get to sleep. This didn't stop Shika using me in the morning, but it was strangely comforting to feel her familiar shit sliding down my throat.

Outside Work

On Monday there was a change in our routine. It was the beginning of the harvest season. Some of the women, including me, were taken away to work in the fields. This was normally the work of the men, who helped out the local farmers with slave labour which I'm sure they greatly appreciated. All of us were "moral criminals", which didn't really seem like a coincidence. We were shackled at our ankles, our wrists were all bound behind our backs, then we were piled up in the back of an old farm trailer which was pulled by a tractor over a couple of miles of rough mud tracks. We were bounced around and could do nothing to hold on or help ourselves, so it was extremely uncomfortable. Especially for me, with the old splintery wood and the rusty metal bolts digging into my exposed flesh. My micro-bikini, that I'd been so proud of in that unimaginable old life before I was a prisoner, was so worn and chafed in places now that it must surely fall apart. My lovely tart shoes were worn and split, and the clear plastic straps looked as though they wouldn't last much longer. I wondered vaguely what would happen when even the skimpy clothes I had fell apart. Would they just leave me naked? Or what?

Despite the conditions, it was wonderful to be outside in the open air. I'd hardly seen any sunshine for weeks, although I'd suffered from it in the stuffy indoor heat and the dreadful steamy conditions of the laundry. Whatever was in store for us, the day started with heavy manual labour. Despite the heat, the ground was very wet. My sexy tart shoes just sunk into the thick mud. Soon you couldn't tell where my feet ended and the shoes begun, I just had thick lumps of mud up to my ankles. The other girls were the same, their cheap stilettos caked in thick mud. There were dozens of men working with us, both prisoners and regular farm workers. The only way to tell the difference was by the shackles that the prisoners wore.

The work was much harder and more tiring than the laundry. By the time the sun was high I could barely take another step. But any hesitation brought a stroke of the whip, not the normal small crop that the guards carried but something much bigger and more painful, that cut easily through the thick layer of mud that covered me from head to toe by then. All of us had stumbled many times, with the combination of our heels and the shackles.

Under the hot midday sun, the locals stopped work. But the prisoners were forced to carry on. Luckily the thick mud protected me from getting sunburn, cheaper than the stuff you get at Gatwick and a lot more effective. Eventually we did stop for a meal break. We got dry bread, as usual, but a much bigger piece of it, half of a big loaf each. It was dry and as hard as anything, I suppose the prison took all the unused bread from the local bakeries, or maybe they had a special recipe for almost-inedible bread in the prison kitchens. We also had an apple each, the first time I'd ever seen fruit. It wasn't much good, obviously stock that the farmers couldn't sell even in the local market, but it was like a gift from heaven. I tried eating the bread but I was afraid of breaking my teeth, so without even thinking I stuck it between my legs and pissed on it, which got some strange looks. The other women dipped theirs in the big vat of drinking water.

When we finished eating, we were lined up along a fence, our legs apart, and used by all the workers, prisoners and locals alike. Some of the girls took it stoically, I rather enjoyed it, and a couple of them started sobbing. If they put up the slightest resistance they were whipped - I suppose the guards were making money out of selling us as sex slaves. It tells you something about human nature that the girls who were in obvious distress proved a lot more popular, with men standing waiting for them while others were idle. Afterwards these girls looked rather fetching, big tears smearing the mud on their faces. I hugged and kissed them, licking at their tears and the mud. The guards didn't seem to mind, a lesbian show was a nice extra for the punters. So I threw caution to the winds and sat one of them on the fence, pushing my head between her legs under the mud-soaked remains of her once-pretty denim mini-skirt, lapping at her cunt, tasting the mixed cum of all these peasants, until she did finally come.

The next day started the same way, but we went to a different place where there were different work gangs. It was obviously just an excuse to give the farm workers - prisoners and others - a bit of fun. For myself I didn't mind, in fact I rather enjoyed it, but it was tough on the girls who didn't like being gang-banged regularly - although after a few months at the prison they should have been used to it. My spontaneous lesbian show had obviously been a hit, because this time they made me do it at the very start, as a kind of warm-up exercise. With some gestures I persuaded one of the girls to piss in my mouth, which got some applause. It was gorgeous, I was desperately thirsty and so was she, so it was really rich and concentrated.

The rest of the week went the same way, back-breaking slave labour in the fields all day, which left me utterly, totally exhausted, unable even to stay awake to eat the swill at dinner time. And an intermission of rape and abuse at lunchtime.

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Ademetos 2019

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