The catcalls begin the instant that I enter the cellblock. Megapolis State Prison, lovingly called the Gulag by its residents, is overflowing with evil men and I know many of them personally. After all, I am the one that put them here.
“Whoa baby! Bring me the loving!”
“God almighty, my prayers have been answered!”
“God’s got nothing to do with it, man! Shout at the devil, sweet momma!”
My eyes return the disparaging hoots and hollers with an icy glare while my feet tread an invisible line down the middle of the grated walkway. Steel bars on either side prevent the prisoners from touching me. Arms slide through and try to grasp me with groping fingers but I am just out of reach.
“Shake it for me, super-slut! Shake it!”
“Just a touch, sweet thing! Just one little touch!”
There are no windows, here. Everything seems made of cement and steel. The Gulag is an underground facility and this is level six. It is the deepest cellblock of them all, the one reserved for truly nasty criminals. My skin-tight costume glistens beneath bright, fluorescent lights as I stride silently past these convicts. I know that my incredible body is on display for them but do not care. I walk unhurriedly, like a fashion model on a catwalk, placing one foot directly in front of the other with each new step, heal to toe. Curved hips roll gently up and down. An apple ass moves side to side like the pendulum of a clock. Taught thighs, bare and golden tan, flex ever so slightly. Long calves, contained within form-hugging black knee-highs, propel me purposely forward. There is a confident bounce in my step that makes the convicts want me all the more.
“This isn’t prison! I woke up in heaven and found an angel!”
“If heaven is about torment then yeah, we’re in heaven. Gods, just a touch, pretty girl! Just a touch and I can die happy!”
The noise is raucous and the two guards walking behind are worried that my svelte, hourglass figure will cause a riot. Many of the prisoners are powerfully built. Lifting weights is a way for them to pass the time and they have used their incarceration to shape and transform their bodies into fearsome weapons. I cannot help but take note of the massive biceps and shoulders of these shirtless men. It is impossible to ignore the ripped abdomens and barrel-like chests. They are dangerous, every one of them. But the bars are thick and able to hold back the surging wave of testosterone. My expression and pace remain unchanged. I am here to see one man and one man only, and he is at the end of the hall, in a small room, waiting for me.
“I got ten inches of hardwood for you, bitch!”
“Come over here and I’ll give you a quickie through the bars, super-skank!”
A golden mane of hair flows off of my head, down and across a long neck, and over strong shoulders. The muscles of my arms, like those of the prisoners, are well-defined, though in a much more feminine way. The gloved fingers of my hands are loose and relaxed. Perfect breasts, encased in a micro-thin layer of red cloth, bounce slightly as I stride haughtily forward. The bare flesh of a washboard belly teases the hell out of men who are so close and yet so very far away. I am every bit the athlete that they are. Indeed, I am more. They can lift all the weights that they want but they will never be as strong as me.
“I’m losing it, boys! I’m losing my wad!”
“Let me touch you, damnit! Just one touch! It’s the least you can do after putting me in this hell hole!” I almost feel sorry for them. Some journalists, mostly those working for the supermarket tabloids, have labeled me as one of the planet’s most beautiful women. Normally, I could care less about such flattery, but it is clear to me that these convicts are experiencing something akin to pain as I walk past. Does my beauty really hurt them so much? Are they so lonely? Are they so desperate for the sight of a woman? I am careful to remain in the middle of the walkway. I must not let the multitude of groping hands pull me into the bars lest they tear me to pieces.
I momentarily slow my pace and make brief eye contact with some of the men. Indeed, I am responsible for the incarceration of many. Gangbangers, rapists, thieves, murderers- I have thwarted and captured a large number. Some of them I remember, others not so much. Uncounted nightly patrols blend together in my
memory, confounding recollections of brief encounters and crimes undone. But the man with whom I am going to meet is remembered well. In fact, it is unlikely that I shall ever forget him no matter how much a may want to. “Here we are, ma’am,” one of the guards says while slipping past me to unlock the door that marks the end of the walkway. “He isn’t cuffed, so be careful.”
He holds open the door and I give him a reassuring smile. “It will be alright. After all, I’m Ms. Marvelous.” The door closes behind me and the raucous sound of catcalls is replaced by that of steel tumblers clicking into place. The reinforced door is stout- even I would have difficulty breaking it down. I turn my attention to the small chamber that stands before me. The lighting is good but somehow the man has found a shadow in which to sit. “Joey?” I ask with impatience. “Is it you?”
