Author: Dr. Gamble Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Summary: The lab is torched by a young woman who is sent to the island but who isn't reformed by it. She experiences many of the doctor's depraved sexual experiments before being sold off and eventually meets the woman from the first story in the series. Keywords: M+F nc rape Mdom bd violent tort oral enem lac 1st slow snuff 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. HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER VACATION The summer was over and as I stood in the back of the boat, watching the shimmering flames break through the roof of that dreadful building, I reveled in the overwhelming realization that my work was finally completed. I had secured my revenge and had even found a few of the lab reports and photos which had been placed in my file while I had served my time there. Souvenirs. I don't know why I kept them. I guess it was to prove that the deranged things that had happened at that place really had happened. My companions were sickened when I told them of my experiences, all the while haltingly searching for words to describe those things which were almost undescribable, and they were even more appalled once they had actually seen it for themselves. How could it have happened? How could such places ever come to exist? But even now as the place was being eradicated from the face of the earth, I stood there, numbed with horror, looking at the photographs which brought back that most horrifying, unbelievable, nightmarish experience through which I have ever lived as if it were somehow happening all over again. That summer had dragged by with painful lethargy. My father, the bank president, decided that I just had to earn some of the money it was costing him to send me to college. So he decided I would need to find a summer job and consequently he created one for me at one of his branches close to home. I became a teller. It wasn't a demanding job but it proved to be tedious whenever some of our more eccentric but "treasured" customers decided to pay us a visit. Otherwise it was just routine: dealing with customers, counting money, balancing out at the end of the day, eight-thirty to five, mundane, boring. All this routine changed the Friday that we had the holdup. Three men dressed in black with ski masks on their faces burst into the bank just a few minutes before closing. The bank's single day time security guard had called in sick that day and there were only two customers in the lobby. We were all told to move against the back wall behind our stations and lay face down on the floor. Without offering any resistance whatsoever we all did as we were told and the men didn't bother any of us. The thieves then efficiently ran through the cash drawers and seemed to know where to find everything else they were after. As luck would have it, the night watchman, an older man who I always thought was a little wacky, picked this one day to come to work a half hour early. Apparently seeing the robbers in action he pulled his gun as he came through the back door, but to their credit, they didn't shoot him. Instead they decided that they might need a hostage in order to make a clean escape out of the area. That's when I became their captive. They had really just grabbed the closest person to the front door, which just happened to be me, and using me as a shield, they maneuvered around the guard and worked their way out the door to a waiting van. I was blindfolded as soon as they put me in the van but not before I noticed that there was a fourth gang member who was working as the driver and who was also masked. Everything apparently was going to plan and they were about to release me on a street corner when there was some sort of traffic difficulty. The van swerved sharply to miss hitting some car and in the process I tumbled across the floor, loosening my blindfold. I got a good look at all of them and quickly recognized one as our own bank security guard who, along with the others, had already removed his mask. Since I could now identify them, my situation changed dramatically. An argument quickly ensued about what to do with me and while I won't go into all the options, which included outright murder, it was decided that I should be dropped at somewhere called "Ed's". Well, my blindfold was restored and we drove for about another fifteen to twenty minutes on freeways and in city traffic before we finally stopped. Not being able to see, I couldn't really tell where we were going but could sense that we had left the van and walked across a length of pavement to a door where I was led down a series of hallways and stairways to a small room. There I was hit over the head and knocked out. When I reawakened my blindfold had been removed and I found myself in what appeared to be a very seedy, run down hotel room. I don't really know how long I had been out but my head still really hurt a lot where I had been clubbed. The room had no windows and the door was locked from the outside but from time to time I could hear voices, male and female, either in the hallway beyond the door or in adjacent rooms. It must have been several hours before I had a visitor. The door opened quite suddenly and I looked up to see two men standing there, scrutinizing me. The man holding the key appeared to be sixty or seventy years old, balding, and had a limp. The other looked more middle aged, rather rugged in appearance with a large black mustache and possessing a truly frightening stare. I came to know him quite well as the one called "the boss". It seemed that shortly after dropping me off the robbers became involved in a car chase with the police which ultimately ended in a fiery collision with a fuel truck. The van wasn't just burned, it had been melted, and all the robbers were incinerated with it. Since I was believed to still be in that van, everyone thought I too was now dead. This second man started speaking just as he began his inspection of me. "You can just forget about that little defiant pouty look. It ain't going to do you any good where you're going." He added that just his being there was proof of my hopelessly dismal situation and then he got right to the point. I was now his property. He owned me. And the sooner I understood this fact the better. The first thing and the only thing I had to remember from now on was that as long as I belonged to him, I was never to talk, again. If he caught any of "his girls" talking, the consequences would be severe. After he finished this short orientation his inspection of me quickly became more personal. Now while I wasn't exactly all that pure, I had never been handled like that by anyone, much less a man I had never met before. It terrified me. Standing in front of him, I bit my lip to keep from screaming as he lifted my skirt and jammed his hand into my panties. Grabbing my pubis mound he roughly split it open with his finger while he continued to probe my femininity. Eventually concluding a rather complete examination, he slowly drew his hand back out again. "Yep. Yer a girl all right," he concluded, almost chuckling to himself. "Never can be too sure now days." His breath smelled like he had been drinking, the prospect of which frightened me even more. He then pulled open my blouse, popping one of the buttons, and began massaging my breasts through my bra. "Not too bad for a girl yer size. They're real enough. You'll make my buddy real happy with those." Frozen with fear I tolerated his assault. Somehow I couldn't even imagine this maniac having a "buddy" and I really had no desire to meet him much less make him "happy". Finally he seemed satisfied that I was "real enough" and leaving me standing alone in the room, he left. He told me to wait for him and that he would be right back. Wishing to myself that I might have somewhere else to go and afraid even to sit down, I stood there for about a half hour until eventually he did return. This time he was carrying a small black bag from which he pulled out a needle and a small bottle of some sort of medication. The needle was at least packed in a sterile envelope but I couldn't tell what the stuff was that he was putting into it. "Turn around," he ordered as he grabbed my shoulder and pushed me against the wall. Again I could feel him lifting my skirt and tugging on my panty briefs, this time pulling them down far enough to expose my rear cheeks to him. Quickly the sting of the needle penetrating into the fold of my butt followed, and I was soon unconscious. I remember feeling very rested and at ease as I slowly reawakened and wasn't at all disturbed to find myself lying on a small cot in a totally unfamiliar room. My mind still half asleep, I spent several minutes contemplating the strangeness of my surroundings before it eventually dawned on me that I was stark naked. This fact woke me up. Actually I was wearing one thing, a white plastic collar had been fastened around my neck. It was kind of tight and pretty uncomfortable. There was no way I could loosen it and no way that I could figure how to get the thing off. I had also been bathed, or rather cleaned, like everywhere, and my fingernails and toenails had been cut very short. Sitting up I began to survey my small cell. The cot lacked sheets, blankets or a pillow and felt like a slab of foam rubber. The mattress was covered with a plain cotton bag and that not only comprised the bed dressing I was allowed but was the extent of the room decor as well. The room itself was about four feet wide and eight or nine feet long, containing the bare cot I was sitting on, a toilet and a small sink. It all looked newly built. The walls were made of concrete block, painted white, and the room was lit with a single fluorescent fixture on the ceiling for which there was no light switch. There was also a small black box in the corner of the ceiling which appeared to be a security camera. The only break in the walls was the very solid looking door opposite the bed I was sitting on. I began to appraise my situation. First, the fact that I was still alive meant that they weren't just going to kill me. They were probably just going to fuck me and I figured I could deal with that if I had to, providing they didn't hurt me. Judging from my surroundings, someone had put some thought into my confinement and this, I surmised, had to mean that I must be worth something to them alive and in good health. I had of course heard stories of things that happened to young women who were held captive and the various sexual tortures they were forced to endure, especially when they tried to resist their captors. Pondering all these things it didn't take me long to resolve that since it would be in my best interests to cooperate with them, whatever they made me do, that I would do whatever I had to do in order to survive the place. I sat there for what must have been several hours, hungry and intensely thirsty, but feeling strangely too incapable to do anything about it. It was very quiet and as time went by I began to uncontrollably shiver, not from the cold, because it wasn't particularly cold, but from the growing apprehension of what was likely to occur to me in that place. This deepening stress caused me to scream in surprise when I finally heard the door unlocking. Crossing my legs and covering my breasts as best I could with my arms, I waited for it to open. I didn't have to wait long. Appearing in the doorway, this time wearing a blue jumpsuit, was my captor, the boss, the same man that had earlier given me the injection. He stood there and laughed at my attempt at modesty and either didn't hear my scream or just didn't care as long as I wasn't talking. He was carrying an exercise machine which he set next to the bed telling me that the way I looked I probably wouldn't have to worry about it for a while, then he congratulated me on passing my physical with flying colors. Apparently while I was still unconscious I had been given a complete pelvic and physical examination. Then he informed me that they were looking for a buyer for me but he had to be just the right one. I was simply too hot a property to be sold to just anybody. Between the bank robbery, being the bank president's daughter, and the fiery crash, I had become something of a celebrity in the media. Taking me by the arm, he lifted me off the cot and led me into the hallway. There he told me that I would be expected to begin work the next day in order to pay for my room and board while I was in his place. However, in the meantime, I would be entertaining one of his regular clients who happened to be visiting the slave quarters and wanted to sample some of the new "stock". Then, if I was very good, he would let me have some dinner. There were several doors, apparently each to a cell like the one I had just been in, and he led me past them to the end of the hall where I was led into a somewhat larger chamber. In place of the plain painted walls, this cell had been decorated with a double bed with red satin sheets and pillows, light fixtures, a fully equipped bar, a VCR and television, and mirrors. There were mirrors on all the walls and even the ceiling. It was shocking seeing myself nude with this ugly, horrible male and he began to laugh from my reaction. Sitting me on the bed he said, "You behave yerself," and then turned and left