Sweet Gwendoline Ch. 10

"She's all yours," Keira told her naked slave-girls, and then she turned on her heel and walked out of the room. Just before she got completely out of earshot, I heard her call out, "Doctor Riemen and I will be in the next room, observing you the entire time."

My heart beat faster as I watched the young, athletic slave-girls walk purposefully towards me. There was a coldness in their eyes, and I had no idea what they intended to do.

"What do you want?" I asked as I attempted to back slowly and cautiously away from them. This seemed like the opening sequence from every prison rape scene I'd ever scene from every horrible women's prison movie I'd ever watched.

I was almost immediately backed up against the shower wall, and I felt a new and delicious fear as the other slave-girls closed in on me. For a moment, my heart beat too fast, and I remembered I had a safe-word, but instead of using it, I reveled in my fear and my helplessness. I wanted to see how far I could go down the submissive road. I whimpered and waited to see what these young, athletic-looking, grim-faced slave-girls would do to me.

A slave-girl with strong hands and a boyish haircut reached a hand out and grabbed me by my ponytail. I did nothing to stop her. Then I gasped and cried out in pain when she pulled my ponytail back so far that I was forced to arch my back and stare straight up at the ceiling.

"Tourist," one of the women hissed in my ear contemptuously as she stood very close, "You don't belong here. You look fragile and faint-hearted. You look like one of those Beverly Hills trust fund babies. You won't last three days here. You know how long my mistress has been bringing me here? Three years!"

I trembled and my heart sped-up painfully fast at her words. I had never met this woman before, but the hostility coming off of her was so thick, you could feel it like heat coming off of a radiator.

"She's one of those delicate, swishy, honey-blonde, Paris Hilton types," a tall, athletic-looking brunette opined as she reached out and grabbed my nipple and pinched it painfully, "She thinks that she's too good to be punished by the likes of us."

"You think you're too good for us to punish?" one of the girls asked, and I attempted to answer, but suddenly a strong hand was placed securely over my mouth, making it difficult to talk.

"Hands against the wall," one of them barked out sternly, "Assume the position!"

I wasn't sure what position they meant at first, but I soon found out. My legs were kicked far apart and I was made to bend forward at the waist, while facing the shower wall. My hands were far apart and raised high above my head with my palms flat.

"We're going to wash you inside and out," one of the slave-girls said, triumphantly, relishing her authority over me, "And if you resist or give us any backtalk, you get punished. Understand?"

The girl holding onto my ponytail forced me to keep my head down and the other four obtained body wash and bars of soap and proceeded to wash me from the back of my neck all the way down to the soles of my feet.

The other slave-girls were cruel and ruthless in the way they washed me. My whole body was fair game, but they delighted in focusing on the most sensitive and intimate parts of my anatomy. They spent a lot of time washing my thighs, my buttocks and my breasts, but what they enjoyed more than anything was their overly-enthusiastic work at cleaning my vagina and my anus.

The mean girls spread my poor, stinging buttocks apart, and while I trembled and panted, I could feel strong, determined, yet feminine fingers rubbing over the tender flesh of my asshole. Doctor Riemen had already anally penetrated me earlier and stretched my anal opening wide. My anal cleft was sensitive to the touch, and I didn't really want these girls playing with it, but there wasn't much I could do to stop them.

"Aaaahhhh," I exclaimed as one girl vigorously lathered my pussy, while another thrust her soapy fingers rudely into my anus and attempted to clean me from the inside, out.

I've had a lot of experience with vaginal penetration, but anal penetration was still relatively new and traumatic for me. Every finger that was thrust into my anal orifice felt like rape. I whined and gasped every time that sensitive opening was impaled, but this only encouraged the mean-girls to abuse my tight anal opening even more.

When I squirmed, flinched or gasped at the way my poor rectum was being abused, the girls would laugh at my distress and continue to abuse me.

Several of the girls liked swatting my bare bottom with hard, stinging spanks, and with my bottom soaking-wet, the swats hurt even more than when my skin was dry.

"Spread those legs," one girl would bark at me, and then swat my ass painfully. "Arch that back," another would snap, and I'd get my ass swatted again.

