There were three steps leading up to the floor of the room, and Sasha hurried up them as quickly as she could, taking care not to let her hobble chain trip her -- she would fall directly on her face if she lost her footing, unable to bring her hands up to protect herself.

Without a thought of the consequences, Sasha scrambled into the glass box, the near end of which had been left standing open. Skirting a wide hole in the floor of the box just beyond the entrance, Sasha moved forward on hands and knees, her chains jingling loudly, and put her joined hands behind the wide-eyed Tasha's head, elbowing aside the tube leading to the nipple that filled Tasha's mouth. Sobbing now, she held Tasha's head against her chest. She moaned over and over, "I'm sorry, Tasha, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!"

It was so unfair! Tasha wasn't guilty of anything! She wasn't part of any anti-government conspiracy. She had only arrived at the meeting to plead with Sasha to come home.

Sasha backed away, because Tasha seemed to be having trouble breathing. Sasha saw that, as Tasha had started crying at the sight of Sasha, her nose had started running. Tasha sniffled desperately and rubbed her face against her own shoulder to clear away the tears and snot, and gradually started breathing more evenly.

Sasha spun her head at the sound of a click behind her. The old man had closed the door forming the end of the box, trapping Sasha inside. Without another word, the old man beamed at Sasha, turned, and left the room, closing the door of the room with a loud, final-sounding click.

Sasha twisted around to sit on her butt, to kick at the door of the box. The door, for some reason, had a hoop of metal, like a basketball rim but thicker, projecting from it at about a twenty centimeter height above the floor, with a bar attached to its front end, whose lower end, now that the door had been closed, rested on the floor, supporting the hoop to prevent its being bent downward. The hoop was centered above the hole in the floor of the box that Sasha had crawled past on entering the box. Sasha frowned, trying to puzzle out its purpose.

Suddenly she gasped. She spun her head to regard one of the several cameras aimed at the transparent box, and at herself and Tasha inside it. Sasha gritted her teeth, her breath hissing out through them, feeling her face flush, furious with the sick minds who had set this up.

It might have taken her longer to catch on, she realized, except that, from the experience of the last two weeks, Sasha was very familiar with the concept of evacuating her wastes through a hole in the floor. The whole arrangement looked like a very minimal version of a toilet, which was exactly what it was. It wasn't for Tasha, who couldn't reach it, and who had a waste hole of her own below her crotch. This one was for Sasha. She wouldn't be able to sit directly on the hole, as she had in her cell, so that doing her business would at least be invisible. The presence of the metal hoop prevented that, and she would have to sit on the hoop itself, serving as a toilet seat, with her piss and... other, dropping down into the hole below, in full view of the cameras and of whomever was watching the images broadcast by them.

Sasha squeezed her eyes shut and made a growling sound in the back of her throat.

It occurred to her that the presence of a toilet indicated another thing as well: that they were planning to keep her here a long time. The growl turned into a low moan.

Desperately, she looked for indications that she would have to be let out soon. She saw that the box had a series of small ventilation holes along the upper edge where its glass walls met. She and Tasha would get as much air as they needed. Tasha was, through the tube to her mouth, being fed as well. The tube snaked down from the ceiling of the room, entering the box through one of the vent holes.

What about my food, Sasha wondered. There was no opening large enough to pass bowls in and out, a process to which Sasha had become accustomed in her cell. They would clearly have to open the door of the box to get food to her. I can fight with them then, she thought. I'm not going to let them do this to me, to both of us, without a fight.

That time will come, Sasha told herself. For now I'd better see to Tasha.

Sasha turned back around to examine the situation her sister was in. Tasha was restrained in the same way the women, the "cows," in the other room had been, kept on her hands and knees. Her wrists, as with the other women, were in metal cuffs locked to the floor of the box, her ankles similarly cuffed immovably, apart, at either side of the back wall of the box. Her hands were encased, as were the other women's, in a big ball of tape. There were, as with the other women, straps under her armpits and her waist, both ends of every strap attached to the ceiling of the box.

Tasha was holding her elbows inward as far as she was able, probably, decided Sasha, in a fruitless attempt to hide her breasts. Certainly the flush in her face and tiny shakes of her head told the story of how embarrassed she was to be seen like this. Sasha hadn't seen Tasha naked at any time since Tasha was a baby, and certainly not since her breasts had started to develop. Sasha was sure, though, that when Tasha had come to this place, her breasts hadn't been this big. They weren't yet as gigantic as those of the women in the other room, but Sasha felt no doubt they would get there eventually. Whatever they were feeding her, whatever hormone was doing this, was at work turning Tasha's body into a milk producing machine just as the other women were.

