Utopia: Penitentiary
by Mecca

THE RIOT

“Women are people! Women are people!” the crowd roared, angry female fists pumping with every word. They stomped, cussed, and spit as they faced off against the line of shields held by armored police officers. Across the way, a blazing fire lit up the night sky where the King’s County Courthouse once stood. It was a revolution, or so the rioters claimed. The government had gone too far by legalizing rape and effectively designating women as property.

The officers, all men, didn’t seem scared. They joked with one another as they held the line separating thousands of irate women from the police headquarters.

Their ease infuriated Minoko, who pushed up her glasses and stared directly into the eyes of Officer Camaro. “You pigs will pay for turning our country into a literal fascist state!” she growled at him.

Camaro looked to Weiss, his partner, with a smirk, then back at the hysterical diminutive woman before him. “I’ve got a question,” he said, straight-faced. His voice was barely audible over the ruckus of the protesters. “If ‘women are people,’ does that mean men aren’t people? Isn’t that a bit sexist?”

Minoko stared in visible confusion at the officer’s feigned ignorance. “What? What kind of idiot-”

Just then an explosion rang out. The protesters, mostly women, were throwing Molotov cocktails at the headquarters. With that, the command was given and the officers pushed into the crowd, using the batons liberally to thin the ranks of violent women. Minoko was knocked to the ground, hard, by Camaro’s shield. This saved her from the blunt end of his baton, but others were not so lucky.

Fucking finally, thought Camaro, as he brought down the baton on some fat lesbian who was shielding herself with her arms. He used the shield to push the women back, compressing bodies against bodies before the back of the crowd knew what was happening. With the front of the crowd falling backwards, he used the baton against the next line, beating heads, arms, and chests to knock the women to the ground. Scores of women quickly fell to the ground, some getting up immediately to run, but dozens too wounded to stand. They had been unprepared for the violent consequences of their civil disobedience. An apt metaphor, Camaro thought, for centuries of women wreaking havoc and expecting no consequences for their reckless actions.

Camaro smiled with bloodlust. While he’d thoroughly enjoyed the free sex over the last month, what really got him going was the opportunity to beat women. Even in this new patriarchal state, he was not allowed to use his baton on the law-abiding, sexually available women, at least in public. But no one in the world cared if he bruised up these angry criminal bitches.

Minoko had not been injured too much from her fall; she remained on the ground due to shock. A minute later, she finally rose, realizing it was time to go. But before she could escape, Weiss grabbed her arm and bound her wrists in plastic handcuffs. “Your time is over,” said Weiss to the scared girl. “Men are back.”

THE BUS

Six hours later, Minoko was still sitting on the police bus parked in front of McColough Penitentiary. It was still dark. She didn’t know why they were taking her here instead of letting her go, or at least taking her to a local jail. She hadn’t done anything wrong, she simply participated in a protest that had gotten violent. She had a million questions, but the officer at the front of the bus wasn’t taking any questions. Not even when she pleaded to use the restroom.

But there was a good reason she was here. McColough was one of the first prisons to be newly modernized into a female training facility. When the Freeuse Act was finally enacted, the government had expected some women to rebel. However, they were not prepared for massive protests in every major city in America, some led by millions of protesters. While most of them had been peaceful and others had been violent, the mere act of protesting for rights was illegal for women. Part 6, Section 3 made it a crime for women to participate in “conduct unbecoming of a lady” which of course included behavior like refusing a sexual request from a man, but also things like disturbing the peace, being out at night without a permit, and “promoting, participating in, or encouraging other women to participate in the formal or informal objection of the laws and statutes contained in this Act, or any other Act limiting the rights of women or expanding the rights of men.”

So all female protesters from every recent protest had been arrested, unless they dispersed before police could arrest them. After being arrested, they were sent to prisons like McColough, or whatever training facilities had room for the new female prisoner population. The 1% of male protesters had been ignored, or at the very most, cited, depending on their level of civil disobedience. It was principally a female-led resistance movement, as most men around the country saw enormous potential in the new laws. Indeed, most leaders around the world agreed with the concept and passed similar laws in almost all First World nations.

Back on the bus, Minoko sat in pain, squeezing her legs as she struggled to contain her bladder. She didn’t dare ask again for permission to use the restroom and risk getting hit by a baton. Instead, she gave up and pissed her jeans tearfully, feeling great shame but enormous relief. She kept her head down so she couldn’t see the eyes of the woman sitting next to her. Her seatmate shifted away to avoid Minoko’s sour-smelling stream.

Finally the officer spoke again. “Good morning, ladies,” he started. “I’m Officer Benoit. All of you have been arrested for conduct unbecoming of a lady. Are there any men here on the bus?”

“Hey,” piped up someone at the back. Benoit walked to the back and saw that on the very last seat sat a long-haired man. He had a feminine air about him, but with his 5 o’clock shadow growing in, it was more apparent he was indeed a man. Benoit unchained the man from his seat and told him to go to Sector A. The man stood, grateful not to suffer whatever fate the government had in mind for these women, but then stood still and looked back at his fellow protesters in sympathy.

“Go, or I’ll charge you with resisting orders,” said Benoit. The man sheepishly left the bus. “Alright, are there any other men on board?” No one spoke up. “Alright, well then by the power vested in me by the state of Washington, I officially charge you all with conduct unbecoming. I find you all guilty and you are sentenced to serve three years at a federal women’s facility.” The bus grew loud with shouts and screams from the frantic women. Benoit banged his baton against the metal pole attached to a seat. “Quiet!”

The women mostly quieted down, but one woman stood as high as her chains would allow. “You can’t do this! We demand a trial by a jury of our peers!” said Marcy, a thirty-something woman sitting next to Minoko. She was hunched over from the tight chain connecting her to her seat.

“You are women. The Constitution only applies people, not women. Surely you’ve read this bill that you all are so against?” The women grew quiet. “Now if there are no further protestations you will be allowed to serve your sentences immediately here at McColough Penitentiary.

“Wait!” said Marcy, standing again. “I am a man!” Benoit cocked his head, went outside to get another officer and the two of them entered the bus. The second officer walked up to the hunched over woman, visually inspected her, shook his head, and talked briefly with Benoit. While Marcy had a short brown pixie haircut and her boobs were not large, it was clear that she was female from her waifish features. She had a pretty face, although she wore little makeup.

“Okay, Officer Hughes and I both believe you to be a woman. For this reason, I will conduct a quick gender check.” Marcy shook her head and sat down, but Benoit pulled her up with one strong arm, and pulled down her corduroys with another arm. Navy blue panties covered her parts. As Marcy protested, Benoit then pulled down her panties, revealing a large brown hairy thatch above barely-hidden pussy lips. Marcy shook and cowered in humiliation and fear. Benoit was squatting down, inches from her pussy. He looked up at her as if to express disappointment. He squared his jaw. Then he rose up again, grabbing one of her pussy lips on his way. He stared deep into her quivering brown eyes and twisted her labia, causing Marcy to shriek in pain.

“I have found you to be female. You are hereby charged and found guilty of impersonating a man, in addition to your other crimes. You are sentenced to a total of four years at McColough Penitentiary.” Benoit looked around the bus. “Would anyone else like to claim that they are a man?”

The bus was quiet.

INTAKE

The prison was crowded. There had been numerous busses outside, Marcy imagined perhaps fifty. There were hundreds of women in this wide hall with high ceilings, and they were still filing in with the encouragement of men with batons. In front of them, a line of officers. These officers were not wearing armor, but they each did have a baton. Behind the men were a dozen or so doorways. Entries into the main part of the prison, Marcy surmised. It was a bit dim, as some of the fluorescent lights were flickering or out completely. Behind the line of officers and in front of the crowd of women was a large vinyl sign that said, “STRIP” in block letters.

It was a bit noisy with men behind them hitting and pushing women, and with women talking and whining amongst themselves, but it was definitely a quieter scene than the riot. The man in front of them pointed to the sign and said, “Strip. All the way down. Leave the clothes on the floor.”

Marcy didn’t protest. She knew it was in vain. And a man had already seen her bare pussy today. She started stripping.

The woman next to Marcy was reluctant. “I… uh… want a female officer,” she said, holding her arms timidly.

The correctional officer in front of her took a step forward and lifted his baton menacingly. This was all that was needed to get that woman to begin stripping. For most of the women, the threat of the baton was enough to motivate proper behavior. For a few, a taste of the baton was required.

Marcy dropped her pants, lifted her shirt off, and slowly slid down her panties. She stood nude, covering herself until the officers began to ask women, one by one, to enter the doors into the main prison. An officer pointed to her and told her to come forward. Leaving her clothes and the last vestiges of her humanity behind, Marcy nervously walked through the doorway.

