charlotte in danger

While Navia’s soft moans continued behind the closed door of the café’s private room, the city’s quieter machinery moved elsewhere.

Charlotte may have made a small mistake, or two.

(https://im.ge/i/QMK7pDL)
(artist: kololon)
now she sat in the back of an official transport carriage, wrists secured in soft but unbreakable cuffs, the standard temporary service collar already locked around her throat. Her usual reporter’s attire had been removed at processing. She wore nothing now except the thin official shift that would be taken from her the moment she reached her destination. The shift rode high on her thighs; every bump of the carriage wheels made it slip higher, exposing the smooth bare skin beneath.

Multiple press violations. The charges were precise and already adjudicated: unauthorized recording of public release proceedings, failure to submit required footage for official review, and two prior citations for the same pattern of behavior. The Oratrice had not required a lengthy trial. The sentence was straightforward.

She was not bound for a public plaza pillory.

The carriage turned away from the central markets and followed the narrower service route that led toward the main detention complex on the city’s edge. Fontaine’s prisons ran on the same principles as the rest of its justice system. Male prisoners required regular, reliable outlets if order was to be maintained. The pool of available free-use women assigned to that duty had run low. Charlotte’s sentence therefore carried a practical assignment rather than a purely public one.

She would serve as relief for an entire wing.

The transport stopped at the secure intake gate. Two guards in formal blues opened the carriage door. Charlotte stepped down barefoot onto the cool stone. The shift was removed with a single pull and folded away. An official seal was pressed to the soft skin just above her cunt—prison relief duty, duration matching her sentence. The collar at her throat received a second lock that would only open when the wing no longer required her.

She was led through clean, well-lit corridors that smelled of disinfectant and the faint, constant musk of regular use. Cells lined both sides. Male voices rose as she passed—low comments, rough laughter, the sound of men who had already been informed a new hole was arriving. Charlotte kept her eyes forward, camera instincts still noting every detail even now: the polished floors, the efficient layout, the way the guards treated her body as simple scheduled inventory.

At the end of the corridor a heavy door opened onto the wing’s central relief station—a low, sturdy platform with ankle and wrist restraints positioned for easy access from all sides. Charlotte was guided onto it.

The intake officer delivered the final condition in the same flat, procedural tone used for every other instruction.

“Active participation with measurable effort will be noted. Demonstrated willingness reduces total sentence length and removes the requirement for continuous restraint on the relief platform. Passive service receives the full term.”

Charlotte processed the information in a single heartbeat.

The difference was simple: remain locked open and used as a fixed hole for the entire duration, or earn the chance to move freely between the men and finish sooner. She had always been practical about stories and deadlines. This was only another deadline.

When the first group of prisoners was admitted she did not wait for them to arrange her.

She shifted on the platform, spread her knees wider, and tilted her hips up in clear invitation.

(https://im.ge/i/QMKDTg6)
(artist: kololon)
The official seal above her cunt caught the light. A thin, ready gloss already shone between her folds. The nearest man stepped in, rough hands settling on her thighs. Charlotte looked up at him, voice steady.

“Mouth first.”

She opened for him without being told twice.

(https://im.ge/i/QMKDXMF)
(artist: kololon)