They used any excuse they could think of to punish my poor bottom, any excuse at all. They were slave-girls, just like me. Somewhere in this building, they all had masters or mistresses that ruled their lives. Opportunities to rule over somebody else would be rare for them, so they were probably reveling in this rare opportunity to abuse me, punish me and treat me like their own personal, naked vassal.

"Stand up, and turn around," one of the mean-girls ordered me, and the one gripping my ponytail yanked up on it hard, spurring me to comply.

The girl who had ordered me had an enraged, resentful look on her face, but I still couldn't help but think that she looked beautiful. She had long, red hair and her facial features reminded me a lot of Milla Jovovich, and even though she bared her perfect teeth at me and gave me a look of heat and resentment, I couldn't help thinking just how beautiful she was.

"Hands behind your back," she ordered, and I quickly obeyed, placing my hands behind my back, and crossing them at the wrists.

"You have very nice breasts," the girl with the long, red hair said to me, "So firm, so proud and those nipples of yours are just so pink and erect. It's like they're just begging for attention."

Her words were kind, but the look on her face was still hostile, so I wasn't overly surprised when her hands took possession of my defenseless nipples and began to abuse them.

She pinched them, she pulled on them, she twisted them, yanked them out towards her, and just when the pain was too much, she would stroke them gently. The girl with the boyish haircut was still holding tightly onto my ponytail, and two other girls got a tight grip on my arms, so I couldn't use my hands to defend my poor, abused nipples.

"Tell me that you love me," the redheaded girl said sternly. And I was so shocked by this order that; for several seconds; I was utterly unable to respond.

My nipples were grasped once again, and painfully yanked and pulled away from my body, stretched to an extreme that seemed dangerous. Just how resilient are a girl's nipples? How far can you stretch them before they snap? I screamed in pain and hoped that the redhead didn't do any permanent damage to my poor, abused nipples, but I stubbornly refused to yell out my safe word.

"I love you," I called out, tears in my eyes, and cruel throbbing pain in my abused pink nubs, "I love you, I love you, I love you, mistress!"

The redhead released her grip on my tormented nipples and suddenly she held my face between her hands and merged her lips with mine. Her tongue invaded my mouth and I moaned as her tongue slid over mine. Maybe I'm delusional, but as we kissed I thought I could feel the heat of her anger and resentment turning into the heat of passion and lust.

The woman that held my face in her strong hands, moaned into my mouth as we kissed. The throbbing pain in my nipples turned into a throbbing sexual excitement, and I wanted her. I wanted her like I had never wanted anyone before. This was exactly the sort of abuse and sexual assault that I fantasized about in my most heated sexual fantasies. It was like Cinderella being abused by her evil step-sisters and an innocent school girl getting raped in the shower by her predatory lesbian gymnastics coach all rolled into one.

At that moment, I understood why memberships at the Vineyard were so expensive, they probed you, studied you, analyzed you, and when they understood what you craved and desired the most, they brought your sexual fantasies to life.

The redhead continued to kiss me with a passion and enthusiasm that bordered on fanaticism. My heart beat like a pneumatic drill and I moaned into her mouth as I enjoyed the feeling of her lips on mine, and her tongue inside my mouth.

"Oh, God," I moaned when she broke from the kiss and I panted like a diver that had been underwater for too long.

The tallest of the mean girls laughed and said, "I think the blonde, femme tourist likes you, Laura."

The redhead smiled at me with undisguised sexual enthusiasm and said, "Maybe she's not such a tourist after all. Maybe she really does belong in this place."

Then I was pushed down to my knees. Of course, kneeling in front of Laura, meant that her shaved pussy was level with my face. Her pubic lips were puffy and swollen and (to my eyes) looked eager for attention.

"A femme like you has probably used her mouth before to bring pleasure to a woman," Laura opined.

"I'll bet our swishy, honey-blonde has licked plenty of pussies," the tall, athletic one said, "Haven't you, blondie?"

I felt somebody's toes nudging the soft, vulnerable folds of my sex as I knelt with my knees apart. It seemed that that was more of an attention-getter than a punishment or a sexual provocation.

"Yes, Mistress," I replied to the naked amazon, "I've licked plenty of pussies."

