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Conditions of Release

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The train pulls into the station, bringing with it a gust of wind that flips up Kira’s regulation skirt to expose the regulation crotchless panties underneath. The station guard whistles appreciatively. He's on duty right now, but he's had her more than once before, when her commute coincided with the end of his shift. Kira grabs the hem of the tiny skirt and pulls it down, but it gusts up again as she boards the designated carriage. Her bare cunt is on display for anyone who wants to look. It’s a Tuesday.

The carriage is mostly empty at this hour. She chose her appointment time for that reason, had to convince her parole officer that her community service would go better if she arrived for it reasonably fresh. She’s ridden this train at peak hour before and she’s never doing it again if she can help it. Right now, the carriage only holds a handful of punters – but no other branded women, unfortunately, so she’s going to have to handle all of them herself. They all chose their seats with the same appetites in mind, and for the next dozen or so stops, she’s the only thing that’s on the menu.

She's known how this trip would go since before she stepped outside her door. Her cunt is alive with the knowledge of what's about to happen to it, growing slicker and hotter even as all the rest of her cringes in horror.

A man sitting outside the guard compartment beckons her over. His other hand is already at his crotch, squeezing lazily through the fabric of his tracksuit, smirking at her in anticipation. Unemployed, Kira judges by his scruffy clothes and five-day stubble. Nothing better to do in the middle of the day than loiter in the whores’ carriage of public trains and hope some poor woman like her has somewhere to be. It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. But in the eyes of the law he’s above her, so she has no choice but to obey his summons.

‘Climb on, bitch,’ he instructs her cheerfully, popping his cock out over his elastic waistband. ‘What are you out and about for today?’

‘I have a parole appointment.’ The train lurches into motion, and Kira hangs onto the handrail for balance as she climbs miserably onto the stranger’s lap. He tilts his hips up, rubs his cock against the bare skin beneath her skirt, and grins to find her already - helplessly, shamefully - wet and ready.

‘Bet it serves you right. Lucky I’m here to help warm you up, hey? Come on, get this cock inside you.’

It’s been a few days since Kira left the house, and she hasn’t had any visitors in that time. The stranger lines himself up and pushes into her with a crude grunt. The girth of him makes her wince, despite how well she's tried to prepare herself. He grabs her hips and starts to bounce her up and down, and his thrusts go deep, splitting her body back open after those rare and precious days of rest. The sudden fullness makes her ache.

From the corner of her eye, Kira sees another punter approaching; he leans against a pole and says, ‘Hey, mate. You mind if I use her other hole?’

‘Go for it,’ says the first man.

The newcomer moves in behind Kira and lifts her skirt up. Rough, callused hands knead her ass – a labourer, she’d guess. Someone with irregular work hours and plenty of time off to waste on entertainments like this. ‘Good girl,’ he says, when he spreads her cheeks and rubs his thumb outside her hole to finds her already slick as well. She's long since learned her lesson about leaving the house without lubing up first. ‘You’re nice and ready, aren’t you? Do you like a good cock in your ass?’

Kira’s sentence requires her to open her legs for any man who wants her to. It doesn’t oblige her to play along with their puerile dirty talk, so she keeps her mouth shut and half-hopes her silence will discourage the newcomer. Of course it doesn’t. She hears him unzip his fly, hears the rustle of fabric as he whips it out, and then the blunt head of another cock is pushing inside her ass.

She’s gotten used to this since the early days of her conviction. It used to hurt – she used to dread anal more than anything. But long forced practice has loosened her hole, relaxed her inner muscles, trained her nervous system to send signals of pleasure along with the fullness and the burning stretch. Rape has become part of her daily routine. Her body has adjusted.

She hates it in a new way now. Hates what her sentence has reduced her to.

There’s a crowd gathering in the standing area, as other punters come up from their seats to watch the show and wait for their turn. They’re all going to have her one way or another before they let her disembark. She’s missed her stop more than once before, when the ordeal took too long, and the prospect of being late for her parole appointment doesn’t bear thinking about.