after dimming the lights down to a low level. Sitting on that bed, staring at my naked image in the mirrored walls, the extent of my pathetic circumstances finally began to sink in. I had always been very careful about how I looked and I knew that guys found me attractive but now it seemed as if my sexuality was somehow a burden. Why couldn't I have been born more plain? These monsters probably would have left me alone then. I began to think about those unpopular girls in high school, the ones we would make fun of because the boys didn't pay any attention to them. Only now I realized just how lucky they really were. In the mirror I could see that the collar I was wearing had a number on it: GJC-E-12. I had actually been reduced to a number, a piece of inventory. Feeling like I was just about to burst into tears, my little session of self pity was suddenly interrupted by the door opening and a large middle age man entering the room. Instinctively I covered myself, pressing my legs tightly together and covering my breasts with my hands. The man was well dressed and dark in complexion and mood. He appeared to be about fifty or so and probably weighed around two hundred pounds. Looking at me he grunted what I supposed was his approval. Taking the video tape he had in his hand, he slid it into the VCR and then as the tape began to play he turned to the bar and poured himself a glass of some kind of whisky. This he swallowed in one gulp and then poured himself another, adding a little ice. Then sitting next to me on the bed, he began to watch the television. The video tape was some poorly made German movie about this young woman who had apparently been captured and was being put through various sexual tortures by a bunch of Nazi thugs. Sitting next to him I watched him as he became more interested in the movie's repulsively vulgar action. Figuring that he might just decide to act out the movie's violence on me I decided that I had better cooperate with him and that I had better appear willing to please his desires no matter how grotesque they might end up being. So when he placed his hand on my leg, I slowly spread open my thighs, exposing my sexual intimacy to him. Without taking his eyes off the television it didn't take him very long to exploit his newly available access to my privacy. His hand slowly and crudely stroked my inner thigh and soon he moved up to rubbing my pubis. I could feel his middle finger dividing my lips and swiftly ferreting out the entrance to my vagina. I squealed a little as his dry finger penetrated the opening and worked its way up inside of me. Why is it that men seem to get off sexually by being physically violent with women? Anyway, my pained reaction to his continued rough exploration of my intimate sexual being as his dry fingers tore at my tender skin must have somehow stimulated him and I could feel him moving closer to me. Glancing up at the mirror on the opposite wall I suddenly felt nauseous. There in the dim light was this deviantly repulsive male intently examining my sexual organs, digging into my vagina with one hand, unbuttoning his shirt with the other, exposing his hairy body. I sat there, frozen, as if the scene I was watching was taken from some kind of perverted movie with my own naked person somehow in it. My nightmare was interrupted as the male abruptly pulled his fingers out of me and stood up. He clicked off the television, ejected the tape and then turned around and looking down at me sitting in front of him, dropped his trousers exposing himself right in front of my face. "Stroke it!" he bellowed. I reached up and began to gently massage the soft tube of flesh which somehow seemed to originate right out of the man's lower body. It was actually much smaller than I expected it would be, looking like a soft deep pink hose hanging out of a forest of hair and attached to his leathery testicles which were dangling beneath it. At first it was very spongy and pliable but within just a few seconds it sort of came alive and I could feel it tense and lengthen in my hand, stiffening so that it pointed straight out from his crotch. He let out a low groan while I continued to gently work it, and the thing continued to swell and become even more rigid until it stretched to several times its original length and expanded in circumference until I could just barely fit my hand around it. I kept sliding my fingers along the shaft, working the tight surface skin as it slithered over its tense hardened interior, until it stopped growing and began to pulse in time with the man's heartbeat. The only part that remained soft was the deep pink dome shaped head which was apparently quite sensitive, particularly along the overhanging rim where it connected with the now rigid darker tube of flesh, causing the man to close his eyes whenever I touched it. I was beginning to become fascinated by how it could have changed so rapidly when the sobering reality that I was about to have this thing shoved into my vagina just so that its load of jizz could be emptied into my body finally hit me. Abruptly he bellowed at me, "Suck it!" Staring down at that pillar of pink male flesh I was holding in my hand, the slit on its soft blunt crown already moist with anticipation, I hesitated. Looking back up at him he repeated louder, "Suck it bitch!" Realizing that I was quite literally in no position to argue, I leaned over, grasped the thing with both hands, and ran my tongue around and over its soft tip. The man moaned and shoved his rigid organ into my face so that by now the head of his penis was entirely inside my mouth. I wasn't particularly turned on by its salty, sweaty taste which could have come from a previous "conquest" but was more likely just the taste of urine. Anyway, I knew pretty much what to do with it as I began stroking it in and out of my mouth, licking its lower side with my tongue. This activity seemed to please him as he began to grunt in a regular rhythm, his gut banging into my head as I continued to satisfy his perverted desires. However, just as I began to feel nervous that he was going to come in my mouth, his two hands grabbed the back of my head and forced my face into his groin. Choking on the hardened shaft of flesh that was now lodged deep in my throat, I fought with him to catch my breath and to keep from gagging. Each time I would momentarily succeed in dislodging his member from my throat to catch a small breath of air, the male again plunged my mouth down on his hardened penis. I know that if I had anything in my stomach I would have lost it for sure but somehow I managed to maintain a semblance of composure until suddenly he stopped. Drawing his penis out of my mouth, he looked down at me and laughed, "Okay bitch. Enough with this. Let's fuck." I began to pull myself up on the bed so that I could lay on my back, figuring I had better get somewhat comfortable before he got on top of me, when he yelled, "Get off that bed, bitch. Yer the one that's goin' to be doing the fuckin'." I crawled off the bed as quickly as I could and he plopped onto it, laying on his back, his still erect penis sticking straight up. "Get up here before I lose this hard-on and you have to start all over." Now while I was no virgin, neither was I any kind of professional, but I was more or less familiar with the mechanics of the operation, and so I crawled back up on the bed. Then, straddling his legs I slowly lowered myself onto his expectantly waiting erection. Now I had only done this kind of thing twice before and both of those times I had been pretty drunk. It was also with someone who I had felt some attraction to and someone who I was pretty certain wouldn't mutilate me. That not being the case this time, I was both very nervous and very tense as I guided his rigid shaft to the opening of my vaginal canal. Then, taking a deep breath, I descended onto the wretched thing, forcing it up into me, infiltrating me with its denigrating presence, until I had finally accommodated its entire bulk. The fat sweaty male, now occupying my innermost being, moaned and then grunted, "Fuck me, bitch." I began stroking him with my vagina and the aching soreness from his sudden intrusion into my person eventually subsided. Kneeling on the bed, straddling his male form, I found that I could pretty easily slide his penis in and out of me by flexing my knees and waist while he laid there watching me, alternately laughing and groaning. Concentrating on keeping the rhythm of my movement constant and on keeping his appendage from falling out of me, I became oblivious to everything else until I looked down at myself and there on the back of my hand was a vein, throbbing in time with his grunting. It was as if he had somehow penetrated every part of me and it was just then, as that single palpitating vein filled me with revulsion, that I looked up and saw myself in the mirror at the top of the bed. There was my slender naked body working up and down on top of this fat male, impaled on his huge penis while it stretched open the split in my pubis, emerging and then disappearing again somewhere inside of me with each successive cycle. This vision must have caused me to make some kind of audible reaction because the male noticed me observing this vulgar exhibition and he reached up and grabbed and then began massaging my breasts which had been softly undulating with my rhythmical movement. I screamed when he started pinching my nipples and he soon stopped, not because of my screams but because he was apparently beginning to experience his orgasm. Letting go of my breasts, his hands slid down to my hips where their grip tightened on me. Lifting me up and then pressing me down into his groin faster and harder while he raised his own hips up to further strengthen each of the increasingly powerful drives of his engorged penis deep into my interior, he quickly took full control his rape of my helpless body. I could feel the head of his tense swollen penis as it pounded against my cervix with the violence of his successive jabs becoming more and more uncomfortable. Then suddenly he started to yell, "Yes! It's a good one! Its...." His voice trailed off to a moan as he gave me two final climactic thrusts, forcing my torso into his burning sex organ as it began to convulse with irregular spasms within me. Instantly I was treated with the sensation of hot semen spurting into my tortured vagina, erupting from his testicles which were forcefully pulsating with each burst, firmly pressed against the opening to my rectum. He finally stopped grunting and his entire body quickly went limp. Lying there, eyes closed, he laughed and gasped for breath while his cold male excretion oozed out of my birth canal around his rapidly shriveling spent sex tool. "Get off me, bitch," he growled, "and don't get any of your shit on me." I quickly complied, first by straightening myself and allowing his now rapidly softening penis to drop from me while being careful not to spill on him his load of sticky discharge which now seemed to permeate all my sexual organs, soaking my pubic hair. Carefully, I then crawled off the bed and stood in the corner of the room as his male excretion continued to slowly leak out of my vagina, eventually tracing its way down the inside of my legs. He got up off the bed, dressed himself, and without a word to me, took the videotape and left the room locking the door behind him. Afraid to move, I stood there for what seemed like forever. It wasn't so much that I thought he might have made me pregnant, my last period had been only a few days before, but I wondered if he might have given me some disease. I pretty well understood the risks involved in unprotected sex with total strangers and worried about it for some time before finally deciding I had to sit down or I would faint. Finding some paper towels by the bar sink, I cleaned the male residue off my legs and the rest of me as best I could and then sat on the bed to wait for whatever would happen next. After about an hour the boss returned. Telling me that I "looked a mess," he led me out of the chamber and down another corridor to a small shower room. There he turned on the shower, pulled some towels off a shelf for me to use, showed me the soap, shampoo, and a surprisingly lavish assortment of cosmetics and toiletries which he indicated I was free to use. Then left again. It was the first shower that I'd had since before my capture, which by now seemed years ago. I recall hearing strange sounds from the adjacent rooms to the shower and occasionally heard women screaming. One of these seemed to go on for some time but when my captor returned, I knew better than to ask any questions thinking that if I did he might let me find out about it first hand. He returned me to my cell and, as he promised, brought me some dinner. It was bland and totally uninteresting food, like some kind of meat loaf, but since I was by that time starving, anything was welcome. In contrast to the cheap food he also brought a large bottle of Evian. After a while, the light in my cell went out and I fell asleep on the small cot. The following day a different man, tall, with a deep scar on his face, younger than the boss but wearing a similar jumpsuit, brought me my breakfast and later a light lunch. Nothing else happened until what must have been late afternoon when the