Author: Dr. Gamble Title: My Time On The Island Summary: The third story in the series is that of another woman who finds herself imprisoned on the island. She has similar experiences as the narrator of the first story and at one point they meet for a short time. Keywords: M+F nc rape Mdom bd sad violent tort lac This story is of an adults only nature, please do not continue reading if you are not of age to do so. This story is a part of a collection of related fantasies which deal with rape and violent torture of a non-consenting nature. The content of these stories is entirely based on fantasy and not to be confused with reality or construed as an endorsement of the activities depicted. While some of these stories contain characters who are subjected to various situations including slavery, abuse, and an assortment of other unspeakable acts against nature, remember that both the victims and perpetrators are characters and not real people. MY TIME ON THE ISLAND To this day I can still vividly remember every single damned minute of my four months on that island. While I definitely wasn't among the innocents who passed though that place, there was no way I could've been prepared for what happened to me there. I was a well proportioned, attractive young woman when I left what I suppose most would call home. My mother spent more and more time drunk and my dad, well he could have been any one of several men she hung around with at the tavern where she worked. As a teen I began to spend more time in that tavern, since we lived in an apartment above it, and early on began to learn what my pretty young body could do to men and how I could get nice things from them all for just a few minutes of carnal effort. To this day it still amazes me how easy it was to get those big rough guys to fight with each other just to earn a few minutes of attention from my little pussy. Actually what I really learned while I was there was how to run the tavern business. I was soon doing the ordering, bookkeeping, making the daily deposits, and doing the taxes besides cleaning and maintaining the operation. Unfortunately one night when I was about eighteen, mom caught me maintaining one of her good ol' boyfriends and after an intense encounter I ended up leaving there for good. I never saw the place again but the assorted skills I had learned while working at that bar allowed me a pretty decent living for many years. I did a lot of work on my back during that time, carefully saving my money with the hope of opening my own entertainment club. I wanted a place where a male customer could feel comfortable and which would provide a safe and fair refuge for young working girls like myself, maybe allowing them opportunities to make a little extra money on their own. Then I met Jack and my plans quickly changed. Jack became my manager, my pimp. He introduced me to drugs. He also treated me like shit, took all my money and kept me dependent on him in order to stay alive. I'm still not sure how I ended up like that but eventually the only way I could stay ahead was to steal a little free lance work on the side, at least until the night that Jack caught up with me. That was one ugly night. He beat me, raped me, and because he decided I wasn't submissive enough to him and he already had all my money and property, he sent me away to be "reconditioned" as he called it. I know he had sent some of his other girls to a place where they were put through all sorts of sexual torture when "they got out of line," as he would say. They weren't the same person when they came back. All I remember was laying on my bed after he had finished with me and Jack making a couple of phone calls. Within about ten minutes there were these two goons standing over me. One of them had a needle and the other was carrying a body bag and as soon as the one gave me an injection the other was stuffing me in the bag. When I woke up I was in a small holding cell in the slave quarters on that little island somewhere out in the Caribbean. The slave quarters was located in an older small T-shaped barracks structure which contained several cells where the women prisoners were held while we were receiving their dehumanization "treatment". It also had a chamber which was used for various unbelievably grotesque activities with which I became very familiar while incarcerated there. Along with that was a kitchen, a communal shower, and the living quarters for the guard. The guard was a huge ugly guy, at least seven feet tall and weighing well over 300 pounds, who used to regularly take the prisoners to his bedroom to provide him with entertainment and to "persuade" them into being more submissive. He usually tied his victims up, gagged them, and then used various instruments which he kept on the walls of his room to torture them before finally fucking them and then falling asleep. One of his favorite devices was a small cattle prod device which he usually wore in a holster on his belt. He would use this thing on his victim both externally and internally, but his usual approach was to ram it into her vagina. The other way he seemed to particularly enjoy this thing was to drive it into your rectum while he was fucking you and then powering it in time with every stroke of his oversized cock. While the guard was a bit kinky, he was nothing compared to the Nazi faggot whom they called the doctor. This German didn't just hate women but had become somehow dedicated to the complete subjugation of the female gender. To accomplish his agenda he had set up an experimental lab where he was allowed to carry out various