‘Hey,’ she tells the first man through gritted teeth, aching deep inside from the awful involuntary pleasure-pain of accommodating two cocks at once. ‘If you lie back flat on the seat, someone else can come around and use my throat.’

The punters appreciate the new arrangement. A tall, broad man in a muscle shirt wastes no time stuffing his cock in her mouth, bracing a hand on the back of her neck so he can pump her like a cheap fleshlight. Punter number two fucks her ass at a brutal pace, pulling all the way out and then plunging deep back in. Punter number one, the slob in the tracksuit, seems content to lie back and enjoy the way her body moves between the other two points of violation. Each jolt makes her clit rub against his pubic bone. She's clenching and aching and utterly wretched.

The carriage rocks. The men jeer. The air is thick with lust and impatience. Kira’s body stretches to its absolute limit, and she shuts her watering eyes and lets the crowd use her like the state-mandated fucktoy that she is.

 


 

She’s sore and sticky when she walks inside the parole office. She’s cleaned her cunt and ass out with the wet wipes she carries in her purse at all times, but in her mind she can still almost feel the come of a dozen strangers leaking down her thighs.

Her parole officer has a coarse, scratchy beard and a cock as thick as your average soda can. The coital justice department has always been cagey about its internal processes, but Kira has long suspected that there’s a physical component to the aptitude tests those officers sit. It was the same with the board of representatives who administered her first rape when the sentence was handed down.

‘You’re sloppy today,’ the parole officer says as he bends her over his desk, kneeling down behind her to inspect and shoving two thick fingers inside her up to the knuckle. ‘Had some fun on the way here, did you?’

Kira bites her lip to keep from moaning at the press of his fingers on that sweet spot inside her. The crowd on the train this morning didn’t let her climax, stopping and starting and changing places whenever she lucked across a rhythm that worked. Even as her holes swell shut from overuse, her clit is tense and throbbing as her body pleads for some kind of release.

‘You’ll be manning the community booth today.’ The parole officer stands up, steps in between her parted legs, and she really is sloppy – his too-thick cock slides into her with barely any resistance, stretching her cunt wide and making her whimper from mingled need and pain. ‘Eight hour shift, but we’ll give you half an hour off in the middle for lunch. With that in mind, do you want to come for me now or should you be saving your energy?’

Eight hours in the community booth. That means eight hours locked inside a stall, no windows, no view of outside, with her naked lower half exposed for anyone who wants to use it. Eight hours getting pounded by anonymous cock after anonymous cock with a scant thirty minutes in the middle to recover from the onslaught. Eight whole hours, and she’s going to lose her mind if someone doesn’t make her come in the next five fucking minutes.

‘Please,’ she says, and hates herself more than she’s ever hated anyone. ‘Please, officer, I … I need it now.’

The parole officer chuckles. ‘I remember when I first took on your case,’ he says, and starts to thrust. He reaches around to toy with her clit while he fucks her, and Kira almost cries aloud. ‘You hated every minute of it, didn’t you? Screaming and crying and making a fuss. But look at you now.’ He snaps his hips, and rolls her clit between a skilled thumb and forefinger. ‘You’re reforming nicely, Kira. Changing your attitude. Giving back to the community you used to take from. You’re living proof that this program works.’

She comes almost at once, overstimulation catching up to her, every muscle in her body convulsing as she sobs her release into the parole officer’s desk. He doesn’t stop. Keeps fucking her until her cunt is spent and then switches to her ass and starts again. He pulls out when he’s ready to finish, hot seed splashing her ass cheeks and the backs of her thighs, and as he wipes her clean he grinds her whole vulva with his palm and wrings one last pained, weak orgasm from her trembling body. She can feel her asshole gaping wide, fluttering around thin air. Her cunt is so used up that it’s almost numb. Her labia feel swollen and her core muscles hurt from all the spasming and clenching.

