The full significant weight of the tyrant’s eager enforcer sat herself across Lydia’s back and snared arms, squashing her into the bunk and making every breath a laborious struggle under the new burden. After taking up her slack wrists the woman leant back and turned, dragging the limbs against their bonds and turning them in an unnatural and ligament tearing direction, pushing them to their limits where they flared with prickly fires and made her croak and cry against the planks. Lydia’s legs pumping frantically, kicking wildly around as she fought to slip free.
The brittle crunch of parting wood pierced the sounds of distress and she saw the woman removing a single slender slat of timber from above. Tearing free this slim strip she stepped back out of Lydia’s reduced vision and aimed into the exposed and vulnerable legs and rear.
“What is my title?” she quizzed, and threw a powerful swatting blow into the opened rump, the beam of wood striking across both her cheeks with a brutal clap, the blunt and heavy weapon proving to be most adept for causing mayhem.
Another stroke fell, catching her thigh and depositing a great flushed bruise that left the entire lower leg numb and insensible, the blow seeming to slay the limb, for as it received its punishment while cavorting maniacally, it dropped and remained indolent, twitching slightly as it lay defeated.
“My title!” demanded the woman.
Lydia howled through clenched teeth as the onslaught targeted the subdued leg, dropping onto her thigh again as she desperately tried to recall the words. Dredging in her mind it seemed like years ago when this act of derogation had been started, and she could barely recall the title this iniquitous cellmate had demanded of her.
“Divine Queen?” she spluttered, and dropped her head onto the bunk with a yowl as her energetic leg acquired a trio of manic impacts, the solid wooden paddle banishing all feeling from the limb while in no way diminishing its capacity to reveal the pain.
“Wrong! Try again.”
“I can’t remember, please stop,” she sobbed.
“That wasn’t it!” came the demur response, followed by another reprimanding heavy-handed spank into her rear.
“Supreme Goddess? Divine Goddess? Mistress? I don’t know!” she wept.
“No - no - no - no - no - you - retarded - foreign - slut,” murmured the woman, every word of her insult being delivered with an intemperate strike of the plank, the ruthless turpitude readying to start snapping bones should it continue for much longer.
“Supreme Divine Goddess!” she blurted with expectant yearning, the words seeming correct.
“Close, but wrong,” derided the woman.
The words suddenly came to her and she started to air them, but before she could finish the attack had begun, making her words incoherent as the rain of five steady blows crippled her offered respect.
The pummeling ended, leaving her lethargic under her human cargo, barely able to respire as she hung in shocked and concussed apathy.
“What do you call me?”
A dozen responses more apt and suitable arose in her mind, but instead she voiced the desired one, befouling her tongue with its very utterance.
“Divine Supreme Goddess.”
“At last,” she announced and added a final arbitrary lick of the plank across her empurpled buttocks before putting the slat back where it had come from.
The oppressive onus upon her torso lifted and moved away, leaving her to be brusquely brushed aside to collapse onto the floor and be ignored while the women laid back down, leaving Lydia bound and almost unconscious.
The sweltering heat of the day continued to trail by and Lydia simply remained in her tangled pile, too weak to move. Deep sleep held her tight as her fatigued body and mind both hid in the darkest depths of awareness, clinging to this sanctuary for as long as possible.
A wail rent the air, followed by shouts and sounds of a struggle. The din of a frenzied battle drew her from her sleep and attracted her cellmates to the bars. When they stared out through the metal grille Lydia chose to lay motionless, listening to the bone gnawing terror in the woman’s voice. She was screaming in absolute mortal calamity, a high-pitched infantile squeal that pained her ears and numbed her thoughts at the prospect of what hideous fate could be prompting such a ghastly signal.
“Sounds like another one has been assigned to
la Sima
,” dolefully attested the slender female.
“That’s the fifth this year. What do you think happens to them down there?”
“Whatever it is, once they go down there, they don’t come out.”
“Never?”
“Not even a body. Either they are imprisoned down there for good, or there’s a lot of dead inmates in that hole.”