same man returned and led me off to what I can only describe as a horrendous sexual torture chamber. He referred to it as "the dairy" and told me that the man who had originally captured me was the boss for the entire operation of which I was now an involuntary participant. It was the place I had heard the screaming coming from the day before. The first place they took me to was back to the shower room. Besides the shower stall, the room also had a sink and a toilet which I was immediately told to bend over in front of. I couldn't really see what he was up to but I could hear the man at the sink, getting something from the cabinet above it and then running water. Then I felt him behind me, pressing something into my rectum. It was small in diameter, hard, and went in quite far before it stopped. Soon I could feel warm liquid slowly flushing into my bowels and I realized that I was being given an enema. At first it wasn't all that unpleasant but after a short time with the water beginning to fill me, my tummy began to feel uncomfortably bloated from the quantity of the liquid and the pressure building up in my colon. Just as it began to get painful the water stopped and the hose was pulled from my rectum. The man held my neck down for some time before I was allowed to turn around and sit on the toilet to relieve myself. While it felt very dirty and humiliating to go to the bathroom while that man continued to watch me, I had to get rid of that burden of water he had pumped into my body and quickly allowed it and my own waste to gush out into the toilet. After I was finished, he led me to the shower and instructed me to wash thoroughly everywhere or he would do it for me. I was very through and he observed me closely until I was cleaned to his satisfaction. Then he gave me a disposable douche kit which he wanted me to use and then stood there and watched me while I did. It wasn't pleasant but I preferred doing it myself rather than have him do it for me. Finally he gave me two towels to dry off with and then led me next door to the dairy chamber. The dairy was a large room, kind of like a large public restroom, covered with red ceramic tile, its windowless walls lined with a small sink, refrigerator, and various counters and storage cupboards. It was freezing cold but the most monstrous thing about it was the six stainless steel table units, each specifically designed to hold its female victim securely bound and defenseless from any number of agonizing torments that could be dreamed up by her molester. As the name of the room implied, the primary purpose of this hell was human milk production. The boss's buddy, whom they called the doctor, or when he wasn't around, the Nazi, had developed this serum which within a few hours after it was administered would stimulate your breasts to produce milk. Each breast would furnish a little over a pint a day to their sadistic enterprise and they usually kept six women on a rotating assignment doing this chore. Once we arrived at the dairy I was strapped face down onto one of the stainless steel tables. The room itself was pretty cold, much cooler than anywhere else in the whole place, and the steel tables made it feel that much colder. These tables were built with sculpted panels which were adjustable so that they could be custom fit to their victim's physical form. The tops were solid except for two round openings for your breasts and there were thick Velcro straps for your ankles and wrists along with a wide one which crossed your back at the waist. Once you were strapped to the table, all of your movement was severely restricted. One by one, the other captive women were also led into the chamber by the boss and this huge male they called the guard. This guy was a live-in who owned the apartment where I had my pictures taken and helped out with the maintenance of the facility. He also ran a torture chamber out of his living quarters which was used for severe punishment and to break the spirit of those women who tried to resist any of the persecution we received. Once we were strapped to the tables, the boss went to one of the counters and prepared six large needles, one for each of us, which he then administered into the crack of our buttocks. The whole reason for getting the shots there was so that the needle marks wouldn't show and depreciate the value of their "merchandise". The doses of that hormone stuff must have been incredibly potent. I remember that within only a minute or so of getting my shot that I got real dizzy and then passed out. It was pretty scary because I really didn't know if I was ever going to wake up again, and when I finally did wake up, I felt like I was going to vomit except that I hadn't actually eaten anything for hours. Of course, the other thing that I noticed was a strange tingling feeling of pressure in my chest, as if my breasts were swelling with fluid. While they certainly felt larger, I couldn't really tell how much they had grown since I was still all strapped down and couldn't see them. I don't know how long I had been out, probably a couple of hours, and I found several wires had been attached to me to monitor my vital signs. I later learned that they were tracking our pulse, respiration, temperature, and blood pressure while we were being subjected to their torture. The other women were wired with these monitoring probes as well and it appeared that they had also been cleaned, like everywhere. I remember watching the boss and the guard busily moving around hoses and hooking them up to fittings at the head of each of the tables. These hoses ended in what looked kind of like a bra cup and it didn't take much guessing to figure out what they were for. Working underneath the table he would first hook the hoses to the table's fittings, turn a couple of dials and then snatch the cups onto the waiting breasts of the table's occupant as they hung down through the holes in the top. Each time he would perform his little task, the woman bound to the table above him would either moan or scream before tensing in her straps as she endured the machine's sudden intensity. From my observation, I thought I knew what to expect when he got to my table. Working beneath me, I could hear him hook the hoses to the fittings and felt him stringing them along the hooks on the bottom of the table. Then, suddenly, my right breast felt like it was on fire as the powerful suction of the machine clenched the rim of the cup onto my tender flesh. At the same time it also felt like it was trying to rip the entire core of my breast right out of me as the machine's first pulse forcefully extracted my thick milk through the still narrowly constricted openings in my nipple. Then my left breast was privileged to the same sensation and with alternate throbs from the milking machine, both were steadily emptied of their yield. The process continued for about a half hour but really after a few minutes the flow became easier to endure. Eventually, as the draining of my aching glands progressed, it relieved the uncomfortable swollen feeling I had experienced earlier and while I wouldn't call it pleasant, its continued functioning did become more tolerable. However, my day was not yet over. As the boss disconnected each woman from the suction hoses and monitoring system the guard would unstrap them from the table and escort them back to their cells. But when they finally got to me, I was left securely confined. Noticing my puzzled look, the boss informed me that I had some extra duty that evening and that was why I had been given the enema a few hours earlier. Actually, he added, I was lucky to be chosen because the guard usually fucks all the milkers on their first time out. Just then entering the room the big guard overheard him and bellowed that I shouldn't worry because he would be sure to make it up some other time. The boss had been working at one of the countertops where I couldn't see what he was doing until he walked up next to me holding a strange looking container thing. It was about a eight inch tall cylinder, kind of like a big tube of lipstick, with two hoses coming out of the flat end. Taking the hoses one at a time, he connected them to a control panel on the wall which included several menacing dials, gauges, lights and switches. While I was watching him do this, I didn't notice the guard crawling under my table and hitting a switch which made the whole thing come alive. Without warning, the lower half of it began to swing open, forcing my legs apart by my ankles which were still securely attached to each of the opening sections. When it stopped, I was arranged spread eagled and very much exposed and accessible to whatever they had planned for me. It was right about then that I realized why that container was shaped the way it was. Now I couldn't take my eyes off the thing as he continued preparing it. Noticing me watching him, he explained that the thing was a butter churn containing what he said was cream taken from a mixture of my own and a couple of the other women's breast milk. The hoses were for cooling the cream mixture and I was going to perform the churning. Then he put on a pair of gloves and coated the thing with some kind of vile brown gook. "Glue," he explained, "it'll keep the churn from falling out." I didn't need to ask out of what. Regardless, he was about to answer the question anyway as he took the thing around beneath me. Maybe it was because I could no longer see it but for some reason, at that moment, I lost all control and started to cry. Noticing my reaction and saying something about hating to hear women bawling, the guard took a large piece of adhesive tape and ran it across my mouth, effectively silencing me. But just then, the shock of feeling the cold slimy surface of their device pressing against my exposed vaginal opening forced me to stop anyway. Standing between my legs the boss calmly commanded, "Look here babe, stop squirming aroun' so much. Yer little cunt's my property now. Get used to it." Then he thrust it in. Even though only a moaning sound came out, I think I screamed louder through that gag than I had ever screamed before as that thing tore into my genitals. Basically, it hurt like hell, feeling sort of like someone had forcefully packed a solid plug of steel into me, filling my entire pelvic cavity. Bound and immobile like I was, I could only lie there and by doing shallow breathing, try as best I could to relax the inflamed tissue their massive perverted implement was straining against. I immediately began to feel faint and had this growing tingling, numbing sensation throughout my entire lower abdomen. Concentrating on the device occupying my vaginal sheath I didn't really notice the clips that were being attached to the lips of my pubis, but my thinking was interrupted when the boss hit another switch on the control panel, sharply chilling the metal device I now tightly held inside of me. My disorientation rapidly growing, I also barely noticed the boss undoing my waist strap and then, saying something about it being time to go to work, hitting a second switch on the control panel. I immediately felt a piercing electrical spike coursing through my entire lower body, beginning at the clips on my pubis and ripping up along the huge metal shaft to my cervix where it just sort of spread out, burning its way throughout my tummy. Simultaneously, it sharply contracted every muscle it came into contact with, firmly clamping my besieged vaginal tissue around their sadistic metal cylinder. The next pulse came about a second later, then the third and the fourth and so on, each about a second apart and each burning and tearing its way through my pelvis causing my desecrated body to uncontrollably spasm in response. While my physical self continued to agitate their churn device still tightly clenched in my vagina, I guess I completely lost consciousness within the first minute or so. Apparently I worked that thing, unconscious, for about a half hour. They took me back to my cell and that night I developed a very high temperature and then broke out in a rash all over my body. The "doctor" decided that I had gone into toxic shock from the glue they had used to secure their cylinder inside of me. He had never seen this kind of reaction before and so was very interested in my case. Since they felt responsible for my illness and since I was still of some value to them, as property of course, they took pretty good care of me. I was moved to a double cell where one of the other slaves was put in charge of caring for me and I was even allowed to use sheets and blankets. This other woman, Vicky (I'm not using her real name because she is still very much alive), was from Argentina but knew English very well and looked quite European. She was only seventeen but had been offered a modeling job in Miami and ran away from home to take it. She ended up working in the dairy. The truly ironic part to her story is that the main reason she had originally run away from home was to get away from her stepfather who had been sexually abusing her. Vicky had been assigned to taking care of me since she herself was temporarily recovering from having been worked over by a couple of visiting businessmen a few days before. She informed me that we were on a small island somewhere in the Caribbean where there was a large casino