torturous activities on selected female slaves while they were being held on the island. Actually, I'm pretty certain he wasn't any sort of real doctor since his lab projects seemed solely devoted to the debasement of a woman's sexual being into one of sadistic recreation and the production of saleable products. The fact that he called his place the dairy and we prisoners were the livestock kind of gives you the idea of what he was about. The one positive thing about him, since he thought of us women as animals rather than people, was that he really didn't care about the rule of silence. It seemed that the one thing our captors were most concerned about was controlling our ability to talk with one another. Isolation meant easier control and insured subservience with less chance that us prisoners would be able to organize any form of resistance. While he didn't seem to care about us talking, the other males on the island, particularly the guard, enforced the rule of silence with a vengeance. The German's dairy idea had apparently grown out of some drug experiments he had been performing on the female prisoners in order to enlarge their breasts since even a temporary enhancement would bring higher prices for the ones they would sell. The stuff he was using was primarily derived from a synthetic prolactin hormone and combined with something called BGH used for dairy cattle in order to boost milk production. While he never really succeeded in increasing breast size, between the cattle hormones and the other chemicals he was using, he managed to be able to trigger one's breasts into temporarily expressing milk. Since that kind of chemical stimulation wasn't remotely natural it turned out that it was also rather short lived. In order to maintain ongoing milk production, one would have to be subjected to massive daily doses of his synthetic hormone serum which besides stimulating your mammary glands had the definite side effects of making you real tired all the time, unbelievably thirsty, and it temporarily interrupted your menstrual cycle. Then eventually, after a month or two, you would start getting these horrible cramps, your glands would just give out and you would dry up. Once that happened you wouldn't be able to produce again for at least another couple months so they would either send you back to your pimp as "reconditioned" or just sell you off and use another slave. Since the German had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of young women to experiment on, he began to force two or three of us at a time to produce milk which he would then market to his perverted customers. In order to facilitate his little dairy operation, he built three tables on which he would strap his female victims with her breasts passing though two holes cut in the table top. You were then milked with a small milking machine which I believe had been originally designed for goats but which was modified with human breast shaped suction cups. All things considered, the milking process was at least a comparatively pleasant experience. I mean it at least relieved the soreness in your breasts caused by the daily hormone treatments and compared to all the other things they did to you on that island, it produced a rather relaxing sensation throughout your body. I know that I was able to produce at least a quart of milk a day and I think the other women must have been about the same. With that much product available to him, it didn't take his twisted mind very long to figure out other uses for our personal yields. The first thing he did was to start producing butter. In order to do this he first began adjusting the quantity of the hormone injections to boost ones's volume of milk output so that he would have enough to work with. Then he set out to figure a way to have us women churn it for him. His twisted solution was a steel cylinder which was shaped kind of like a large dildo, about two inches in diameter and around eight inches long. You always knew if you were going to be doing churning duty because before they would hook you up to the milking table you would first get an enema to clean you out. Then you would be strapped to the milking table except that instead of your legs being together like when you were milked, they would be moved to two other hooks spread wide apart so that your cunt was wide open and easily accessible for their little perversions. Once they figured you were secured enough, the cylinder thing would be filled with cream, coated with some sort of glue substance, forced up into your vagina and then chilled to promote the butterfat to coagulate into butter inside the cylinder. Of course he also expected you to supply the churning motion which he facilitated by sending electric shocks through the dildo device and through two electrodes which he would clip on to the lips of your pussy. The result was that the shocks you were getting would violently contract your reproductive muscles, alternately clamping and relaxing on the cylinder device, creating the motion which would in turn churn the butter inside. While the size of the thing wasn't any bigger than the giant guard's or any number of cocks I've handled before, the repeated shocks burned like hell as they tore at your flesh and the muscle cramping just plain wore you out. Fortunately the chilling of the cylinder had a sort of numbing effect and after a few minutes your whole lower tummy would become deadened even though the spasms would still continue in time to the electric pulses. However, this numbness quickly wore off after the churn was removed and then you would be