No doubt Tasha was lactating by now, expected to contribute her share to the milk supply. One sign of that was that there was a third opening in the floor of the box, in addition to the waste holes for the two of them: a wide gap, from one side of the box to the other. Far below there appeared to be a stainless steel trough, in which milk would no doubt flow out of the room to be collected somewhere.

Tasha started crying again. Sasha scooted forward and stroked Tasha's stubbly head softly with her hand. "It's going to be okay, Sissy, it will," she cooed in a near whisper. "We'll get out of here. I'll figure something out." Sasha moved in closer to rest the side of her head against Tasha's, hearing her sister sigh, calming a little.

Sasha backed away to look over Tasha's head harness, holding the feeding nipple in place. She explored the harness with her fingers, looking for any way to remove it. There was none. Sasha could speak to Tasha as much as she wanted, but she wouldn't be hearing any replies as long as Tasha wore the harness.

Tasha began moaning in a way different from her crying earlier. It was insistent, an attempt to get attention.

Sasha looked her in the face, trying to read her expression. "What is it, Sissy?"

Tasha looked down at her breasts, and back up at Sasha, her face coloring again, more than before. She made a high-pitched whining sound.

Sasha's hand flew to her mouth. No, she thought. Oh no. Please, not me. Let somebody else do it.

Sasha remembered her earlier thought about the huge-breasted, lactating women in the other room: that the fuller their breasts became, the more they would ache.

Tasha, now, was obviously in pain. She needed relief. And she couldn't do it herself, with her hands bound up in tape.

Sasha felt her own face burning with embarrassment. I can't do that! she insisted to herself. I can't!

But I have to, she told herself. Tasha will be in agony if I don't.

And this is what they want to see. This is why these cameras are here. To watch me milk my own sister.

Sasha forced herself to speak. She opened her right hand, and moved it slightly towards Tasha's left breast. "Sissy..." She paused a long time, then pushed herself onward again. "Do you... need me to..."

Tasha's tears started flowing again, her face reddening still further. She nodded her head, over and over, emphatically.

Sasha put out her hands and pulled them back, put them out, pulled them back. Each time she managed to make herself get a little closer. At last she wrapped her hands gently around Tasha's left breast.

It took her some time to take the next step: to start squeezing.

For a time nothing came out. Sasha sighed in frustration, not quite knowing just how to do it. She kept trying. At last a small dribble of milk came out. Gradually Sasha found the sequence of hand and finger movements, learning when to squeeze, when to pull.

She never managed to forget the cameras were there. Watching her fondling, pulling, squeezing her sister's breast.

After a time she switched to Tasha's other breast.

Rachel forced herself to blank her mind as well as she could, and simply concentrate on the task at hand. As she showered and shampooed, afterwards using the blow dryer and hairbrush, such familiar, ordinary activities enabled her briefly to get her mind off what was ahead. At the woman's direction, she brushed her teeth, with a toothbrush and toothpaste in a cabinet above the sink, and used a sweet-tasting mouthwash.

It all came back to her as she finished drying her hair. In part to distract herself, and in part to establish some sort of connection with a woman who, though evidently a prisoner like herself, was somehow entitled to give her incomprehensible orders, Rachel said, "My name is Rachel Preston."

The woman responded, "I am Alina Petrovna." She paused as though she expected the name to elicit some sort of recognition from Rachel, then gave a barely perceptible shrug. "I was model. You see me in magazines. All of big ones in Europe. Maybe not American ones. Maybe you don' know me." She sighed bitterly. "I was born in Irkhetnia -- it was Soviet Union den -- but I lived in Prague. I went to Paris, to Berlin, to London, to do de model jobs. I t'ought, I am famous, I can say anyt'ing I want. I talk about Irkhet government, about president. I tell people dere is no freedom here." She twisted her lips in a snarl. "So now I am dead of drug overdose. Dat is what dey tell people. And dey put me here." She closed her eyes and shook her head, shaking away the memories.

"How long have you been here?"

Immediately, Alina responded, "Two years. And two months. I count days." She sighed.

