Theirs to Use: A Punishment Reverse Harem Romance
Emily Tilton
Chapter One
“We have to find three fuckable girls in here—that’s all.”
The man, one of a pair, spoke in an amused tone, not even sarcastic really. To Karen Hunter, just eighteen and sent to corporate prison for nonpayment of her car loan, it seemed like the man even meant to commiserate with his companion—as if they had no reason to think they might find anything more than slightly fuckable.
Karen couldn’t see their faces, but she had heard them conversing as they walked down the cell block, one more talkative, with a deeper voice, the other—the one who had just spoken—possessing a baritone that would have sounded pleasant if the things he said had had anything pleasing about them. They weren’t the first men who had come to Karen’s cell block since she had arrived here, but they were the first to come as a pair.
The others had come one by one, to enter a girl’s cell—not Karen’s, yet, thank God—and spend half an hour or so there. Karen knew about these visits from the sounds of the men’s voices, and the girls’ cries of protest, made into wails of pain by the sharp crack of the prison paddle that it seemed these men were permitted to wield, though Karen didn’t think they were prison guards.
The guards seemed more, well, professional than that. They, too, used the paddle, but they did it in a much more efficient manner than the men who came to the cells on Karen’s block, without threats and without saying things like, “There you go. Are you going to open those legs for me now? Are you going to say what you need to say?”
When a guard paddled one of the girls, he told her to go to the discipline trestle in the cafeteria and bend over it, and take down her pants to reveal her standard-issue gray panties. He announced to the hushed room that the girl had for example tried to speak to another prisoner, and then he struck hard with the heavy wooden blade that had five air holes, once, twice, three times. The girl screamed, but if she tried to get up she got another stroke from the horrible thing.
Afterward, though, with her bottom on fire, she went back to her seat, and the guard seemed not to hold on to any anger toward her. She didn’t do it again, either. Karen knew that from awful experience. The night after her paddling she had lain awake in her cell rubbing the terrible bruises from the paddle and trying to hold on to her idea of who Karen Hunter was supposed to be.
When the men who came to the cells used the paddle, though, it sounded very different. They punished the reluctant girls slowly, and Karen thought they must take the girls’ panties down, too, for the paddling. It seemed to hurt the girls more even than the paddle over their underwear did. Also, when the girl finally said, as she always did, that she wanted the man to fuck her, the sexual sounds began immediately, as if the man had simply entered her and begun to ride her over the bunk where he had placed her for the punishment.
The girl in the cell next to Karen’s had been visited twice in the week since Karen had come to the prison. The first time, the man had used the paddle for five minutes before the girl sobbed, “Go ahead. I’m wet. Fuck me.” The second time, when the man asked, “Are you ready for my cock this time, sweetheart?”, she had said yes, and the sex had started even more quickly.
The two men walking down the cell block seemed more like the men who came visiting to fuck the girls in their cells than like the guards. From what they said, though, they didn’t intend to open the cell doors and go in with paddles and cocks ready, but rather to make some sort of selection.
“That’s right,” the loquacious one said. “And they’re all pretty fuckable. Haven’t you ever paid your money up at the desk and gone in for a few minutes of fun? If they say no, you just spank them until they change their minds. It’s better than an escort service. Cheaper, too.”
The voices came closer.
“Still can’t believe it’s legal,” the same voice continued. “But with the corporate laws, everything just seems to work better, doesn’t it? These prisons provide everyone with exactly what they need. The men get work, and the women get educated in their proper place in society. Oh, she’s nice, isn’t she? Let’s go in and inspect her.”
They must be at the door of the cell next to Karen’s now. She heard the beep of the lock, and the heavy door open.
“Hello, sweetheart,” the deep voice said. “Go ahead and take off your clothes, please.”
“Why?” the girl, whose name Karen suddenly wished she knew, asked in a fearful voice. The prisoners weren’t allowed to talk to one another, as Karen had forgotten that first day and had to relearn with the help of the paddle.
“To see whether you qualify for a special program,” the one with the more pleasant voice said.
“What kind of program?”
The deeper voice responded. “That’s enough talking. Take off your clothes or you’ll get the paddle. You’ve had the paddle before, haven’t you? Your fuck sheet says your first visitor had to use it to get you to behave. I’m sure you don’t want it again, when all we want is to take a look at your tits and your cunt and your ass.”
A pause. Karen couldn’t hear anything; had the girl decided to obey, and strip for these assholes?
“Nice tits,” said the baritone.
“Bend over the bed and spread your ass-cheeks, sweetheart. Show us what you have to offer, if you’re chosen for our program.” The talkative one spoke the final word so as to make it clear that he himself probably wouldn’t have described what awaited the ‘lucky’ girls chosen as a ‘program.’