Rain stood behind Marcy. She couldn’t see what was behind the dark doorway. But she was not nervous. She was pissed. Pissed that Patriarchy had ruined her country. Pissed that they had made women into literal slaves instead of just figurative slaves. Pissed that she was now being forced to obey these officers for now.

She predicted that the Patriarchy would fall before long. Her entire life, she had seen how women had constantly pushed back against sexist men, making steady progress in the war on sexist pigs. The Freeuse Act was the latest obstacle to freedom; a speed bump on the way to full agency for all genders. Rain had no doubt in her mind that the worldwide resistance movement would overturn this law and make the men and women responsible pay for their crimes against humanity. For the time being, she would just have to be strong.

“Go ahead,” said the officer before her. She walked through the doorway, spread the black vinyl curtains and she was in a small, dimly-lit room with just two men. One was sitting at a desk, and the other was standing with a baton at his side.

“Your name?” asked the man at the desk, focusing on his paperwork.

“Rain Purcell,” she answered. She stared downwards with angry eyes. Her hands guarded her genitals.

“Age?” said the man, writing.

“22.”

“Occupation?”

“Student.”

“Please bend over and run your hands through your hair.”

“I want a lawyer,” said Rain, her tone firm.

The man at the desk finally looked up, an amused smirk on his face. “You want a lawyer?” he asked, his lower lip trembling at the hilarity of her request.

“Yes,” she repeated. “And my phone call.”

The officer cocked his head. “Well,” he began with a wry smile, “contrary to what you’ve seen in Law & Order, no one is entitled to a phone call. People have the right to counsel according to the Sixth Amendment, but you are just a girl, and not a person. You have no rights. You get-” the officer leaned in and enunciated every syllable as he spoke: “no-thing.”

This was a blow to Rain. She knew that the Freeuse Act removed women’s rights to refuse sex, but assumed they still had basic human rights. It seemed that fascism had taken complete hold and she was at the complete mercy of these men. That didn’t mean she had to go easy. But she bent over and ran her fingers through her hair. She would play their games for now.

Rain had a hip style. Her long, dyed-red slightly-wavy hair was shaved on the left side. It was a style that conservative men hated, and for that she loved it more. Rain had received countless compliments on it, and she recalled these compliments as her right hand combed her hair. Her left hand had nothing to do as she bent over. She was holding no contraband. These men were wasting time for no reason, which made her feel good.

“Now the cavity search,” said the man at the desk.

Rain knew getting a female officer for a search was impossible, but she had hoped to avoid men probing her body. The officer behind her didn’t even have gloves! It made a certain kind of sense, as all STIs had been eradicated in the Western world years earlier. But it was still customary and more sanitary to use gloves. In fact, it was rude and gross to perform a cavity search without gloves. But the Freeuse Act had legalized anything that gave a man sexual pleasure, and there was no way she could argue that sticking fingers in her holes wouldn’t give him pleasure.

The only thing she could do was to ask for basic empathy. “Wait,” said Rain. “You don’t need to-”

Before Rain could finish her sentence, the standing man withdrew his baton and pressed it against her skin for one second. She had noticed that the batons the officers in the prison carried looked different from those on the outside. These batons had strips of metal across the sides and top. When the officer touched her hips with the baton, she felt a powerful, painful shock. Electricity coursed through her body and she cried out, jerking away. After less than a second, it was over. Rain decided to obey as the man placed his hand on the small of her back.

“Spread your cheeks,” said the man at the desk.

Rain was humiliated, but did not want to be shocked again. She could still feel the pain of the previous shock. She didn’t know how much more she could take.

Her eyes welled up with tears as she reached back and spread her buttocks, revealing her wrinkled little anus to the man behind her. She gasped as an ungloved index finger entered her vagina. She felt him curling his finger, searching for contraband.

It had finally happened. She had successfully avoided rape since the passage of the Freeuse Act until now. She finally had been used like an object. In a way, she was glad. She could now say that the Patriarchy had finally raped her, as it had raped all of her sisters for years. She had skin in the game now. No one would call her a mere slacktivist. Rain looked forward at the seated man with angry eyes as the other man withdrew from her pussy and pressed his finger against the tender bud of her asshole.

“Anything in here?” the handsy man said, pressing on past her anal sphincter, into her bowels.

Rain would not cry because of the violations of these men. This was not a legal nor ethical search, in her estimation. This was a rape. And she would not show them weakness.

The man continued twisting and curling his finger, humming and nodding as if he were performing complex, important work. “Mmm. Mm-hm. Hmm.” Rain sucked in another breath and kept spreading so the officer could do his duty, all the while hoping he would bore of this rape and let her move on. The officer bent over slightly and spoke softly into Rain’s ear: “Would you call yourself a feminist?” Rain cringed at the audacity of her rapist, almost breaking, but stopped herself before any tears could form in her eyes. “You sure look like a feminist.”

Finally, the man said, “Okay, stand up.” He stepped around to her front, held her chin, and directed her to open her mouth.

Rain shook her head in confusion. “Wha-” But she felt the bite of the baton as the officer shocked her again. This shock was just as quick as the other one, but it felt like he had pressed the baton against her sensitive skin for several seconds. “Aehh!” she whined and then opened her mouth obediently. The officer searched her oral cavity and much to her chagrin, she could indeed taste the earthy flavor that her ass juices left on his finger. He removed his brown-streaked finger. This was evil. She would not forget this. She would not forgive this.

“She’s clean,” said the officer, finally wiping his hands on a wet rag.

“Go to the next room,” said the other one. “Hurry up, inmate.”

Rain used her arm to try to wipe the foul anal essence off of her tongue and walked through the next set of curtains. It was another small room with two men. The men told her to keep still as they enclosed each of her wrists, ankles, and neck with a black, tight-fitting hard plastic ring. The rings appeared to be some type of mechanical device, as they were heavy, and each of the bracelets and anklets had tiny green lights at the seams. She passed into the next room.

This room had just a metal chair. A man in an apron and gloves gestured for her to sit. There was a utility cart full of tools next to him. Similar to the sign in the entry hall, a large sign read “SIT.” Rain sat.

Rain was already nervous about the tools, but she grew more fearful as she felt herself locked into the chair. It appeared that her bracelets, anklets, and choker stuck to the chair, as if they were magnetized. She could not move her arms, legs, nor neck.

The man told her to stay still and grabbed an electric razor as she wobbled in her binds. Rain felt a certain loss of pride as the man shaved her head bald. But she still kept her composure. The legs of the chair moved apart by themselves, spreading Rain’s legs with them. The man applied the razor to her mons pubis. She had a wild bramble of dark black pubic hair, of course, defying not a single stereotype. A perfect shave would’ve taken a lot longer, but this man sheared her bush well enough, angling the chair and removing the seat so that he could trim her ass hairs as well. When she merely had some coarse stubble, he applied a depilatory cream to her genitals and legs. She would be hairless except for her eyebrows and eyelashes. She felt herself being transformed.

Rain had often claimed that she was a “proud feminist,” but these claims were not true. Privately, she felt that she wasn’t very good at being neither a feminist nor a woman. She was wracked with self-doubt, and the one thing that always made her feel good was her unique punk look that made her stand out and had intimidated weak men. And earned her male approval from amazing like-minded men. It was a pathetic, sexist, patriarchal part of her that wanted male approval, but she couldn’t deny it. It felt good to receive positive male attention.

But after losing her clothes and all her hair, she felt like she had lost everything that made her special. She had lost her uniqueness, she had already lost this battle against the patriarchy... She had lost it all. This made her finally cry.

The chair transformed back into its normal configuration and the man told her it was almost over. She felt fear again as he approached what looked and sounded like a tattoo needle. She tilted her head away as he approached, so he used the stun baton to make her more compliant. It only took a few moments to write something onto her forehead.

“Don’t worry, cunt,” comforted the man. “The tattoo is only temporary. We’ll redo it every 6 months.” This gave her little relief.

TOILETS

Rain finally entered the prison after finishing intake. There were no signs, only a long hallway, but she knew this was it and there was no turning back. She had been stripped, searched, collared, shaved, tattooed, bathed, and lastly, she had received her uniform.

Rain was still completely nude, but now, in addition to the collars and cuffs, she donned black stiletto heels. She felt like a stripper. Never a fan of heels, she stumbled forward as the corrections officer waited on her.

She mostly missed her hair. Without her gorgeous red crown, she imagined that she looked the same as the women in front of her, Minoko and Marcy. She was slightly taller, with definitely bigger tits than Marcy, but she felt… anonymous. She supposed that was the point. They were no longer Rain, Minoko, and Marcy. They were now just girls. Interchangeable.

