John's Prison Sentence

Chapter Writer's Note: For each chapter I contribute here all name variables in the 'Customize' tab may be used to change the name of yourself and the girls

How long had you been trapped here? Three years? Five? Honestly you'd lost count. The first couple of years you'd been able to keep track pretty well, maybe only losing a day or two at a time, so it had been at least two years, but damn if each day, each week didn't seem to blend into the next.

CLUNK

Hearing the tell-tale sound you robotically rise from your simple bed, as spartan and unadorned as the rest of your modest cell, and walk toward the hatch in the wall nearest the single brushed-metal door. Opening it revealed a meal, though whether it was lunch or dinner eluded you. Well, the last had contained eggs, you were certain, so this was probably lunch. The realization that it was close to the afternoon made your heart thrill the tiniest portion. You could have some sense of time after all. The plain cloche came off as neatly as ever and beneath it was a platter on which sat a BLT on a paper plate. Hastily moving the sandwich to your bedside table, you replaced the platter, cloche and all, into the small chamber behind the hatch. Automatically it sealed and locked with the hiss of a vacuum. A soft synthetic voice spoke from the camera in your room, mimicking the accent and intonation of an Englishwoman.

"Thank you, Mr. Doe. Please remember to discard your refuse when you are finished eating."

The same damn thing it always said. By God, you felt certain if you had to hear it one more time you'd really lose it. Of course you'd felt the same certainty for a long time now, and madness, blessedly or otherwise, still had not come. Well, madness be damned, at least it would be several hours before you had to hear it again, and for now you had something to eat.

The sandwich was exceptional, as all the food here was. You weren't totally certain where your prison was located, but they must employ some really top-notch cooks here. You wouldn't be surprised if men of very high status and influence owned some of those pairs of eyes you felt watching you through the camera lens high in the corner nearest your bed. They certainly wouldn't settle for prisoner's food, and you were quite thankful they deigned to extend you the same courtesy. After all, it's not like you were really a criminal.

CLUNK

The hatch opened once more the moment you'd swallowed your last bite. Fuck, how the knowledge you were being watched used to disturb you. Now you only felt numbness toward it. It was a fact of your new life, and all because of a quirk of nature, a freakish occurrence over which you had no control. The paper plate and accompanying napkin went in and the hatch, as always, shut itself closed. Reclining on your bed and shutting your eyes, you decided on a nap. Your entertainment hour should be coming up in a couple of hours, and there wasn't much to do here besides sleep. You drifted away, trying desperately to ignore the penetrating phosphorescence which threatened the darkness of your eyelids.

CLUNK

The noise shocked you awake. Did you miss your entertainment hour? Was it dinner already? Jesus, the one thing in a day you could halfway look forward to and you'd slept straight through it. You rose to get your dinner and froze. The hatch was open, apparently by itself. This had never happened. It was a small thing, but a disruption to your constant routine was pleasant in its own way. So these people holding you weren't perfect, and neither were their automated systems. Your smile broke out, and though slight, it was the first since you'd tried to deprive dehydrate yourself and those two burly guards had to rush in to restrain you and administer fluids directly into your veins. The IV had been painful, but the knowledge that you had done something to them, that you had fought back in a small way, had brought you joy for weeks afterward. The emotionless eye of the camera had shown no uncertainty, but you fantasized about the men in suits behind it, cursing and panicking. At least you'd hoped they had.

You retrieved the cloche and opened it with care. You weren't very hungry, though if it was dinner time you'd hate to be famished in the middle of the night, with no relief to come until breakfast the next morning; you'd learned early on that skipping meals made the whole hellish experience even more unbearable. What greeted you on the shining silver platter made your eyes go wide and your feet stick firmly to the floor as if they were encased in cement.

What. The. Fuck.

