Lily

Ruth was still hanging under the freezing spray, skin raw and stinging, when the grey-haired woman returned with two guards. One of them unhooked Rike’s chain. The tall girl sagged, curly hair plastered to her bruised face, legs unsteady.

The guard shoved her against the wet tiles, forced her thighs apart and drove his cock straight into her swollen cunt in one brutal thrust. Rike’s broken cry echoed off the walls. He fucked her hard and fast, grunting, one hand clamped around her throat while the other pinned her hip to the wall. Water still poured over both of them. Ruth could only watch, tears mixing with the cold water on her own face, as her friend was used like a hole right beside her.

“Move,” the second guard snapped at Ruth.

He unlocked her wrists from the ceiling chain. Her arms dropped like dead weight, shoulders screaming. He didn’t give her time to recover. A heavy hand closed around the back of her neck and shoved her forward, out of the shower hall, naked and dripping, every cane stripe and scrubbed patch of skin burning in the cooler air of the corridor.

Ruth cried the whole way. Silent at first, then open sobs that shook her small frame. The guard didn’t care. He marched her through the long barn, past stalls where other naked, collared girls lay or knelt in the half-dark. Some looked up. Most didn’t.

He stopped at an empty stall near the middle, pushed her inside and locked a short chain from the wall-ring to a heavy leather collar he buckled tightly around her throat. The gate clanged shut. The padlock clicked. Then he was gone.

Ruth sank onto the thin, stained mattress, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around herself. The collar was already chafing. Her cunt still throbbed from the brush and the fingers. Her tits ached. Tears kept falling.

Soft movement came from the stall to her left.

A young woman was kneeling there, watching her through the bars with large, gentle eyes. She looked maybe twenty-one. Perfectly proportioned — soft heavy breasts with pale pink nipples, a narrow waist that flared into wide, fertile hips, thick thighs and a smooth, plump cunt. Her skin was unmarked, almost glowing under the dim light. Long blonde hair fell in a neat curtain over her shoulders. A simple leather collar sat snugly around her throat. She looked completely at ease in her nakedness, posture open and feminine, almost inviting.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet and soft, carefully trained.

“You’re new,” she said. “I can tell. The shaking… the way you still try to cover yourself. It fades. Eventually.”

Ruth stared at her, still crying. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lily.” A small, almost shy smile. “I’ve been here… I don’t know how long anymore. Time gets strange.” She shifted closer to the bars, resting her hands on her thighs in a practiced, demure pose. “They’ll come for you in the morning. School starts at six. You’ll learn the positions, the responses, how to take cock without making ugly sounds, how to present your holes when a trainer or a guest walks by. Free use is the rule here. Anyone with the right key or the right money can take you whenever they want.”

Ruth wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “What happens if you fight?”

Lily’s eyes lowered for a moment. “There are punishments. The cane. The whip. The isolation boxes that are too small to sit or stand. Sometimes they make the other girls watch while they break you in front of everyone. I’ve seen girls leave the punishment room and never walk the same again. Some don’t leave at all.” Her voice stayed soft, almost conversational, but there was a hollow note underneath. “They say the ones who keep resisting too long get… removed. We don’t see them again. The trainers just say the Farm has no use for broken tools that can’t be fixed.”

She glanced down the row of stalls.

“Friends disappear too. One day they’re in the stall next to you, the next they’re gone. Sold at the monthly auction, or rented out and never returned. The rich ones pay extra for that — for the right to keep a girl, or to use her until there’s nothing left. We hear the stories. Girls who came back missing pieces. Girls who didn’t come back at all. The Farm gets compensated either way. That’s what the older ones whisper.”

Lily’s fingers absently traced the edge of her own collar.

“There are rituals too. Before a big auction they line us up naked in the main hall and inspect every hole, every mark. Sometimes they make us perform on each other while the buyers watch. And once… once a month, late at night, some of the senior trainers take a few girls down to the old cellar. We only hear the sounds. Screams that last a long time. Then silence. In the morning those stalls are empty and freshly cleaned. No one asks questions. Asking questions is dangerous.”

She looked back at Ruth, expression soft and almost apologetic.

“I don’t know everything. They don’t tell us the real rules. We only piece it together from what we see and what the ones who’ve been here longer dare to whisper. All I know for certain is that once you’re collared, you belong to the Farm. Your body is training material, then merchandise, then rental stock. The only way out is to be bought… or to stop being useful.”

Lily reached through the bars as far as her own chain allowed and gently touched Ruth’s bare knee.

“Try to sleep if you can. Morning comes fast. And the trainers prefer girls who can still smile when they’re told to.”

From somewhere deeper in the barn a muffled, rhythmic grunting drifted through the dark — the same guard still finishing with Rike. Ruth closed her eyes, tears still sliding down her cheeks, the heavy collar cold against her throat, while Lily stayed kneeling in the next stall, quiet and perfectly posed, waiting for whatever came next.