She had been told that the tattoo she was given displayed her prison id number. Looking at Minoko (11204) and Marcy (11203), she saw that it was true. She supposed she was 11201, as the men had told her. Nude, shaved, and tagged with an id. They were little more than cattle.

That’s what men wanted, right? She had been told all her life that what men wanted was a woman who was a lady in the streets but a slutty freak in the sheets. What they really wanted was livestock. To literally treat them like meat. Control over every aspect of women’s lives until it was feeding time. She knew it was only a matter of time before a man consumed her completely instead of just molesting her holes with his fingers.

The ladies congregated at the end of a hallway, where a blonde CO was leaning against the wall. Apparently, they needed to wait for whatever was next. The women were mostly silent, afraid that saying more than a few words would be frowned upon by this armed officer.

There was a mirror at the end of the hallway. Rain confirmed her forehead indeed read “11201”. And she indeed looked like all her fellow prisoners. It was hard not to feel downhearted, as a nude, tagged, slutty-dressed prisoner. But she knew that this could not last. Women were people, and men would recognize this, someday soon. Meanwhile, she would resist in any way she could.

After ten women had arrived, the officer organized them into one single-file line.

“Alright, girls,” said Officer Parker. “I’m Officer Parker and I’m going to take you to the yard. Call me either ‘Officer’ or ‘CO’ or you’ll feel the business end of my baton. But first, we stop by the toilets.

This was a relief. Rain had been holding her pee in for hours. As they passed through the door and into the next room, she could finally see a window to the outside, where many women were standing around. This hallway also had a lot of doors, which she assumed were cells. Finally they reached an indoor area with multiple stories and high ceilings, like a plaza. There were benches and tables on the first floor, but the center of the area was clear of furniture. As the women approached the center of this large indoor area, they noticed the center area of the floor had many sets of short pillars on it. Perhaps this was an exercise area?

“Alright girls, these are the toilets. Each of you find a hole.” The women looked at each other, confused. Parker would answer their questions soon. “You might be wondering? Where are the toilets? How do I use this? The answer is simple. As opposed to the Western style-toilets women are encouraged to use on the outside, our toilets are more Japanese-inspired. These are squat toilets. You place your feet on the raised platforms and relieve yourself into the pan. Everyone find a toilet, now, even if you don’t have to go. Go ahead.”

There were two rows of five toilets and the women slowly approached them. Each “toilet” was little more than a recessed pan in the floor in between two raised platforms the width and length of a shoe box. The platforms were a little taller than a shoe box at 6 inches (15 cm). There was a small lip in the front of the pan to prevent piss from spilling forward on the floor. There weren’t really even “holes”. The pan was only a few inches deep and didn’t seem to have a drain, so their piss and shit would apparently remain in the basin for everyone to see. The women seemed confused by this and stood in front of the toilets, wondering what to do.

“Now a lot of you are rebels who may not have used the very open, not very private, public commodes located around most cities. You might be used to pissing and shitting alone in a private bathroom, where no one can see you, let alone see it come out of you.

“That was your old life on the outside. There are no sitting toilets for girls here. In here, you are no longer afforded the privilege of privacy. You are convicts and you will drop your feces and urine in these toilets, where you can be seen relieving yourself in front of God and everybody. You may be shy, but this is something you will acclimate to over your tenure at this penitentiary, this particular design of toilet. The guards will become very accustomed to your leavings. I, in particular, will become capable of recognizing you each by the smell of your shit and color of your piss.

“You are not allowed to go anywhere else. If you leave a mess that isn’t in these toilets, you will suffer the consequences. This is your last toilet break for a few hours, so I suggest you use these facilities rather than go on yourselves and get beaten within an inch of your life. Go ahead, step on up.”

The women apprehensively placed each foot on a raised platform. Some stumbled awkwardly in their new heels. On the pillars, the taller women, like Rain, soared above even Parker’s head. It still didn’t make much sense. If they shat and pissed in the little basins between their legs, wouldn’t the waste remain there until someone cleaned it up? It was like a long bowl built into the ground, but not even as deep as a standard punch bowl. It was almost like they were shitting directly on the floor.

Parker nodded. New girls always were slow to figure out how these worked. He told them, “Now squat.”

Each of the ten women squatted on their platforms. The rows were 2m apart, far apart enough for Parker to walk between them. He stood behind five squatting women. Ordinarily, it would be hard to see the holes of a woman squatting to evacuate on the ground, their delicious parts naturally hidden by their own bodies. But the platforms combined with their heels brought their asses up by a foot or so. He still couldn’t see their assholes without crouching, but once they began defecating, the stools dropping from their asses would become perfectly visible. What’s more was that each woman’s footrest was 2ft (0.6m) apart. This meant that the women’s legs were spread far apart, naturally gaping their pussy lips and leaving the gap between the cheeks of their bottom wide open.

“Alright, now, go,” said Parker.

There was a silent beat. Going to the bathroom in front of other women was mildly humiliating, and going in front of a man was worse. Going in a shallow tray while squatting on raised platforms was a bridge too far. Their bodies wouldn’t cooperate. Not yet. So Parker unholstered his shock baton.

Seeing Officer Parker ready to cause injury was all it took for most of them. They had been holding their bladders and bowels for hours, with the exception of Minoko, who’d had some relief on the bus. Parker wore a satisfied smile as he heard the music of women pissing against chrome. He saw five streams before him and turned back to see several streams behind him. Marcy hid her face in her hands as she farted and pushed some turds into the crevasse in the floor. Parker sighed with satisfaction. He would teach her to keep her face fully exposed later. For new girls, this behavior was acceptable.

One holdout was Minoko. Parker pointed his baton at her, “What’s the problem, 11204?” referencing her newly tattooed id.

Red-faced and stuttering, Minoko explained, “I- I- already peed. I peed my pants. On the bus.” He walked to the back row and waited, noticing that even she let a few drops fall from her handsome bottom.

He walked past a young blue-eyed girl who was sweating, grunting and dropping a massive dump. Thick sausages flowed from her rectum and curled into the pan, rising above the pan and almost flowing onto the floor. Instead, the soft brown pile rose higher and higher, approaching the bottom of her milky white ass cheeks.

“Now, there’s no way 11211 doesn’t take it up the ass!” said Parker, marveling at her large output. “Well, you all do anal now. As they say, ‘In prison, every girl becomes a four-hole girl.’” The girls didn’t understand what that meant yet.

Parker finally came to Rain, who was the leftmost girl on the back row. Her pan was still dry. “What’s the matter, 11201? You shy?” he asked.

Rain hadn’t used the public girl toilets and fountains the government had been installing in major cities. While typical male restrooms were still located in private, gender-separated rooms and had individual stalls; these new girl toilets were located in public, mixed-gender areas. For example, toilets had been installed in hallways, lobbies, and on the outside of buildings. They had even built “girl fountains”, which looked like typical outdoor fountains in garden areas, except that they had seats for women’s bare butts and a flushing functionality to remove the foul-smelling girl excrement. These changes were done in concert with removing women’s restrooms, freeing up useful building space for larger men’s rooms or for storage. In effect, at more and more locations, even in private homes, women were forced women to evacuate where their friends, families, and coworkers could watch them excrete their wastes. It was all done for the sexual entertainment of men.

Rain had been a shy pooper even before the Act, preferring to poop at home instead of the women’s restrooms. As a college student, she had plenty of breaks between her classes. When she had to shit, she would head home, where she shared an old house with three other women. Even shitting at home had been inconvenient. She hated shitting when her roommates were there, fearing one of her roommates would enter the bathroom afterwards and smell her stink. Rain would run the faucet to cover up the sound of her sloppy defecation, and then she’d remain in the bathroom long enough for some of the smell to abate.

So punishment or no, there was no way Rain was relieving herself in front of this man. The concept was mortifying, even more humiliating than standing before him buck naked. And there was no way for him to prove she had to pee. She didn’t know if she could poop or not, but it wasn’t a question she felt like answering. She would defy the men at any turn, if she could.

“I already pissed,” lied Rain, after a moment.

Parker wasn’t convinced. “Oh 11201,…” said Parker, shaking his head. “The feminazi.” Rain bristled at the offensive term. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” Rain said nothing, not wanting to get in further trouble than she already was, but still determined not to urinate in front of Parker or any other men. For the fifth time that day, she felt a painful burn of the stun baton. Rain cried out and fell over on the floor. But Parker didn’t stop. He ran the baton across her nude form for a moment, amusing himself with her dance of agony. She inadvertently let loose furious spurts of piss between her legs, missing the toilet entirely. Squirt, squirt, squirt, she went as her whole body stiffened, then shook repeatedly like she had a case of Tourette’s. After about half a minute, Parker stopped shocking her.