Rachel shuddered violently. Alina had spent twenty-six months, nearly eight hundred days, in enforced prostitution. Rachel was having a hard enough time with the idea of doing it for two days. "How much longer? How long is your sentence?"

Alina gasped, and gave Rachel a sharp look. "Dey did not tell you?"

Rachel blinked. "I didn't know you existed until I walked in here. They never said anything about you. I wouldn't have understood them if they did."

Alina shook her head. "I mean, dey did not tell you about you. At trial?"

Rachel began breathing faster. "I didn't understand anything at the trial either. What do you know about me?"

Alina gave her a pitying look. She said softly, "Only what I know about all girls here. Is same for all. No girl come here except with deat' sentence. Dey will execute you here, but dey decide when. Dey do it when dey are tired of using you. When you are too old to excite dem."

Rachel felt the blood draining from her face, and reached out for the arm of the chair to keep from falling. She sat quickly in the chair, holding her head in her hands, trying to summon strength to run to the sink if her stomach came any closer to throwing out its contents. She could feel Alina's hand resting on her shoulder, rubbing it.

It's okay, Rachel told herself, it doesn't change anything. In a way, it makes it better. She had been aware of the possibility of a death sentence, though she had pushed the thought away for the most part. She had been worried about the possibility of being executed as a spy immediately, before her government had time to rescue her. Now she knew she was safe from that. Judging from the condition of several of the women she'd seen, their very pale skin and sharply-developed muscles from hard labor, it was clear they must have been here for years, under that same sentence of death-when-we-feel-like-killing-you. Rachel was in no immediate danger, and so her biggest worry was gone. And in a couple of days she would be out of here.

She looked up at Alina, took a deep breath, and gave Alina a small nod.

Alina blinked, trying to hide her astonishment. "You are okay?" She clearly wondered if Rachel had quite understood her.

Closing her eyes for a moment and taking another deep breath, Rachel stood up, trembling only a little. "Yes."

Alina looked impressed. She had obviously adjusted to her own circumstances, but had not expected Rachel to come to terms with her fate so quickly. She turned and pulled out the chair in front of the mirror. "Now do makeup. Not like tramp, slut. Do it elegant, like model or movie star. You are model?"

Rachel blinked. "No. I'm a college student."

Alina raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You are very pretty. I t'ought you might be model. Can you do makeup like model?"

"I... I'm not sure..." Rachel had never heard any complaints about how she did her makeup, but she did mainly basic things her late mother had taught her.

In the absence of another chair, except the heavy recliner that would be hard to move, Alina knelt on the floor next to Rachel and supervised the work of making Rachel glamorous, while giving Rachel a more clear idea of what lay ahead. "We are fantasy girls. De men, dey can stick it in any girl out dere when dey want, but is different here. Dey don' take us and use us. Dey don' hurt us. When you are wit' man, he will expect you to adore him. You are important, famous woman, everybody all over world have fantasies about you, but -- lucky him -- you are his lover. You tell him..." She stopped suddenly, frowning. "You speak no Russian words? Not'ing?"

Trying not to bite the lip where she had just applied gloss, Rachel shook her head. "Nothing." She looked at herself in the mirror. Alina had directed her to use more mascara and eyeliner than she usually did, with a peach-colored eye shadow. Her eyes looked bigger, more... glowing.

Alina's frown deepened. After a moment, she said, "I will teach you, little bit. A few phrases. For now, just say dis: 'Ya tebya lyublyu.' Dat is 'I love you.' Try it now."

"Ya tebya... lubb you."

Alina smiled briefly, seeming to bury a laugh. "Lyublyu. Ya tebya lyublyu. Say it all now."

"Ya tebya lyublu."

Rachel repeated it five times, the last time, as ordered, in a husky, passionate voice. She couldn't quite get that last word just the way Alina was saying it, but Alina seemed to decide it was close enough. Rachel had been hearing a lot of Russian the last couple of days, and had noticed Russians seem to like sticking in a lot of "y" sounds all around. She heard the "lyublyu," but it was hard for her American mouth to squeeze that many twists and turns into two short syllables.