He stands from his chair and directs a mocking bow toward me. “Joey Malokovich, at your service.” It occurs to me that I have just finished putting on a floor show for more than two-hundred gawking and lustful prisoners without it fazing me, but being near to this single man causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. For a brief moment, I wonder if this was such a good idea. But the thought is pushed aside almost as soon as it forms. I need information and this is the man who can give it to me.
“It’s been a long time, Joey. I would ask you how things have been but well…”
He steps out of the shadows and I am taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. Dark, unblinking eyes roam across my athletic body as if they are committing every part of it to memory. The eyes pause on my breasts and I can tell that he is remembering what it felt like to squeeze and caress my large mounds. Unfortunately, I remember what it felt like, as well. I remember the one-sided fight on Pier Fifteen. I remember how his strong hands played my tits like musical instruments, strumming my carnal chords until I was helpless with desire. The memory of it is strong and seems to have power over me still- my cheeks redden and I feel my nipples quickly hardening. There is a tingling sensation deep within my vagina and once again I am forced to wonder if coming here was a good idea.
Of all the men that I have faced in battle, perhaps none has been as perceptive of my abnormal physiology, not to mention my inexplicable sensitivity to sensual stimulation, as Joey. Truth be told, and I am embarrassed to admit it, he may be more in tune with my oversexed body than even I am. More than once, he has demonstrated that he knows just where and how to touch me. His fingers are magical. His tongue should be a registered weapon. He is well-endowed and fits me almost perfectly- if my pussy is a lock then his cock is surely the key. Just seeing him, now… just being near him… it arouses me…
“Oh, stop it!” I shout silently to myself. “He is just a punk, and a crazed one at that! He has no power over you!”
I try to push the memory of Pier Fifteen out of my mind. Joey Malokovich is an evil and violent thug. The credit I give him as a lover is likely the result of my need to find some explanation for the fact that he, a punk without superpowers or special training, was twice able to rape me. Ultimately, it does not matter. I am not here to fight him. As much as I would like to slap the lustful sneer off of his face and get some payback, I am not that kind of person. All I need is information.
But Joey, it seems, has needs of his own. To my disdain, he quickly notices that the small bumps pressing upward from beneath the sheer fabric of my costume have grown much more pronounced. There is a brief twinkle in his dark eyes. He enjoys the sight of my nipples getting larger. I can tell that he is fantasizing. I can only imagine what perverse thoughts are going through his head. Wondering about it does not help and, in spite of myself, I become even more aroused. My nipples continue to swell as I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His eyes seem able to burn my flesh. After what seems like a long time he finally returns to the real world. “Holy Christ…” is all he has to say.
“Did you have a nice trip?” I ask irritably.
He smirks and continues to stare at my chest. “It seems that you are happy to see me, Doll Face.” My cheeks burn hotter and I am thankful for the mask covering my face. But now it is my turn to examine him. Despite the intimate knowledge he has concerning my over-sexed body, Joey is a virtual stranger- we have only met two times. He is taller than I remember, standing an honest six foot four. His hair is jet black and cut short. He is broad through the shoulders and chest and the gray prisoner shirt that he is wearing strains against the powerful physique underneath. His waist is narrow and there is plenty of slack in the prison-issued belt that holds up his pants. But those same pants seem ready to tear- a visibly swelling bulge is ready to erupt from his crotch.
“I could say the same about you.” Oh, god, did I really just say that?
He snickers, unashamed by a perverse desire to fuck me and pleased that I have noticed his swollen cock. “You always did want it, didn’t you super-babe? Oh, you tried to act all virtuous and innocent, but when it got nasty and I gave you a taste, you always wanted more. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You wanted me inside of you. You wanted me to bring you off.”
“You must be thinking of someone else,” I reply nonchalantly.
“Your nipples are telling a different story, babe.”
It has always been this way with Joey, I remind myself. The man is mentally disturbed. Since our first encounter in the Apple Hills estate, so many months before, he has been fixated on the idea of making me his sex slave. Call it obsessive-compulsive disorder or something far more sinister, but definitely call it dangerous. He has come after me in the past, setting elaborate traps to capture me, always with the intention of raping me. In his crazed state, he even went so far as to rape my best friend, Elle, somehow thinking that she was me. Joey is often delusional, I remember. Delusional and dangerous.