“Yep, you definitely had to go,” noticed Parker, holstering his baton. “Hmm, gonna have to watch this one.” Rain gathered herself, sat upright, and let the rest of her piss go into the commode, her face red with embarrassment and pain. When she seemed dry, Parker made her drink her piss from the floor. Disgusted, Rain dismounted the pillars, knelt in her piss, and pretended to drink as her lips made contact with the pissy floor. Parker moved on.

Parker admired the view of ten girls shitting and pissing into their stainless steel toilets. Before the Freeuse Act, he had only seen such sights through Internet porn. Now every day he got to see multiple girls take humiliating dumps, simultaneously, while he supervised. The smell was godawful. It smelt like a septic system in Hell. But the sights and sounds were lovely to behold. The crackling of a thick stool unfurling from well-defined buttocks. The wet slap of moist turds hitting the pan. And the symphony of female grunting never failed to get him erect.

These were supposed to be the fairer sex! The gender that smelled good, that held a certain mystique, and that never did anything crude. And now they were violating that entire concept, especially 11199, what, with her white vaginal secretions that always accompanied her especially firm bowel movements. Parker recalled a girl in his childhood telling him that “girls don’t fart.” This ridiculous statement had intrigued him at the time, giving him pause. But here and now, he had plenty of evidence to the contrary. These women were humiliatingly proving femininity to be one huge lie. And there was nothing they could do to stop his sociological inquiry.

Moreover, outside of the scatological eroticism, they were showing their genitals more than usual. Sure, women were fully nude all day, every day in the prison. But their vulva was usually closed, and anuses kept hidden between bountiful cheeks. Whereas at the toilets, labia hung low and wide and assholes pursed and blossomed in the well-lit halls of the prison. No command was required for the stupid girls that surrounded these cunts and asses, not usually. Biological necessity required full display of the private parts of these lovely women. An awesome sight.

True, these were just ten new girls. Some of them a bit older and some a little fatter. In time, this group would become even more enticing as the fat girls were forced to lose weight and the older ones were inevitably culled. Prison now molded regular, old-world women into hot, fuckable sex objects, and these facilities were only getting more and more women daily. The future was going to be bright.

When the last girl was finished, Parker stepped on a button on the floor and the bottom of the pans dropped, each revealing an outlet for the waste. Tiny, unnoticeable rim jets streamed water into the pan, pushed their leavings out of the toilet and down to the sewer. After flushing, the toilets closed back up and looked clean, with only a few drops of urine and smears of feces left behind.

THE BLOWJOB

After using the facilities, Parker took the girls to the yard. The yard was a large circular area with a large open roof where the women could exercise and get some sun. It was almost 8am, and the sky was a light blue. The women filtered into the yard, but Parker stopped Rain before she could go through the doors with the other women.

“Hold up, 11201,” said Parker, standing in the doorway. “I need you to suck my dick real quick. I only have a ten minute break, so make it fast.”

Rain faced him with an angry grimace. “You put anything in my mouth and I’ll bite down,” she spat.

Parker cocked his head. “Well, fine if you want to lose each one of your teeth and then both your eyes,” he threatened between gritted teeth. But suddenly, his face softened. “...But maybe you’ll listen to an older, wiser girl. 9660, come over here!” A blonde girl who appeared to be about fifty jogged over to Parker. Unlike the new inmates, her head had about a month’s worth of stubble, so it was clear she was a nearly-platinum blonde. She had a few wrinkles, but her body was still hot and fit. Upon closer inspection, she appeared to be missing her nipples.

“Sir?” Gemma (9660) asked.

“9660,” said softly Parker, motioning to Rain, “this girl just refused to suck my dick.”

Rain wasn’t sure how she expected 9660 to react, but she definitely didn’t think that 9660 would slap Rain hard across the face. Rain fell to the floor, shocked.

“Do what he says, you stupid bitch!” yelled 9660 with furious eyes. “You’re gonna make it hard for all of us in here!”

“Thank you, 9660,” said Parker, pulling 9660 back. “Now, 9660, I’m gonna fuck you instead.”

9660 immediately turned around, showing her still-taut buttocks to Parker and Rain, and leaned against the wall of the doorway.

“Up the ass,” added Parker.

9660 bent all the way over and spread her buttocks, revealing a soft-looking, puckered dark pink hole. It pulsated as she winked it at him.

“Actually, I want a blowjob.”

9660 turned around, dropped to her knees and, looking into his eyes to make sure she had permission, began unbuckling his belt. She undid his fly, pulled out his soft, thick penis, and took it all into her mouth. Crossing her arms behind her back, 9660 dipped her head as she sucked and sucked on Parker’s dick. Rain, still on the floor, looked on in disgust.

“As you can see,” Parker spoke, turning to Rain, “9660 is a perfectly behaved slut. Exemplary in every way. Useful as a wet hole, and as a teacher of young cunts. That’s enough, 9660.” 9660 backed away, still on her knees.

Parker didn’t even put his dick away. With a mildly hard but not fully-erect penis hanging out of his pants, he removed a knife from his holster and slit 9660’s throat ear-to-ear. 9660 fell to the ground, gasping and choking blood, her hands unable to keep it all in. Rain screamed and backed futilely into the door jamb. “Jesus… Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed. Parker looked her directly in the eyes.

“We have so many inmates here, we are way over capacity, 11201!” he shouted. “Do you want to fucking die, 11201? Because you do not have many chances left!” Rain was panicking, seeing this man casually discard a woman’s life as if she were a piece of garbage. 9660 was still struggling, clawing desperately at the door with bloody fingers. Now the man who had performed this callous act was yelling at her. Her wide eyes filled up with tears.

“Suck my dick, 11201!” Parker still had the bloody knife in hand. Rain sat up, shaking and crying, but trying to hold it in. “Now!”

Rain awkwardly opened her lips as if she had never had a dick in it before, opening it just wide enough to let his meat inside her mouth. Trying her best to ignore the horror she had witnessed, she bobbed her head and sucked off Parker. Focus on the dick, focus on the dick, she thought. It wasn’t hard when she thought of the hard cock in her mouth as a disembodied penis. Not connected to anyone evil. Not capable of violence. It was clear her life depended on pleasing the dick, and she’d done that plenty in her time. This was just one more. Just one more dick. Not a problem.

Rain had previously bragged to friends that she would fight a rapist to her own death. Now that she was confronted with the real possibility of imminent death, these thoughts dissolved like dust in the wind. She licked and sucked Parker’s cock, blocking out his patronizing “attagirl”s. She couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear anything. She wasn’t even aware of her own crying. All she knew was she needed to suck this dick, and suck it she would.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t only focus on the dick. The image of Gemma’s (9660’s) throat opening up was still fresh. In fact, if she could hear—which she couldn’t, she definitely couldn’t hear anything—then she would be able to hear the poor 9660 stop her struggling and release her last breath. But Rain wouldn’t look back. She wouldn’t even think about the person who was just brutally murdered in front of her eyes. She was only going to think about the cock in her mouth and suck this cock the best way she knew how. She placed her hands on the hips in front of her and deep-throated the cock. She looked only at the crotch before her, memorizing each pube.

After a short while, Parker started to cum in her mouth. She tried to back off of his cock, but Parker held her head down, sputtering his sauce down her reluctant throat. Rain tried again to resist, but, remembering what happened to 9660, she relaxed and let him abuse her mouth and throat as he wished. Now was not the time to fight. She would be a good girl.

THE YARD

There were a lot of women in the yard. Each spot against the wall and all the benches were completely full now that all the residents of the prison had entered the yard, and there were plenty of women standing and squatting in open spaces. Rain spat the remnants of Parker’s cum on the ground and sat near a group of young women. She was tired, hungry, disgusted, and still crying a little bit. So she didn’t know how to respond when one of the women looked back at her and asked, “Did you just spit on me?”

Rain was taken aback. That’s right, she was in prison. Some girls were going to try to act tough. Rain didn’t know if she had gotten spit on the girl or not, but defended herself nevertheless. “No, I spit on the ground. I was nowhere near you.”

“I’m just fucking with you,” said the woman. “My name’s Rosa. You new?” She was a gorgeous Latina in her early twenties with cute brown nipples and immaculate makeup that gave her a dark, almost gothic eyes. She didn’t have a flat stomach, but she had fat titties, thick thighs and a seemingly nice round bum. By the level of hair on her head, she had been here at least a few weeks.

Relieved, Rain wiped her tears and forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m Rain.”

“Nice to meet you, Rain,” said Rosa (3072). Rosa studied her face. “You just suck off one of the guards?”

It was obvious that Rain had. Her mascara was running from choking on Parker’s cock, she had been spitting, and probably still had cum on her lips. She was ashamed, but there was no way she could deny it. “Yeah,” she said quietly.

