Dove's Tale Ch. 03

Thanks to everyone for your comments and votes! As always, all characters in this story are over the age of 18.

*****

IT was another round of travelling-car, plane, car again-just like when she was first taken prisoner. This trip seemed longer, and instead of giving her something that made her feel really high and trippy, the drugs they injected her with knocked her out cold.

She woke up, slowly, alone in yet another small concrete cell. This one was smaller than her old cell back at the mansion, but at least it was well lit.

She was wearing a baggy green sleeveless dress that hung down past her knees. The color was hideous but she didn't care-it was soft on the inside and after all the time she'd been forced to be nude, any clothing was a minor blessing.

On a little wall shelf were a handful of pills, a couple granola/energy bars, and a bottle of water. She took the pills and ate the food, then sat down on her cot to wait for whatever fate was in store.

The silence and her disorientation was nerve wracking. She had no idea where she was, what time it was, what day it was...hell she wasn't even sure of the month. She forced herself to breathe deeply and evenly.

'Keep it together Philly,' she told herself. 'Whatever happens is gonna happen.'

Some time passed, and she saw her first other person in this new prison. An older woman, mid fiftys, short and plump, wearing a shapeless grey smock, approached her cell.

Phyllis stood up. 'Where am I?' she asked.

The woman responded in a language Phyllis didn't understand. It sounded Eastern European, maybe Russian.

The lady shrugged and pushed a tray under the bars. A bowl of stew, a couple hunks of coarse bread, and two more bottles of water.

She looked at Phyllis with a sad expression and said something else, then sighed and walked away.

With nothing else to do, Phyllis ate the flavorful, meaty stew while her mind conjured up endless images of the Russian mob and cold war era KGB atrocities. She hated to admit it, but she was genuinely scared.

Still worn out from the drugs and her trip, she curled back up on the cot after filling her belly and slept.

She was awakened by the sound of footsteps approaching. Stretching, feeling reasonably well-rested, she sat up, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

Three big men with short hair, wearing suits, soon stood outside her cell. They weren't man-mountains like Barry had been, but they were large enough, and unlike the expressionless servant, there was something cruel and unpleasant in the way they looked at her that made her want to shudder.

One of them tossed something into the cell, onto her cot.

'You brush hair,' he said in heavily accented English.

She thought briefly of refusing, but hell she did want to get some of the tangles out-and anyway look what fighting every little thing had gotten her last time? She spent a few minutes running the brush through her brown hair and decided to be smarter about picking her battles this time.

One of the men unlocked her cell. The first man spoke again.

'You come.'

Her legs felt like lead and her bottom lip trembled as the men escorted her down a hallway, one on each side and the talker behind her. They stopped and entered a much larger room. There was a desk, a bed, a sink, and two more people inside.

One was a very pretty woman about her age, wearing the exact same oversized green dress, standing to the side with her hands behind her back and her head bowed.

The other was an older man in khakis and a white polo shirt. He nodded to her escorts, one of whom put a big hand on her bicep. The closing of the door behind them sounded very loud and ominous.

Polo Shirt let his eyes wander slowly over her, and his half-smile was terrifying.

'Fee-louse,' he said at last. 'You work here now. I boss.'

'Russian,' she thought to herself. His accent was so thick it was hard to understand him.

He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms.

'Now...you streep an sprayed for fox.'

She ran those words through her head a few times. 'What?' she finally had to say.

He looked amused.

'You streep,' he said slowly, and mimed unbuttoning a shirt.

'an sprayed,' he pressed his hand together in front of him, then opened them like he was expecting a hug.

'for fox,' and he made a circle with his left index finger and thumb, and pushed his right index finger in and out in an unmistakeable, lewd gesture.

'Oh hell no,' she snarled, and started to bolt for the door. She didn't even get turned all the way around before the goon with his hand on her arm had her wrapped up tight.

She kicked and howled to no effect as two of them pulled her dress over her head. She was tossed on the bed, and in moments her wrists were cuffed over her head.

Strong hands held each ankle, and pulled her legs up and back, cuffing them to her wrists. She thrashed helplessy, cursing and snarling, outraged by her exposed position. Her hips were at the very edge of the bed, and having her legs almost over her head left her pussy wide open, displayed for the whole room.