There is a table separating us and he leans against it, supporting the weight of his upper body on his knuckles. I can see the muscles of his arms and shoulders flexing beneath the shirt. His jaw is tense and I can tell that it takes effort just for him to maintain his self-control. What he really wants to do is jump across the table and grab me. He wants to throw me on the floor, spread my long legs, and hump me like a wild animal. Part of me is scared. Part of me, the young woman, is ready to leave this place and never come back. But the other part, the super-heroine part, is sure that she can handle anything this bozo throws at her.
“Don’t do anything you will regret,” I caution him.
He ignores the warning but remains on his side of the table. “I guess you’re happy that I’m in prison,” he hisses. “Makes your life easier, I imagine. You don’t have to be looking over your shoulder all the time, wondering when I’ll come after you next.”
I try to relax, try to ease the tension that permeates the small chamber. “You would be surprised how many people I have to look out for, Joey. You are not the only one that claims Ms. Marvelous as an enemy. Which is kind of why I am here, actually. Tell me what you know about the Serpent Squad.”
The lustful glare changes ever so slightly. He is suddenly interested in something other than screwing my brains out. Hard to say how long it will last, though.
“The Serpent Squad? What makes you think I know anything about that?”
“Word on the street is that they are the reason you’re in here. Something about you trying out for the team and failing to make the grade, or you not being a good team player, or maybe they just didn’t like you, I don’t know. Whatever the reason, I hear that they turned you in to the cops just to be rid of you.”
Joey’s jaw is twitching pretty good, now, and for once he is looking me in the eye. “Is that what you heard?” he answers in a gruff voice. “Maybe you heard wrong?”
“I don’t think so. Word is that they told you to hit the bricks and things got ugly. You ended up with two years in the Gulag and they got a good laugh out of it.”
His fist slams the table. “Those bastards thought they were too good for me! I told them that I could bring you in, collect the bounty on your head, but they didn’t like my plan. Thought I was too crazy. Thought I wouldn’t carry through on the deal, wouldn’t fulfill the terms of the contract. Thought I couldn’t give you up once I had you. So they set me up, had me do a preliminary job, just to see if I could make good, you know? But it was a trap, the police waiting for me, waiting to lock me up. The bastards! The slimy, snake bastards!”
I give him a moment to collect the thimbleful amount of sanity still rattling around in his sick mind. “So we have a common enemy, don’t we, Joey? Don’t you see? By helping me you can help yourself. Get a little bit of payback. Tell me about the Serpent Squad. Tell me where I can find them. I’ll do the rest. Maybe I can send a few of them your way, give you chance to talk it over with them here in the Gulag, straighten things out.”
His lips turn upward in an evil smirk. He steps around the table. I try to remain relaxed but the anxiety inside is building. I do not like being close to this guy. I do not like him being anywhere near to me. “Don’t you see? If we work together I can--”
“What can you do, Doll Face?” he snorts. “Beat the entire Serpent Squad? They’re professional bounty hunters and might be too tough, even for you. They’ve taken down other super-heroines, you know. Heroines just as strong and proud as you. What makes you think you can come out on top when others didn’t?”
“I can turn the tables on them, that’s what. I can hunt them for a change. Pick the time and place for battle. Make them the prey, for once, and me the hunter. But I need your help. I need to know where their headquarters is.”
“I think you overestimate your chances, super-babe. Even if you got through the grunts, you would still have to deal with the head honcho and he is a real freak. Strangest dude I have ever met, and believe me I have met some strange ones. You do not want to mess with that guy.”
“I am willing to take my chances.”
Joey chuckles and steps closer still. God, he is big, I think. Must weigh two-sixty, at least. His shadow feels stifling, like it’s sucking the air out of the room. “And what’s in it for me if I help you?” he says while staring into my eyes.
“I already told you. I’ll drop off the ones I catch here at the Gulag. You can have a nice reunion. Do whatever it is that you prisoner types do.”
Another step closer. Practically on top of me, now. “Not good enough. What else?”
I do my best to hide my nervousness. “You do not want them to be the ones to capture me, do you? I know how you feel about me, about how you think that you own me--”
“Yeah,” he says lustfully. “I own you.”