“You one of those lay-back, pick-me bitches?”

“No,” said Rain, wiping tears. “I’m a feminist. Fuck these sexist fascists.” Rain then showed off her right shoulder tattoo, which was a fist with the female symbol in it.

Rosa seemed impressed. “Good. You look tired. Lupe, give her your spot on the wall.” Another woman, begrudgingly moved from the wall, giving Rain a place to rest.

“Thanks!” She didn’t know if girls in prison were actually nice or if Rosa was setting her up for something, but she was going to take the generosity. Rain sat against the wall and took a nap.

Rosa wasn’t fucking with Rain. She felt the need to surround herself with women who cared about other women. Women who knew how to organize. She herself had been in prison since before the Freeuse Act. She had, after all, stabbed someone, committing assault with a deadly weapon. So she had a deep crew of girls who were tight with her. But when it came down to it, she didn’t think she could depend on them against these men. They would lay on their backs and let men fuck them to get a slightly cushier position in the prison.

Rosa was different. While she had only looked out for herself and her crew previously, when the prison changed, she changed. She had always hated men, especially the COs of this prison who would cop a feel and trade sex favors way before it was legal to do so. Now that all of this was legal, every feminist in the prison was her homegirl, as far as she was concerned. Any girl who would stand up against these men was worth her time. She would build a movement, prisoners or no. Rain was just another one of her potential recruits.

Officer Brown pointed to Rosa (3072). “You,” he said. What did they want now?

3072 and three other girls walked towards Brown. It appears they had all been randomly selected to perform some task, maybe sex. This was typical.

The girls were disturbed but not shocked as Brown showed them 9660’s fresh corpse. They’d seen many a dead girl and Officer Parker, who had been at the door to the yard only moments before, was notorious for murdering girls for any reason. “You two, take the body to the morgue,” said Brown. He then pointed to the tall skinny brunette. “You, get a mop from the utility closet and mop this up. I’ll know if any of you deviate from your instructions.” Looking at 3072, he commanded, “You stay here.”

The girls tasked with moving the corpse hesitated. While they’d seen many dead girls, this was the first time either of them had been asked to touch a dead body. They had performed similarly grotesque tasks for the pleasure of the men, so when Brown raised his voice, they quickly swallowed their disgust and picked up 9660’s body. The other girl went off to get a mop, leaving 3072 alone with Brown. She didn’t feel the need to ask what her task was. 3072 knew Officer Brown would tell her.

“3072, lean up against the wall. I’m gonna fuck you up the ass.” He held his hands on his belt, waiting for her to submit before he disrobed.

3072 squared her jaw and sighed. She had a wonderfully round behind, so it wasn’t a surprise that Brown wanted to fuck her butt like so many other COs. But she would’ve preferred any other task—even carrying a dead woman to the morgue. She hadn’t been fucked by Brown before, so she thought she might try to coax some mercy out of him.

“I’m a lesbian, you know,” said 3072 softly, finding a spot on the wall far enough from the pool of 9660’s blood and leaning against it. It was true. She was a lesbian and hated being touched by men. Still, she spread her legs and braced for the inevitable. Hope for the best, but expect the worst in men.

Brown spit on his dick and jerked it a bit to prepare for her. “I don’t need your life story,” he commented, and pressed his head against her brown anus.

3072 had been bracing, but despite all the dicks she’d taken up her ass lately, a barely-lubed dick still hurt going up her poop chute. She looked back at Brown. “It’s not-unghhh… my life story. I just want you to know-”

“If you say another word, I’m gonna beat you unconscious,” threatened Brown as he filled her bowels. 3072 faced the wall and shut her mouth.

Brown shook his head. Girls like her just didn’t get it. There was no such thing as a lesbian anymore. All girls were bisexual. They all fucked both men and girls, whenever men demanded. Their preferences didn’t matter. Their feelings didn’t matter. As long as they obeyed every single command from a man, they could fuck whoever they wanted in their free time. As for now, it was Brown’s turn to use her.

PROBLEM GIRLS

As he reached the hilt in her bottom, several other officers approached Brown.

“Hey, get this guys, this girl says she’s a lesbian,” he joked, as he began pumping 3072’s ass. The men chuckled.

“Nice,” laughed Officer Johnston.

“Good,” said Officer Selnick. “You’re fixing it.” Selnick refused to use she/her pronouns for women. Girls were objects and should be referred to as such.

3072 only whimpered softly as Brown sodomized her. She was used to enduring their insults. She was still getting used to dry anal, however. She focused solely on being quiet and compliant.

“So, Jimmy, we’ve gotta talk about Parker,” said Selnick as a girl began mopping up the pool of blood nearby.

“Yeah,” agreed Johnston. “I know we’re overcrowded and she was old. But, old or not, 9660 was one well-behaved bitch. I fucked her a few times and she was solid.” Brown nodded, maintaining a slow pace of humping.

“We can’t just ignore his constant …culling of our prisoners,” said Selnick. “You know what I mean?”

“It’s becoming a problem,” piped up Johnston.

Brown stopped sodomizing 3072 for a moment. He didn’t have any issue fucking an inmate in front of his coworkers, but it was a distraction and this was a serious discussion.

“What do you wanna do?” asked Brown. His dick was still pulsating in 3072’s guts. Brown was reluctant to pull out unless he had to.

“Claudio and I think we should make sure other officers sign off before you kill an inmate,” Selnick said. “Before you can kill it, you’ll need a quorum of two, maybe three officers.”

Brown jutted out his lower lip as he contemplated. “Sounds reasonable.” He continued fucking 3072, as this apparently wasn’t going to be that difficult of a conversation. 3072 just groaned with Brown’s renewed vigor.

“Good,” nodded Selnick. “We’ll talk to the captain.”

Brown nodded, and focused on fucking 3072’s butt. After he shot a load up her ass, he would have her suck the shit off his cock. That was actually his favorite part of anal. Making women taste their own filth, knowing that any disgust they harbored was caused by their own hygiene. Feeding women their own shit was a way to make them abase themselves. And women were easier to break when they were low.

For Rosa (3072), this was also the good part. It meant the pain of anal was over, at least for a few hours. Sure, she hated it the first few times, but after getting used to it, cleaning off her rapist was no problem at all. It’s just like taking some bad-tasting medicine, she reflected as she slipped her tongue in and around Brown’s putrid foreskin.

Meanwhile, Selnick and Johnston walked to Captain Baumgartner’s office. On the way, they saw Officer Ryan disciplining four women. The four nude women stood at what was commonly called “attention” in the prison, although it would be closer to “at ease” within the military. They stood straight up, chest out, legs spread shoulder width, their arms folded behind their backs. Their heads were pivoted slightly down, with eyes on the ground.

“Eyes on the fucking ground, 7055!” reminded Ryan. Ryan signaled to Selnick and Johnston, then continued with his discipline. “Eyes down, 8001!” Selnick mentioned he had to go to the captain’s office, but Johnston stayed, always eager to help discipline girls.

“You girls disgust me,” said Ryan. “Not just physically…” He turned to Crystal (8003), and approached her face so closely she could feel his hot breath on her skin. “Like 8003, you fat fucking cunt...” He moved on. “But also professionally. I’m responsible for all of Sector K, and you four are, by far, my worst girls. And if you don’t stop looking at me, 8001, I will carve your eyes out!” A timid Gennifer (8001) fixed her eyes on the ground. “8003 clearly isn’t doing her exercises, 8001’s cunt smell’s like a latrine, 7055 doesn’t obey commands, and 9090 just... wants to get killed, I guess.” He turned to Nina (9090). “You’re an ugly cunt who can’t apply makeup, and you give blowjobs like you hate them instead of like your life depends on it. Because—newsflash—it does. I don’t give a flaming fuck if you hate them. Now before we get really into your punishments, I’m going to give you all a disciplinary fucking, something you all need to improve at. With the help of Johnston here.” Ryan turned to Johnston. “Can you rape some sense into these bitches?” Johnston opened his eyes in surprise, but then dutifully nodded.

Ryan turned back to 9090. “Now you’re gonna suck my dick and give the best head of your life or I’m going to go ass-to-mouth with you. Do you know what that means?”

9090 responded sullenly, “It-it means you’re gonna fuck my-”

“I didn’t say speak,” said Ryan. 9090 shut up. “It means that if you fuck up, I’m going to take my knife and slit you open, starting with your asshole, and going all the way up…” he trailed a finger across her belly, “to your mouth. Understand me?” 9090 felt a cold sweat fall over her, but nodded and fell to her knees.

The next three girls tried not to show their terror as Johnston looked over them. He looked at Crystal (8003) and she, seeing his eyes directed her way, gulped.