Alina smiled. "Dey will love American accent. Very... what is word? Exotic. You are famous American actress. Very nice fantasy." She looked at the clock, and grimaced. "No time to get you more ready. You and me, we take turns. I will go first. You watch t'rough blinds." She pointed. "Each man get forty-five minutes. Dere is warning sound, like 'Toot'..." she imitated the electronic tone that would signal the impending end of the session, "...after forty minutes, so he know to get ready to go. You make sure he come, before signal! After come, cuddling. Give little kisses, make happy sounds. Until time to go. Fix bed after, den come back in here."

Rachel felt her insides going soft again, and fought against the reaction. I have to do this, she told herself. I just have to. I'll pretend it's different guys from school. Somebody I want to be with. A new worry struck her. "What about... babies?"

Alina shook her head. "No babies. All food we eat have... contra..." She struggled with the word.

"Contraceptives?" Rachel felt a fresh category of rage building in her. Not only were they forcing her to offer her body as if she were willing and eager, they were messing with her insides as well, taking yet another female right away from her. Not, she reminded herself, that she would actually want a baby here. But it was another case of them taking away something that belonged to her.

Alina nodded absently, and reached for one of the silky robes hanging from hooks, one similar to the one she herself was wearing. "You wear dis when you go in, when your turn come." She stood by the door to the "bedroom," her hand on the knob. "Will not open until man come in. You hear buzz. Oh! Position. You be on top, or else give blow job. Dat is simplest. You try more t'ings after few days, maybe, but dose are best to start wit'. Stay remembering, you want him. You are in love wit' him, you want his body. And you are boss of how you make love, like it is all your idea. After he come, you cuddle until time is up. Be fantasy lover, all de time." Alina frowned warningly. "And do not t'ink to fight him, maybe escape. Is no escape. Is very, very bad for you if you try." She pointed to what Rachel suddenly recognized as a small camera, up in a corner of the ceiling. "Dey watch us, only let us t'rough doors when it is time. You saw tiny room outside dis one?" Rachel nodded. "Inside door is unlocked, but outside door, you can't open it. It have..." She frowned. "What is word, like telephone buttons..."

Rachel thought. "Keypad?"

Alina nodded. "Yes, it have dat. You do not know numbers to push, so is locked for you. And if some way you ever get out of dese rooms..." She touched the pretty green bracelet on Rachel's wrist, "...bracelet will make big noise, alarm, until dey find you."

Rachel continued looking at the camera. In a tiny voice, she said, "They're watching us now?"

"Da. Yes. I don' know if dey watch us when we are locked in. But when we work, yes, dey watch." She tapped Rachel's head with her finger, lightly. "Don' t'ink about dat. Just be fantasy girl. Oh!! Nearly forgot." She pointed to a cabinet over the sink. "Is some baby oil in dere. You should put some inside you before you go in." She touched her own mound, to make it perfectly clear what she meant by "inside." "If you t'ink you will get wet for de man, den dere is no need for oil. But..." She gave Rachel a small smile. "Dese men are not really your lovers, and I know it is hard. Use oil so he can slide in very easy. No need in asshole. Dey will not use it. Is not... romantic."

Rachel bit her lip, and nodded, grateful for the small favor of no anal sex. I'm really going to have to do this, she thought, shaking. I have to have sex with any man who comes in. Whether I like him or not, whether he's cute or ugly...

Rachel was startled by a soft electronic note, followed by a click in the door. Alina nodded to her. "Okay, you watch now." Alina closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, a big smile on her face, as she pushed the door open.

Rachel waited for the door to sigh closed -- with a firm click at the end, the lock engaged again -- then bent in front of the blind hiding the door's window, parting the blinds just enough to see in, understanding now why the blinds were on this side of the door. Alina had probably already trained one or more girls, including the one Rachel had seen taken away from here when she arrived, who watched Alina's sessions and then tried to imitate her.

Alina was already embracing the man who was her first "client" of the day, who was also dressed only in a robe. Rachel hadn't seen him before, but then she had seen very little of the prison so far. Alina kissed him passionately. She continued the kiss as her arms roamed up and down the man's back. She stopped and leaned back slightly, and Rachel could see Alina speaking to him softly, though no sounds came through the door. Most likely she was saying something about how much she had missed him. Her face had that sort of expression.

Rachel continued watching as Alina coaxed the guard towards the bed, pushed his robe away from his shoulders and, with her lips parted and an I-want-you look on her face, dropped her own. She pulled back the top sheet -- the bed had no other covers -- and, not quite aggressively but assertively, pushed him gently until he lay back on the bed. She straddled him on her knees as he lay on his back, visibly murmuring soft Russian endearments, and began kissing his chest.

