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 Day eleven.

   Vixie was a tall girl with a muscular build and a strong will.  She had
been convicted of murder.  She was being gang raped when she wrestled a
firearm from one of her assailants and pumped bullets into four of them,
killing three.  It would have been self-defense except one of the men was
the son of wealth and position.  For sure it was consensual sex and she was
just another prostitute trying to shake down some Johns.

   Vixie was supposed to be assigned to a minimum security prison, but some
strings were pulled, some records lost, and she ended up in the maximum
security Internet Cybersex Prison, from which there was no escape and no
release.  Vixie knew martial arts and worked to maintain her stamina and
strength, even incarcerated.  They knew not to directly resist the guards.
She patiently endured the endless body cavity searches where each guard had
to take his turn exploring her thoroughly.

   Her mistreatment by the male guards was harsh but somehow natural and
endurable.  The female guards tormented Vixie the most.  Whenever a female
matron put the handcuffs on Vixie, they were clamped painfully tight,
cutting into her flesh.  The female matron also was the one to insert the
speculum into Vixie's vagina.  The male guards searched her mouth and anus.
One woman knew countless ways to subtly hurt or injure another woman, even
under the watchful eye of a male supervisor.  Men never seemed to
understand all the folds, creases, crevices, and cleavages of a woman's
body.

   The female hypogastric triangle covers a universe of organs and glands.
In the Internet Cybersex Prison each girl had her hair clipped off with an
electric shaver along with her eyebrows and bush.  A few lucky girls were
also afforded the removal of their underarm hair, but most had to keep the
hairy, smelly mat in their armpits.  It was considered degradation for a
girl to have to stick her nose into another girl's armpit and then allow
reciprocity.  That was the guard's way of greeting when they had inmates
under discipline.

   A woman's clitoris is her counterpart of a man's penis.  Some woman can
have clitoral orgasms, some can't, and some either don't or won't.  There
is no accounting for taste in this matter.  The female vulva is the male
scrotum, and so forth and so on.  The male has a prostate gland, a
structure that the female is mercifully denied.  Vixie had an oversized and
a very sensitive clitoris.  Her comely pearl peeked out wantonly from
between dark red pussy lips, her sweaty vulva.

   The female matron knows each fold of tissue, each crevice, each tiny
orifice, and each feature of the girl she's examining.  No two girls are
exactly alike; there are individual differences.  The male is often
confused by such variations on the universal theme, not knowing which
responds in which manner.  The female matron, on the other hand, knows
exactly where her girl's G-spot is, where her cervix opens and distends,
and the muscles.

   The matron knew exactly the location and tone of Vixie's pubococcygeal
muscles and each of her circular sphincter muscle groups.  She knew how to
stretch them and distend them both playfully and painfully.  The sphincter
muscles in the cervix could be an especially sensitive and painful play
place for the knowledgeable user.  It didn't take Vixie long to realize
that displeasing her matron could cause her a world of pain---pain that was
concealed and difficult to explain to a male guard supervisor.

   Vixie didn't get along well with the female matrons.  She was trained in
the martial arts and no willowy debutante.  It was common for her to have
to go on sick call with an infection deep in her uterus or a severe rash on
the cervix of her womb.  Going on sick call in the prison was risky
business.  To be allowed to go on sick call, one had to be really sick and
running a fever.  The medical personnel weren't particularly kind.

   Vixie sat on a hard wooden bench outside of the examination room.  The
wooden bench normally wouldn't hurt her toned ass, but she had an infection
inside her pussy.  The guards hadn't let her go on sick call for several
days, making her serve on the game grids.  The medical personnel would push
the large catheters and tubes into her.  She could not keep from screaming.
At last, after several days of torturing the girl, the medical personnel
ordered her to sick call.

   She waited a long time to be called in.  All the while her hands were
cuffed behind her back.  She could smell the odor coming from her cunt.  It
smelled of disease.  At long last she was hustled into the examination
room. The orderlies weren't gentle in putting her one the examination
table. A physician came with latex gloves and forced a hand deep inside of
Vixie.  She cried.

   "Yes," he muttered, "This is a severe infection.  Strap her to the `I&D'
table." Vixie didn't know that "I&D" stood for incision and drainage.  She
was to have the infection scraped away and healing ointment applied.  The
procedure was to be done without anesthesia.  The orderlies strapped the
girl to the table, spreading her legs in stirrups.  The doctor opened a
sterile tray of instrument and began to clean away the infected flesh.  She
twisted and turned on the I&D table.  She screamed and cried.  Annoyed with
her screaming, an orderly pushed a sour-tasting gag into her mouth.  She
convulsed at the nauseating taste and smell of the gag.  At last the
procedure was done.  The doctor packed heavy ointment into her and taped
her pussy closed.

   "She can be on the grids tomorrow," he directed.  Just have the pull the
tape away and return it when she's done.  Vixie could barely stand when she
was finally released.  Her knees were wobbly and she was faint.  The pain
was nearly unbearable, but she managed to struggle to her feet and be taken
back to her cell.

   Several times this process happened.  The matron would abuse Vixie and
induce an infection.  Then it would be allowed to develop for some time
before she would be allowed to go on sick call.  The painful I&D work would
heal her, but not without severe suffering.  Then one time she was having
her period when she was sent on sick call.  Vixie was extremely sick,
feverish, and nauseous.  The medical people had had her sit all day on the
hard wooden bench while the attended to everyone else first.  She was, of
course, naked.  After a while she was unable to hold her urine and had to
sit in a pool of urine and menstrual fluid.  When the doctor examined her
he determined that she was in very serious condition.  They would have to
perform a hysterectomy immediately.  The doctor kissed Vixie on her
forehead and reassured her: "There will be anesthesia, girl."

   Vixie came to in the recovery room.  She had no idea whether it was day
or night, morning or evening, or even what day it was.  She felt the pain
in her abdomen, however.  As she struggled to regain consciousness and
return to the world of the living, three shadowy figures approaches.  It
was her matron and two guards.  The orderly unstrapped her from the gurney
and the three wrestled her to her feet.  "Wasn't she given a day to
recover?" the orderly asked.  Clearly the girl was barely able to stand.

   "It's Saturday night and she's needed on the game grids," the matron
replied.  "She can wear a VR helmet until we can put the transducers back
in her vagina.  I guess we can't put anything else in her womb.  But surely
we can think of something to take its place." The matron ran her hand under
Vixie's armpits and pinched them.  Vixie realized that she might be subject
to still another VR attachment, one with chemical sensors as well.  Her
garlic-like pheromones of female arousal might end up in an elixir for sale
to the true connoisseur of Cybersex.