This is a story about a fictitious place known as the Internet Cybersex Prison. Here the worst criminal minds among girls, ages 18 to 24, are incarcerated. They frequently are too dangerous to keep in normal prison populations. Here they are used in the most despicable ways imaginable. This story concerns a beautiful Asian girl named "Leena."

What exactly did this tall, tanned, trim Asian beauty do to warrant being locked up in a 10 foot by 10 foot by 10 foot (3 meter cubed) concrete cell? She was born to a poor oriental family; she sought escape from poverty by marrying a foreigner. At eighteen she married an old Sicilian and moved to California. After a year of being bored and watching many California girls dump their husbands for lucrative community property settlements and spousal support agreements, she decided to follow suit. There was one fatal flaw. She overreacted, not just suing for divorce but also turning in her ex to the ATF and IRS for buying and selling illegal firearms. The Italians have a saying: “Revenge is a dish best served late and cold.”

At nineteen, Leena was at one of the ubiquitous California parties. There were many young Asian girls singing, dancing with each other, and eating the potpourri of dishes brought to the party. The husbands, mostly Caucasian Americans, were grouped to the side, nursing their drinks and beers, and watching the lithe, lissome, limber torsos gyrate and undulate to the heavy beat of the music.

A handsome young Italian entered the party. The women could not keep their eyes from him. He joined the dancers. The menagerie of male escorts shrugged. They had their partners and dared not let their eyeballs fixate on Leena. Each would, from time to time, furtively peek at the gorgeous, unattached females, Leena being the first among equals. She wasn't wearing a bra and her nipples were pronounced, standing rigidly at attention and stretching the diaphanous, translucent, pellucid cloth of her top. Leena's navel was exposed and her bottom as playing the game “how low can you go?” She was wearing Nike(tm) sneakers.

The animal magnetism was unavoidable. The young Italian was wearing a designer suit and a handmade cravat. He exuded an atmosphere of opulence and success. There was no doubt that the women did not question his background as each of them were wet in the crotch over him. The married women knew instinctively that there was no escape from their huddled husbands. Only the few single women dared to dance with this flamboyant cub. Leena was the youngest of the singles and clearly the ideal match. A few of the men murmured concerning this unknown individual. But each was sure that someone else had invited him. Crashing one of these bourgeois “get together” parties was unheard of. The women organized and orchestrated such social events. They assumed that the stranger was a friend of one of the husbands.

The dancing followed suit as the woofer shook even the baseboards of the floor. The women tried to pull their spouses to the dance floor with minimal success. Most men were either unwilling or unable to dance. A few joined the melee and the couples grouped and regrouped. Leena was able to secure the handsome young man as her dance partner.

There was a DJ at the party. When he took a break the order imposed by dancing experienced an increase of entropy. The women asked around as to the name of the intruder was. At last it was determined that he had crashed the party. When the DJ started up again Leena and her new-found beau were nowhere to be seen. Outside a Mercedes Benz drove off with the pair. This was one aspect of California that Leena was not aware of. “When something appears to be too good to be true, it usually is.”

Someone might have raised a question; however, there was an influx of late arriving guests and their friends. Several unfamiliar faces were being introduced and the situation with Leena was forgotten. After a bit, the party settled down and the couple who brought Leena inquired as to her whereabouts. No one seemed to know. The next morning she was reported as “missing” to the authorities.

Leena wakes up on a thick brown wool blanket and sees walls of gray, an overhead Plexiglas(tm) ceiling housing fluorescent lights, and a number of cameras and miscellaneous electronic devices. Her last memory is leaving a party in California with a handsome young rascal and sharing a drink with him. They drank from the same champagne bottle so how could she have been drugged? She tries to break the blackness to determine her destination. Looking down from the ceiling she sees only one entrance---a massive steel door with a single sliding panel. It is also gray, only a lighter hue than the concrete. Opposite the door is a hole in the floor, about a foot in diameter. This is obviously a drain. She is disgusted with the thought of this being her toilet. She would have to squat and face the door and the menagerie of cameras to relieve herself. The adjacent walls have vents upper and lower to circulate air. The floor is warm. The only article that is not gray is her sweat-soaked brown blanket.

When her mind clears she approaches the steel door. It is cold to the touch and the sliding panel is firmly in place. Leena puts her ear to the door and listens. There are a few muffled background sounds, but no traffic, music, or industrial sounds. She is totally at a loss to her whereabouts. She notices a red LED aside one of the cameras; she is certainly being observed. Only then does she notice her nakedness and shaved head. “Shaved” is really clipped. There is a stubble on her head and likewise where her eyebrows used to be and her bush. Her pussy has a “five o'clock” shadow---not the smooth, juvenile playground that she used to love. Now there is a stubble due, no doubt, to electric shears or clippers. The hair in her armpits is longer---it has obviously been allowed to grow out.