“But if they capture me and hand me over to Don Refrain, you will never get your chance to prove it.” “I’m no snitch,” he replies. “And if you’re as tough as you claim, then it shouldn’t be a problem.” He is only inches away from me, now, his eyes staring downward, once again focused firmly on my
breasts. I resist the urge to step back. I do not want to show fear. “Then maybe we can strike some kind of bargain…”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re a short-timer, right? Only in for a couple of years? How about when you get out I make myself easy to find. We can get together for old time’s sake. I’ll even let you have the first shot.” He pauses and I know that I have his interest. What I do not tell him is that the offer is good for me, too. A meeting with Joey will give me the chance to take him down and put him right back in the joint, where he belongs. And I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep this lunatic off of the streets of my city. “The first shot, eh? Can it be my best shot?”
“Um, sure… whatever. Just tell me what you know.”
He reaches toward me and snickers derisively when I flinch. But all he does is take some of my hair in his hand. He strokes it fondly between his fingers, as if it is something to be highly valued. “I thought it was pretty fucked up when the police caught me,” he says with a shrug. “I always thought it would be you that put me in here. Either that or I would be the one to end your crime fighting career. But one way or the other, I always figured it would come down to us, one on one. No police, no Serpent Squad, no Don Refrain.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe this is going to work out after all. “So, will you help me? Will you tell me where to find the Serpent--”
His answer comes quick and hard. Moving faster than a man his size should be able to move, he grabs a huge handful of my scalp with one hand and my throat with the other. He slams me back-first against the unforgiving concrete wall. He holds me there, leaning against me, the tip of his nose against mine, snarling into my face.
“You’re pretty easy to find right now, Doll Face! What’s to stop me from taking my best shot right here, right now?”
He releases my hair and slides his hand downward across my chest and belly. Before I realize what is happening, it is underneath my bikini bottom and a finger is slipping inside of my tender slit. It drags excruciatingly across my excited clit. He presses the side of his face against mine. A half day’s growth of whiskers prickle my soft skin. Warm breath tickles my nape. The strong fingers wrapped around my windpipe make it impossible to catch my breath. Two hundred and sixty pounds of rock solid man lean against me, pinning me. “Get off of me you brute!”
I raise my arms and grip his shoulders, preparing to push him away. The man is a fool. Doesn’t he know that I am as strong as ten men? Doesn’t he know that I can pull his arms out of their sockets and break his bones? Doesn’t he know that—
“Oooohhhh…”
The finger invading my slit draws slowly across my clit a second time and suddenly I am no longer in the small room at the end of the cellblock, no longer even in the prison at all. The cement walls become wooden planks and the overhead fluorescent bulbs become moonlight. I am back on Pier Fifteen, breasts swollen and
pussy wet, my body tormented beyond endurance by the Sartak, tormented beyond all hope by a thug named Joey Malokovich.
“You are so wet,” he whispers in my ear. “I know that you want this!”
“No… I don’t… stop…”
His tongue flicks across my neck, finding erogenous zones that I never knew I possessed. He rubs and strokes my clit mercilessly, sending wave after wave of erotic sensations flowing through my lithe body. His finger knows just how to touch me… how to stroke me… strength leaving my body… feel so helpless… I try to remember why I am here but my mind is clouded with sexual imagery. I try to remember who I am but can focus only on the finger and my burning clit. Now he is using two fingers, spreading the folds of soft skin, exposing my little bud and making it still more vulnerable to the nearly unbearable stimulation. I moan weakly, my hands dropping away from his shoulders and falling limp next to my hips…
And then, in the next instant, I am hanging upside down, dangling from a rope that binds my ankles, my long body stretched out and helpless, Joey standing behind me. His arms are wrapped around my slender figure, hands dancing across my aching tits to the rhythm of the lapping surf. With each new stroke across my breasts, my nipples scream in wonderful agony and a bit more of my strength and will is stripped away. It goes on for long time… magical fingers… stroking… caressing… squeezing… teasing… I am utterly helpless, panting for breath, my hands entangled with my hair, arms falling flaccidly downward toward the planks of the pier…
And then, suddenly, we are in the water and I am held under for too long, my struggles fading as the last breath grows thin, my body going limp in the arms of my attacker. Sure of his victory, he pulls me to the surface and gives me the kiss of life, breathing air into my lungs and reviving me while at the same time stroking my breasts in order to keep me weak.