pretty tender down there for a few days, or until it was time to churn some more butter. Well anyway, when I arrived on the island they had just "retired" one of the women in the dairy operation and I guess since they liked my tits or I had been marked as a "bad girl," I was assigned to the German. He was just then getting involved in building a new laboratory and dairy so we were to be located in a temporary storage area while they completed their renovation and installed the new equipment. My first night there I met, or rather fucked, the big guard. The German had just finished giving me a really complete gynecological exam and I was pretty exhausted and just a bit sore. But it was just a quick bang and then he said he was tired and took me back to my quarters. I didn't get to experience his toy assortment until sometime later when he caught me talking to the prisoner in the cell next to mine. We had begun planning our escape but luckily he didn't figure that part out. Bellowing at me for talking, he dragged me out of my cell and took me to his room. Once there I was tied down, spread eagled on his bed. He used some kind of cotton cord on my wrists and ankles which he also used to tightly wrap around my breasts, obscenely bloating them, and then he ran it through my crotch, spreading open my vaginal lips. I managed to stay silent while he clipped clothes pins on my nipples but when he started shoving his finger into my cunt I made the mistake of screaming at him. Actually I called him "a shit." This really pissed him off so he put a big piece of adhesive tape over my mouth and proceeded to work me over with his little electric cattle prod. He burned my nipples, my clit, thighs and pussy, and then started to fuck me with the thing. Needless to say with my arms and legs securely tied down to his bed all I could do was squirm and cry but I was very careful not to make any more intelligible sounds. The prod's shock was both tingling and hot and it hurt like hell and every time he stuck the thing in me it discovered nerve endings I didn't even know I had. He worked me over, taking photographs of my agony until my extended thrashing and sobbing must have eventually satisfied him and so he pulled the thing out of me and replaced it with his engorged cock. I really didn't enjoy his penis rubbing against my freshly burned cervix but tried not to arouse him any more by actively resisting his rape of me. Maybe that was my mistake because he soon reached over and picked up his cattle prod device again and jabbed it clear up my ass. When he powered the thing it stung ten times worse than it had before. I started groaning and twisting in a vain effort to escape its pain when I noticed that the giant was grunting right along with me. He must have been getting secondary shocks through me with the only difference being that with my body blunting the force of the pulses, he seemed to be enjoying it and, of course, he was fully in control of it. Fucking me even harder with renewed enthusiasm he kept rhythmically powering his torture device stuffed into my rectum. Then with a series of howls he climaxed, finally letting go of the prod which he left in me while he filled my cunt with a huge wad of his stinking cum. After he finished he just fell asleep, still laying on top of me and leaving both his cock and that electric probe rammed up into my bottom. His penis shrunk back to its soft spongy size and I managed to push the prod out of my rectum before falling asleep beneath him while laying in the puddle of his cold jizz. The next morning he woke up, untied me and took me to the showers before walking me back to the dairy for my daily hormone treatment and milking and then to my day job in the kitchen. I had volunteered to work in the kitchen so that at least the food we were eating might be somewhat palatable. The German had us on this strange diet and while I'm certain it was nutritious enough, it tasted like crap. Besides, I figured my milk was only going to hold out for so long and then I'd need something going for me or I would find myself back at home getting beat up by Jack again or worse yet as some third world drug lord's disposable sex toy so I decided to make myself as useful as possible. After we arrived in the kitchen the guard left to go back to his apartment while I prepared lunch. One had to be especially careful working in the nude in the kitchen, especially when you were frying things. That also applied to being extra careful not to break anything on the floor because we weren't even allowed to wear sandals. The result was that we learned to be very clean cooks. While I was working, I noticed that he had left a ring of keys on the countertop. The keys included the one which fit our cells and the outside door. Knowing that I couldn't steal the key, it occurred to me that maybe I could make a copy of it. I had to think fast because I didn't know when he would return. The first thing I saw was a small piece of hard cheese, probably made from human milk. Taking the slice of cheese I quickly pressed the key into it, making a clear impression of its cut and then returned the keys to the counter top. Next I had to figure out what in that kitchen might be available that I could work into a key and decided on a plastic knife. There were many of them and they wouldn't be missed. Quickly I took the knife and cheese, carefully wrapped them up tight in a clean plastic bag and, there being no other place to hide them on me, real carefully stuffed them up into my vagina. Just as I finished, he returned. I was quite certain he hadn't noticed anything