Chapter 23

The cell door slammed shut with an awful clanging finality that forced me to believe this was what my miserable life had been leading too all along. The free rides, the fucked-up love affairs, the years of selfish pleasure and decadence were over; it was payback time. I shuddered deep in my soul as terror of the present and immediate future seized me.

But that was not all. For many of those months since my arrest, I had been assailed by dark thoughts and fantasies, repetitive dreams and nightmares that horrified me with their evilly erotic messages, and often began in a dungeon, or a cell such as this. I would wake up screaming, which pissed off my cellmate when I had one, and then I'd try to not go back to sleep again. They weren't entirely new; but they were like the subconscious negative culmination of all I had endured or enjoyed in my sexual history. I understood now in an instant and ghastly revelation that these dreams, which had become a gothic reality already in my early visits to Margaret, might very well have been but a prelude, a mild taste of what was to come.

Once or twice, in the sleepless hours, I had even asked myself whether the real reason I hadn't fought harder was so that I could confront the core of my darkness sooner. It was a year since I'd had any kind of physical pleasure or release, not even decent exercise. My last days with Sarah had been too fraught and tense to enjoy each other. Our first night on the run really might have been my last good time, forever. During those first seconds in what was to be my home and hell for the next four years, just about the only thing I didn't think was that the very appetites that Margaret had nurtured within me might save my life, that my thorough S&M training would be the key to surviving this inhuman system.

In the shadow of the lower bunk, an ominous shape stirred. A low, but still distinctly female voice rumbled across the cramped expanse of stale air, making me shiver almost uncontrollably. Every instinct told me that my nemesis was at hand.

"Nah, lessee see wot sorry little piece of shit they've sent me to fuck up this time..." It was a voice without mercy, vibrant with sexual malice.

I whimpered, and in an overwhelming surge of terror and exhaustion lost control of my bladder for a second. Shame mixed with fear as hot pee soaked my knickers and ran down my bare legs to the concrete floor.

"Oh my ... I seen yew and yer friend's pretty faces all over the papers! They mast love me upstairs this week. Hmmm ... Wot's that I c'n see on the floor? Ms. Gaskell appears to be scared ... well, so she fackin'should be!"

The shape resolved into a female human body. She had short cropped, prematurely grey hair, a face that was all hard lines and angles, black eyebrows over fierce brown eyes, she wore a man's singlet and big, masculine-looking knickers; that was all. She was muscled like a bodybuilder, nearly as tall as Sarah, and bigger all over, like a warrior woman; thickly muscled thighs, small, hard breasts with sharply jutting nipples poking through her singlet, and every inch of her oozed bull-dyke ferocity. She was a primordial apparition of the worst and yet most logical kind. My deepest wishes and fears had just been incontrovertibly answered. I fainted, folding with a moan into the puddle on the floor.

"Smoove white skin ... oh my, yew are a pretty one ... Yer goin' to be my cunt now, and I'm goin' to fuck yew up until yew forget yore 'yuman!" Were the awful words to which I awoke.

Powerful hands were stripping me, efficiently removing my rough prison dress, my bra, my wee-sodden knickers. It was midsummer; it always seemed to be summer when my life went crazy. The cell was like an oven, and I dumbly, dazedly thought for a second that it felt good to be naked. But the woman who owned this space was crowding me, overpowering me until I found myself kneeling on the floor, my torso pinned to the bunk by an iron hard arm.

"I'm goin' to take a good look at my new cunt... 'old still, or yew'll feel the consequences. Fuck it, yew'll feel 'em anyway ... go on, wriggle ... as much as yer like."

"Don't you even have a name?" I whined as she woman-handled me.

"Mistress, Goddess ... take your fuckin' pick, darlin'. Me friends call me Steve, yew ain't my friend, but yew are my cunt as of nah!" So saying, she slapped what she had just named with the flat of her hand.

"Yowch!!" I squealed.

An incredible feeling of familiarity began to seep into me, gradually mutating the fear into an awe-struck excitement. This extraordinary diesel-dyke could kill me, snap me like a dry twig ... I had no defence, except surrender, but unlike most of my sisters, I knew how to do that.

"Spread wider ... Present, you dumb little tart!"

I was still so numb with shock that I wasn't sure I'd heard her right at first, but on that command all my training came right back. I parted trembling thighs, and pushed out my naked arse as Margaret had taught me.

"That's better. Next time, you don't hesitate fer one fackin' second. If you do, it's more of this!"

SMACCKK!!

"AAhhhhh ... oohh!" I couldn't hide the throb of arousal in my cry.