hotel along with this prison building we were in. I had known that the place was big enough to have an airport since one could hear planes taking off and landing all hours of the day. Actually she knew quite a bit about the operation that was going on here from overhearing the males who talked pretty freely in front of her, apparently not knowing or not caring that she understood every word they said. Besides "reconditioning" prostitutes they were also involved in selling women to clients around the world for purposes she could only guess. I learned a lot from her about the island which would later prove to be very useful. Personally, Vicky thought of herself as lucky in a way since she had worked for a while in a beauty salon at home and so had been chosen to do glamour makeovers for the inmates on the island. The males would get us made up before they had visitors to the place so that we wouldn't appear so abused to them. Vicky told me that she figured that as long as she was of some value other than as a sex toy to the males, her chances of survival in that place increased tremendously. As for the women she worked on, she also figured that by doing their makeup and hair the males might actually see them as women as opposed to a collection of abusable sexual parts. Finally, she hoped that by making them look better to themselves, she could at least give the women a little more self esteem so that it would be far less likely that they would end up as a disposable. The term disposable was what the male's called women who became ill, broke down, or for one reason or another couldn't be returned to their pimp and had to be gotten rid of. After a few days I was feeling better and so was moved back to my own cell. I was also forced to perform again in the daily milking routine but wasn't included among those chosen for their butter churning torture. Actually, I had been chosen for something far more bizarre. The morning after I had been returned to my cell, the doctor and the boss showed up shortly after breakfast and led me off to the doctor's laboratory. The lab was a smaller version of the dairy and adjacent to it with more counters, storage cabinets and a large refrigerator, stove and oven along with many more very mysterious pieces of scientific looking equipment. The most hideous of these was a frame unit, "the rack," to which I was about to be introduced. This thing was actually something quite new that the doctor had just constructed and installed in his lab. It was really just a simple rectangle made of round stainless steel bars, suspended from the ceiling by several small electric winches. Adjustable in size, it had Velcro straps for your wrists and ankles plus a wide one which went around your waist and a solid cross bar which hit your upper chest just above the breasts. Additional straps could be added wherever necessary such as on the thighs or arms and the thing was hinged to allow its occupant to bend at the waist and to bend her knees. The thing that made it different from the milking tables was that when you were strapped to it you had an unobstructed view of yourself and everything else around you. Of course it also had the added feature, as the boss coarsely pointed out, "of being able to spread your legs far enough apart to drive a Mack truck up your cunt." The boss helped the doctor get me strapped onto the thing before he left. Then the doctor spent what seemed like hours playing with all the motors and adjustments, taking pictures as he went until he was satisfied with the rack's operation. He kept very detailed records of all his perverted experiments and was just finishing writing on his computer about his morning with me when the boss returned with another man. At first I thought that I had been elected to be his afternoon "entertainment" but as it turned out he was another doctor, a plastic surgeon. Then, as the three of them took turns at inspecting me and the rack I was attached to, I began to figure out what their plan for me was really going to be. It seemed that the big guard's birthday was coming up in about two weeks and the plastic surgeon, who was apparently a friend of his, had decided to give him something he had always wanted. I was to have my hymen reconstructed so that I could be presented to him as a virgin. Now the really unusual thing about this whole experience was that through the entire procedure this surgeon guy decided to explain to the doctor and to me everything he was about to do. It made me feel like I was the subject in some kind of gynecological class. The first thing he did was tell me I would have to be shaved. So he found some shaving cream and a disposable razor, and with me helplessly spread eagled on his rack he went at shaving my genitals. Finishing with that, the doctor handed him a needle which I was told was a local anesthetic and he stuck it a couple of times into my pussy lips. Very soon everything down there was numb and now that I had been all prepped it was time for him to begin to work on me. "Lets see just what you left me to work with," he began. "First I'm going to open up your labia so I can get to the vaginal opening." He proceeded to place several clips on my vaginal lips which he tied off to the rack frame, stretching them wide open and very effectively displaying my genitals to him. While he was still doing this he continued, "There are really three ways that we can go about doing this, first we can attach a synthetic hymen over the opening, something made out of thin plastic which is colored to look like tissue. This usually is the quickest and easiest way and if you don't look too close it looks pretty real. The second way is to graft live tissue across the opening. You don't usually need much and I generally take small strips from off of the inside of these lips so that the scar never shows anywhere. The drawback is that it takes a couple months for everything to heal up and you need to keep a close watch out for infection. Now it looks like here we can do it the third way and that's the way I like the best. Sometimes when the hymen was originally pretty complete, it tears into little flaps like this that can be just patched back together again. Now usually you guys rip them all to hell when you ream them out with that churn thing but look at this. This one looks in pretty good shape still." I watched him poking at me as he examined my vaginal opening until he finally concluded, "Sometimes I just superglue these back together but these flaps appear thick and sturdy enough that I'm going to suture them. Its old fashioned but I prefer it. This one is going to look like the real thing in a couple of weeks." He put on a pair of magnifying glasses and gave a second pair to the doctor and then began preparing the needle he was going to use. It was small and curved and he threaded it with an absorbable suture so that it would dissolve as my skin healed together. "See how thick this skin is? Usually its pretty flimsy stuff but this one is going to hold up very well. Now watch carefully how I do this because really you could do this kind of stuff yourself." I could see him stitching me but with the anesthetic couldn't actually feel anything. He continued working on me with the doctor closely observing. "This is what we call a blanket stitch. Its quite strong and each stitch is locked off so it won't pull out if its stressed. See we don't want to stretch these flaps too much but just pull them up to meet each other. Now we leave a small opening here in the middle because that's the way they are originally made." He finished sewing and tying the suture off put the needle down. "Now that's good work. It'll heal up better than the original." I remembered "the original" and ironically also remembered how I had methodically gone about losing it with my boyfriend at a football party. I was the only one among my girlfriends who still was a virgin and one night when we all got together at a slumber party at my house and they planned for me how I was supposed to do it. We decided on this one boy who was on the football team and seemed to be all right. He was kind of cute and we all figured that he hadn't done it before either but mostly we figured that he wouldn't brag about it later. He wasn't dating anybody so I got to know him and we went out a couple of times to movies and to a dance club in town. On our third date he got pretty frisky and I let him take off my bra but really that was all the farther he went. I mean he respected me enough to stop when I told him I didn't want his hand in my panties. My girlfriends decided that he was ready to go all the way with me and that since homecoming was the next weekend, my "D-day" would take place after the homecoming dance. So I talked my mom and dad into letting me stay overnight at my best friend's house that Saturday night only we didn't tell them that her parents were going to be out of town and like I figured, they never found out. At the dance she pretended to invite me and my date over to her house for some snacks with her and her boyfriend and so the four of us left early and went over there. Everything had been prepared. We had made fondue, bought a bunch of sexy CDs, and put candles all over the house and we had even talked her boyfriend's older brother into buying some wine for us. I don't know, but I think he knew what we were up to because he also bought us a half dozen condoms. I was so afraid that losing my virginity was going to hurt that I must have drunk half the wine. The boy was really nice with me. He was gentle, used the condom I gave him, and I didn't feel a thing. The next morning after the boys had gone we burned the blood stained sheets in the fireplace and celebrated my womanhood in spite of the splitting headache I had given myself. Now I was going to lose my virginity all over again with that ugly guard and I knew that this time it would definitely not be a pleasant experience. I was allowed to heal for two weeks and during that time I was milked every day. Since I had been given my special mission I avoided being chosen for the churning torture. I don't know if the other women knew why I was passed over but each night but I cried myself to sleep thinking of the one who had probably been selected to endure that awful torment in my place. The doctor also inspected me daily and faithfully recorded the progress of my healing. He seemed quite pleased with how it all turned out. I was afraid to touch the thing and couldn't really see it but know that it became much less sensitive as time went on. Finally, one evening the doctor came to get me and instead of being taken to the dairy for milking I was led to his lab. He strapped me to his rack, only this time I was placed on my back. Then he went to his refrigerator and took out a large bowl of red frosting. He said it was cherry flavor, appropriate for the occasion, and went about spreading it all over me as if I was a cake. Once he had me pretty well covered he added some of those little candy letters which spelled out "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, THIS CHERRY'S FOR YOU" with an arrow pointing at my pussy. Just as he was finishing up the boss and the big guard showed up. "What do you need doc?" the guard asked as came into the room. The doctor turned around and with the boss sang happy birthday to him and then handed him the rack's remote control. "Have a good time," the doctor said as he and the boss walked out the door and I was left alone with the guard. Apparently not remembering me from before, he exclaimed, "All right! They finally got me my virgin!" Then as he pressed one of the buttons, the winches began to make their dutiful whirring sound. "You got a real nice little shape," he observed as the machine slowly spread my legs apart until I began to scream from the discomfort. "Hey little girlie, I don't need to hear any of that 'don't hurt me, don't hurt me, whining out of you, understand? " With that he picked up some wide adhesive tape and again taped my mouth shut. "Nothin I hate worse than a bunch of mindless chatter when I'm trying to get a fuck." Then returning to his position between my widely spread legs he began to examine me. "So that's what those little things look like huh?" He poked at my hymen which remained sturdily intact encouraging him to poke at it even harder until I began to cry from the torment he was causing me. "You look pretty real there. Is that real?" His finger then forced its way into my vagina accompanied by a stab of pain and the guarantee that this experience wasn't going to be easy. Pulling his finger back out of me, he dropped his pants and let me watch his erection grow as he began maneuvering the rack. My spread open clean shaved pubis progressively moved toward his stiffening penis as he slowly maneuvered me while perversely trapped in his snare. His erection continued to grow and then eventually begin to throb in time with his pulse and he complemented me on the hard-on that I had given him, adding that he hadn't been able to get it up like that for weeks. When we touched he laughed that he was right on target and I could feel the head of his big cock nuzzling the constricted opening to my vagina. Then he hit the switch again and the machine slowly propelled me toward him, his penis pressing against my hymen. The strain on me which