and calmly went about fixing lunch. Finally, after eating, he led me back to my cell and locked me in. The cell doors had deadbolt locks which required a key to unlock them from either side. I suppose it was just as important to keep the prisoners in the cells as to keep the island's guests out, but anyway it gave me a lock that I could test my plastic key on. I retrieved the cheese and knife and was relieved to find both them and myself still unharmed. Using the cheese as a guide, I spent that afternoon working the plastic knife using the sharp edges of my metal cot until at last that evening I finished it. Carefully sliding it into the lock in my door I slowly twisted it and could feel the cylinder turn in the lock. I had a key. The guard was off that night and the German hadn't been around for several days. I had overheard that he had gone off somewhere to secure some new torture equipment for his laboratory and wasn't expected back for at least a week. It seemed that night would have to be the night. I got word to the other women in the slave quarters that sometime after midnight we would make our break. At the time there were only three of us housed in the building and as I had figured, my key fit their cells just as well as it had worked in mine. It also fit the door which let us outside. We created some makeshift clothing for ourselves out of some towels and bed linens we found, took some food and water from the kitchen and headed for freedom. Our next problem, once out of the building, was to figure out where freedom was and how we could get there. In the moonlight we could see that the slave quarters building stood alone on one end of a relatively small island. We walked along the shoreline through the palm trees until we came to a small bay across which there was a dock and a small boat. Since we had placed our supplies in plastic trash bags before leaving the prison building, we went ahead and placed our wraps in the bags as well, sealed them and swam the short distance across the bay. Reaching the boat we quietly determined that no one was around it and that it appeared that there wasn't anyone in the warehouse buildings next to the dock. So deciding that it was safe, we climbed into the boat, found some oars, and quietly paddled out of the bay before starting the motor. Not knowing where we were, we really didn't know where to go. Then, deciding that since it was after midnight the moon would be setting in the west and since we knew we were in the Caribbean, we figured that would be the direction to head. Leaving the bay, we at first sailed north to get around the island but seeing lights beyond the hills on the shore, we turned to the south and went around that end, past the slave quarters we had just broken out of. All appeared dark there, encouraging us that our escape had as yet been undiscovered. It felt so good to be free. We didn't move too quickly because we were afraid of running into coral reefs which we suspected ran throughout these Caribbean island chains. Also, we didn't have much fuel and wanted to stretch it as far as possible. But as dawn began to break in the eastern sky, our boat finally did run out of gas. Just ahead of us was a small island and so we started to paddle toward it. I was just our luck that when we were within only a few yards from shore a single engine seaplane flew over us. We knew we had been spotted because the plane turned and flew around us for awhile before landing next to the island we had just reached. The island was really just a small strip of sand with a few palms on it and there was no real place to hide so we just stood in the open and watched the plane land. It taxied up to the beach and stopped and who should step out of the plane but the German. It seemed that he had received a radio report of our escape as he was returning to the island to set up his new equipment and seeing the boat he had decided to land to investigate. We were quickly led by gunpoint into the plane and flown back to the island and then back to the slave quarters. The big guard wasn't particularly pleased to see us again since no one had ever broken out of his jail before and he was now the subject of considerable ridicule from the other males on the island. Fortunately for us, compared to all the things that could have happened to us at that point, the German made it clear to him that he still needed us for his dairy and that the guard couldn't abuse us in any way that would affect production. What this really meant was that we would only be subjected to regular and frequent raping by the guard which he was only too willing to carry out. Since it was pretty clear to them that I was the ringleader of the escape, the other two women being much too young and obedient, I was subjected to a number of other punishments by both the German and the guard. The little plastic I.D. collar that had been put around my neck when I had first arrived on the island was replaced with a heavy black leather one and for about the first week or so, both my arms and legs were permanently placed in shackles. The guard also decided he would experiment on my genitals with hot glue and candle wax between his now violent rape sessions but the real "fun" the German reserved for himself. He told me that I was lucky that I hadn't tried to escape while someone he called "the chief" was around. Apparently he had been away for some time but was expected back within the next few weeks to take over the entire white slave operation, including the dairy. I came to find out that the German and the chief were more than just friends