"Go on ask me one final question before your regular life is over. I give you permission."

John ask. "Will I see my stepsister Janice again?"

The guard's rhythm faltered for a fraction of a second, her hips pausing mid-roll. A look, not of malice, but of genuine curiosity crossed her face, as if he'd just asked about the weather on the moon. She let out a low, throaty chuckle, a sound that vibrated through her core and into his.

"Janice? Who?" she repeated, the name tasting foreign on her tongue. She resumed her movement, a slow, torturous grind that made John's vision swim. "Oh, honey. You're still thinking about that?"

Her hand came up to cup his chin, forcing him to look at her, to see the hard, unyielding truth in her eyes. "We can find her. You will see her. Of course, you will. She'll be part of the family now. But you won't be looking for her. You'll be looking at her. You'll see her on the dance floor, maybe. Or in the back rooms, with a line of men waiting for their turn." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was more damning than any scream. "If you're a very good boy, maybe Mr. Big will let you have her yourself. A little reward for your cooperation."

The words were physical blows, but the drug in his system cushioned them, wrapping them in a soft, golden fog. The image of Janice, chained and used, should have been a horror. Instead, a detached, alien part of his mind found it fitting. Efficient. Everyone had a purpose.

"See?" the guard murmured, mistaking the drugged placidity on his face for acceptance. "Now sit there as use your cock as a dildo. Your a perfect tool for me."

Her control was absolute. She began to ride him in earnest, no longer teasing, but using him for her own pleasure, her powerful thighs flexing, her nails digging into his chest. He was nothing but an instrument, a living toy for her.

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