Thanks to everyone for your comments and votes! As always, all characters in this story are over the age of 18.
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IT was another round of travelling-car, plane, car again-just like when she was first taken prisoner. This trip seemed longer, and instead of giving her something that made her feel really high and trippy, the drugs they injected her with knocked her out cold.
She woke up, slowly, alone in yet another small concrete cell. This one was smaller than her old cell back at the mansion, but at least it was well lit.
She was wearing a baggy green sleeveless dress that hung down past her knees. The color was hideous but she didn't care-it was soft on the inside and after all the time she'd been forced to be nude, any clothing was a minor blessing.
On a little wall shelf were a handful of pills, a couple granola/energy bars, and a bottle of water. She took the pills and ate the food, then sat down on her cot to wait for whatever fate was in store.
The silence and her disorientation was nerve wracking. She had no idea where she was, what time it was, what day it was...hell she wasn't even sure of the month. She forced herself to breathe deeply and evenly.
'Keep it together Philly,' she told herself. 'Whatever happens is gonna happen.'
Some time passed, and she saw her first other person in this new prison. An older woman, mid fiftys, short and plump, wearing a shapeless grey smock, approached her cell.
Phyllis stood up. 'Where am I?' she asked.
The woman responded in a language Phyllis didn't understand. It sounded Eastern European, maybe Russian.
The lady shrugged and pushed a tray under the bars. A bowl of stew, a couple hunks of coarse bread, and two more bottles of water.
She looked at Phyllis with a sad expression and said something else, then sighed and walked away.
With nothing else to do, Phyllis ate the flavorful, meaty stew while her mind conjured up endless images of the Russian mob and cold war era KGB atrocities. She hated to admit it, but she was genuinely scared.
Still worn out from the drugs and her trip, she curled back up on the cot after filling her belly and slept.
She was awakened by the sound of footsteps approaching. Stretching, feeling reasonably well-rested, she sat up, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.
Three big men with short hair, wearing suits, soon stood outside her cell. They weren't man-mountains like Barry had been, but they were large enough, and unlike the expressionless servant, there was something cruel and unpleasant in the way they looked at her that made her want to shudder.
One of them tossed something into the cell, onto her cot.
'You brush hair,' he said in heavily accented English.
She thought briefly of refusing, but hell she did want to get some of the tangles out-and anyway look what fighting every little thing had gotten her last time? She spent a few minutes running the brush through her brown hair and decided to be smarter about picking her battles this time.
One of the men unlocked her cell. The first man spoke again.
'You come.'
Her legs felt like lead and her bottom lip trembled as the men escorted her down a hallway, one on each side and the talker behind her. They stopped and entered a much larger room. There was a desk, a bed, a sink, and two more people inside.
One was a very pretty woman about her age, wearing the exact same oversized green dress, standing to the side with her hands behind her back and her head bowed.
The other was an older man in khakis and a white polo shirt. He nodded to her escorts, one of whom put a big hand on her bicep. The closing of the door behind them sounded very loud and ominous.
Polo Shirt let his eyes wander slowly over her, and his half-smile was terrifying.
'Fee-louse,' he said at last. 'You work here now. I boss.'
'Russian,' she thought to herself. His accent was so thick it was hard to understand him.
He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms.
'Now...you streep an sprayed for fox.'
She ran those words through her head a few times. 'What?' she finally had to say.
He looked amused.
'You streep,' he said slowly, and mimed unbuttoning a shirt.
'an sprayed,' he pressed his hand together in front of him, then opened them like he was expecting a hug.
'for fox,' and he made a circle with his left index finger and thumb, and pushed his right index finger in and out in an unmistakeable, lewd gesture.
'Oh hell no,' she snarled, and started to bolt for the door. She didn't even get turned all the way around before the goon with his hand on her arm had her wrapped up tight.
She kicked and howled to no effect as two of them pulled her dress over her head. She was tossed on the bed, and in moments her wrists were cuffed over her head.
Strong hands held each ankle, and pulled her legs up and back, cuffing them to her wrists. She thrashed helplessy, cursing and snarling, outraged by her exposed position. Her hips were at the very edge of the bed, and having her legs almost over her head left her pussy wide open, displayed for the whole room.