After her initial examination of her surroundings, she is struck by an obscene thirst. There is no water, no soap, no toilet paper, no Kotex(tm), nothing but her and her blanket. She goes over and begins pounding on the steel door. “Let me the fuck out of here you perv,” Leena shouts. Some few minutes later sounds of footsteps can be heard.

Leena pulls the blanket up covering her breasts and privates.

The panel in the door opens and a woman's eyes peer inside. Then the door opens and a middle-aged woman flanked by two burly uniformed guards enters the small cell. Leena shouts at the threesome: “I want the fuck out of here and I want out now!” The three stand expressionless. After a while the matron speaks.

“I am Chris, girl,” the woman says. “You will address me as 'Mistress.'”

“I will do no such thing,” Leena retorts. “Who do you think you are and how did I get here?”

Chris frowns. She looks to the guards who move forward and seize control of Leena. Leena has a brown belt in Judo; however, she is still weak and wobbly from transport and medically induced torpor. The guards are trained as well. Chris lands a kick to Leena's crotch. Curling in pain the two guards twist her arms behind her back. The four exit the cell and make their way down catwalks to an interrogation room. With some effort the secure Leena's hands above her head. Then her legs are spread with a spreader bar. The two guards find chairs and seat themselves. Leena looks at Chris with fire in her eyes.

“We have forever here, girl,” Chris explains. “Time is only relevant for you. You will address me as 'Mistress' and any male guard who speaks to you as 'Master.' Is that understood girl? You will also speak only when spoken to and always in the third person.”
“No way,” Leena replies spitting at Chris. Chris merely frowns and walks over to a table and retrieves a riding crop. She walks behind Leena and rubs the leather tab on the quirt up and down Leena's shoulders and buttocks and up and down the crack of her ass and between her legs.

“What are you doing?” Leena asks. This time not nearly as defiant as before. Chris makes a swing striking Leena across her right shoulder and back. Leena screams in pain.”

“What are you doing, 'Mistress,'” Chris remarks. There is a pause. Then Chris strikes again, across Leena's left shoulder. She screams and curses. After a brief hiatus Leena speaks.

“Please, Mistress, no more.”

“Better,” Chris comments. “Now for spitting at me your crotch will feel a dozen strokes.” Leena's legs are spread apart; she tries to pull he thighs together. Chris seems oblivious as to whether the lashes fall on creamy inner thighs, vulva, or perineum. “I won't do that again,” Leena wails.

“I won't do that again, Mistress,” Chris corrects.

“I won't do that again, Mistress,” Leena echos. Chris walks to the front of Leena and rubs the riding crop over her exposed, vulnerable, unprotected breasts.

“Let's try again. Are you ready to cooperate now, girl?” Chris asks.

“Yes, Mistress,” Leena answers.

“Now this can go easy or hard. It's one hundred percent up to you, girl,” Chris explains. “When you hear the panel slide open in the door to your cell you will come to the door, place your back against the door, and present your crossed wrists for cuffing behind your back. Do you understand, girl?”

“Yes, a girl understands,” Leena replies. Then, as she sees Chris raise the riding crop she quickly adds “Mistress.” Chris lowers the riding crop. There will be other issues that require discipline and correction.

“How you got here is unimportant, girl,” Chris says. “You are never to discuss your life before arriving here or what crime you committed.”

“I have committed no crime, Mistress,” Leena blurts out.

Chris frowns and strikes Leena's left breast just below the areola. She seems displeased at missing the dusky nipple and strikes the right breast, making a red mark across the entire areola. Leena shrieks in pain.

“A girl is not to cry out. If she does, the punishment will be doubled.” Chris explains.

Tears pour from Leena's almond eyes over hot pink cheeks. Leena shudders as she responds “Yes, Mistress.”

“Now we have gotten some of those details out of the way we can get you collared, watered, and fed. Tomorrow is a busy day for a new girl.” Chris tells Leena.

The two guards untie Leena, handcuff her hands behind her back, and lead her behind Chris to the metalworker. There she is collared with a stainless steel collar welded in place. There is a ring in front for a leash. Along the outer rim of the collar is a bar code and her slave name: “Leena.” The interior of the collar is a transducer and a tracking device. After her collaring, she is fed, watered, and returned to her cell for the night.

The cell has been cleaned. There is a slight aroma of Lysol(tm) disinfectant. The air vents forced in hot air to dry the concrete. There is a fresh, clean wool blanket, still warm from the laundry and lightly scented with Snuggles(tm) fabric softener.


The next morning Leena is up and ready when the panel slides open. Chris locks on the handcuffs, tightening them painfully on Leena's wrists. Chris and the two guards then enter the cell. One guard inserts three fingers into Leena's mouth. The Latex glove has a chemical taste. Then Leena is positioned on her back. She struggles to avoid hurting her cuffed wrists. The two guards fold Leena's legs back, knees to her chest, so that her privates are accessible and available. Chris rudely inserts a speculum into Leena. She opens the duckbills widely and rotates it to display Leena's cervix. Chris then takes out a tube and a long plastic rod and places a single drop of extremely hot chili sauce on Leena's cervix. She writhes and convulses in agony but manages not to cry out.