8003 wasn’t even that fat, she felt. She had lost 30 pounds (13kg) since intake. While she wasn’t as skinny as these other starving bitches in prison, she was making progress, and only had a little belly. She was frustrated that Ryan didn’t see her progress. She wasn’t like the really fat women. She wasn’t obese. The truly fat women had been killed off early. She hoped Ryan didn’t kill her.

“8003, you jog in place. 7055, put both of your arms up like a ‘T’. Good. 8001, spread your legs.”

Gennifer (8001) also felt that she had been unfairly called out. She felt that her pussy smelled fine. She hadn’t been able to wash her ass lately, and that was because of men had been giving her chores and fucking her during the time she usually would shower. She had also shit herself one of the mornings of last week, unable to hold her bowels until she was taken to morning toilet relief. Those were issues caused by the men, not her own hygiene routines.

Johnston squatted down and sniffed her pussy. It was not awful, but had the rankness of a woman who hadn’t showered in a few days. He stood and told her, “you smell.”

8001 bit her lip bitterly. It wasn’t her fault she was so attractive that men wouldn’t give her time to shower. As a freckled redhead with a fat bottom, she got a lot of attention from the correctional officers. But she knew she couldn’t say that. That would just piss off this officer.

“You two, keep at it,” said Johnston pointing at the jogging 8003 and eagle-winged Astrid (7055). “8001, come with me.” 8001 looked back at her friend 8003 with sad eyes and followed Johnston. Going somewhere alone with an officer could mean death. You never knew. It seemed death was always around the corner here.

Instead, Johnston merely took 8001 to the showers. Instead of letting her shower, he pulled out a water hose and hosed her down like a dog. 8001 (Gennifer) yelped and cried out with the cold water hitting her nude body hard. She slipped in her heels and fell to the ground. Johnston continued hosing her down as she lay, paying special attention to her ass and pussy. It felt like knives when he put the nozzle up close. He turned off the water, molested the folds of her pussy, and smelled his fingers. “Better,” he said.

8001 remained splayed on her backside on the shower floor, waiting for his next command. Johnston slid his hand up her thigh, reaching her little pink asshole and sliding a ring finger into it. He pulled out a bottle of lube that all the COs were equipped with and lubed her bottom hole. He fingered her ass a little, then laid atop her, unbuckling his belt.

8001 felt Johnston’s mouth on her neck. Kissing, licking, lightly biting. She hated that it slightly turned her on. She had been fucked almost daily, often multiple times a day for the last couple of weeks, but this kind of attention, this tenderness, was new. If the men did any foreplay at all, they usually just fingered her, or licked her long enough to get themselves hard. Most of the time, they just stuck it in one of her holes, with no warm-up. Johnston was now kissing her neck, face, and shoulder with an affection that sparked a warmth in her loins. She hated it, but couldn’t deny it was a nice change of pace. She even hummed a moan. He soon pressed his erection against her asshole. There it was. Her foreplay was over.

Men like Officer Ryan often invited other officers, like Johnston here, to participate in their punishment. Sometimes they invited them to fuck inmates with no pretense of discipline. While the officers were often young men who were all to eager to rape as many inmates as they pleased, they were still human, and simply couldn’t fuck all day for weeks on end. They often required the help of their coworkers, so that the work of raping girls could be distributed evenly. So while the Freeuse Act had only passed a month ago, and the horniest American men still had decades of chivalry and restraint to make up for; even they could only spend their libidos so much before falling into physical exhaustion. They needed every man to help out.

The Freeuse Act. It had been a glorious miracle: finally passing after months of heavy deliberation in Congress, with even some support from girl politicians. Before that preceded centuries of sanctimonious puritanism. From at least the 20^th century, girls had been treated as equals—even superiors—to men, given every legal right that a man had, and oftentimes given special treatment. And for centuries prior, while girls were not treated equally, rape had still been considered unethical and illegal in America and many countries.

For a man to lay with a girl according to legal and social norms, he had to marry her and, ideally, sleep only with her, his one wife. While casual sex became the norm in the 20^th and 21^st centuries, it still required a man to date the girl. Woo her, ask her out, wine and dine her endlessly—usually over multiple dates—until she eventually gave her so-called consent and invited the man to partake of her body. And at any point she could always say no, as if a woman’s comfort was more important than a man’s rights to her body. Rejection was the norm, with most American men sleeping with only 15 or fewer girls during his entire lifetime.

No thought was given to men’s immediate needs to fulfill their biological imperatives. This was considered a luxury, only to be fulfilled with full consent of the woman, even in marriage. There was no national conversation on the dire circumstances of millions of involuntary celibates, horny husbands, eager boyfriends, victims of teases, and otherwise law-abiding rapists. Their libidos remained neutered and ignored. Almost every single man lived quiet lives of desperation as girls and their bouncing breasts and enticing buttocks walked among them, unmolested. They dared not partake of what was naturally theirs for fear of not just ostracism, but serious legal consequences. All in the name of “fairness.” Those were the dark times.

But today, Officer Tyrone Johnston sated his sexual needs by sodomizing 8001 in the showers. It was his second girl of the day. He hadn’t wooed 8001 with poetry or bought her flowers. He had simply taken what he needed. He had taken what was rightfully his by natural law.

“Umph, uhnhh,” whimpered 8001, Johnston’s conquering dick thrusting in and out of her anal canal. Johnston slid his hand down the back of her head to her neck, then cupped her throat and squeezed it, choking her whimpers. It pleased him greatly to turn his sexual excursions into struggles. After some time, 8001 tapped his fist and choked out “Stop.” He loosened his grip enough to let her survive.

“This isn’t a rape, you know,” he murmured into her ear, steadily stirring her guts. He gave her some time to object, if only mentally, then continued. “Rape, as sociologists say, is about power. I was commanded to rape by a superior officer and thus have no power. So this cannot be called rape.”

If 8001 objected to his logic, she didn’t show it. She merely lay on the floor, sweating and grunting as he struggle-fucked her shithole. She looked back, biting her lip, then said quietly, “You have power over me.”

Johnston stopped mid-stride. “Not at the moment. If either one of us resists, we get punished.” Johnston wiped his brow, staring at 8001 in mock sympathy.

8001 hadn’t been punished for her little outburst, so she continued. “He’s gone now. You could stop and he’d never know.”

Johnston squared his jaw as he thought to himself. He resumed slowly fucking her and 8001 winced. She resumed staring ahead, probably so he couldn’t see her grimacing. “I suppose I do... enjoy the power as well, but it’s because I find it... sexy. Fucking you makes me hard. If this is a rape, rape is about sex.” 8001 gave no response.

A month or so ago this would have been considered a rape by the government. This officer would have been tried for his crime of wanting to satisfy his libido. The very concept of masculinity was criminalized. Even evaluating her body quietly to himself was considered objectification and unethical under any circumstances.

But now, it was just a Tuesday. Men taking advantage of their birthright, having previously been called “rape”, was now encouraged. In fact, most of the men who had been tried and convicted of rape had been set free. As it turns out, theirs had been a victimless crime all along. The government retroactively recognized this.

As Johnston grew close, 8001 began to object. “Please, sir, it hurts!” she whined.

All this time in prison and all she does is whine whine whine, thought Johnston. Regardless of her situation, Johnston was about to cum, so she would receive no respite. He jackhammered her shitter and, despite her pleas, her pink ring squeezed tight around his cock in an apparent orgasm of her own. 8001 felt relief as she felt him spraying her lower colon. Although her body seemed to enjoy it, this rape was humiliating and mentally tormenting.

Johnston gave a few more weak thrusts and withdrew from her fat bottom, slapping it hard for good measure. He had her stand and follow him back to the group.

Feeling cum and possibly other substances leak from her rectum, 8001 spoke up. “Sir, can I please shower? I-”

Johnston slapped her hard across the face and told her to shut up. 8001 smelled of anal sex and she knew Officer Ryan would be displeased.

“There you are, Johnston! I was worried you fell inside Swamp-ass over there,” said Ryan, gesturing to 8001 (Gennifer). The three girls were back at attention, 9090 (Nina) with a fresh load of cum on her face and 7055 (Astrid) with her arms down, but with 8003 (Crystal) still running in place, stopping every few seconds to catch her breath. Johnston gave a wry smirk to Ryan and told 8003 she could stop running.

“Actually,” said Ryan, “If you don’t mind, Johnston, I’d rather she continue. Porker needs to lose that last 15 or so.”

“Same to you,” muttered 8003 (Crystal) under her breath. It was true: Ryan was a fat man. But it was a death sentence to insult a man in this day and age, especially as a mere prisoner. Her eyes went wide with horror as she realized the men heard her, and she resumed jogging in place with her eyes down.