The boss said something-a Russian name, maybe-and one of the goons moved to the edge of her bed. Smirking, he lowered his trousers, took hold of her hips, and thrust into her.
She screamed in pain and anger as he used her.
He drove in and out callously, making a satisfied sound as he shot his load inside her. The boss was up by her head, looking down at her face, and her tears began to flow.
He said another name-Tammy, or maybe Tommy-and the other girl in the room moved quickly. She picked up a damp towel and thrust it into Phyllis' pussy, cleaning her out.
The boss grabbed her hair, forcing her to look at him.
'You no choice,' he stated. 'You whore now. Streep for fox all ways.'
He said another name, and a second man mounted her.
Eventually, all three of the men who had brought her to the room had used her. Then she was uncuffed, and curled into a ball on the bed, sobbing quietly.
'Fee-louse,' the boss called, and she looked up to see the first group of men leave, and three more enter.
'Sprayed for fox now. Or we use ass.'
Hopeless tears soaked her face as she rolled onto her back and opened her legs.
Her time back at the mansion had been brutal and horrible, but this was so much worse. She had never been used so impersonally. The men barely looked at her. She was nothing but an object to them-a warm soft hole to fuck, to relieve their most primitive lusts.
Finally, all the men were done. She half expected the boss to be next, but he nodded approvingly and dropped her ugly dress on her legs.
Her legs wobbled as she stood and draped the garment over her body. He waited, then handed her a box.
'You douche, then sleeps. Food in three hours. You hear other girls and learn.'
She was half-dragged, half-carried back to her cell by the only one of the goons that had spoken to her. When the door clanged shut, she fell on the bed, crying pitieously, but instead of leaving, he stood outside her cell, his arms crossed expectantly.
'You douche!' he barked.
Numbly, feeling broken and defeated, she used the hygiene product while he stood there and supervised, turning her back and lifting her dress for a tiny bit of privacy and dignity.
Satisified, he walked away, leaving her to wrap her arms around her legs and cry herself to sleep.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
'Food. Come.'
Phyllis looked up at the guard who stood by her open cell door and sighed miserably. Her shoulders slumped, she followed him down a couple hallways and through a set of double doors...
And stopped in surprise at the sight before her.
She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting-something like a school cafeteria maybe-and she'd known there were other girls her. But this!
It looked like a lounge, or a commons room. There were tables, couches and loveseats. A big screen TV hung on one wall, dark and silent. A shelf had a few books and a couple decks of cards.
There were twenty other women there, all around her age, women that would have been very attractive if they hadn't looked so unhappy. A few glanced up as she entered, but no one greeted her.
All of them wore dresses like hers, green, pale blue, or maroon.
She saw exactly zero smiles.
One wall was open like a cafeteria serving line, with the kitchen behind it. She was given her meal-a hamburger patty, a small serving of spaghetti, some sliced vegetables (zucchini and beets, it looked like), an apple, and a mug of tea.
There were four guards in the room, one in each corner, looking bored-and behind glass in a little booth was a fifth, sitting in a chair with a rifle next to him.
She sat at an empty table and ate desultorily, barely looking up.
'At least the food's not bad,' she thought.
She finished about half and picked up the apple, when she noticed some of the women had gathered in a loose circle around her table. Alarmed, she set it back on the plate.
One of the women-a tall girl with strawberry blonde hair-sat down across from her.
'You're Phyllis?' she asked.
Uneasy, she nodded.
'You're American, yes?'
'Yeah,' Phyllis sighed.
'I'm Annette. They put me in charge of your training.'
Phyllis looked at her. 'Training,' she said flatly.
'Yep.' The woman raised her hand, and the four guards in the room departed.
'It isn't any fun, but it has to be done. For all our sakes.'
Phyllis leaned across the table. 'Where are we?' she asked quietly.
Annette's lip curled. 'Somewhere in Russia, I think. Don't ask that again. The guards do not like us asking questions.'
'How do we get out of this place?'
'Stop it,' Annette said sternly. 'You don't want to know what they'll do to you if they think you're plotting-and there are women in here who will rat on you.'
'Forget that shit,' Annette continued. 'You're not leaving. What you need to do now is learn how to survive. That means making the customers, and the guards, happy.'
'Fuck that,' Phyllis hissed. 'Anybody who thinks they're gonna be a customer of mine is taking their life in their hands.'