“Who’s your daddy?” he demands to know.
I cough up some water. “You… you’re my daddy.”
He swims me to the shore and easily lifts my waterlogged figure in his powerful arms. He carries me into a nearby building, a warehouse of some kind. We are alone, in the darkness, and he lays me on the cold cement floor between tall stacks of crates that serve as phallic-like monuments to his amazing sexual talents. He spreads my thighs and pushes downward on my bent knees, pressing them nearly to the floor, lifting my hips and opening me completely. He eagerly pulls the fabric of my costume to the side, revealing my womanhood. He leans forward and enters me with his rock hard cock, plowing a path that quickly tames my youthful body. He fucks me almost into oblivion and I am sure that this is the end, sure that Ms. Marvelous is defeated and will rise no more. I feel him come inside of me, filling me with stream after stream of hot semen, fueling an intense feeling of shame that is overshadowed only by my own burning and unrepentant desire. At last, spent but not finished, he pulls out of me and kneels between my parted legs. He proceeds to torture me with his tongue, working over my nether lips and clit with gentle licks and kisses that drive me out of my mind. Yet each time my orgasm nearly reaches its explosive zenith, he pulls back and waits for the sensations to subside just enough that I can continue on. Then, without pity or remorse, he again unleashes his cruel tongue and begins the agonizing process once more.
“Aaaaagggghhhh!” I finally cry out. “You are torturing me! Please, just make me come! Please, I beg you, just make me come!”
And then, just as my humiliation is complete, and just as I am reduced to being a sex-slave pleading for mercy, the Sartak-induced flashback is over and I am back in the prison, back in the little room with Joey leaning against me. I do not know how long the hallucination may have lasted but it, and the fingers stroking my labia, have severely weakened me. I moan in utter misery as he kicks my feet apart with his own, spreading my long legs wide to the sides so that he can more easily and thoroughly destroy me.
“You are so wet,” he whispers in my ear. “You are nearly ready to climax on my fingers!” I moan helplessly as he plays with my clit for another sixty seconds. He rubs my vulva and his efforts go unchallenged. My arms are limp. My eyelids are heavy and my head nods forward. I struggle for breath and get little. My body is burning. He softly strokes my nether lips, spreading them wide and exposing my well lubricated hole. I feel so weak. I feel so vulnerable.
“Please… stop…”
He is inside me, now, two fingers penetrating my love hole and exploring every part of a sopping pussy. I whimper like a virgin as he finds my g-spot and tortures it with several agonizing rubs. I feel like a helpless schoolgirl and wonder where the guards are. I want to be rescued but somehow know that help will not be
coming. It does not take a genius to know that the guards have been paid off, told to remain outside the locked chamber despite any femininely cries of distress that might come from within.
An unwanted but undeniable fantasy enters my head, a dark fantasy of a beautiful blonde girl being thrown half-naked into a cell with hundreds of well-endowed convicts, each wanting to fuck her. They do her in every orifice, without mercy, eventually covering her head to toe in the sticky white goo of their powerful sex pistols. It goes on through the night and into the day, the girl a sex toy for their pleasure. They fight over her, the strongest laying their claim and getting to fuck her again and again, never satisfied, never willing to give her up. The guards watch from beyond the bars, wishing, just this once, that they too were prisoners and that they too could have a chance to ravage the virtuous young maiden.
“No more… please…”
His thumb is drawing gentle circles atop my clit. Pre-orgasmic spasms vibrate through my vagina. My sphincter clenches. The impending orgasm is going to be huge. It is going to be like a seizure, violently shaking my oversexed body and twisting my femininely muscles into misshapen knots. I can feel it coming, an unstoppable force of nature that will end me. I do not know how much longer I can last. I do not know how much longer I can survive this torment--
The hand holding my throat loosens its grip. It lifts my chin so that my attacker might look into my dazed, blue eyes. Once again, I am amazed by the intensity of Joey’s dark stare. It penetrates me as surely as do his fingers. He can see that I am defeated but continues to stroke my pussy, torturing me. He speaks, whispering a secret into my ear.
