My cock no longer hung free, nor stiffened with arousal. It was taped downbetween my legs, unfeeling and unused. But it was still there and that wasal... - or nearly all - that mattered.With a half sob of relief I stumbled towards the toilet cubicle in mycell. As always, I had to say my name to gain access. Not my real name,the one I held tight inside me, but the hated one that the vicious womenwho'd imprisoned me had bestowed: "Stacey." And not spoken in my truevoice, but the soft, high-pitched. (but my hands aren't too big anyway) She liked to wear her hair short and perky, and with her baby face this made her appear like a teenager, which she barely wasn't. She has nice, flaring hips and breasts that filled out her dress proudly. They weren't huge, but full and pointed. And she has a beautiful smile. Her whole family has that "beautiful people" look.Chrissy's dad didn't think much of me. Why do the old men always hate their daughter's choice in men? He wanted her to marry the local. More

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