Rachel forced herself to continue watching. She had seen rapes, for the first time, last night, but this was an entirely different kind of thing. She had never watched another couple having loving sex, other than in a movie, and Alina's whole demeanor made the act appear so intimate that Rachel felt she was invading their privacy on a scale almost criminal, as if she should be arrested for voyeurism. But I have to watch, she told herself repeatedly. I have to know how to do this. The next man who comes in is mine. She gulped, her stomach twisting in knots.

And I wish I did know some Russian, she thought. Three little words aren't going to get me very far. The one word, "nyet," that I knew before coming here, is surely the one word I'll never be allowed to use.

As Rachel continued watching, she saw that Alina, stretched out full length atop the guard, was kissing him while rubbing her mound slowly from side to side over his erection, which was pinned against his stomach. She moved forward slightly now and rubbed her breasts, in turn, across his lips, then backed away to resume kissing.

In a few minutes Alina raised herself on her arms, lifted her crotch slightly, and rubbed her labia playfully across the head of the man's cock. Her mouth open, eyes closed, her expression suggesting an ecstatic pleasure in the touch of her "lover," she reached down at last and guided him into her.

The man's expression made it clear how overwhelming it was that the woman of his dreams could want him so much, could give herself to him so completely.

Alina, Rachel saw, was very, very good at this. Rachel gulped again. Are they going to expect me to be like her, she wondered, or will they understand I don't have nearly that kind of experience?

Slowly at first, Alina let herself rise and fall, her vaginal walls slipping up and down along the man's shaft. Faster now, with much more abandon, her back arched, her head thrown back.

Rachel could tell easily when the man came, his arms suddenly rigid, his hips jerking so that Alina had to hold tight to avoid being thrown off.

Slower, now, her face showing both exhaustion and completion, she let herself settle down onto him again, resuming kissing, and in a few minutes rolled to the side, her head beside his on the pillow, wrapping her arms and legs around him, snuggling against him, rubbing her cheek against his and occasionally giving him a light kiss.

Rachel heard a muffled beep sound through the door, signaling five minutes remaining. Alina and her "lover" both sat up, dangling their legs over the side of the bed, Alina still leaning against him, rubbing him with her arms. At last, with one final kiss, the man rose to go, he and Alina both smiling, both saying something. He was out the door as Alina gave him a finger wave.

Suddenly more businesslike, Alina went to the huge wardrobe and opened the doors. Within, it turned out to be stacked high with red bedsheets. Alina, with a quick motion, removed the sheets from the bed and wadded them into a hamper along the side of the wardrobe's interior, and took a new fitted sheet and top sheet from the pile. She quickly remade the bed, and came to the door behind which Rachel was standing.

Coming through the door, Alina looked at Rachel and rolled her eyes. "Anot'er one finished. You see dat dey all try to be nice here. Not mean, not demanding. Is different world from..." She gestured, presumably indicating the lockup.

Rachel wanted to clarify an intuition she'd had while watching the pair. "You don't have... kind of a special thing with him?"

"Him?" She looked back towards the bedroom. "Dat one? He is not'ing. He is like all. You have to treat all de same. If dey t'ink you give one of dem somet'ing you don' give de rest, dey get mad. Dey want it from you. Be same, wit' all." She looked carefully at Rachel to make sure she understood, then down at her crotch. "You remember baby oil?"

"Oh!" Knowing there wasn't much time, Rachel dashed for the cabinet. Pouring some oil onto her fingers, she carefully worked it into her vagina, trying to coat the walls evenly, unable to believe what she was doing, nor what she was about to do. She dried off her hands and returned to the door, her stomach churning.

It stopped churning and did a complete flip when she heard the buzz of the door. Shaking, she opened it and stepped through.

A young man, looking nearly as nervous as Rachel felt, stepped through the door in pajamas -- Rachel had already divined that the purpose of the closet-like outer room was to give the visiting guard a place to discard his uniform and dress in something more appropriate.