The boss said something-a Russian name, maybe-and one of the goons moved to the edge of her bed. Smirking, he lowered his trousers, took hold of her hips, and thrust into her.

She screamed in pain and anger as he used her.

He drove in and out callously, making a satisfied sound as he shot his load inside her. The boss was up by her head, looking down at her face, and her tears began to flow.

He said another name-Tammy, or maybe Tommy-and the other girl in the room moved quickly. She picked up a damp towel and thrust it into Phyllis' pussy, cleaning her out.

The boss grabbed her hair, forcing her to look at him.

'You no choice,' he stated. 'You whore now. Streep for fox all ways.'

He said another name, and a second man mounted her.

Eventually, all three of the men who had brought her to the room had used her. Then she was uncuffed, and curled into a ball on the bed, sobbing quietly.

'Fee-louse,' the boss called, and she looked up to see the first group of men leave, and three more enter.

'Sprayed for fox now. Or we use ass.'

Hopeless tears soaked her face as she rolled onto her back and opened her legs.

Her time back at the mansion had been brutal and horrible, but this was so much worse. She had never been used so impersonally. The men barely looked at her. She was nothing but an object to them-a warm soft hole to fuck, to relieve their most primitive lusts.

Finally, all the men were done. She half expected the boss to be next, but he nodded approvingly and dropped her ugly dress on her legs.

Her legs wobbled as she stood and draped the garment over her body. He waited, then handed her a box.

'You douche, then sleeps. Food in three hours. You hear other girls and learn.'

She was half-dragged, half-carried back to her cell by the only one of the goons that had spoken to her. When the door clanged shut, she fell on the bed, crying pitieously, but instead of leaving, he stood outside her cell, his arms crossed expectantly.

'You douche!' he barked.

Numbly, feeling broken and defeated, she used the hygiene product while he stood there and supervised, turning her back and lifting her dress for a tiny bit of privacy and dignity.

Satisified, he walked away, leaving her to wrap her arms around her legs and cry herself to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'Food. Come.'

Phyllis looked up at the guard who stood by her open cell door and sighed miserably. Her shoulders slumped, she followed him down a couple hallways and through a set of double doors...

And stopped in surprise at the sight before her.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting-something like a school cafeteria maybe-and she'd known there were other girls her. But this!

It looked like a lounge, or a commons room. There were tables, couches and loveseats. A big screen TV hung on one wall, dark and silent. A shelf had a few books and a couple decks of cards.

There were twenty other women there, all around her age, women that would have been very attractive if they hadn't looked so unhappy. A few glanced up as she entered, but no one greeted her.

All of them wore dresses like hers, green, pale blue, or maroon.

She saw exactly zero smiles.

One wall was open like a cafeteria serving line, with the kitchen behind it. She was given her meal-a hamburger patty, a small serving of spaghetti, some sliced vegetables (zucchini and beets, it looked like), an apple, and a mug of tea.

There were four guards in the room, one in each corner, looking bored-and behind glass in a little booth was a fifth, sitting in a chair with a rifle next to him.

She sat at an empty table and ate desultorily, barely looking up.

'At least the food's not bad,' she thought.

She finished about half and picked up the apple, when she noticed some of the women had gathered in a loose circle around her table. Alarmed, she set it back on the plate.

One of the women-a tall girl with strawberry blonde hair-sat down across from her.

'You're Phyllis?' she asked.

Uneasy, she nodded.

'You're American, yes?'

'Yeah,' Phyllis sighed.

'I'm Annette. They put me in charge of your training.'

Phyllis looked at her. 'Training,' she said flatly.

'Yep.' The woman raised her hand, and the four guards in the room departed.

'It isn't any fun, but it has to be done. For all our sakes.'

Phyllis leaned across the table. 'Where are we?' she asked quietly.

Annette's lip curled. 'Somewhere in Russia, I think. Don't ask that again. The guards do not like us asking questions.'

'How do we get out of this place?'

'Stop it,' Annette said sternly. 'You don't want to know what they'll do to you if they think you're plotting-and there are women in here who will rat on you.'

'Forget that shit,' Annette continued. 'You're not leaving. What you need to do now is learn how to survive. That means making the customers, and the guards, happy.'