but had been lovers for several years and between the two of them had been responsible for this entire slave operation. "You know the chief would've shot the three of you through the head when he caught up with you," he added. "Or maybe he would have used his little trademark." Apparently he had murdered several people, men and women, by using a sawed off shotgun in their crotch. I wasn't particularly interested in the details although the German was delighted to tell me about them. My punishment was mostly composed of longer and more strenuous milking and churning sessions. For example, following the escape attempt, I ended up doing all the churning for several weeks for considerably extended lengths of time. In addition, the German took the opportunity to do some experimentation on me with the hormone serums. First he tried remixing the formula to attempt to boost dairy volume. For these experiments I found myself in the dairy twice a day, morning and afternoons, doing double milking sessions. Then he began a series of hormone experiments to obtain increased butterfat. He started closely monitoring my physical responses throughout these sessions so that he could track just exactly how much torture he was putting me through. This included measuring and weighing all my food and water going in along with all my personal waste coming out the other end. When I was in his lab, he taped electrode things to me so that he could read my blood pressure, respiration and heart beat, and the probe he stuck up my ass was supposed to record my temperature. They really didn't bother me too much but I think his biggest discovery came the day that he left me hooked up to the monitors while I was doing the churning. With just the first couple of jolts from his churn device, I managed to blow out his whole damn monitoring setup and he was a lot more careful to disconnect me from then on. While I survived his stepped up dairy routine better than his more valuable and delicate electronic equipment, all of the injections he was giving me left me pretty groggy most of the time and very sore throughout my chest which was being profoundly stimulated to lactate as well as in my butt from all the needle pricks and enemas. While still in chains, I know that I managed to give him a few good kicks while he was spreading my legs apart on the table for the churning sessions. I would have one loose leg from the time he untied it until he could get it stretched out and tied down again. That was when I could jerk my leg out of his hand and try to whack him in the face. Perhaps that was what inspired him to decide to try something new by beginning to work on his plan to expand his slave produced dairy product line by using me to make his cheese. His first step in the cheese making process was to place me in a tall chair with my feet chained to the back legs, spreading my own legs wide apart and efficiently exposing my sexual organs to him. He then took a rubber bladder with two hoses sticking out of it and with a strange looking metal tool started pushing the thing up into my vagina. It wasn't so bad until he reached my cervix and it felt like he was trying to force the thing all the way up into my uterus. The discomfort was more than I could bear and I started screaming which only seemed to encourage him to continue further until he was confident it was all the way in. He then took a pump device and large pan of milk off a hot plate on the counter and set it on the floor in front of me. "Its yours," he said. "A whole liter worth." Pouring a small amount of what he called starter into the milk, he dropped a hose from the pump into the bucket, hooked the large hose coming out of me to the pump and switched it on. The milk must have been close to body temperature because I couldn't feel it as it started to flow through the tube. That didn't last long because very soon I could feel the pressure of the growing bladder expanding inside me. At first it was frightening but soon the growing pressure became steadily more painful as I watched him force my tummy to bloat larger and larger as the pressure filled the bladder. He laughed at me as I began to grow hysterical. "Don't worry, you can take it," he said. "I've done this lots of times before. Used to use these things for making butter." Just as I was preparing to blackout, the bucket went dry. I was holding a full liter of my own milk. The German then looked at me and then said, "Hold on. We gotta keep it stirred." With that he hit a switch and the chair began to shake, agitating my abdomen and the bladder inside me. This must have gone on for several minutes. I know I peed on that chair and felt like I was about to take a dump when he stepped in front of me with a large syringe. Picking up the little hose he injected the contents into the bladder. "Rennet," he said, "makes the cheese curds." This time I had to endure the shaking for at least a half hour while I could feel the mixture inside me coagulating into curds and bumping against the stretched skin of the bladder. Eventually he stopped the chair and pump and then drained the whey out of the bladder into the bucket, thankfully reducing its size within me. While I was still incredibly sore, it was such a relief to watch him as he pulled the bladder containing the curds out of my racked body. Opening the bladder he tasted one and remarked that it was pretty good, soft and squeaky like they were supposed to be. I declined the opportunity to sample one so he put them in the refrigerator, unhooked me from my chair and took me back to my cell. The next couple of days were relatively uneventful, just the normal dairy sessions, although I could tell that my milk was beginning to run out. I was getting these incredible cramps every time I would get my injections and I noticed that my milk was getting thinner and that I just wasn't producing as much volume. The German knew what was happening too and he started talking to the other males about finding a place to send me. It seemed that Jack didn't want me back. