The hired car, the two male hitchhikers. Handsome young men. Who ducked out of the car when they saw the Police roadblock in the distance.

The car-search. The colt 45 and the detonators, pushed down the back of the seat.

The trial! Terrorism was rife. Must set an example to foreign terrorists. Teach them not to come here. Ten years! Ten years or ... one year in Playas de Meurte prison. Their choice. Hurry now make your choice. One year or ten? Why? No time to explain, make your choice. One, of course, but why? You'll see! One year, it can't be that bad can it? Better than ten surely? They'd be twenty-eight when they got out. They had no choice, none, right?

The tall blonde girl walked with a faintly haughty air. Head held back, shoulders straight. Long bedenimned legs, peaches and cream completion, striding purposefully. Large green eyes, a shadow of fear, looking, looking. Seeing the unpainted walls, the hard eyes. The warders. The bars, the cage, the prison. Her friend, smaller, wide-eyed and pretty, dark hair, Italianate, olive skin. Classical roman beauty. Noo Yawk Roman.

"Stand right there," said the Senior Guard, indicating the line.

They obeyed, what else could they do?

"Strip!" They didn't move. "STRIP!" He cracked his hand flat on the battered wooden desk, which barely concealed his bulk. "...Or we'll do it for you!"

Slowly the girls started to pull off their clothes. The blonde was gorgeous, a long lean body, bouncy but firm breasts, a slightly unusual face like she was in the midst of a mild, but permanent scowl. Composure slipping away with her clothes.

The dark haired one, slightly smaller, slightly fleshier, but pretty. Oh so pretty! Delectable, unattainable, immensely fuckable. Shaking in fear, fingers having difficulty controlling recalcitrant buttons.

One the body, the other the looks. Body and Looks. Together they would have made the composite perfect woman. Alone they were still very desirable. Especially for 1200 men, most of whom hadn't seen a woman for many a year.

Naked they trembled before the Guard and his sniggering henchmen. One girl with anger the other with shame. Handcuffs were clicked onto their wrists, which were then hauled above their heads on pulleys that bespoke years of constant use. Legs spread apart, tied to brooms, their privates no longer private.

"You can't do this to us, we're American Citizens!"

The crack of a hand across a soft, downy cheek. Echos in the barren room. Long blonde hair flying.

"Pthuw! You are terrorist shit! You kill mothers and babies. You're mine now, I do what I want to you, there's no one to stop me."

Then a clash of keys and a section of the bars swung open to admit a group of rough dirty looking men. Eyes roving over their vulnerable bodies, the girls endured. Hands hefting breasts, fingers sliding into rectums, vaginas, mouths. A constant bombardment of probing digits over squirming, sweating, fearful young bodies. Catcalls, body odour, foul breath and grimy hands. Hands everywhere.

The girls endured. In shame.

The Senior Guard pointing and shouting. Men out shouting each other. The exchange of money. The girls being lowered and their keys handed over to the successful bidder. Humiliation and outright fear as they were manhandled through the bars into the heart of the prison. The senior guard's taunts fading as they were dragged into the filthy hellhole.

"Don't worry terroristas, the guards called after them, we won't bother you. We don't come into the prison; we're not crazy, so you can have as much fun as you want. Ha ha. Many men will love you. Every day ... You should have taken the ten years you foolish Americans!"

The End