Ryan didn’t react immediately. He was too shocked to consider a woman would talk back. After a moment of confusion, his eyebrows furrowed. “8003, what the fuck did you say?” said Ryan, taken aback.

“I’m sorry, sir! I said nothing!” she panicked, stopping her jog and cringing at his impending reaction. Ryan withdrew his baton angrily, growing fiercely red, but stopped himself. He turned to Johnston. “Take her to the Machine! It’s time we made a four-hole girl out of this one,” he smiled.

Johnston really didn’t feel like obeying another command from Ryan, but he did enjoy watching girls experience the Machine for the first time.

“Can do,” said Johnston, grabbing 8003 by the arm.

THE MACHINE

Johnston didn’t see what the big deal was. 8003 (Crystal) was not skinny, but she was the perfect size, in his opinion. 8003 was a gorgeous girl with high cheekbones. She had a bit of a tummy, but most of her weight was in her round hips and fat ass. She carried her weight well, with fat tits and large areolas to boot. She looked immensely breedable. Even though he had just drained his dick in 8001, Johnston had half a mind to fuck 8003 now and see how her ass rippled when he clapped those cheeks. Ryan was crazy to think 8003 should lose any more weight.

Beautiful as she might or might not have been, 8003 was currently a nervous wreck. She didn’t know what the Machine was, but she knew it wasn’t good. She’s seen many a girl come back to general population after being in the Machine for a day or two, and they always appeared to have survived some unspeakable trauma. Her friend Fiona didn’t speak for a week after coming back from the Machine. Afterwards, Fiona was transferred to a new facility, so 8003 had no idea if she ever recovered.

She had tried apologizing and begging with Ryan. It seemed to have the opposite effect. Officer Ryan smiled greedily at her cries, gorging himself on her panicked apology until she was dragged away by Johnston.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked Officer Johnston. Johnston was silent. He just smiled and grabbed a handful of her ass as he guided her down to the basement. She came to a complete stop. “Wait, just tell me-” she started, before getting zapped by Johnston’s baton. A few million volts was enough to get her to complete her walk in silence.

8003 didn’t understand the reason for all the secrecy. She supposed this was a tactic. If she didn’t know what she was walking into, she couldn’t steel herself for the torture, and possibly her death. She decided she would not be afraid. That was apparently what they wanted. She would not give it to them.

“We’re here.”

They had arrived at a nondescript door in the dim basement. It looked like an ordinary door in an office building. But she could hear soft cries of women beyond the door. This was it.

Next to the door was a bin of leather gear. Johnston pulled out a leather mask that might be used in BDSM. Like a gimp mask with no eyes, but a large gap for her nose and mouth. He told her not to move and pulled it over her head. Fearlessly, she stood straight as her world became black. She heard the door open and they walked in.

Inside the room, it became clear that there were dozens of women crying, screaming, and whimpering, but it was not loud because their mouths were muffled. Along with this sound was the sound of vibrating machines, like a hundred vibrators at various speeds. Optimistically, 8003 considered maybe she would simply be forced to sit on a vibrator for a while.

“Okay, 8003, sit on this table.”

8003 was guided to a table about waist height, where she could sit. Johnston had her lie down on the roughly 6-foot (180 cm) long table. The magnets in her arm and leg bands activated and she was bound to the table, unable to move. This was when the table began to split open like a St. Andrews Cross, or X-shaped table. Her arms were raised up high and her legs were split wide so she formed an X shape. Her fear got the better of her, and she began pissing herself. The warm fluid dribbled on the floor and she heard a snicker. It was humiliating that he had visible proof of how scared she was, but humiliation was the least of her concerns now.

This is when Johnston began attaching devices. He pulled down a helmet from the ceiling that covered her eyes. Some sort of metal mask was fixed around her mouth, a few centimeters away so as not to impede her breathing. Another device was attached at her pelvis, but loosely. It felt like large metal underwear. Loose clips were attached to her nipples. The cold bothered her, but they were not painful. Lastly, a nose hook was installed in her nostrils. “Hunh!” she gasped at the odd sensation. But so far, no pain. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.

“See you tomorrow,” said Officer Johnston. That was the last thing she heard before a machine hummed and her ear canal was filled with some sort of plugs. She could no longer hear the other women and machines. Blind and deaf, she was oblivious to the outside world. All 8003 could hear was her own breathing and the slow whirring of her own Machine.

She felt the probing of her vulva with a metal object projecting from her metal underwear. It reached her clitoris and stopped, which caused her some concern. But so far she was in no pain. She knew it wouldn’t likely last.

It didn’t. The nose hook pulled tight at the same time as the nipple clamps tightened around her soft buds, and finally her clitoris was pinched between some sort of clamp. 8003 screamed and a plastic phallus slid quickly into her mouth. Lubed dildos simultaneously slid quickly into her pussy, asshole and urethra. Having been fucked up the ass before, 8003’s shock was solely borne by the foreign sensation of something cold and hard going up her pee hole. Her scream modulated to a higher key at this creative new torture. Of course, her mouth was muffled by the dildo in her mouth. All of the dildos withdrew from her four orifices and she was left panting and shaking. As the oral dildo withdrew from her mouth, a sort of speculum was inserted before she could close her jaw. With this speculum between her jaws, closing her mouth was impossible. The oral dildo could reenter at any time. The speculum widened slightly, opening her mouth even further. Tears dropped and she prayed that this machine would not rip her jaw open like a puppet.

Her nipples and clitoris remained clamped with incredible pressure, but she was at least given a brief respite from penetration for a few moments. 8003 stopped her screaming, but whimpered, knowing her torment had only begun.

A few seconds later the four dildos slowly entered each of her four orifices. She whined and squeezed out more tears as each dildo eventually hit its maximum depth. Her pussy dildo was pressed nearly against her cervix, her anal intruder probed deep in her bowels, the phallus in her mouth was almost entering her throat, and, as a virgin to sounding, the dildo filling her urethra felt impossibly deep. She couldn’t tell if it was millimeters deep or several inches deep. It was a foreign torture either way.

Then, instead of withdrawing like before, they began to pump, outwards then inwards in her four holes. She was being fucked by a machine in four ways at the same time. More than double penetration or even getting airtight, she was now a four-hole girl. As much as she tried to squeeze her pelvis and her jaw, the four dildos continued fucking her with gusto. 8003 felt like she might be pissing again, she couldn’t tell. She screamed and wriggled, but had almost no room to maneuver.

The blindfold and earplugs only made the torture worse. She couldn’t see when the dildos would move forward, nor could she sense the torture of others. She was all alone in her own little world, being fucked mercilessly in a way that not even a group of men could manually replicate. For torture this extreme, advanced technology was required.

The dildos drilled deeper with every thrust; the anal dildo hitting the curve of her bowels, and the oral dildo deep-throating her face. As she tried to scream “Stop! Stop!” she noticed a new sensation, her body was rotating from flat on the table towards an upright position. Every new sensation was a chance for a new method of torture, so she wriggled harder in her bonds, knowing something bad was coming. The thrusting dildos moved along with her body, but the nipple and clit clamps stayed in place. Those clamps were what hurt every time she attempted to twist her body. 8003 felt new bindings grow along her elbows and knees, holding her more firmly in place.

Soon she was completely upright, as if she was standing, the four dildos still pumping in and out of her body. And then… a drop. 8003 felt herself completely submerged in water, or some other liquid. If she found breathing difficult with the deep-throating dildo, it was now physically impossible. Yet the dildos continued humping her body, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was now drowning.

Seconds passed like hours as she was raped underwater in her four holes. And before she could pass out, she was flung upwards out of the water. 8003 gasped and sputtered back to life. The oral dildo had stopped deep-throating her, allowing her an opportunity to breathe. Her mouth was empty except for the mouth speculum keeping her mouth open.

“Enough, enough,” begged 8003. Her words would sound more like “Anaag, Anaag” to anyone nearby.

But no one was there. Johnston had gone back to work. And soon, the oral dildo resumed plunging her throat. All four devices continued pummeling her, siphoning her energy and will. They all stopped simultaneously and then each dildo changed its rhythm. The clamps on her nipples and clit, while already painful, wracked her body with a brief electric shock. All her senses were screaming in pain, and her mind was in chaos. She was in Hell. This was what it meant to be a four-hole girl. And it wasn’t ending anytime soon.

RAIN

A day had passed. Rain had spent the night crammed into a tiny cell, squeezed between dozens of nude women. One of the women next to her had drooled on her. Another woman couldn’t hold her bladder all night and had soaked the ground beneath her and a good portion of the cell. Space was scarce in women’s penitentiaries, even with the government building new ones as fast as they could. This was another reason that prisoners were seen as expendable. Only one month had passed and tens of thousands of women had been killed for failure to submit to the new order; most of them were female prisoners.