continued to build more and more was accompanied by a steadily increasing warm ache spreading throughout my genitals as the thin layer of tissue stretched until finally it suddenly burst with what seemed like an audible pop. A stab of pain accompanied its rupture which was only aggravated as his erection rubbed against the now torn tissue around my vaginal opening as he forcefully penetrated his way deep into my inner being. I don't know if, like he bragged, it was the best on the island, but it was certainly big enough. "Whoa! That was great! You are a tight one, honey." He ran it in until I was finally bearing its entire length and then reversed the motors which drew it out again. He repeated this process a few times until, growing tired of the sluggishness of the mechanism, he grabbed my hips and began manually pumping his rigid sex organ in and out of me. The rack allowed me to look down and watch his massive cock which by now was literally covered with my blood as his fucking continued with increasing intensity. The pain around the opening to my vagina eventually subsided somewhat and soon enough his groans and accelerated rhythm alerted me to the oncoming flood from his male excretion which proceeded to saturate my insides with his clammy slime. Quickly deflating, he pulled himself out, allowing the mixture of his remaining residue and the blood from my mutilated hymen to slowly drain from my now crudely distended vaginal opening onto the floor beneath me. It seemed as if there was a lot more blood than I remembered the first time but eventually the dripping lessened and stopped. After cleaning himself up and dressing, he released me from the rack, removed my gag, and took me to the shower room to get rid of the sticky frosting stuff I was covered with along with the residue of his assault. After I had been cleaned by him, both outside and in, he took me to his bedroom. Actually this wasn't really a bedroom but a more like a room filled with an incredible collection of sexual devices including a variety of vibrators, dildos, various leather straps, whips, chains and several pieces of very unusual looking furniture. These were all the things they used to enforce discipline among the women who were in their prison. Luckily since I wasn't being brought there for punishment I was spared the use of most of them. "Come over here," he said, leading me to a small wooden table. Like all the other furniture it was made of heavy wood construction held together with bands of steel. I was pushed face down on the table and he fastened my wrists to straps of Velcro which were attached to the front table legs. Finding myself sort of both kneeling and laying on this table, he then spread my legs apart wrapping similar straps around my thighs forcing my legs open. Then he simply lifted me and the table and carried me over to a computer desk sliding me head first underneath it. He turned on the computer, saying something about checking his e- mail, and then pulled an office chair which was on wheels over to the desk. I could hear him undo his zipper, pull down his pants and then felt him against me as he rolled the chair up to the desk. Sliding his legs under the table between mine he dropped his hand down and lifted his penis up, laying it against my open pussy. Then as he began typing on the computer he began to stroke the thing against me until I could feel it begin to stiffen. Pausing with his typing he straightened up slightly and then pressed his rigid organ into my waiting vagina. It hurt more than a little as he thrust his way into me, scraping against the recently torn flesh around my opening. Since I had been thoroughly cleaned out down there and didn't have much in the way of natural lubrication, it took a while before the stinging subsided. He didn't seem particularly interested in actually fucking me but just sat there sometimes typing, sometimes just clicking with his mouse as he went through the birthday greetings he had been sent. Occasionally he would stroke me for a while and then stop and read something out loud and then stroke me again, enough to maintain his erection just hard enough to keep it from falling out of me. Then after several messages he must have reached the end of his mail and began to surf around on the net. Whenever he was waiting for the screen to catch up he would pump in and out of me and then would stop as soon as he had something to read. Again, some screens he would read out loud and that was how I knew he was looking at stuff about bondage. Once he found the pictures he was looking for he stopped talking and I could feel his penis stiffening and growing inside me as he began to work it in my vagina with more intensity. I would hear his mouse click and if the picture was particularly lewd he would make a little moaning sound and the pace of his fucking would pick up a little quicker. Finally his activity in me became more intense and he began grunting as he came in me again. While I didn't feel much in the way of his ejaculation, his penis quickly softened and became extremely slippery with moistness. In order to keep his organ in me he pushed himself closer and began to stroke at me again. This cycle continued for at least four more times over the next couple of hours, each time with him depositing a little more of his syrupy cum into me. Slowly his fluid leaked out and ran up between the table and my tummy creating a cold sticky pool of his filth which I was forced to lay in as he continued to enjoy me. Finally he got tired. Getting up out of his chair he first untied me from the table. Finding me a mess from his rape session he took a couple of towels off of a shelf above his bed and pointing at a bathroom told me to clean myself up. I went into his bathroom and took a shower, washing away as much of him as I could until I turned and saw watching me. I quickly rinsed myself and took the towels from him. He had a drink in his hand and just sat there and watched as I dried myself off. Then he took me to his bed. Turning out the light he didn't waste any time and began raping me all over again, only this time, after having done it several times that night already, he took an exceedingly long time to come. Luckily I was still wet enough inside that it didn't really hurt that much and when he finally did come he was pretty much half asleep already. I laid there for a while, his heavy body on top of me and still in me, smelling his sweat and the liquor on his breath while he slept. Finally, figuring he wouldn't wake up, I wriggled myself out from beneath him, falling asleep next to him in his bed. In the morning he led me back to my cell. The day began without breakfast and I correctly figured that to be a bad omen. They didn't feed you when you were going to get their mammary stimulant serum and that was exactly the routine they followed once the doctor brought me to the lab and strapped me to the rack again. Like before, within a minute or so, I started feeling incredibly faint and then quickly passed out. When I woke up again, my stomach was in a knot and my breasts felt like they were about to rupture. This time I could plainly see them and while I wasn't Dolly Parton, I had real tits. I had been cleaned again and was wired with the monitoring probes but this time had been left alone in the lab by myself. I stayed there for what seemed like an hour or more, my breasts increasingly aching with fullness, before the doctor returned. "Like 'em?" he said as he came in the door. "Its part of my new breast enhancement formula." Well I have to admit they were enhanced, even though they stung like hell. He continued, pulling out a pair of hoses with the breast cups attached to one end and began to hook these up to a strange little device he had sitting on the counter. Turning the thing on, it made the familiar suction noises and dispensed the same stinging, agonizing painful feeling as before once they snatched onto my tender breasts and started to forcefully extract my milk. This time, however, instead of leaving me alone to bear my private torment, the doctor started to play with the winches. First he elevated my hips so that my butt was higher than the rest of me and then he spread my legs apart, once again explicitly exposing myself to him. He then returned to the counter and picked up one of his churn devices which he proceeded to attach hoses to. He must have seen the terror in my eyes when he turned around and so explained that I had nothing to worry about because "we" weren't going to make butter this time, just take pictures. He had decided that he was going to use me try out some sort of churn insertion device which he had been working on. I really don't know how to describe this thing he had built but he called it his "expand-o-rama" tool. It was made of shiny metal and shaped like a cone but with a hand grip on the large end of it. When he squeezed the grip it made little ratcheting noises and the pointed end of the cone would expand open into a three or four inch hollow cylinder. After showing me how it worked, he went around between my spread open legs and I soon felt the cold metallic blunt pointed end of the thing as he inserted it a few inches into my vagina. I closed my eyes and tried to relax as best I could but instead of expanding it right away, he paused to take a few more pictures. Then finishing his little photo activity, he put the camera down and started squeezing on the handle of his device. At first it didn't seem like anything was happening but soon I could feel my vagina dilating larger and larger. He would work at the thing, stretching my opening until I would begin to scream from the pressure and then he would pause for a few moments allowing me to catch my breath before starting again. Finally, about the time it felt like the thing was about to tear me wide open he stopped. Taking a few more pictures of me in that wretched state it wasn't very long before he picked up the churn he had been working on earlier and took the repulsive thing around beneath me. This churn was a little different than the other one that I had been forced to suffer having no flange on the bottom end. That way, he explained to me while positioning it for insertion, it would fit through the opening in his tool which allow him to withdraw the thing after positioning the churn inside me. I was able this time to look down and watch him while he slid the churn into the open end of his device and my grossly distended private opening and then began to shove it up into me. I don't know if being able to see it happen to myself at all eased my feelings of anxiety, but it certainly didn't help with the pain of insertion as my tortured body was forced to bear its weight. The dry metal surface of the expansion tool then ferociously ripped at my vaginal flesh as he savagely withdrew the thing from my body. My genitals, still throbbing from the shock of being suddenly stretched way beyond capacity, were now subjected to the electrical clips as they were clamped to the lips of my vulva as if one more humiliation wouldn't really matter. Then he stepped back and started to take pictures while the milking machine continued to toil away at my breasts. In the middle of his obscene photo session he was joined by the guard to whom he began to describe what it was he was trying to accomplish. The reason he had elevated my pelvis was to keep the churn from "accidently being ejected from the vaginal cavity" during the churning process. The guard just laughed and said, "If you want to keep the thing in there, why not just turn her upside down." Well they discussed this for a while but I missed most of what they said because the two of them left the chamber for a cup of coffee and didn't return for some time. Meanwhile, I was left on the milking machine which kept tugging away at my breasts long after there was anything in there to extract and was pretty sore when the doctor did finally come back to turn the damned thing off and to pull the churn thing out of me. He took me to the showers and then back to my room for another dog food dinner which I ate before falling asleep. The next morning the doctor woke me up and led me off to the shower room where I got another enema and then was taken back to the lab. However, instead of strapping me to the rack which to my surprise was no longer there, he decided to strap my hands together to a hook that had been put in the floor beneath where the rack used to be. Then he hooked me up to two of the remaining winch cables which were still hanging from the ceiling, one around each ankle, and then started them up. Slowly my legs were lifted up in the air until he finally had me completely spread eagled and upside down with my feet pointing at the ceiling and my hands securely tied to the floor. This new position could pretty much be described as uncomfortable. It did allow me to watch the doctor as he prepared the dose of mammary serum and administered it into the flesh of my pubis. After a short time the drug found its way into my system and I could feel my breasts beginning to swell with fluid as they were once more extorted into producing milk. I could also feel my stomach as it cramped up but apparently because I was upside down with all my blood flowing into my head I didn't, for once, pass out. It was very strange, I felt like I was floating