“Good girl,” Chris says, “you remembered not to scream or cry out.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Leena replies. Then Chris rudely pulls the opened speculum from Leena's vagina. Tears swell in Leena's almond, oriental eyes. Chris and a guard change places. The male guard rubs Leena's hypogastric triangle. There is a rough stubble of hair.

“A girl needs a shave,” the guard jokes.

“Get your hands off me, you perv!” Leena blurts out. Then she realizes what she's done and tries to retract it: “Forgive a girl, Master,” she begs. But it is too late. The guard has already begun to spank her pussy. Leena's vulva and perineum, along with her inner thighs, are already bruised, swollen, and sore from the riding crop for the previous day. After five hard slaps the guard shoves his middle finger into Leena's tiny, taut, tight asshole.

“You are so tight, so very tight,” he muses. The guard pulls his finger out, removes the Latex glove, and tosses it down the drain hole.

“Yes, Master,” Leena replies.

“Someday soon you will be gaping,” he predicts. Leena says nothing. She has never been touched there by any man before. The thought of having a distended anus shakes her. How much indignity must she endure here? This is the Internet Cybersex Prison.

The guards bring Leena to her feet. Chris attaches a leash to her collar. Chris speaks to the two burly male guards: “You guys attend to other duties. I want to walk this slut around, show her off, and train her. OK?”

“Yes, Mam,” the guards reply and exit. Chris gives the leash a tug and Leena follows. The cell door is left open for the cleaning crew.

Chris walks briskly. Leena is unused to walking barefoot. She struggles to keep up. The catwalks and passageways are all concrete or steel, hard on the feet and ankles. As they walk Chris points out various facilities. She then explains more of the language a girl must learn: “Leena, you must never use any euphemism. It is not your pussy, vagina, or vulva. You must say 'cunt' only. It is not your rosebud, rosette, or anus. You must only say 'asshole.' You do not urinate or pee---you piss. And, of course, you never need to poop, defecate, or 'number two'; you always say 'shit.' Understood?

“Yes Mistress,” Leena replies.

They continue walking and after a while Leena begs to be allowed to urinate.

“Mistress,” Leena pleads, “a girl needs to piss.”

Christ smiles. “A girl will hold her urine until permitted,” Chris commands. They continue walking. After a while they come to a vacant cell with a door ajar. The cell is identical in every aspect to Leena's cell. Chris leads Leena in and invites her to relieve herself in the open drain.

Leena squats down over the drain hole. It is a foot in diameter. Chris then commands Leena to make and keep eye contact. She tells Leena that she will have no expectation of any privacy. Leena is not surprised at that revelation after all else she has witnessed.

“I have an idea!” Chris exclaims. “Let's go to the metalworker.” Leena wonders what Christine has in mind. It doesn't take long to find out. At the metalworker's shop Chris orders high heel steel shoes for Leena. They are to the locked in place with welded ankle cuffs. And, for insult and torment, they are to be chained together with a two foot long chain. Leena will have to take tiny steps and balance to keep up with Chris's perambulations.

“Now you are my oriental ballet princess, taking tiny baby steps in your high heels,” Chris jokes. The metalworker affixes a rubber sole to dampen the noise on the cement or steel floor. The whole process only took a half of an hour.

With a tug on the leash Leena is forced to hobble behind Chris who is pleased to see her new girl disciplined and controlled. After an hour's walking, Chris takes Leena back to her cell. Her feet hurt and she knows that tomorrow will be no better than today. The high heels are locked on to stay.


Back in her room a video monitor in the ceiling, protected by a Plexiglas(tm) shield, gives a presentation to Leena. She lies on her back, supine, and watches. Here she is told about the Internet Cybersex Prison. She is told about performing on the game grids, wearing Virtual Reality (VR) helmets and an assortment of electrodes, pneumatic and hydraulic devices, and invasive catheters, tubes, and medical contraptions. Leena realizes that the worst is yet to come. She is told that she will have to cum on command or hold her orgasm as ordered. She will be rented out to a client with access to all her electric and mechanical attachments. The VR helmet can be used to put her in a 3D animated environment where she will assume the role determined by her avatar.

Apparently money can buy almost everything. Maybe not love but certainly lust. Leena wonders how she could be duped so completely by the handsome young Italian. She wonders if she will now meet him in VR? Her daydream is shattered as the presentation explains other details: “A client may want a girl who is sleep deprived for, say 24 or 48 hours. A client may want a girl who has been run on a treadmill until exhaustion. A client may want a girl bound in some manner or another. Each girl in the prison must please her client.

Punishment for non-compliance is severe.” Images of girls being punished follow. Then Leena hears the worst. “Some girls have special attachments or devices, such as chastity belts, high heel shoes, wrist or ankle shackles, chains, and the like. These are reflected in your avatar for your client's desires and demands.”

11 November 2011 Taunus Trumbo

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