“You know what, Doll Face? The Serpent Squad was probably right. I would not have been able to let you go. I need you to be mine. You will always be mine. You will always belong to me, always be my sex toy.” His lips smother mine with a long and passionate kiss. I am defenseless as a long tongue enters and explores my mouth. The memory of Pier Fifteen, so vivid and powerful in my mind, returns once again. I remember how he nearly destroyed me, remember how he nearly made me his slave. Yet, I remember something else, too, something nearly as disturbing as the disabling weakness that has long since overcome my will to resist. I remember blood, not mine but rather that belonging to my friend, Joel Steiner. Pier Fifteen was the night that Joey broke Joel’s nose. That was the night that he nearly murdered the brave but overmatched newspaper man. A spark of anger emerges as I remember the terrible sound of Joey’s fists repeatedly cracking off of my friend’s head. It does not take long for the spark to grow into a fire.
I jerk my head away, breaking the devastating lip-lock. My eyes focus and boldly return his penetrating glare. Yet, my voice is husky as I speak, trembling as I try desperately to hold back the orgasm burning in my loins. “You know the… problem with you… Joey? You never know your limits… I do not belong to you… Ms. Marvelous does not belong… to any man…”
I force my hands to rise. I grip his huge biceps. He realizes the danger and increases the tempo of his fingers, rubbing my g-spot more forcefully. His thumb dances over my swollen clit. My head leans back and my eyes close. I moan loudly, nearly finished. The angry fire burning inside of me is almost overwhelmed by an inferno of uncontrolled desire sweeping through my body. It would be so easy to give up, so easy to let him finish me off. But I cannot be defeated, not like this. I take a deep breath and gather my strength. I have one chance and one chance only. The orgasm is so close… so very… very… close…
“No! I am not your toy! ”
I blindly push upward and outward, throwing the big man off like a sack of grain. He is airborne for a moment and then crashes back to earth, bouncing face-first off of the table and somersaulting backward into the shadows. He hits the floor awkwardly, arms and legs entangled with the chair, pain shaking him from an insane and lustful reverie.
I remain against the wall, panting for breath and praying that he does not get up. I feel so weak. It is an effort simply to remain standing. I remain there for a long time, my knees stiff and legs still spread wide, my wet pussy exposed. A drop of my fluids falls to the floor and splatters on the concrete. But Joey is in bad shape, too. I hear a low groan from the opposite side of the room. A hand emerges from beneath the table as he tries to get off the floor.
I compel myself straighten up. I adjust my costume. I shake my head, trying to regain my senses. It will do no good to show weakness. I have to appear strong. And no matter what else happens, I cannot let him touch me again.
But as Joey rises slowly from the floor, I can tell that he wants no more of me, either, at least for the moment. He has a large, purple lump on his forehead. A trickle of blood drips from his nose. “Ouch,” is all that he has to say.
I step away from the wall and smack my left fist into my right palm. It is a bluff- I am so weak and aroused that he could take me with little effort. But he does not know how badly off I am. I do my best to appear strong and confident. “Are you going to help me or do I have to beat the information out of you?” I demand to know.
There is a stupid grin on Joey’s mug and for a moment I fear that he sees through my charade, fear that he is going to charge me and take me to the floor. He licks his fingers, the ones that had been inside of me, enjoying the taste. But then, just as I have nearly given up hope of getting out of this room unscathed, he shrugs his shoulders and looks at me oddly.
“Yeah, I’ll help you. But I’m going to hold you to our bargain. When I get out, we’ll meet and settle this. And I get the first shot.”
He licks his fingers again and eyes my crotch. I want to break those fingers off and jam them into his eyes. “Agreed,” I sigh disdainfully.
“Then here is how you find those snake loving motherfuckers…”
I walk away minutes later, having all the information I need and more. Once he got started, Joey spilled the whole can of beans- where to find the Serpent Squad, who their leader is, who they are working for, and even their current contracts. But he got something in return, of course- wet fingers and a titillating story for the other cons. That and the promise of a rematch when he gets out.
The guards seem surprised to see me still in one piece but I ignore them. And though I would not have thought it possible, the catcalls coming from behind the bars of the Gulag are even louder and more vulgar than the first time I passed by this way. I have little doubt but that the convicts have taken notice of my jutting nipples, flushed skin, and disheveled hair. So be it- I simply do not care. Most of these men have not seen or been with a woman in years. My five foot nine inch body, spectacular in every regard and clad in a revealing, flesh-hugging costume, teases them beyond all reason. I strut my stuff and put on a good show. It is cruel and unusual punishment and these bastards deserve every bit of it.