although I still felt very disoriented and of course being upside down didn't help matters much. The doctor had returned to working at his counter on something I could not see but he seemed very interested in. Soon enough he was watching me, noting that I hadn't blacked out this time and began taping his probes to me in preparation for milking. Then he hooked me to the milking machine and I was again involuntarily relieved of my breast milk. Once the milking had begun he returned to the counter and picked up one of the vaginal butter churns laying there which he proceeded to fill with cream. Then hooking the hoses and wires to it he proceeded to take it over to my obscenely displayed vagina. Since he had tied me up with my hands above my head, arching my back, I couldn't really see him as he spread my lips apart and began to insert the churn down into my exposed opening. I found that since I was only tied by my hands and feet that I was able to swing myself around, which I did, almost knocking the thing out of his hand. He then grabbed me by my butt so I couldn't move anymore and sharply pressed the churn down into me. It didn't feel any different going in than it had before and once he had the electrical clips attached, he turned the damned thing on right away. Being somewhat more loosely restrained than when I was strapped to the table, the shocks began to jerk me around much more violently, causing the milking cups to pop off of my tits. I literally felt like I was a human punching bag with each jolt sending a jab into my midsection leaving me wildly flailing about the room, crying while making every attempt to remain silent. After what seemed an eternity of sadistic torture while the doctor passively continued to observe my agonized panic, he finally shut the thing off. He drew the churn out of me but then, instead of taking me down, he restored the milking cups to my breasts and left me that way while he cleaned out the churn and stored its contents in the refrigerator. Once he was at last finished, he turned off the machine and let me down from my grotesque position. Only after he had finished putting away all the milking equipment was I given a shower and taken back to my cell. Leaving me there, he mentioned that the next day he would have a special surprise for me, something he had been working on for some time. The following morning I was brought first to the shower room to experience yet another of his enemas before being led into to the lab and strapped into the rack which had been restored to its former position for yet another day's work. He spread my legs apart and began probing at my vaginal canal and soon it felt like he was trying to get his whole hand in there. I screamed, tugging on my restraints and much to my surprise my wrists came loose from their confining straps. The bones in my hands are small and, not that I've done this a lot, but if I pull on them hard enough I can pull myself out of things like handcuffs, and apparently that was how I was also able to overcome his Velcro restraints. I guess what really surprised me was that he didn't particularly seem to care. All he did was to warn me to keep my hands away from him and his work. Actually he had several surprises for me that day. The first was once he finished probing me, he handed me one of his butter churns. It was a new one which had never been used, yet. He explained that it was constructed differently than the others I had seen, made of several bands of metal, separated by bands of hard plastic. I looked at it for a while, puzzled as to why he had given it to me when he told me that since I had gotten my hands free, he would let me put it "up my cunt" myself. At the same time he made it clear to me that if I chose not to be cooperative or did anything to screw up any of his experiments, I would be severely disciplined. Since I figured he could be pretty imaginative with discipline, I decided to cooperate. Taking the thing in my hands I slowly guided it to my vaginal slit and started pushing it up into me. Having some second thoughts as to if I really wanted to do this to myself or not, I kept pressing on the thing as it slowly and agonizingly spread apart the opening to my vagina. Just as it felt like that foreign metal object was about to tear me wide open, it sort of popped in. The problem with the thing was that with its rough edged sides, it seemed like unless I angled it just right, each joint would viciously pinch at my flesh as it went in. Still working on it, I looked up from my effort and there was that son of a bitch taking pictures of me. I tried not to pay him any attention and hoping that my effort would somehow satisfy him, continued to press the thing up into me. To my own amazement I managed to accommodate the whole thing so that eventually its flange was even with my outer lips. He put his camera down and I watched him as he hooked the hoses up between me and one of the many pieces of equipment he had spread out over the counter. Since the rack afforded me an unobstructed view of my entire self, I was able to clearly observe him while he continued his work. Then he picked up several wires, all of which originated from some sort of electronic device he also had sitting there. They were different than the monitoring wires and the first wire terminated with a plug of some sort which I felt him attach to the churn device. The next two wires had sort of flat clips on them and lifting the lips of my vulva away from the metal churn, he pinched them to my flesh, one on each side. The third one had a thin pencil-like metal rod attached to it which he strung around behind me. Soon I could feel him probing at my rectum with the metal rod and then he quickly inserted it. Adjusting to the discomfort of having a metal bar shoved up my ass, I didn't notice him with the other wire which ended in a small rounded clip. Now since my bottom was spread wide open by the rack, and by that cylinder resting in my vagina, apparently the area around my clitoris was also quite visible and this was where he was headed with that last clip. My hands were still free when the thing latched into the flesh right above my clit. It hurt like hell and I started screaming and immediately reached down to rip the thing off. He quickly grabbed me before I could, catching me by the wrist twisting it until I screamed again in pain and had to stop fighting him. Yelling at me to "leave my work alone, or else," it was all I could do to keep from tearing all of his vulgar shit out of my genitals. He turned back to the counter and picking up a roll of wide adhesive tape he grabbed my left wrist and quickly taped it to my left thigh, tightly wrapping the tape several times around my wrist and thigh. He did the same with my right wrist until I was again completely restrained and then he hit the switch. I hadn't actually expected the electric pulse right at that moment and when it hit, it really surprised me. Like before, the clips burned into the skin of my vulva as the shock ripped its way through every muscle in my pelvis. The churn itself began to feel hotter and hotter and I could feel every little ridge on it as it burned into my vaginal flesh. Each successive spasm seemed stronger than the last and I could do nothing to contain the convulsions, becoming increasingly racked with the torment caused by the electricity coursing through my genitals. Finally I simply lost all control of myself and began sobbing while being involuntarily wrenched with increasing violence, strapped and taped to the tubing of the hanging rack device with my continuing abdominal seizures bouncing it and me in the air around the middle of the room. Looking up I could see the son of a bitch observing this pandemonium as if I were some sort of laboratory rat, periodically taking pictures and notes of my torment and then squeezing my hips and thighs to test the effect the spasms were having on my muscles. While I don't think he cared about me that much, he did care about his vile machinery and after a while, he eventually shut the thing off before my thrashing caused it any damage. It didn't stay off for very long though. After making a few adjustments to the electronic devices he had spread out over the counter he again hit the switch and a pulse of electricity burned its way out of the thing he had shoved up my ass. This time I could really feel the heat from it. These pulses seemed to primarily tighten my back muscles and with each pulse it would arch my back, crushing my stomach into the lower restraint strap. The apparent problem with this was that it also tended to expel the churn from my vagina and so he shut it off after only a few cycles. The worst was yet to come. The next hit was to the clamp he had fastened in the area of my clitoris. This one had the opposite effect from the probe in my rectum, clenching the muscles in my tummy and sharply bending me at the waist. The worst part was the searing pain each pulse blasted into my clit. I began screaming with each punch and soon the pain began to make me feel more and more nauseous until I suddenly began to vomit, retching up what was left of the tasteless dinner I had the night before. This made him turn it off and hose down the mess I had made on the floor while I tried to somehow recover my composure. All too quickly, he went back to the gadgets I was still connected to on the counter. It seemed as if we were starting all over again as he once more energized the clips on my vulva. While these shocks created a similar burning, cramping, spasm effect as they had the last time, they were also very different. This time I could clearly feel each pulse as it progressively climbed from my vulva all the way to my cervix, like a wave. I looked down at myself and could see the same ripple effect roll across my abdominal muscles as each pulse progressed up inside of me. He noticed it too and became very interested in it, switching the current from the clips on my vulva to my rectum, then to my clitoris, and then back to my vulva, noting the difference in the muscle contractions he was inducing inside me. All the while, he would play with the current intensity and carefully note my resulting reactions, sometimes powering the thing so hot that I would begin screaming and momentarily blackout and then so low that I could barely feel it at all. After a while he stopped playing with the dials, put his clipboard down and walked around between my open legs. Looking down, I watched as he slowly pulled the churn almost all the way out of my vagina, the pulses still continuing. To my amazement, and his satisfaction, the rippling muscle spasms in my vaginal sheath drew the thing right back up into me again. His fascination with this effect led him to try it over and over, several times, even taking pictures of it. While I wasn't particularly amused, it got him very excited. He told me that this would save a lot of money in that the present dairy tables wouldn't have to be redesigned after all and the use of that toxic glue substance would no longer be necessary. Well maybe that was something. I must have endured his on again off again demonstration of his device in me for at least an hour before he finally had enough of playing with it. What I didn't realize was that it was then time to go to work. Withdrawing the cylinder from my vagina I flinched as each of the ridges on its surface took turns at tearing at my raw genital flesh. He took the thing back to the counter behind him, unscrewed the top off of it, and carefully set it down. Then he went to the refrigerator and removed a small glass container. Opening the container, he poured its contents of thick white cream into the churn. Without even turning around, he answered my unasked question, "Yes, it's all yours. Its funny but its always something they seem to want to know." Restoring the top of the device, I watched him as he walked back to the rack and positioned it to stick back into me again. While my aching vagina was still grossly dilated from its earlier sessions with his cylinder thing, I wasn't at all ready for the torment of it again ripping its way into my abdomen. Each ridge seemed to catch, pull, and then shred its way into me until finally I could feel it pressing tightly against my cervix. With all the wires and hoses still attached he stepped back over to the small motorized device the hoses were connected to on the counter top and clicked it on. The implement inside my pelvis suddenly chilled just as it had the first time when I had been subjected to its torture in the dairy. The chilling effect startled me at first but soon it began to take away the aching pain I was bearing throughout my abdomen, especially the areas it was directly in contact with. Then he activated the switch which started the wave motion in my vagina, once again clenching my exhausted muscles around his grotesque device. As if that wasn't enough, he then powered up both the clamp on my clitoris as well as the one in my rectum, alternately cycling them to first jerk my pelvis forward and then wrench it back the other way, forcefully churning my cream that I held inside of me. Thankfully I didn't have to endure the sharp pain caused by the pulses raging through my clitoris and rectum for very long as the chilling of the cylinder eventually numbed everything in my pelvic area. I