Which means that prep is over, and now it’s time to start for real.

Since she’s behaving, her parole officer lets her choose her position in the booth. She opts to lie flat on her back, locked in place from the waist up with her hands cuffed to the wall just in case she gets any ideas mid-session. He shuts the booth door so that the world disappears, then spreads her legs wide and cuffs them to the outside wall. She can’t see the brochure that he leaves there with her, but she knows what it says: it’s a summary of her criminal convictions, set out in full next to her exposed lower body so that guests at the community centre can decide how they want to treat her.

Fraud. Theft. Obstruction of justice. That’ll be enough for most, but keen readers can turn the page and read a set of victim impact statements from the customers Kira ripped off back when she still thought she was smart enough to get away with it. The cars and jewels and fine goods she bought with her stolen money, back before the state took it all and branded her a whore for her greed.

It’s a shock of sensation but no real surprise when the first punter arrives, moments after her parole officer has finished securing her in the booth. The first she knows of his presence is the unceremonious stuffing of his cock into her raw, aching, heavily lubed-up cunt. He fucks her hard and fast and ruthlessly efficient, comes inside her, half-heartedly mops her clean and then leaves. Another guest steps in immediately to fill in his place and her empty hole.

And then another, and another, and another.

They fuck her rough or gentle or somewhere in between. They fuck her cunt, they fuck her ass, a few arrive in pairs to fuck both at once. Hidden away inside her booth, Kira sobs and whimpers and shouts and endures. Some of them make her come, wringing spasms of exhausted bliss from her helpless body. Some of them spank her while they fuck. Some of them go so hard she wants to scream aloud and beg them to stop. One guy pounds her ass for almost ten minutes straight, never stopping or slowing, and her insides feel so battered by the time he finishes that she knows she’s not going to sit for a week. The next guy wipes her clean and then puts his mouth on her, working her clit with his soft, slick tongue until she comes in a shower of sparks and stars.

Good or bad, cruel or kind, she has no say in any of it. There’s nothing she can do but lie there and take what they choose to give. Deeper than her body, deeper than the largest of their cocks can reach, Kira’s insides burn with the shame and degradation of it. Sometimes, she thinks her soul will get used to the abuse the way her body has. That the orgasms they steal from her will translate, one day, to an accompanying sense of peace and acceptance.

It hasn’t happened yet. So she lies there and writhes and a queue of anonymous strangers fuck her until there’s nothing left.

 


 

She makes it home, but not on her own two feet. By the end of her community service shift Kira’s legs can barely support her weight. The taxi driver pulls up on the kerb outside her house and shoves her face into his lap, comes down her throat, and gives her bruised and chafing ass a firm goodbye slap as she clambers out of the car.

Every part of her has been utterly, methodically violated. Tomorrow she’ll be angry and ashamed, but tonight there’s nothing left but fatigue. She leaves her door unlocked, as the law requires. Pours herself into the shower. Uses the last of her energy to scrub a day’s worth of sticky semen residue off her skin, then collapses into bed still damp and lets sleep take her away from it all.

She wakes, disoriented, and at first she thinks she’s still dreaming the day’s events because there can’t, there can’t be yet another strange man kneeling between her legs. But of course there can. When the government branded her face, they also erected a sign outside her house to let late-night punters know exactly where to go.

There’s nothing left in Kira, no fight, no resistance. She’s too tired. She’s run out. The stranger parts her folds and stuffs his cock into her yielding cunt, and Kira keeps her eyes shut and feigns sleep in the dark and prays to whatever god exists that the home invader hasn’t brought any friends.

‘I know you’re awake, whore,’ he says in a low, rasping voice. ‘Lift those hips up for me. I’m going to make you come so hard, you’ll be begging me to come back and fuck you every single night.’

Without giving her a chance to comply, he lifts her hips up himself and forces an angle that makes stars explode behind Kira’s eyelids. Hating herself, hating her life, she relaxes into the abuse and lets the new stranger make good on his promise.