The guard was, again, unfamiliar to Rachel. She was sure there were quite a few more guards than she had seen to this point. She knew that the corridor in which her lockup of the previous night was located held several more rooms of the same type -- she'd seen the doors, identical to the one leading to her lockup -- all of them presumably with their own complement of guards watching a room full of caged women. Rachel wondered whether this guard was new, or relatively so. Alina's customer had seemed more confident and at ease. And this one had prepared for the visit, it appeared. His hair was more carefully combed than she had so far seen on any guard, and he looked as though he had just shaved.

The knot in Rachel's stomach began dissolving. He's just a man, she told herself, and not really much more than a boy. I have what he wants. I am what he wants.

Rachel was accustomed to attention from men, and knew exactly what was on their mind when they looked at her. It usually irritated her. But she wasn't above making use of it when she had to. She had never intentionally led any man to anticipate sexual relations that would not be forthcoming -- she wasn't a tease -- but if she needed a male librarian to help her find a book, she knew how much a smile, with her breasts thrust slightly forward, could accomplish.

I just have to take the next step now, she thought. And I won't be teasing, because I'll give him exactly what he is hoping for.

She felt, for the first time since her arrest, under control of the situation.

I'm his girlfriend, she reminded herself. And madly in love with him.

She put a wide grin on her face, held out her arms and ran the short distance towards him, throwing her arms around him and crushing him in a passionate embrace. He had a fresh smell, as if he'd just showered with scented soap. Really, Rachel thought, they're almost making this too easy. I'll build up my confidence with this one. The next one might be less presentable, but by then I'll have experience.

She rubbed the side of her head against his for a moment, then moved her head around for a first kiss -- her mouth open against his, making a sigh of passion.

The man was of average height, so Rachel was slightly taller than he was, and had to look down a little to kiss him. But that was her usual experience. She had no practice at being anyone other than herself.

Still holding him, she circled around him slowly and backed him towards the bed, reaching in front of him to unbutton the top of his pajamas and remove it. She backed away, shrugged off the short robe and threw it into the corner of the room, as if she couldn't wait to be naked with him, and resumed the embrace and the kiss.

Once the back of his legs encountered the side of the bed, his knees buckled, and she followed him down to the surface and lay atop him, reaching down to pull off his pajama pants and then straddling him as she'd seen Alina doing. As nearly as she could, in fact, she tried to do everything she'd seen Alina doing. She avoided too much contact with his erection, knowing she shouldn't let him reach a climax too early in the session. But at last she reached down and guided him into her, the oil ensuring that he slid in easily. In fact, she wasn't sure she'd needed the oil. Unexpectedly, she felt herself getting wet. She rocked her hips back and forth, milking his erection.

She sat more upright on him now. He seemed fascinated with her breasts, reaching up to touch them -- not squeezing them hard, but just feeling their shape. Her nipples hardened from the attention, and he passed his fingers across them briefly, but went back to cupping the underside with his hands, lifting the breasts slightly, feeling their weight, his to hold for now.

Rachel closed her eyes briefly, trying to imagine he was Greg, the boyfriend with whom she'd had the best sex, but it occurred to her the guard might be able to tell if she was pretending he was someone else. So she opened her eyes and looked directly into his -- his eyes wide with excitement and lust. She rocked harder, grunting softly with effort.

Within another minute he reached his climax, with a sharp cry and bucking of his hips, and his hands did squeeze her breasts briefly. She let him empty himself and, as he gradually subsided, she let herself down onto his stomach and kissed him, moaning with ersatz happiness.

She had actually felt her own excitement build, though she had a long way further to go. But she understood she needed to break off her efforts at this point. As sweet as the man -- boy -- seemed, she knew her own orgasm was not going to be one of his priorities.

She didn't expect the sudden flood of shame that washed over her now -- her consciousness that she'd done something her personal standards reviled, having sex with a man she'd never met and knew nothing about -- but she was able to remind herself that the prison authorities had forced her into this, and her mind covered the ground, once more, of what the alternative was. The shame should be on the men who run the prison, she told herself forcefully, if they have any sense of shame at all. And I'll make them wish, soon, that they'd never done this to me.

As she'd seen Alina do, Rachel rolled to the side and snuggled up against him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, pushing one of her legs through his. She kissed him softly. Now, she thought, is the perfect time to let it fly, the one verbal contribution she could make to the session. She looked directly into his eyes again, gave him a slight smile, and in a soft, throaty voice into which she worked to pack all of the passion she could muster, she said, "Ya tebya lyublu."