just hung on to the rack and watched my body as it contorted in response to the electrical pulses being fed into it by the devices on the counter top as he continued to fine tune their stimulations. The churning went on for at least a half hour before he turned everything off and removed it from me. Being numbed from its chilling effect, I didn't feel it at all when he removed it but within a few minutes a burning soreness returned to all my genital areas, my stomach muscles and to my lower back which lingered well into the next few days. He untaped and unstrapped me, took me to the showers, and then walked me back to my cell. On the way he decided to inform me that I was "going to have a great time" the next day. He later fed me "dinner" which looked and tasted more like a helping of dog food than anything else and I was unable to keep it down. I didn't sleep at all that night, my mind kept thinking of all the possible things that son of a bitch had in store for me. However, anything I could have possibly fabricated in my mind didn't match what he had prepared for me the next morning as I was led back to the lab for another day's work. The first thing he did after my enema and shower was to give me two capsules and a cup of water. He didn't tell me what was in them, and knowing this guy's perversions, I was pretty apprehensive to take them. But really, I had no choice and swallowed the drugs along with the glass of water. It would be the only thing I would be able to keep down that entire day. Soon finding myself again immobilized on his torture rack, I knew better than to struggle as he spread my legs open to gain complete access to my genitals. Then he attached the monitoring electrodes to me as he had the day before, except instead of putting the temperature probe into my rectum, he just taped it between my ass cheeks. All this seemed unusual because when they hooked you up for churning they first removed all their valuable monitor equipment to keep it from being damaged by the electrical jolts. I continued to watch as he assembled several pieces of electronic equipment on the counter next to me and quickly recognized the little electrode clamp that he had used on my clitoris. Not tightening it as firmly this time, he acted almost apologetic for the discomfort it was provoking and moved it several times until I told him it was more bearable. Then he went back to the equipment he had me hooked to and soon I could feel a small current flowing into me through the electrode. It felt sort of tingly warm, not altogether unpleasant and that was when he revealed to me what he was up to. It seemed that he was interested in turning me on, stimulating me to orgasm so that he could measure the effects of his experiment toward using my own self induced muscular responses for his perverted dairy operation. Knowing this, I became determined not to give him the satisfaction of a successful exploitation of my body's reaction to his deviant arousal and began to actively resist it effects. While I could feel my clitoris swelling from the direct stimulation of the electrode as it pulsed in my vulva, by concentrating on the horrors of that place I was able to remain generally unresponsive to its rather passionate influence. However, as time went by I soon began to feel the effects of the drugs I had been given. This strange aura came over me like I had taken several shots of tequila and whether I wanted to or not, I really started to feel incredibly horny. All the while he seemed particularly interested in my breasts and the firmness of my nipples along with observable changes to my vulva and vaginal areas. To see these, I felt him digging into me several times during his little experiment. I held out from this artificial arousal for quite some time, purposely fighting my lusty inclinations, and while I did feel a bit turned on, I didn't come close to having any kind of orgasm. Well, he didn't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that his little experiment hadn't worked but I don't think he really knew why. Since he had gotten no response from me from the electrodes, he brought out the thing he called "the fucking machine." Basically this device was a big dildo mounted on a small motor unit which stroked it back and forth like some kind of exercise machine. He mounted this thing on a bracket attached to the rack I was strapped to and positioned it between my spread open legs. I watched him as he coated it with K-Y gel and then promptly felt the tip of it pressing on the opening to my vagina. Actually, with all that lubricant on it, and with its diameter decidedly smaller than the butter churn, the thing went in surprisingly easy. Adjusting the bracket which held the unit in me, he then started the motor and it began to dutifully stroke in and out of my vaginal canal. Suspended there immobilized, that thing persistently working on me, I unavoidably began to feel exceptionally turned on and steadily grew more and more indifferent to his presence and the fact that he was still intently scrutinizing my every reaction to his little mechanical penis. It was right about that time that a group of Japanese businessmen decided to show up. I guess they were vacationing at the casino on the other end of island and had been invited on some sort of tour of the dairy building. They entered the lab chattering but grew very quiet when they saw me impaled on that machine in the middle of the room. The Nazi began to explain to them what he was doing to me, trying to induce me to orgasm, and they immediately became very, very interested, closely observing me and the monitoring equipment as I bore that mechanical device still pulsing in and out of my genitals. Finally, since I hadn't shown any convincing reactions, he decided that his experiment had been sufficiently interrupted. So the Nazi put down his clipboard, disconnected the monitoring electrodes from my body and allowed the Japanese men to amuse themselves with me. They started rubbing, petting and fingering all over my exposed torso. I had hands on my breasts, fingers massaging my clitoris, which by that time was becoming quite swollen, and even had one probe my rectum. He then showed them, and me, his little surprise. The dildo which he had attached to the motor was inflatable and with a small hand pump, he began to pump some kind of warm fluid into it, causing it to swell inside me. The combination of its developing bulk combined with the increased friction as it rubbed against my increasingly responsive skin started pushing me closer to orgasm. But if that weren't enough, the thing had been modified with a tube running up the middle of it, like an artificial urethra, through which he started pumping some kind of warm thick syrupy fluid and once I felt this shit squirting into my vagina, I just lost it. That first orgasm hit like he had placed a bomb inside me and I began to scream from the incredible feelings I was experiencing. I had never felt anything like it before and it seemed to engulf me with wave after wave of sensual pleasure. It got the Japanese salesmen excited too and soon I had the mechanical thing jerked out of me and replaced by real living flesh. The knowledge and sensation of having a real penis in me combined with the man's own aggressive excitement as he massaged my well lubricated vagina, sent me into another spiral of intense orgasms. He reciprocated by plunging himself even deeper into me and I soon felt him unload his supply of cum into my interior, filling me with its sticky slimy essence. While I guess I should have, I honestly didn't care about the possibility of being impregnated by him and welcomed the next man's organ in my now wildly hot vagina. This ritual continued until all of them, I think there were eight, had satisfied themselves. At that point I could have gone for several more but I had apparently worn them out and they all left, including the doctor, headed I guess to the guard's apartment for dinner. I eventually cooled down as the effects of the drugs gradually wore off and after what must have been at least an hour or more, the Nazi returned and took me to the showers. But then, as if I hadn't had enough that day, instead of going back to my cell, I was led to the dairy to participate in that evening's daily milking session. Apparently some of the slaves had been sold and they needed me because there were only four of us left on the island that night. Arriving at the dairy, I noticed that Vicky was still there. Because of the way the tables were arranged she couldn't see me and had apparently already been administered the lactating serum as were the other two women who were still in the process of being scrubbed down. Unlike me, the other women looked like they had just had their hair done and were all made up like they had been expecting the visitors. I had mixed feelings about seeing Vicky there, sorry to see her being exploited in that place but yet glad that she was still surviving the things we were all being forced to experience. I too received my injection and within a minute or so started to feel really faint and soon after passed out. When I reawakened, the other three women were already being milked and I was about to be hooked up. While I knew the aching fullness in my breasts would be relieved by the milking, still half awake, I screamed from the stinging jab of pain caused by the milking cups seizing onto my tender glands. My reaction drew a response from the group of Japanese men who I just then noticed were also in the room, observing this little private hell being forced on us women. After a while the guard unhooked one of the other women and, much to her discomfort and their amusement, the men attempted to suckle and to hand milk her until they all must have grown tired of torturing her and she was put back on the machine. Vicky was the first to complete her milking session at which time the males told her that they were going to have a little party and she was going to be the entertainment. To her horror, as they began pulling out the equipment, she realized that meant that she had been chosen to demonstrate the butter churning process. The other two women were taken back to their cells, however since I had apparently been started after them, I was left alone for the time being. At the same time I couldn't avoid witnessing Vicky's round of torture. The Japanese guys were intensely fascinated with all the churning gadgets and became even more interested once they had Vicky's legs spread open. The doctor covered the churn with glue, all the while explaining the process to his audience, and I couldn't help but notice Vicky's growing panic from the events unfolding around her. Then, moving around to the bottom of the table, he positioned the churn against her and thrust it in. I closed my eyes as she thrashed about in her straps, screaming as they hooked the electrodes to her while enduring the added physical attention from her male audience rubbing and stroking her nude body. Then they turned on the current and her screams turned to shrieks, responding to each harrowing pulse of power coursing through her body, jerking her waist along with the churn device they had implanted in her genitals. The horrible thing to all of this was the more she screeched from the agony she was enduring, the more her drunken male audience seemed entertained by the violent exhibition she was being compelled to "perform" for them. While I had seen similar degenerate assaults carried out on other women in the dairy, it all seemed so much more brutal when you knew the person they were doing it to. Eventually, as it seemed like the group of men was preparing to gang rape her, I was spared witnessing any more of her torment and was taken off the milking machine and led back to my own cell. The guard returned a few minutes later with some more of his dog food and while I tried to eat, I again ended up vomiting most of it. I eventually fell asleep crying, haunted with thoughts about my friend Vicky and the ordeal she was being forced to live through. I didn't sleep long, however. A few hours later I was awakened by the voices of the males shouting obscenities in the hallway outside my door. From their conversation it seemed that after having been returned to her cell, Vicky had tried to hang herself. She had torn some strips of cloth from her mattress cover and then took the metal frame of the cot, which was longer than she was tall, and leaned it up against the wall. Standing on the toilet, she had tied her collar to the top of the frame with the strips of cloth and then jumped off. The males happened to see her do it on the security camera system we all had in our cells. It sounded like they took her off somewhere and things quieted down for a few minutes until the males all returned. One by one they came into our cells and bolted our cots to the cement floor and then checked both us and the cell for anything that we might be able to use against ourselves. I guess they had figured we were all going to commit suicide together. After they had all left the doctor returned. He cut the collar off my neck and replaced it with a smaller strap around my right ankle. While he was doing that he volunteered to tell me that "the cunt that had caused all this trouble would probably be all right." Then he added that she