'Fuck that,' Phyllis hissed. 'Anybody who thinks they're gonna be a customer of mine is taking their life in their hands.'

'Like hell,' one of the women behind her growled. A tall, dark haired girl leaned down, her palms on the table, and glared into Phyliss' eyes.

'You'll fucking do what you're told,' she threatened.

'Settle down Des,' Annette said wearily. The big woman straightened, still scowling.

Annette looked at Phyllis and continued. 'She's right though. You are gonna do what you're told.' When Phyllis opened her mouth to protest, Annette raised a finger in warning.

'Every customer gets asked if they were satisfied or not. If they say no, they punish all of us.'

'Then, we kick the shit out of you.'

Phyllis stared at the woman wide-eyed, her heart sinking.

'And then you spend two or three days tied face down and taking it up the ass.'

Phyllis sighed, too stunned for words. Annette emphasized the truth of her statement by nodding slowly.

'So it's not enough just to 'streep for fox.' You're going to ask for it. You're gonna tell them how great it feels. You're gonna shake your ass like the happiest little whore on earth, and thank them when they're done.

'Dear god,' Phyllis muttered.

'So. Training. Stand up.'

Numb, Phyllis got to her feet. Most of the women closed around her.

'Take off your dress,' Annette said, her tone matter-of-fact.

'I'm not gonna have sex with you,' Phyllis shot back, and a few of the women laughed bitterly.

'No, you're not. But you are gonna get used to the way you have to act here.'

With another deep sigh, Phyllis slid out of her only piece of clothing, and stood naked in the center of the women.

One of them stepped forward and lifted her chin, looking into her eyes.

'Say fuck me,' she coaxed, and when Phyllis hesitated, she made it a command.

'Say it!'

'F-fuck me,' Phyllis managed.

The next woman in the circle nudged Phyllis over by the shoulder.

'Say fuck my hot pussy.'

'Fuck my h-hot pussy,' Phyllis whimpered.

She was pulled to the next woman. 'Say I love your big cock.'

'Say fuck me harder.'

'Say cum in my horny pussy.'

'Say fuck me from behind.'

'Say your big cock tastes so good.'

'Say...'

Around and around the circle she went, repeating the lewd phrases over and over, whatever they told her to say. Sometimes the woman would tell her to moan, or gasp, or 'sound like you're cumming.'

It was utterly humiliating.

Finally, she found herself facing Annette again. The woman looked at her and nodded.

'Tolerable,' she said, and gave Phyllis a not-unfriendly pat on the shoulder.

'Go ahead and get dressed.

Gratefully, Phyllis covered herself.

'Turn off your brain. Don't think about what's happening, or what's going to happen. Just spread your legs, say some of that shit, wiggle your hips, and remember to use your douche afterwards.'

Phyllis ran her hands through her hair. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something-anything-to relieve the tension and horror in her mind.

She looked around the room, at the women who hadn't joined the training circle. On two couches, there were girls holding each other-not like lovers, more like terrified kids clinging to each other during a thunderstorm.

A couple of the girls sat alone, staring blankly into space.

She couldn't imagine how they felt.

The guards returned. One of them gave her a paper bag. Inside was a toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant, and a few colored hair ties.

'Lights out in fifteen,' a male voice announced.

'Come on,' Annette said, taking her elbow. They joined the rest of the women in a trip to the big communal bathroom, than to the bedroom/barracks they all shared.

There was a jumble of bunk beds, shoved in haphazardly.

'Top one's empty,' a short brunette girl told her, pointing with her thumb. Phyllis climbed up and stared at the ceiling for a long time, dreading the morning.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next six days were a nightmare.

It turned out Phyllis had been 'initiated' and trained on the one day during the week the brothel was closed. The rest of the days had a routine.

Wake up at nine. Shower, breakfast, fix your hair, put on makeup, sit around in the common room trying to gather your strength and courage for the ordeal ahead...and at noon they took the girls to the 'entertainment' rooms...twenty small, college-dorm sized rooms with nothing but a bed, a single chair, and a tiny bathroom.

They were given nothing to wear but a pair of tiny, sheer panties-because a lot of men liked to take them off, or watch them be removed.