The way his eyes lit up, she could tell her timing had been just right. She knew she still wasn't quite saying it correctly, but obviously he'd understood her.

It occurred to her that she could embellish the sentiment without worrying whether he understood her literally. The tone of voice should be sufficient. She murmured in English, "I love you, my pet, my dearest, my husky lover. I would never want to be with anyone but you..." She avoided the temptation to add playful irrelevancies, such as, "Always check the inflation of your tires. Please return all library books when due. Keep your eyes on your own test paper." It was always possible he might speak some English. So she spent another few minutes whispering endearments to him, then subsided, with her head propped on his shoulder to keep her face slightly upward, smiling at him. If she buried her face against him, he wouldn't be able to see the dream girl who'd just given her body to him.

When the tone sounded, she couldn't think what was happening for a moment, but as he began stirring and sat up, she remembered the five-minute warning. It's over! she told herself. I can't believe it! I was scared for nothing.

Sitting upright, she hugged him again, and gave him another open-mouthed kiss. At last he gathered up his pajamas, without putting them on, and opened the outer door. He took one last look at her, and she smiled -- her relief at getting through the session without mishap made the smile very real -- and gave him the same sort of cute finger-wave she'd seen Alina use.

As the door began closing behind him, Rachel fought down a sudden urge to catch the door, keep it open a crack, and peek through to see if she could watch him enter the keycode to the outer door. No, they're watching, she reminded herself. And I've got this bracelet that would set off an alarm if I go past the outer door. If I can figure out how to get the bracelet off... but where do I go then? This prison is high up in the mountains, and if I can somehow find an outer door, I'd be out in the freezing cold with just this useless silk robe, miles from help through impossibly rugged country. There's also that wall farther down the slope, which might circle the entire prison.

I just need to wait, she concluded. My country will get me out.

She almost returned to the inner room with Alina, before she remembered the bedsheets. She opened the wardrobe, retrieved clean sheets and made the bed quickly.

Leaving the bedroom at last, she grinned at Alina, who was on an exercise bicycle, working out to keep her muscles toned. "I did it!"

Alina gave her a smile and patted her shoulder. "I watch you little while. You do good."

Rachel saw the exercise area also had some free weights. If I were staying indefinitely, she thought, I'd ask Alina about a good exercise program. Instead, she decided to get the upcoming day a little more clear in her head. "How many men today?"

"We start at eight o'clock. Go until ten o'clock."

Rachel raised her eyebrows. "Isn't it almost ten already?"

Alina looked momentarily confused, then saw the mixup. "Until ten o'clock at night."

Rachel gasped. "Fourteen hours??"

Alina shrugged, "Is only seven hours for bot' of us. I have seven men, you have seven. When is my turn, you can eat, exercise. Read magazine. Is not bad."

"EVERY day? Do you get maybe Sunday off?" Rachel unconsciously excluded herself from the question. She was sure she wouldn't finish the week here.

Alina shook her head. "Is no Sunday, is no day of week. Every day is same."

Rachel was stunned. She did expect she would likely be here until late tomorrow, perhaps through the end of the day. In her entire life, she had had sex with exactly three different men -- three boyfriends to whom she had been sufficiently drawn that she had felt open to sharing her body with them. Well, four now, counting the unnamed prison guard just departed. In the next two days, she realized with a shock, she would have sex with fourteen different men. Fourteen complete strangers.

Again, she reminded herself of the alternative.

I will get through this, she told herself. I just proved to myself I can do it. Don't think about the number. Just take it one at a time.

To get her mind off it, she left that subject and asked a question to satisfy her most idle curiosity. "Where do all the sheets come from?"

Alina had her hand on the doorknob, waiting for the signal for her second session of the day. "Dere is very sweet old man who come in at end of day. He bring sheets, take dirty ones away. He bring food, too, for cupboards and fridge." She indicated the small kitchen area Rachel had not yet explored. "One day every week, prisoner girl come in and clean up bat', sink, toilet. I t'ink she is part of team dat clean up in guards' quarters."

"The old man... does he get a turn in bed?"

Alina laughed. "I ask him, once. He say too old. Dat part of body stopped working."

The door buzzed suddenly. Nodding to Rachel, Alina entered the bedroom once more.

Rachel considered whether to raid the fridge, or try some of the exercise equipment. But she still had the recent breakfast in her stomach, and wouldn't be here long enough to need to attend to her physical fitness. She watched through the blinds again.

