Prison of Cries Ch. 01

The guard watched the unconscious woman on the monitor. She lay on her side, her brown hair fanned out around her. As with all of them she was nude, her lean muscular body scrubbed and stripped of all make-up and jewelry, even piercings in intimate places. They were working, the guard knew, on a way to efficiently remove tattoos as well, like the one this woman had on the small of her back. The Americans called them "tramp stamps," he knew. The cell was brightly lit, the walls painted an industrial two-tone gray. There were no windows, and the door had no handle on the inside.

The woman's legs slid against each other langorously, but her eyes did not open. The sedative was still working in her system, along with the other drug that would not wear off nearly as quickly. The tinny speaker carried the sound of her low, plaintive moan.

As the guard watched, a man curled up in the corner suddenly stood up. He was about thirty, tall and slender with short dark hair. He stood over the woman as she again moaned in her sleep. Like her he was nude, his skin gleaming with sweat and grime from days without washing. In the harsh light his erect penis stood out straight and hard. With no preliminaries the man licked his hand several times, wrapped it around his erection and began masturbating; in moments white drops of semen shot out, splattering on the breasts of the unconscious woman at his feet. As his penis grew flaccid the man leaned wearily on the nearest wall, then slid back to the floor.

The guard chuckled. That was the third time the man had jerked off in the fifteen minutes since they dumped the girl in there. He'd expected the man to roll her on her back and fuck her limp body senseless, and was somewhat disappointed not to see her wake in the middle of an orgasm. He waited to see what the prisoners would do next.

***

Alice McNally moaned in her enforced sleep and rolled onto her back. Her hands, heavy and clumsy, rose to her breasts. Her fingers slipped in the semen deposited there, but she did not notice. She was lost in the worst kind of dream, one in which she was horny, and being fucked, but couldn't reach climax.

With a final cry of frustration, her back arched and her hands clutched at the tile floor, smearing the semen. Her eyes popped open, staring up into the light fixture overhead.

She rolled to her feet, reflexes taking over. She crouched low, her left hand maintaining her balance against the floor while her right stayed ready to fend off an attacker. As a trained CIA operative with nearly a decade's worth of experience in covert operations, she knew how to evaluate her situation quickly. And this, she realized, was about as bad as could be.

The room was brightly lit, the walls dingy and industrial concrete. The furnishings consisted of a twin mattress tossed in one corner, a toilet and a sink. The door was entirely faceless. She was stripped naked. And she wasn't alone.

A man sat in the corner by the door. His knees were drawn up, and one arm rested casually across them, concealing his face except for his eyes. His hair was a sweaty tangle and, like Alice, he was nude.

She took several deep breaths and realized the room reeked of bodies and musk. It made the pit of her stomach tingle disconcertingly, and she tried to breathe through her nose.

When she stood, her fingers stuck slightly to the floor. She held them up and saw the rapidly-drying substance on them, then realized it was all over her torso. "What the hell?" she muttered.

"I jerked off on you while you were sleeping," the man said. His accent was American, his tone weary and matter of fact.

"You did what?" she yelled, and realized she was covered from chin to hip with the sticky substance. "Fuck!" she cried, and went to the sink. There was no rag or soap, so she used the ice-cold water to try and wipe the stuff off. It just made it worse.

The man stood, his erection like some bright red spear pointing toward her. He made no effort to cover it. "It was the best I could do," he said. "I didn't want to be fucking you when you woke up."

She whirled on him, immediately falling into a fighting stance. Her breasts swayed with the movement, and the sensation added to the inexplicable shiver growing deep inside her. "Look, buster, I'm quite capable of--" She stopped. "Are you...James Lawson?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

She rose from the fighting crouch. "I'm Alice McNally, with the Agency. I was...I was sent to rescue you." She suddenly felt self-conscious with her own nudity, and covered herself with her hands.

Lawson smiled. "To quote Carrie Fisher, this is some rescue."

She looked around the room. "Where are we?"

He shook his head. "Somewhere in Russia, I think. An old KGB facility. I haven't really seen much more than the inside of this room since I got here."

"And your family? Your wife and daughter?"

"I've seen them," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "They've rotated through."

"What do you mean?"

He suddenly comprehended. "I'm the first person you've been with, aren't I? You don't know what happens here." He began absently stroking his erect penis as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "How do you feel right now?"

"How do I feel?" She recalled being in the shower at her hotel, in her cover role as a tourist; she felt a sharp sting in her neck and had time to pull the dart free, notice the open window that allowed it entry and reach for the shower door before her muscles gave out and she collapsed into darkness. "I feel stupid and ashamed, for one. And furious. And determined to get out of here." She watched the shiny head of his erection bob slightly as he breathed; when she realized what she was doing she looked quickly away. In the harsh light, there was no hiding her blush, though. She rubbed absently at her breasts, her tight nipples aching.

"It's starting to take effect," he said sadly.

"What is?" she snapped. And then all the pieces seemed to fall into place inside her and the feeling struck with a rush, making her gasp and reach for the nearest wall for support. Her body shuddered, and she felt trickles of moisture along the inside of her thighs. At first she truly thought she'd wet herself, but then she comprehended where the moisture was coming from. She was more sexually aroused, hornier, than she'd ever been in her life, than she'd ever thought possible.

"What..." she croaked as she backed into the wall and slid to the floor. She could not get any other words out.

"It's what they do to us here," Lawson said wearily. "Most of the other prisoners I've met are like you, highly trained and skilled, capable of causing a lot of trouble. This keeps us pretty manageable. Hard to plot an escape when all you want to do is fuck."

Alice shook her head, feeling the sweat-soaked ends of her hair slapping her bare shoulders. "No. Have to...get control, clear my head...."

Lawson sighed. "Suit yourself. When you're ready, I'll be here." With that, he sat down opposite her, his back to the other wall and legs splayed before him. He began to masturbate. She watched, fascinated, as the white semen bubbled up, shooting in tiny arcs from the tip of his penis and splashing on the floor between his knees. She felt her interior muscles spasm pre-orgasmically, and realized for the first time how much trouble she was truly in.

"Oh, God," she whispered, squeezing her breasts with both hands.