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised since he already had everything I owned. But before I was to be sent away he had one more project for me to do. One morning, following my regular milking and churning session, the German left me strapped to the milking table still spread wide open. He left the room for a short time and then returned with a strange looking tank device with a long lever arm attached to it. He inquired if I liked ice cream but since I knew better than to respond he continued to tell me that he loved the stuff and that I was going to help him make some. He explained that the device was an ice cream maker that he had built and that instead of a using a crank, he was going to have me supply the power using the lever sticking out of the top of the unit. He then picked up what appeared to be a small leather bicycle seat with two shiny metal shafts protruding from it and placing it against my bottom he slowly guided one of them into my asshole and then the other larger one up into my cunt until I could feel the saddle firmly against my pussy. Running a small strap around my waist he secured the thing in place and then he hooked it up to the lever. He took the power box that they used to generate the electric shocks for butter churning and hooked one wire to the saddle and the other to a small rectangular wet pad. He taped the pad to my stomach and pressed the push button on the box. I screamed as the first shock ran through my lower body between the pad and the metal shafts inside me causing a sudden reflexive wrench of my waist. He stopped and moved the pad a bit lower and pressed the button again. This time the spasm caused by the electrical pulse was even harder. Still not satisfied, he moved the patch once more to right above the point where the crack to my pussy begins and as he hit the switch I screeched from the severe jerk that this latest shock caused as it tore though my lower body. All things considered it wasn't really more painful than the butter churn pulses but it seemed to hit a whole different set of muscles and kind of felt like someone was either cutting me open with a jagged knife or punching me in the gut. The German laughed as he left the room and returned a little while later with a bucket of ice, a bag of salt and a pitcher of his ice cream mix. These he added to the tank and then reached down to the box and hit the switch. The familiar electrical pulse feeling coursed through my abdomen, rhythmically flexing my torso at the waist and then allowing it to relax just before hitting it again. Although it felt like it was going to make me throw up I had resolved not to. I don't know why but I figured that if I didn't throw up it would somehow prove to me that I still had some strength and dignity left and would prove to him that he hadn't broken me. At first there wasn't much hindrance to my movement, but as time went on, the saddle began to offer more and more resistance as the ice cream mix thickened in the tank. Whenever the German would notice that my periodic spasms were weakening, he would reach down and twist a little more on the dial on the power box increasing the intensity of the electrical pulses flowing into the shafts which were still securely driven into me. Eventually he had the thing turned up as high as it would go and each strike was not only violently wrenching every muscle in my abdomen but the metal shafts were brutally distending the openings of my rectum and vagina to the point where it felt like they were about to tear me open. It didn't take too long before I finally passed out. When I awoke, The saddle was gone as was the rest of the ice cream machine and the German was working at his bench cleaning up. I hadn't thrown up. I won. He unhooked me from the table and while I could barely walk, led me to the showers. Now the showers were the only good thing on the entire damn island. The shower room was a small tiled chamber with a floor drain and two nozzles. It was the one place you could be alone and where you could just enjoy the warmth of the water for several minutes as it washed away all the residue and vivid memories of your ugly ordeals in that ghastly place. For some reason, the males had an extensive supply of shampoos, conditioners, soaps, cosmetics and most anything else you could think of there and we were free to use any of it. The place felt so luxurious, and so out of place. Eventually he returned with a couple dry towels and once I dried off led me back to my cell. On the way back he told me that he was done with me. They were going to begin to tear apart the dairy that night to renovate it and install the new equipment. I stayed in my cell for the next few days and was pretty much left alone until one evening I finally met the boss for myself. He showed up with the guard and took me from my cell to another larger cell for my transfer off the island. On the way the boss told me that I'd been sold to some African prince. He said they found this guy special just for me and that I was sure to like him. The prince was the dictator of a small African country who had a reputation for doing some real perverse