The way these women were treating me was meant to be humiliating...and it was, but it was also arousing. My sexual fantasies always involved me being abused and dominated by strong, self-confident, cruel women and suddenly I had five of them who were willing to bring me low and turn me into their naked, submissive sex-toy. Most women would hate being subjugated and degraded like these women were doing to me, but I was in libidinous heaven.

Laura's pussy was reddish-pink and swollen with desire. Her pubic lips were utterly engorged and wickedly on display. I licked tentatively at one of her inner labia, and she shuddered.

"Harder," Laura snapped at me, "Put some intensity into it!"

I immediately began to tongue her sex more vigorously, and was rewarded with a serious of moaning and gasping sounds. The more spirited my efforts, the more Laura seemed to like it. Some women like me to start off slow and gentle when I begin to lavish attention onto their nether lips. Apparently, Laura wasn't like that. She wanted me to bring my most vigorous and intense tongue-action to her vulva, right from the very beginning.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh," Laura moaned, and her thighs trembled. The other mean-girls laughed. They seemed to enjoy watching, as I sexually serviced their red-headed friend.

Laura grabbed my ponytail in her own strong hands and began to guide my head and face so that I applied my ministrations to the appropriate parts of her anatomy. I wasn't overly surprised that she directed me to her swollen clitoris and insisted that I take it into my mouth.

"Suck on it," the redhead commanded me, "Suck on it hard!"

I sucked her needy clit into my mouth and sucked on it vigorously. Laura was the most impatient lover that I had ever run across in my life. Most women like to have a respectable amount of foreplay before you zero in on their clit. Laura sent me after her clit like, just seconds after I learned her name. Not that we'd been properly introduced or anything, I only knew her name because I overheard one of her friends call her that.

Laura was needy, but she was also responsive. It took maybe fifteen seconds of sucking on her clit before I felt her shudder and spasm like an earthquake that measured 8.5 on the Richter scale.

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh Gaaawwwwd," she cried out as she gasped and panted uncontrollably and her thighs trembled and spasmed and occasionally squeezed my skull like she was trying to crush it.

The poor girl must have been denied sexual release for weeks. When she reached her sexual climax, it was like a tsunami burying an entire Japanese coastal village. My face ended up being soaked by her juices, and she continued to pant and spasm, long after the actual orgasm was over.

"Oh, God, that was good," Laura said, her voice soft and reverential, "Do it again."

I brought Laura to a second orgasm, and then I was passed off the next sexually-frustrated woman.

I was passed around from one slave-girl to another, like I was their personal property. And it turns out, that wasn't far from the truth. In the Vineyard, slaves had a hierarchy. The slaves that had been inmates the longest had a superior status to the newer slaves. As the most recently accepted slave in the Vineyard, my status was lower than any other slave in the place.

My inmate number was 1101. The higher your inmate number, the lower your status. The woman with the short, boyish haircut was named Billie, and her inmate number was 1018. The athlete that was over six feet tall (6' 1" I think) was named Allison and her inmate number was 988.

The redhead with the intense eyes and the eager libido was named Laura, and her inmate number was 962. Her slave-status was the highest of any of the women in the slave's shower room.

Allison had really firm buttocks and thighs, and she allowed me to hold onto both as I serviced her pussy with my mouth and tongue, however, I somehow felt a much stronger emotional attraction to Laura. Something about Laura's intensity and authoritarian attitude attracted me to her, like none of the other women in the room. All five women were naked, slender, toned and impressive-looking, but it was Laura that my submissive spirit was attracted to.

It was bizarre, but I found a perverse sort of pride in the fact that Laura was the highest-ranking slave in the room, as she was the one that I had a crush on. I had fallen for the highest ranking of all the slaves that had raped me that afternoon.

All five slave-women used my ponytail to control me, to yank me around in one direction or another, or to force me to follow some order. They preferred to control me by my ponytail, rather than giving me verbal commands. And; of course; if I didn't understand what they wanted me to do right away, they seemed to think that painful swats on my bare buttocks would help me to understand quicker.