Within the room, Alina went through some different moves this time. As the guard sat on the bed, naked, Alina, her robe still on but open, showing her breasts and mound, knelt between his legs and kissed him on the lips, then slowly moved her kisses down his body.

I should really watch this time, Rachel told herself. I've never learned much about oral sex.

She had tried it on two of her three boyfriends, swallowing with only one of them, Greg. She disliked the taste of semen and hated the slimy feel in her mouth, but Greg obviously liked the sensation. She'd only done it a few times, and never studied any techniques. So she kept close watch on Alina.

Alina, once she had reached the guard's erection, kissed the shaft first, and lightly tongued the head, before finally taking the man's erection deep into her mouth. She used her right hand in a way that hadn't occurred to Rachel, wrapping her fingers around the shaft below her mouth, giving the shaft several up and down strokes between bobs of her head. She was also using her tongue much more than Rachel had with Greg.

Alina interrupted her attention to his manhood and kissed the man's upper thighs and stomach, making a big circle around the cock. The man sat, breathing hard, his mouth hanging open, a glazed look in his eyes. Moments later Alina returned to his erection for another round. This time it was more serious, her lips surrounding the shaft sliding up and down more quickly, her hand only used to hold the cock in place.

As before, it was easy for Rachel to tell when the man came. Following his tensing and the jerk of his hips, Alina continued sucking, and Rachel could tell by watching her throat that she was swallowing, avidly gulping it down.

Alina let the slowly wilting shaft out of her mouth at last, and crawled up onto the bed, kissing the man's stomach and chest. Her kisses didn't move quite as high as the lips, though she did kiss his chin.

While Alina cuddled with the man, Rachel decided she should take another shower. She avoided wetting her hair this time, but lathered the rest of her body with scented soap.

I'll ask her if she can teach me another Russian phrase to use on the next guy, Rachel thought. I'm sure he'd like that.

Rachel brushed her teeth again, and used the mouthwash again. And she replenished her inner supply of baby oil.

After the man had left, and Alina had replaced the sheets, Rachel was waiting for her again. Her first question was the foremost technical point on her mind. "After oral sex, it looks like I shouldn't kiss him on the mouth?"

Alina blinked and smiled, as if surprised at having such an eager student. "Every man different. Some want kiss on mout', some not. You got mout' full of deir stuff. Dey might not like taste. Go up and look like you might kiss him, and see what he do. If he open mout' for kiss, den you do it. If he back away a little, den you know don' kiss."

Rachel was about to ask for another quick Russian lesson, but another thing she'd been wondering bobbed to the top of her mind. "Where do I sleep tonight? They won't take me back to the cells, will they?"

Alina shook her head. "Now you are here. You sleep wit' me."

Rachel blinked, but decided Alina probably didn't mean it in a sexual way. She looked around. "Where?" She didn't see another bed. There was the one she had just used in the other room, a big soft one, but she understood that room to be off limits for uses other than pleasuring the staff. The door would be locked.

Alina looked at her oddly. "Where you t'ink? Bed is dere." She pointed to the narrow one along the back wall.

Rachel tried to avoid looking horrified. Alina could easily be insulted. "Should... I sleep on the floor?" She had spent two nights doing so, one here, one in the hotel. She was almost getting used to it.

Alina looked as though she was trying to determine what the problem was. "Don' be crazy. Is bed for us bot'. Of all prisoners, we are only ones wit' bed."

The bed was significantly more narrow than the one Rachel had declined to share with Mandy two nights ago. One side was against the wall, but whichever of them lay on that side would probably have to hold the other to keep her from falling out. They would face each other and hold each other, or else snuggle like spoons. And there was clearly nothing to wear here other than the flimsy robes that hardly felt like you were wearing anything. And what if Alina is so sick of men, Rachel wondered, after thousands of sessions of sex-on-demand, that she needs something softer at night?

Rachel felt her face reddening. Still concerned with insulting Alina, who had been nothing but kind to her, she said quickly, "Oh, okay, fine." Maybe, she hoped, Alina would sense her discomfort with such intimate contact with a woman and would suggest on her own that Rachel could sleep on the floor if she wanted.

The question about Russian phrases disappeared from her mind. She waited with her hand on the doorknob for the buzz to enter.