“What gets them picked?”
“Big offenders mostly. Traitors and stuff.”
The last words froze Lydia’s heart, for they announced her to be an eligible and likely candidate for this mysterious doom.
The sounds of woe increased and rose to a deafening pitch until the woman responsible was dragged past, a guard on each limb, holding her as she howled and fought with inhuman severity to escape their bonds. The sounds began to fade as she was taken down to the ground level, her cries degenerating into grizzling solicitation, her sobbing drifting slowly into silence as she vanished beneath the surface and into whatever belated depths were arrayed beneath this Stigean prison. The incarcerated populous left this eerie quiet unbroken, each of them reduced to a mournful quiet, not in respect for the condemned, but in pity for themselves for having been reminded of what could happen to them.
In the wake of this funereal atmosphere came a soft tickling smell of food, the glorious scent caressing her nose and animating her frame. Lifting up, she moved towards the bars, beguiled by the odors as they soaked the air, her stomach growling loudly in anticipation, calling for the meal in gurgling tones.
The soft squeak and metallic clatters of the dispersal of food started to draw close, and Lydia’s mouth flooded with saliva at the prospect of finally eating, and only then did she realize she was still bound. Wriggling against the ribbons, she found them too strict in their hold, negating any movement of her arms. Closing her eyes and pausing for strength she readied to importune the removal of the bonds.
Turning, she lowered to her knees and looked up at the young woman who so methodically made her life more miserable than it should have been, for the guards were criminal enough in their behavior, the addition of the prisoner’s spite was something she could well do without.
“Please, Divine Supreme Goddess, can you untie me so I may eat,” she uttered with polite earnest, her face burning with shame, but her starvation was ruling her senses and she needed food more than anything else and was willing to commit any befouling act to gain sustenance.
“No,” came the blunt response, the denial momentarily leaving Lydia agape. “I shall see to your feeding,” she attested, and suddenly her obedient partner snatched her from behind, dragging her back and down onto the floor, fixing her bonds to the far end of the bunk so she was held in a sitting position. Lydia began to stammer her protests, but was hushed by the gloating female.
“Now sit still and be quiet or there’s nothing for you,” promised the tyrant, and moved to the cell door to collect the imminent meals.
How could this be happening to her? What was motivating such unjust persecution? She would have to sit here and suffer the indignity of being fed at their leisure like some domesticated pet. Swallowing her fury, she clenched her jaw and strove to keep silent, unwilling to provoke them and give them cause to deny.
The trolley ground to a halt before them and the pair moved to the door. The overseeing guard opened the portal and handed out the plates before letting the trustee ladle out the thick sludge and add some bread.
The cell door was slammed shut and they moved on, the two of them devouring their portions with swift gusto. Lydia could only watch with frustrated rancor as they neglected her, the portion prepared for her set aside and forsaken as they attended their own needs first.
Once they finished their plates, soaking up every drip with the bread before stuffing it in, they walked over to her with her dinner.
“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” smiled the vixen that was bearing her fare, and willing to brave the foul consequences such trust could cause, she complied with hesitant speed.
Instead of the thick porridge, the dry coarseness of a blanket was crammed into her proffered maw, causing her eyes to jolt open and bulge as it was forced deeper, filling her mouth and puffing out her cheeks, stretching her jaw unbearably while she choked and squirmed.
The gag was tied off and the two women sat back out of the reach of her legs and began to laugh and devour her dinner as she squealed and vented her rage. Shuddering and slamming herself against her bonds, her patience snapped, her choler unleashed but constrained by her bonds.
Tears fell from her imploring eyes when she watched this precious currency vanishing down the gullets of the two monstrous inmates, and only when it had almost all vanished did they stop.
“I suppose we had best give her some, it’s only fair,” chuckled one of them and set down the near expended dinner.
Taking hold of her legs they dragged back so that she was on her knees, her arms still locked to the bed, her mouth still full of cloth.
The slender persecutor rose and set down the dish far from Lydia and then with a satisfied smirk, stepped into the remains, trudging upon the thick lumps until her feet were coated in them.
