Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Day thirteen. Whistler was a smallish waif with wide green eyes and curly red hair. In high school she fell madly in love with a high school football hero and threw herself wantonly at him. Unfortunately, his eyes were locked on a willowy blonde cheerleader. This did not prevent him from using and abusing Whistler. He took her out on a date (she thought they were going to a movie) and surprised her by letting his football buddies from the team take her. She was so smitten with her hero that she endured the affections of three other football players. She even managed to give each her sweetest kisses and her arms. At last she was alone with her idol. He insisted that she give him anal sex. She tried to refuse, but he forcefully sodomized her anyway. Humiliated and embarrassed, she sulked and stewed for days. Adding insult to injury, word of her promiscuity spread over the high school campus and neighboring establishments. She then discovered that she was pregnant. Refusing to give birth to an unwanted child of an uncertain father, Whistler sneaked away with a girl friend to an illegal abortion clinic. The result was psychologically traumatic. She could hear the crying of her dead baby in her dreams. Tormented by unclean spirits, she stole her father's hand gun. On lovers' lave her football hero and his blonde-haired cheerleader were having sex on the back seat of his father's car. She emptied the clip of the pistol, shooting both of them to death. Now Whistler has an eternity of consider her misdeed in the Internet Cybersex Prison. The majority of the clientele of the prison were men; however, there were wome women who craved the taboo sex of dominating and punishing those of their same gender. Betty was one such woman. She had lost her boyfriend to another woman and enjoyed nothing more than inflicting pain in every way possible on another female. Whistler's freckled face, wide green eyes, and curly, reddish hair brought back hateful memories to Betty. She loved to make Whistler beg to be spared suffering and pain as she manipulated the transducers on the Parallel-Processing Personal Computer (P3C). She would watch as the deep inner tissues of Whistler's privates reddened and become engorged. The change resulted from electric shocks pulsed between un-insulated electric terminals. Whistler knew that Betty would not stop until she was totally spent. Betty would pause to allow Whistler to recover. There were limits and boundaries set by the prison to avoid permanent injury to an inmate. After all, Whistler was needed for tomorrow as well. The electric shocks were merely an accessory to the more general stimulation of cybersex. For more severe and intense punishment additional equipment---at additional cost--- was required. Betty wanted to have Whistler feel the five-pronged leather whip on her shoulders, back, and buttocks. She wanted Whistler be flogged across her breasts with a knotted cord flogger and switched on her legs with a live electric wire, carrying alternating current. The skin-clinging plasters and transducers had to be applied and wired into the Internet. Before going to the game grids, Whistler trembled with fear. She knew that she was to suffer considerably. This was not simple sexual gratification. She had never been so totally immersed in electronic circuitry. Betty's avatar lifted a five-pronged leather whip. She waited for Whistler to exhale and for her elevated pulse rate to subside. The initial panic would need to abate to maximize the effect of the whipping. In a panic state Whistler would be numb to pain; anxious natural narco-endorphin would dull her senses. In her rest state each stripe would be instantly registered. Betty counted out six circular trajectories to Whistler's back, shoulders, and ass. Then Whistler was turned over and her smallish, firm breasts exposed. Betty shocked the flogger before her victim. Whistler was still smarting from he stripes on her back. She tried to arch her back away from the wooden bench beneath her without much success. "Please, Mistress," Whistler begged. "My breasts are so tender." It was Whistler's time of the month and she was doubly sensitive. Sometimes a girl would be administered a chemical to induce lactation---an additional abuse. The humiliation of having another woman use her in such a manner nauseated Whistler. Betty smiled. She began a frottage, caressing Whistler's mammary to bring her to a wicked arousal. From the base of her teats feminine fingertips probed the arteries, veins, mesentery, adipose, milk ducts, and milk sacs. Whistler was becoming sexually excited with the circular manipulation. Betty rubbed Whistler's areolas, watching them pucker, firm, and change in hue from umber through sienna to a ruddy ochre, flushed with sanguine arousal. Betty's soft, smooth lips osculated sensually and tenderly on Whistler's nipples. Whisper purred as she felt the comforting kisses and stroking. Then suddenly, without warning, Betty struck across Whistler's bare chest. In flannel restraints, Whistler clenched her fists and felt her sphincters contract. She writhed and twisted in pain. She was unable to cry out, so startling was her experience. The pain was real, the whelps were real, but it was all induced artificially. The VR helmet intensified the physical suffering and presented vivid graphic images. The images showed bloody stripes and tumescent swelling. In reality there was only mild redness and little distention. After warm water wash, Whistler would be ready for her next client. The last part of Betty's adventure was the switch. Betty loved to switch another woman's tender, personal areas. The insult of being treated as a misbehaving child was intensified by Betty's insistence that Whistler beg for each stroke and thank her for the discipline. Betty loved to aim for the tender inner thighs, which were widely parted and held in place by flannel restraints.