This lack of space had led to Rain sleeping very poorly. She sat up, bleary-eyed, as the sunlight crept into her cell until a correctional officer came to let the women out. Despite her sleepiness, she was happy get up from her spot on the wet concrete.

“Alright, turds,” said Officer Montgomery. “Time to hit the head and the showers so you can do the three S’s: shit, shower, and shave. Single file, y’all.” The man led the twenty women to the facilities. These sets of toilets looked much like the ones Rain had seen after intake. Except that given by the toilet lips and helpful arrows on the ground, she could that the two rows of toilets were facing away from each other instead of towards each other.

“Okay, the first five take the commodes on the right. Next five take the toilets on the left.” The women didn’t need instructions on where to stand and when to squat. They each placed a heeled foot on each pillar, squatted, and evacuated. Rain took the last toilet on the left.

Because of the architecture of this “bathroom,” Montgomery stood between two rows of butts. Arms folded behind his back, he slowly strode through the rows of butts, watching the piss and shit drop into the trays. Their fetid waste sat in the silver trays, like exotic fancy meals. He bent over to get a better view of their exposed quivering anuses. There was talk of making the pillars higher or building a trench for men to walk through, so as to make their assholes eye-level. For the time being, this was still a wonderful treat for Montgomery and other officers to feast their eyes on: not just one, but a group of nude women, shitting and pissing without a semblance of privacy.

“Lift your heads, cunts,” called Montgomery. The women were reminded not to stare at the floor. They lifted their chins as they pushed.

He finally came to Rain. She had peed quite a bit. She wished she could withhold this act from the men, but after a long night, she simply had to piss. And even if she held it, it seemed that she would eventually have to go in front of a man. Women were only allowed to use the restroom when accompanied by a man. The women who didn’t use the toilets would be forced to go at other inconvenient places; like in the yard, on the floor where they slept, or en route to some activity. Even in these times that the men weren’t watching, they were crowded together with dozens of women. A woman was never alone in prison, except when she was in the Machine. And no woman wanted to be in the Machine.

Some women would piss discretely in the shower, but even that was a difficult feat because of the short duration and low water pressure. And if found out, they were beaten more viciously than if they had pissed accidentally. It just wasn’t worth it to hold it. It was safest to poop and pee in the toilets.

Montgomery could see that Rain (11201) had peed a satisfactory amount. And yet, there was no poop in her pan.

“I heard about this one, 11201,” said Montgomery. “The shy pooper.”

11201’s cheeks reddened. All of the women could hear him describe her defecation preferences. She sighed and relented. It was time to go. She felt the weight at the end of her colon and tried to push.

“It still thinks it’s special,” continued Montgomery. “That it’s not just like any other animal that shits on command and obeys its master.”

11201’s colon wasn’t complying. She grunted hard and twisted up the corner of her lip as she pushed, “Nngh, nngh.”

“Well, it’s not special,” said Montgomery. “This animal is no different than my poodle at home, and it don’t get any more privacy than he does.” Montgomery grabbed 11201’s face with one hand, turned her face to his, and said, “Go for me, doggy.”

But she was as stuck as the turd in her guts. After holding it all day yesterday, it seemed that she was now constipated. She knew an explanation would fall on deaf ears, so she squeezed her eyes shut and pushed as hard as she could. “Nnnnngh! Nnnnngh! C’mon...” she went.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh?”

“No,” 11201 finally spoke. “I just can’t go! I swear, I’m stopped up!”

“You was warned.” Montgomery turned to the other women and said “Trade places!” As the women who were finished excreting walked away from their messes, the next women in line took their places. “When you’re all done, I want every cunt standing in single file at attention!” Montgomery grabbed 11201 by the arm and dragged a pleading 11201 away. He was so angry he had forgotten to flush between sets of women. But at least the second set of women would be able to piss and shit privately, without the lascivious eyes of the officers.

“No! It’s not my fault! I swear I’m not intentionally holding it, just give me a minute,” pleaded 11201 as she stumbled behind the officer.

“It says one more word and it gets the baton,” said Montgomery. He dragged her silently to the nearest Officer’s Lounge. Montgomery opened the door and tossed 11201 in. She stumbled forward but caught herself before she fell.

The Officer’s Lounge was fancy. There were leather couches, marble countertops, a fridge and a pool table. There were one-way windows on both sides so the men could observe the women in the hallways as well as the women in the yard. Several groups of men stopped their conversations at the sight of an inmate.

There was a silence. 11201 was too terrified to speak, knowing something bad was coming. The men were disturbed at this interruption, until they realized it was someone most of them had heard about.

“The feminazi?” asked Officer Ryan.

“Why not take her to a rec room?” asked Officer Cortez. Recreation rooms had more space and supplies to deal with disobedient women. They were easy to set up and easy to clean. Officers were supposed to use rec rooms to punish women.

“Nah, let’s do this here,” said Officer Parker, unholstering his baton. “This is where the men are.” He shocked 11201. Cortez shrugged and did the same. Wracked with sudden electrical pain, 11201 crumpled to the floor. Three other men joined in shocking 11201 as she cried out and jerked like a dying cockroach.

“Sto-AAAhhh! StAAAAhhh! Stop! AAAaaah! Please!” she whined.

Montgomery thought that was a nice warm up, but now it was time to do some damage. He tightened his grip on his baton, and then brought it down on her body, landing on her right buttock. The other men smiled and followed his example in beating her down onto the kitchenette. 11201 screamed as they broke her nude body against the white floor tiles. She rolled around, attempting to avoid the batons and boots.

Montgomery kicked 11201 in the stomach. “Just act right, you fucking slut! It’s not hard!” He then noticed a thick, hard turd had descended a few inches out of her ass. “Oh, now it decides to go,” he said. But the black turd stayed stuck, descending no further.

Satisfied with how the beating was going, Montgomery picked up 11201 by her head. The men stopped beating as Montgomery forced her head onto his bare, limp cock. 11201, trying her hardest, drunkenly mouthed at his cock. She licked his cock slowly, with long pauses to cough up blood. She closed her lips around his dick, but couldn’t get good suction in her frazzled state. Dissatisfied with her attempt, Montgomery dropped her to the floor. “Fucking useless,” he said.

“Well, we fucked her up too much to suck cock,” laughed Parker. “You wanna fuck her?”

Montgomery mulled it over in his head. If she couldn’t suck his cock, he wouldn’t get hard enough to fuck her shitty ass. He didn’t really feel like fucking her pussy. If he was gonna fuck pussy, he’d rather fuck one of the obedient girls in his morning group. Sure, 11201 was very attractive, even as a bald inmate, but it was work to get her to cooperate, and she seemed barely conscious. Thinking about the group, Montgomery decided he really needed to get back to his girls. It was bad to leave inmates unattended for too long.

“Nah,” said Montgomery. “Just take it to medical. We already beat the shit out of it. Literally.” The other officers laughed at his joke. A moment later Parker guffawed, belatedly seeing the turd halfway stuck in her. “I gotta get back to my girls,” said Montgomery.

Montgomery left the room. The officers looked at one another.

“Fine,” said Parker. “I’ll take her. Get up, bitch.”

11201 looked up. It seemed that it was finally over. Like a newborn calf, she struggled to her feet over wobbly knees. One of her heels had fallen off. Parker ignored 11201’s walking troubles, and grabbed her arm and dragged her out, just as she had been dragged in. The dark stool that had been stuck in her anus finally fell on the floor of the kitchenette. She continued stumbling as Parker dragged her to Medical.

Along the way, Parker saw Stevens with a group of ten timid looking women standing awkwardly in their heels.

“New inmates?” asked Parker. Stevens nodded in confirmation.

“Feminazi still not acting right?” asked Stevens. Parker shrugged. Parker then looked at Stevens with a cruel smile. Reading his mind, Stevens sighed and nodded.

“Hello, ladies,” said Parker to Stevens’s group. “As you can see,” he gestured to 11201, who was bloody and breathing hard, “despite being given multiple chances, some girls still want to be disobedient. Such a young, pretty girl, too. She gave an average blowjob yesterday. I bet with a little training, she could suck dick with the best of them.” Parker pulled out a knife and the women shrieked as Parker slit 11201’s throat wide open. The rest of the contents of her bowels spilled out of her ass and onto the floor.

“Well, we’re over capacity!” yelled Parker over the terrified screams of the women. “We don’t have any tolerance for disobedience! So do what you’re fucking told!” 11201 (Rain) gurgled blood and fell to the floor, jerking and twitching as she died.

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