The guard watched the unconscious woman on the monitor. She lay on her side, her brown hair fanned out around her. As with all of them she was nude, her lean muscular body scrubbed and stripped of all make-up and jewelry, even piercings in intimate places. They were working, the guard knew, on a way to efficiently remove tattoos as well, like the one this woman had on the small of her back. The Americans called them "tramp stamps," he knew. The cell was brightly lit, the walls painted an industrial two-tone gray. There were no windows, and the door had no handle on the inside.
The woman's legs slid against each other langorously, but her eyes did not open. The sedative was still working in her system, along with the other drug that would not wear off nearly as quickly. The tinny speaker carried the sound of her low, plaintive moan.
As the guard watched, a man curled up in the corner suddenly stood up. He was about thirty, tall and slender with short dark hair. He stood over the woman as she again moaned in her sleep. Like her he was nude, his skin gleaming with sweat and grime from days without washing. In the harsh light his erect penis stood out straight and hard. With no preliminaries the man licked his hand several times, wrapped it around his erection and began masturbating; in moments white drops of semen shot out, splattering on the breasts of the unconscious woman at his feet. As his penis grew flaccid the man leaned wearily on the nearest wall, then slid back to the floor.
The guard chuckled. That was the third time the man had jerked off in the fifteen minutes since they dumped the girl in there. He'd expected the man to roll her on her back and fuck her limp body senseless, and was somewhat disappointed not to see her wake in the middle of an orgasm. He waited to see what the prisoners would do next.
***
Alice McNally moaned in her enforced sleep and rolled onto her back. Her hands, heavy and clumsy, rose to her breasts. Her fingers slipped in the semen deposited there, but she did not notice. She was lost in the worst kind of dream, one in which she was horny, and being fucked, but couldn't reach climax.
With a final cry of frustration, her back arched and her hands clutched at the tile floor, smearing the semen. Her eyes popped open, staring up into the light fixture overhead.
She rolled to her feet, reflexes taking over. She crouched low, her left hand maintaining her balance against the floor while her right stayed ready to fend off an attacker. As a trained CIA operative with nearly a decade's worth of experience in covert operations, she knew how to evaluate her situation quickly. And this, she realized, was about as bad as could be.
The room was brightly lit, the walls dingy and industrial concrete. The furnishings consisted of a twin mattress tossed in one corner, a toilet and a sink. The door was entirely faceless. She was stripped naked. And she wasn't alone.
A man sat in the corner by the door. His knees were drawn up, and one arm rested casually across them, concealing his face except for his eyes. His hair was a sweaty tangle and, like Alice, he was nude.
She took several deep breaths and realized the room reeked of bodies and musk. It made the pit of her stomach tingle disconcertingly, and she tried to breathe through her nose.
When she stood, her fingers stuck slightly to the floor. She held them up and saw the rapidly-drying substance on them, then realized it was all over her torso. "What the hell?" she muttered.