They were also given a pill-a mild sedative that made the day easier to bear. It was the one bit of kindness the Boss and guards showed the hapless girls. They got another one halfway through their shift. It helped a little.

Each day was a twelve hour shift. Twelve endless hours of being taken, being used against her will-twelve hours of having to pretend you were enjoying yourself, of having to try to act seductive and slutty for total strangers.

She guessed they were on or near some kind of military post or project. A lot of her 'visitors' were young men with short haircuts, in good physical shape and with excellent posture.

Those men were fairly easy, and usually didn't take too long. There were also older men, officers she assumed, that used her fairly gently.

It was the in-between ones-the men in their 30's and 40's with hard faces and loud raspy voices-that were most likely to be rough.

There were also nerdy scientist types, and dull eyed fools she guessed were janitors or cooks. It didn't matter-she had to service them all.

She soon found out all she had to do was say the words and buck her hips. The men that came to fuck her didn't notice the hollow tone of her voice, or the pain in her eyes-they heard the words, saw the body, and thrust into the pussy or mouth and that was enough.

She was nothing to them-nothing but a living, breathing blow up doll with holes to fuck

In between, the girls were given fifteen minutes to douche, touch up their hair and makeup, drink some water, and (often) cry.

There were also two fifteen minute breaks when they were given a snack, and at some point in the evening an hour for supper.

Phyllis was perversely, sickeningly proud of the fact that she didn't crack. She didn't like any of the other women-there was very little conversation or camaraderie as they were all sunk too deep in their own misery for anything as mundane as friendship. Still, she didn't want anyone else punished for her behavior, and she didn't want to get beat up by people she had to share living quarters with.

There were only two good things she could think of regarding her situation. First, the food was quite good, and second, she didn't have to do anal. That was reserved for girls that were being punished.

The worst part was the guys who wanted a blowjob. She always tried to talk them out of it-'but don't you want to fuck me? My pussy is so wet and needs your big cock,'-but it only rarely worked, and she didn't dare push it too hard and anger a customer.

They all still got punished. On just her third night, one of the girls-a skinny little blonde waif who'd been there about two months-went hysterical, screaming, crying, running out the door away from a customer.

She was brutally subdued by the guards, and after midnight, when the last of the customers had left, they gathered all the rest of the girls.

It was the first time Phyllis had seen the Boss since that first day.

'You know rules,' was all he said to them. The guards dragged them out, four at a time, and viciously whipped them on the butt with heavy leather straps, not caring if they broke skin, not caring how painfull it would be for the girls the next day.

When they had all felt the bite of the straps, the guards herded them together in the common room. The poor girl who had caused it all (she reminded Phyllis more than a little bit of Trouble, the blonde slave who had bathed her back at the mansion) was dragged, bound and sobbing, and thrown at the Boss' feet.

'Work-or useless. Useless-we get rid.'

One of the guards handed him a pistol. Phyllis gasped and turned away, unwilling to watch, and she screamed in terror along with the others.

The rest of the week crawled by, a blur of helpless anger, hopeless lethargy, and of course the men. She lost track of how many cocks were shoved in her. The soreness between her legs was a constant ache.

Finally, the blessed day came that the brothel was closed. A few of the girls were examined by a doctor. The rest sat around listlessly in the common room. Conversations, if there were any, were slow and dull.

Phyllis did have one question. She asked Annette, who seemed to have most of the answers, and was as close to a leader as the sad group of women had.

'What happens when I get my period?' she muttered.

Annette looked at her, smiling sadly. 'They've got these things like sponges. They shove one up into you-so deep it feels like its in your throat. None of the men know.'

Phyllis shuddered, sorry she'd asked.

Not long after lunch, a guard came into the room and called her name.

'Fill-us. You come.'

She got up, filled with trepidation. A couple of the nicer woman reached out to touch her hand or back as she passed, a small show of concern that just made her worry more.

She was taken to a small room. The guard put his hands on her shoulders, guiding her so she stood facing the far wall.

'Here stay,' he ordered softly.

She stood silently, trembling, her knees weak, and tried to just breathe slow and easy.

She let out a gasp when she heard a familiar chuckle...and a voice she recognized.

'Well, well, well, little Dove. Are you enjoying your vacation?'

Absurdly, the first thought that popped into her head was 'he came to rescue me!'