would have to make up the lost time by doing extra churning and "client service." Just then I looked down at the strap on my ankle and there was my number. I was GJC-E-12. That was the night that I stopped blaming myself for my capture and imprisonment and that was the night that I resolved that somehow or other I would have to kill the Nazi doctor. The following morning the Nazi didn't come in to wake me. Instead I was brought breakfast by the big guard which I did finally manage to keep down. I knew that being served breakfast meant that something was up and sure enough, before noon the guard showed up at my door again. He was accompanied by a rough looking Eastern European who looked me over, grunted something to the guard and then the two of them left. I didn't know what any of it meant but did figure that I was probably about to be raped again. Waiting there, my mind began to run wild with the possibilities of what was likely to happen next when the guard returned with a big needle and I was knocked out. I woke up not in the slave quarters, but in a small stone walled room, more like a closet really, enclosed by a heavy looking metal door and with one small window up near the ceiling. I had been placed on a little cot, the only piece of furniture in the room, and had no idea how much time had passed since I had first arrived. I know I laid there for quite a while, feeling very hungry and thirsty but lacking the energy to do anything about it. I was still naked but I was no longer wearing my ankle identification, and at least now I had blankets. The blankets were really necessary for more than covering my modesty since I could assume from the temperature of the cell that I was no longer in the tropics. Eventually there was a rattle at the door and the same rough looking guy I had seen before swung it open. "I bring you dinner," he said in broken English. He left a tray and a large jug of water on the bed then turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Dinner was some sort of stew, not great but far better than anything they had given me on the island. Being famished, I eagerly ate all of it and by morning the water jug was empty as well. He returned in the morning and fed me again after which I fell sound asleep. I felt so exhausted after leaving my former prison that I really didn't have the energy to think about the one I was presently in. That evening, the opening door awakened me again and this time the guy was dressed for recreation. He was wearing a black leather overall thing complete with metal studs. Reaching down he grabbed my arm and lifted me to my feet, threw my blanket back on the bed, and then dragged me out into the darkly lit corridor. There were a lot of corners and a big stairway as we went deeper into what turned out to be an old castle. Finally we ended up in a rather large depressing stone chamber with chains hanging from the walls and dangling from the beams in the ceiling. Also suspended from these beams were two rusted iron cages, both empty. The large fireplace on one end had a roaring fire going in it keeping the chamber very warm in addition to supplying all the light in the room. He led me to the center of this chamber and taking my wrists, one at a time, clasped them into heavy iron manacles which were hanging from the ceiling, spreading my arms up and out as far as they would stretch. Then he similarly shackled my ankles to chains which he pulled apart to secure to eyebolts in the stone floor until soon I found myself standing on the floor with my legs spread wide apart in front of him. I watched him intently, fearfully wondering what his plans could possibly be for me. The first thing he did was to hook up a water hose and begin washing me with some sort of liquid soap. It wasn't all that bad, the water was warm and the soap relatively mild. I can assure you that he was very through with his cleaning. When he finished, he stood there for a while, staring at my spread eagled form, the lump in his crotch noticeably swelling. All I could think of was that I wished he would hurry up and get this thing over with, when he reached at his belt and pulled out a rather menacing handgun. "You want to fuck my Lugar," he asked, "Or me?" I don't know what happened to me at that point but something inside decided first that he was planning on killing me, second that it was going to be him or me, and third that I didn't want to have any of him or his shit inside my person, and I started to plan. "You master," I replied softly, "I want you." This must have been the answer he was looking for because the gun went back into the holster on his waist and he unclipped the front of his leather suit releasing the pent up erection which had been straining beneath it. I could feel the thing poking against my stomach and then, as he squatted down, it traced a path between my spread open lips. Ferreting out the opening to my vagina he quickly popped it in and straightening up, drove it deep inside. I screamed at first and began moaning as he rhythmically thrust the thing in and out of me, eventually closing his eyes from the pleasure he was taking from my body. It was then that I pulled my left hand out of the loosely fitting manacle and quickly, without him even realizing it, lifted that gun right out of his holster. With him still grunting inside of me, I pointed the barrel to about where I figured his heart was and pulled the trigger. A huge roar filled the chamber and he was literally torn out of me, landing on the stone floor. I took aim and shot again, this time right into the middle of his forehead and the whole place quickly grew silent. I had the strangest feeling right then. It wasn't that I had just killed someone, because I didn't consider that male to be a human, but that I was free. My feet were still chained to that floor, I was lost in some castle located who knows where on the planet, but yet I was free. Well I didn't stay chained to the floor long, and taking his pistol I began to explore the castle. I'm not sure what I was looking for, but since I was still nude and hungry when I came upon what must have been that male's apartment I found some things I needed. He had a pretty well stocked kitchen and I had something to eat and although he wasn't exactly my size, I found some clothes. It's curious how much dignity a little clothing can grant you even if they don't fit very well. Something else which gave me some dignity was the substantial cache of Krugerrands I found in one of his rooms. I also found a large ring of keys and a small arsenal, and after reloading my weapon decided to continue exploring the castle, thinking that I might find someone else there. I found my old cell and nearby found a similar cell which contained another prisoner. When I opened the door to her cell she screamed and I don't really know who was more frightened. Anne, again not her real name, was the only other living person in that place, having been caged there for about a month. She had experienced it all. Anne had been a dancer in Chicago who had been forced into prostitution. Captured after attempting to escape, she was shipped out to the same place I had been in the Caribbean for "correction". There she too had experienced the dairy and all the other horrors of that place before being sold to the male who had this castle. About a week before my arrival, after the male had seriously injured her during one of his little fantasies, he decided to let her rest and recover. That was why he bought me. She was feeling much better once I found her and together we very soon decided that it was up to us to do something about that operation in the Caribbean. Now, I had met this lady during my past year in college who had come to speak to our French class about Paris. After class that evening, over some wine with some of the other students, she also told us a couple of funny stories about a group of her more militant lesbian friends in France. The two of us decided that militant lesbians were exactly what we now needed. Of course what we really needed was more than just an idea. We were two women in a foreign country who had just killed somebody, who lacked any sort of identification and, at least in my case, who was probably legally dead. So first we buried the our captor somewhere in that castle where he will never be found, and then cleaned the place up and left there sometime around daybreak. Finding out that we were somewhere in Romania the two of us, after buying some decent clothes, decided to head for the capital city of Bucharest figuring we could find some help there. We slept on the train and arrived in Bucharest late that same afternoon where, using some of our new found wealth, we checked into a very nice hotel. The most remarkable thing happened that evening. Shortly after checking in we were visited by the hotel concierge, I'll call him Maurice since he spoke fluent French, and he was very interested in what two American girls with no luggage and a sizeable cache of gold were doing in his hotel. After only a short time we decided that Maurice was sincere and we told him some about how we had ended up in Romania in an effort to solicit his help. He was at first amazed we were still alive but he was also pretty certain he knew someone who could help us. There was a woman who happened to be staying in the hotel that very evening that he would arrange for us to meet and Maurice assured us of both his and her confidentiality. The woman, who never identified herself to us, was the manager of a petroleum trading company based in Singapore. She was quite young, not really any older than we were, and very pretty. I was also fairly certain she was also an American and suspected that she knew a lot more about us and our situation than she let on. Most important, she was extremely interested in our plan to blow up the island. Maurice suggested that she had significant connections with the underworld throughout Europe. After a few phone calls she wished us luck and regretted that she would be unable to join us. We never saw her again but the following morning we found ourselves with new identities. We were suddenly employees of British Petroleum on a diplomatic trade mission for the European Union, complete with passports, visas, airline tickets, prepaid hotel reservations in Paris, a sizeable line of credit at the Banque Nationale de Paris along with another similar line of credit with the Banque SCS Alliance Nassau, LTD., and more prepaid reservations at a resort hotel in the Bahamas. With all of her help it wasn't too difficult to get to Paris, it seemed like everywhere we went there was a red carpet waiting for us, and it also wasn't too hard to find the woman I had met in college. Moreover it wasn't very difficult at all to put together a small army of female volunteers who were willing to travel to the Bahamas for a "fishing charter" in the Caribbean. From the information my friend Vicky had given me about the place I sort of guessed that it was on a small island somewhere southeast of Nassau and after only a little investigation we figured we had located it. We learned of this small island which fit the profile almost precisely. It had a casino, and various individuals we spoke with hinted that one could buy almost anything there as far as prostitution was concerned, even, and I cringed at this last part, human milk. A couple of us rented a plane early the next morning and did a little reconnaissance on our own. Sure enough, it was all there, the casino, the stone wall, the barracks building housing the slave quarters. I felt physically ill just looking at the place knowing what was going on inside it. That evening we rented several small boats and set out for the compound. I wanted to arrive there in the early morning, while everyone was still asleep so that I would be pretty certain as to where our targets were. First we found Vicky. I was so happy that she was still alive. Remaining undetected, we quickly managed to get her and the rest of the prisoners out unharmed. The big guard was discovered drunk in his bed with one of the young captives. They cut his throat. I found the "doctor" myself. He had fallen asleep in his lab still working on his orgasm powered butter churn stimulator. While we were in a hurry to get out of there before we were discovered, I took the time to strap him to his little rack, and to the satisfaction of several of his former victims, rammed one of his butter churn devices up his asshole, and then after clipping electrodes to his penis and balls, powered the thing up just like I had watched him do to me so many times before. We left him like that, jerking away while we set the whole damn place on fire. It burned like crazy and we got out of there as quickly as we could. With as many witnesses and victims as there were to the torture chamber operation on that island, the authorities were forced to close the whole place down. While I'm not naive enough to believe that it also closed down their little white slave trade, I do know that the boss met with an untimely tragic accident shortly after he made bail, and I suspect there may have been a few other similar incidents involving some of the other males on that island. As for myself, I went back to school again in the fall. I was very much alive, and never had to work another summer job again.