things with his female captives. Like for instance, he would entertain himself by taking one of them, tie her down, paint her pussy with animal scent and let large animals have sex with her. He preferred lions and gorillas but used any number of native animals. He also was fascinated with expanding Styrofoam and once he grew tired of his surviving captives, would fill their sex organs with foam until they hemorrhaged or literally came apart. Then he would eat them. With this great news he pushed me into the cell. It contained six mats on the floor, four of which were occupied by other women. Two of them were my co-conspirators and the other two were women I had never seen before. They were from South America somewhere and one of them spoke English. We sort of stared at each other for a while and slowly and quietly became acquainted. And then I got to meet my replacement. The lights had been out for a while when I heard keys and then the door swung open. A young blond was pushed into the room and the door slammed behind her. She kind of looked around the cell and seemed really lost so I told her to sit down. She found the empty mat and sat down facing me then asked where she was. Well if she didn't know, I wasn't going to tell her, me with my horrible contaminated body looking at that poor young girl about to face unspeakable indignities, so she just sat there trying to figure out what was going on. She was really a pretty little kid, couldn't have been much older than sixteen, and my stomach turned just thinking what was probably going to happen to her. I don't think she had any idea what she had gotten herself into. Then I noticed her looking at the bruises on my wrists and ankles from the milking table straps and so I figured that I had to tell her at least something about the place when we heard voices in the hallway outside. From what they were saying, there had apparently been some mistake and since we five women were already sold, this innocent little adolescent they had stuck in our cell was going to be given the hormone treatments and put on the milking machine. I suppose it bought her some time before being sold but there was no way she was ready for that. They were going to kill her for sure. The giant and this other guy opened the door, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out. I really don't know why I decided to do what I did next but something inside me told me that I had to tell her something, to warn her somehow. I knew that big son of a bitch guard would be all over me if I said anything but I figured what the hell, if I stalled the guard she might at least get through the night without getting raped. Besides, at that point I pretty well knew that I'd be dead within a couple of days anyhow and anything they could possibly do to me now wouldn't really matter anyway. I leaned over toward the door and shouted to her the first thing that came to my mind which was something like not to let those sons of bitches get to her. Well I don't know if she understood me or not and no sooner did the words get out of my mouth than that big asshole was right there by the door. He reached in the cell and grabbed me, jamming his cattle prod right into my cunt and let it fire. The first hit really hurt and the second one completely knocked me out. When I woke up I was on a plane, strapped to an airplane seat. Someone had put a white bathrobe on me and I was no longer wearing the leather collar I had been given. We were in the air for several hours when I noticed that we were no longer over water and the plane was beginning to descend toward what appeared to be a jungle. Just then there was an explosion and the plane shuttered. We had been hit by gunfire. The pilot made a quick circle and set the plane down in a small grass clearing. He shut the engines off, opened the door and ran from the plane into the forest. Very soon he returned, being led by gunpoint back into the clearing. Apparently the prince didn't have a lot of friends in this part of the jungle. The soldiers shot the pilot after screaming at him for a while, I suppose looking for information, and then started unloading the supplies in the airplane. That's when they found me. Of course I thought they were going to gang rape and then kill me but instead they were extremely polite and took me back with them to their village. There I found out that they were revolutionaries bent on overthrowing the prince and actually felt very sorry for me. I wasn't the first female captive they had liberated from the prince, apparently many of their own wives and daughters had already suffered from his grotesque perverted diversions. They ended up taking me to another larger village where there was a convent of nuns and I ended up staying with them. At first I felt very strange, I mean I was this hooker living in a convent. But I came to know these women as a very kind, forgiving, and compassionate family where I actually began to feel peaceful and part of human race again. I even found out that I wasn't the only one in the convent who had "done it all" before coming there, although I think I was the only one with former professional status. Well to make a long story short, I'm living and working with them now, teaching in the village. I guess I always wanted a life of service and somehow this one seems so much more fulfilling than working in a tavern. I've even made up with my mom. She still can't figure out how or why I ended up deciding to live my life in a convent but I tell her that I haven't really changed, I just think of giving of myself in a little different way now.