Boots thundered behind her. They caught Kristin just as she starting to run down the staircase. The guards were not at all gentle as they hauled her, cursing and wailing, back to Commander Donovan.

The older woman was smiling at Kristin-a suggestive, excited smile. Disgust and rage boiled in the girl's stomach and she spat in Donovan's face.

"Hold her," Donovan said. She had not reacted to Kristin's disrespectful act with so much as a blink-even her smile had not faltered--and now stood perfectly still, with Kristin's spittle slowly rolling down her cheek.

She reached out and snaked her hand between Kristin's legs before the girl could squeeze them together. Her fingers molded themselves to the curve of Kristin's twat, her thumb pressing with practiced accuracy on the bump of her clit, the tip of her third finger tickling her slit.

Kristin squealed and tried to wrench herself away from the hated fingers, but the man behind her had her upper arms in a grip so tight it felt as though he might easily break her bones. Still smiling, Donovan began moving her fingers with a slow, steady rhythm-rubbing her clit and labia through the sweat-soaked material of her panties.

The feeling of being possessed-of having her body simply taken as if she were a plaything-horrified Kristin almost to the point of nausea. At the same time-yes, there was a spark of excitement in her own reaction. After all, how many nights had she spent in the clubs, pretending to be far drunker or higher than she really was, simply so she could climb into some boy's lap and let him feel her tits? She used to masturbate to fantasies of being controlled like a doll or a life-sized puppet, forced to act sexy and whorish for a decadent, laughing audience.

But in those fantasies she had been the plaything of men. She had often pretended to make out with girls in the clubs, to excite boys she was interested in. But she had never really had sex with a woman and had never thought she'd want to.

Yet Donovan's fingers really were making her wet-and it was precisely because there was something mechanical and unwilling in her response that made it so exciting to her. She told herself it was simple perversity, an involuntary response to danger, but her reaction was the same as if she were a born lesbian. Her mind clouded, thoughts of freedom and her parents dissolving like smoke. Her eyes half shut as Donovan's thumb caressed her stiffened little pearl.

I really am her little puppet. I can't help getting turned on. So fucking wet...if she fucked me with her finger right now, I'd take it just like a cock. I'd let her fuck me.

"Look at those little nips," Donovan said, with a low, insinuating laugh. "Getting all hard, aren't they?" Her voice was quiet, and Kristin had the idea the remark was intended for her ears only, even though Donovan's men almost certainly heard it.

The older woman smiled down into her eyes, her lips gleaming as she wet them. "Yeah, you're a bad girl, alright. Little slut. Gonna get to know you real good."

Then, just as Kristin felt her pussy opening up for real, Donovan took her hand away and nodded at the men. "Let's go," she said, her voice suddenly hard and brisk. "We've got other pickups and the night's not getting any younger."