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The Disciplinary Officer has a lesson for a virgin bride.

" Lyle, being the male bastard that most of them are, sat back and enjoyed our little catfight.

"I was planning on fucking him. How about you? Perhaps, a Bible reading?"

No, that little fucktard wasn't about to have him. I was going into full on "please him" mode. I called our waiter over and asked if a private drinking lounge was available. A few hundred dollars and we had an exclusive getaway.

"I'm going to fuck him there. Care to watch?"

I expected her to scurry off with her sleazy little tail tucked between her tartish legs, but she replied in a mocking tone, "I can't think of anything I'd like better."

Before I knew it the three of us were seated in a closed-off area, as the music reverberated outside. I pulled Lyle's pants down and saw he hadn't bothered with underwear. He was hard and big. I reached under my short dress and removed my panties. "Don't you have a prom to attend of something? The adults are busy here."

"No, you old bitch, I want to see how far you'll go."

With that, I straddled Lyle and felt his prick enter me. I yelled, "Fuck yeah. Get that thing going." The music may not have been loud enough to cover up my shrieks, but it wasn't as if this kind of action hadn't been going on all night.

I moved my ass up and down, riding his pole. His eyes were closed as he enjoyed me doing all the work. My eyes were wide open, staring at Ashley as I humped the young stud below me. He came quickly, and I shouted out my pleasure. More importantly, I'd won. Ashly said something about finding better things to do and left.

I called, "Do drop by again, Honeychild," in a mocking Sothern accent just before the door closed.

I did Lyle for the rest of the week. The sex was great. He wasn't so much. His world consisted of one big endless party, and his initial bravado faded into a self-centered bore. The affair of clandestine flights lasted a month, three weeks longer than it should have, but it was all for show from the start.

As I readied to head home, loading things into my suitcase, I decided the bikini bottoms wouldn't fit inside. In truth, they wouldn't fit my life back home. I tossed them into the trash can on the way out of my suite.

As I looked out of the window on the minibus on the ride back to the Reclamation Ranch, it occurred to me that the women working at the laundry plant would have needed to work six weeks to earn what I'd dropped into the garbage that day without a thought.

Those women, sweating away as they cleaned the very sheets I'd slept in two years before, were worth more than me. They served a purpose and worked under harsh conditions to do it. Even a brothel prostitute was more valuable to society. I'd spent the last nine years serving no one by myself.

That was not the intended lesson of the Ranch. Their focus was to break my will and transform me into a dutiful little slut, intent on pleasing my whore loving husband. I needed to do something more with my life.

I'd call Pamela before I was sent to the Double R. She was sympathetic to my plight, but like the rest of my former closest friends, valued status over loyalty. Again, I needed to do something more with my life.

For the rest of the week, I played their games. I broke a few rules here and there and was whipped for my transgressions, but like the fading number on my ass and moniker across my chest, it was all for show, too.

On the night before we were to finish, I brought Smith to climax and cuddled in her arms. "You still have questions?"

"More than I've earned tonight. What happen to Dawn, did she get away?"

"She managed to hitch her way to Vegas from the laundry. The Clark Country Sheriffs picked her up once her hit town. They had her in the database."

"What database?"

"She and the rest of you are registered prostitutes in this state. You aren't allowed in Clark and Washoe Counties. She got sentenced to thirty days in county jail and they'll send her to a legal brothel when she gets out."

"They found her that quickly?"

"They're good at maintaining order.

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