By the time I was done servicing all five of the merciless slave-women, I had used my mouth to bring each of them to at least three enthusiastic orgasms each. Of course, my own sexual needs were ignored. My pussy was wet and throbbing, but none of the women in the shower bothered to bring me to orgasm. I was there to be used and exploited, not seduced. They just raped me, used me and then left me sexually frustrated.

* * * * * * * * * *

The female inmates that raped me in the shower took hours washing me, spanking me and using my mouth to bring them to orgasm. By the time it was all over, I was both physically and emotionally exhausted.

I don't know how long I was lying there on the shower-room floor, but when I finally opened my eyes and looked up, my relentless tormenters were gone, and Doctor Riemen's assistant was standing over me.

"You can't lie there all day, Gwendoline," Kiera informed me, dispassionately, "Doctor Riemen is expecting you in her office."

I got up off the floor and stood on wobbly legs. Kiera produced a towel and proceeded to dry me off from my scalp, all the way down to the soles of my feet, and then grabbed me by my right arm and led me naked down the hallways until we eventually ended up in Doctor Riemen's office again.

Kiera was young, slender, harmless-looking and shorter than me, however I still had to do anything she said. She definitely outranked me, even though she was nothing more than Doctor Riemen's assistant. And so, when she grabbed me by the arm and led me down multiple hallways, I allowed her to lead me without the slightest amount of resistance or complaint.

I was a slave-girl (or an inmate, depending on which terminology you preferred), so even office assistants outranked me.

And while I had been in the shower-room, an unfamiliar bondage device had been installed in Doctor Riemen's office. There was a flat, wooden base at the bottom, and two vertical, metal poles rising up from the base. Kiera ordered me to stand on the base, and then she secured my wrists and ankles to the vertical poles, via leather wrist and ankle-restraints. Of course, my ankles were bound far apart, thus putting my pubic lips lewdly on display. My wrists were bound apart and well over my head, thus causing my breasts to lift themselves up even higher.

"Welcome back, dear," Doctor Riemen said to me, after her assistant had made me helpless, "I thought it was time that you and I had another chat."

And by chat, she of course meant interrogation.

Of course, I didn't argue with her about her choice of words. I just kept my face neutral and said, "Yes, Doctor Riemen."

Doctor Riemen and her assistant took up positions, standing near my helpless nudity. Doctor Riemen looked very respectable. Yet, I still felt threatened, as I knew what she was capable of. Also, I knew the frightening significance of many of the very intimidating items that her assistant was offering up on her stainless-steel tray.

The tray was conspicuously held in a location where I could easily see everything on it. There was a tube of the dreaded Calorex gel, a box of latex gloves, eight clothespins and a bowl of ice cubes, and a handheld electronic device. The device had a handle that strongly resembled the handle of a hunting knife, but instead of a blade protruding from the handle, there was a long, red, plastic piece that got narrower and narrower as you got closer and closer to the tip.

Doctor Riemen placed one of her fingertips gently up against the underside of one of my swollen, sensitive nipples and began to explain what was going to happen next.

"I am going to ask you some questions, dear," she explained, sounding very reasonable and professional, "And you will answer every one truthfully and completely. If you hesitate in your answers, or if I think that you left anything out; or worse; if I think that you're being dishonest in your replies, I shall be forced to use some of the items on this tray to hurt your young, naked and helpless body. Do you understand, dear?"

I nodded nervously in agreement, and timidly responded, "Yes, Doctor Riemen."

"Very good," she said, smiling amicably, "Now, before we begin, do you recognize all the items on Kiera's tray and understand how they might be used to discipline an uncooperative slave?"

I looked over at the stainless-steel tray Kiera was holding, and shook my head in the negative.

"Of course, I recognize the Calorex gel," I replied, "I know how that can be used to hurt a slave-girl's breasts."

"Oh, it can be used on other parts of a slave's anatomy as well," Doctor Riemen explained, "It can be used on a slave-girl's labia, or a slave-boy's penis. It can also be used to coat the interior of a slave's anus. I understand that can be very painful and traumatic, but you shook your head. Does that mean there's something on that tray you don't understand?"

"I'm not really sure what the ice cubes are for," I explained, "And the electronic device. I've never even seen a device that looked like that before. I'm not certain what it's called, or what it's used for."