Neatly laid out on the polished metal was a little pair of pink panties. Red ribbons adorned the waistband at regular intervals and pale white hearts dotted the material all over. Despite yourself, your instinct told you to snatch them and bring them to your nose. You hadn't seen a woman in years, except in the movies you were allowed to watch, and if this was a mistake in some way (for surely it must be) you weren't going to let an opportunity go to waste. If they were used, that scent could fuel your erotic fantasies for the years to come. You dropped the cloche with a deafening clatter, and while still holding the platter in your left hand, snatched the underwear in your right and pressed the gusset to your nose, inhaling deeply.

In a moment a rush of endorphins flooded your mind. The fresh scent of womanhood filled your nostrils, residual feminine moisture clung to the tip of your nose, and your neglected cock hardened in an instant. Not caring for the ever-watching mechanical eye behind you, you dropped the platter to the cold floor, causing another deafening din within the small cell, and pulled down your plain gray trousers to begin pumping your cock for all its worth. The sweet scent of pussy had almost been forgotten to you, but the wet remains of girl-cum on these panties and their erotic scent brought it all back to you.

You remembered your sister-friend, Dana-Ashley, the first victim of your curse, wrapping her soft pale tits around your engorged shaft, teasing the head of your rod with her cute little tongue while you humped away at the warm valley of her breasts. You recalled the plump, full ass of your neighbor-delivery-girl, Maria-Hannah bouncing in your lap with wild abandon while her tight pink butthole swallowed you up to mind-breaking orgasm again and again through countless nights. The memory that made you pop, however, was the day you took the virginity of your girlfriend-crush Sarah-Rosa; her vice-tight cunt had squeezed and milked you, molded itself to fit the shape of your intruding cock. Her sweet words echoed like honey in your ear, begging you to fill her up and claim her forever. Even as a thin trail of blood ran from her burst hymen, lewd moans and adorable squeaks accompanied your feverish, animalistic thrusts. You'd fucked her in every hole for days, only breaking to eat, shower, and recover long enough to get hard again. For a week, non-stop she'd sucked you off every evening under the dinner table, had offered her quickly-deflowered ass to you in desperation every hot, sticky night. You'd fucked her tits, her thighs, you'd crammed your hot, pulsing shaft between her tight asscheeks and spurted long, hot ropes across her tanned, glistening back more times than you could count. It had been Heaven.

The orgasm in your cell was far from what Sarah-Rosa could draw forth from you, but it was heavenly all the same, to be able to imagine that the pussy you smelled was hers, that those panties against your nose had just been peeled off her pert little ass. Stars filled your vision as burst after burst of sticky cum painted the plain walls of your prison.

When the high faded you didn't feel foolish. You were a **** man now, and there was no shame in taking whatever you could get. You felt certain that the guard would rush in any minute and take your prize. They may even punish you, but that was worth the price of holding this treasure in your hand. Gingerly removing the gusset from your nose, you replaced the cloche onto the platter from the floor and placed it back into the slot. You didn't bother to clean up your cum streaked against the wall; fuck these guys, that's their problem. Like clockwork the thing shut itself, sealing shut as always, and you headed back to your bed, panties still in hand, determined to hold onto them until someone pried them from your grasp. As you stepped toward the corner containing your mattress, however, you felt your bare foot brush against something which rustled at the touch of your toes.

When you bent down to retrieve it, you were startled to see a neatly folded piece of lined, yellow paper. Did your overseers send this to you on purpose? Did they want you to jerk off with these undergarments? They'd never shown an ounce of care about your sexual relief before, but maybe this note said Here Are Some Used Panties, Mr. Doe, Enjoy.

It would certainly increase your opinion of them if that were the case. You chuckled at the thought.

When you sat on your bed, carefully laid out your pink ribboned prize on your table, and opened the note, however, it was apparent that your jailors had _not _sent it; they weren't sadistic enough to fabricate something like this, and they had less humor than the BLT you'd eaten earlier, so it was obviously no joke. Written in very girly handwriting, with hearts even dotting each 'i', there was one simple sentence, signed.

~You Will Be Free Before Midnight -- Please Use These Before I Can Give You The Real Thing~

- A