Sitting down, she lifted her feet and shuffled forward, presenting the extremities to Lydia as the blanket was removed.
“There you go. Enjoy,” mocked the woman, her voice dripping with fulfillment at Lydia’s subjugation.
With her soul aflame and raging in a tempestuous storm, Lydia slapped back the tide of seething resentment and leaned in to begin lapping at the presented feet, removing her food from the woman’s skin with desperate speed. With eyes closed she tried to forget the manner in which her food was being served, relishing only the taste and feel of the frugal amount slipping down into her vacant belly, an added salty tang imparted to it by human sweat.
The brawny prisoner drew her partners attention as the last came away and proceeded to sit in the remainder, shuffling her rear upon the dish before turning onto her hands and knees and reversing until her rear was within Lydia’s reach. This presented meal took a few moments to accept, her hunger taking longer to overcome her revulsion and contempt for their crimes. But heedless of her appearance and actions she moved in with eyes tightly shut and began to remove the dregs that decorated the woman’s skin, the pair happily ridiculing her.
With the few pitiful leftovers consumed, her teased stomach roared for more and as the pair left her in her misery, she lowered to the floor and prayed for salvation, unable to take anymore of this ignoble evil.
Vitiated, she remained a mere bound ornament in the cell, unable to move or respond as the day slipped into night and the prisoners bedded down once more.
Chapter Ten
The cell door cranked open with a soft squeal of dry wheels, revealing the tall guard who had stolen away the hated prisoner an eternity of debasement ago.
The woman stirred and lifted up, readying to get off the bunk and follow her guide, only to gain a harsh slap to the face that threw her back onto the wood with a jarring knock.
“You presume too much, nine two four three, I’m not here for you. I want this European whore tonight.”
Strolling over, she untied Lydia and lifted her up to her feet. Leading her like a hound, the guard towed her out and into the corridor, shutting the cell and wandering off to a small wooden door further along the same story. After the guard unlocked the portal, Lydia was shown into a short passage, the cramped length leading to a set of stairs and then up to two doors.
Beyond one of them lay a tiny box room, empty save for a few vacant crates with canvas over them and a thin veneer of dust that permeated the air and tickled her nostrils. The weak overhead bulb created a soiled amber light that presented the scene in sepia shades. There was also a strange smell, a succulent, intangible hint of roasted meat that played with her craving and made her notice that she was so hungry and desperate for food that she was conjuring scents to appease her needs.
The guard pushed Lydia in and closed the door behind them. After examining the meager contents, she looked back to the guard who was already removing her weaponry and unbuttoning her tunic.
Shocked, Lydia moved back until her spine bumped the wall, her sudden knowledge of why she had been singled out fully dawning on her.
The woman assessed her reluctance and extended the bribe that gained her the compliance she sought.
“Do what I want and this is yours,” she uttered absently, as though the offer could not be refused when she flung back a sheet of tarpaulin to reveal a spread of meats and fruits across one of the crates.
Lydia’s mouth dropped open, the fee for her acceptance exceeding anything she would have expected, her notions of refusing any payment for such prostitution vaporizing the instant she saw the luscious food.
The last of her uniform came away and the guard was presented outside of her stark garments in a facet that could not have been more different.
Her curvaceous form was elegantly sealed in a lace and satin Basque, the luxurious materials a pristine angelic white. A matching thong and stockings flowed about her smooth shaven legs, the sheen of the fine denier hose catching the light with every ripple of her muscles beneath the delicate, gossamer thin garments. It was a provocative ensemble contrasted only by the guards brooding expression and short mane of sternly swept back hair, the jet black and lascivious fire in her eyes contrasting totally with the innocent white of her apparel.
Reaching into a crate she drew out a padded blanket and cast it down across the floor before slipping her feet into white court shoes, perching herself atop lofty heels.
“Now put these on,” she commanded, and indicated her shed uniform before removing the gun and keys from her utility belt and moving across the room to sit down upon a crate for a better view.