Her thighs are apart and I have a clear view of her pudenda. The woman’s face is marked, against her flesh the Slaver symbol moon pale instead of dark. I reach to the bars and close my hand comfortingly over hers. “During the Rape Run, the captive Runners are not enough to satisfy the needs of all the men,” Leesha says from behind me. “Here is where they keep women for the use of couple the support workers.” I give the dark-skinned girl’s fingers a squeeze. She is beautiful. No doubt the men use her punjabi frequently. “Men come down here a lot,” Leesha says. “We’re not safe here.” So I offer no resistance as Leesha takes hold of my upper arm, urging me to continue. I only briefly say “Sorry” to the women indian before departing, not wanting to stay longer in front of so many accusatory eyes. At a time that I conjecture in the artificial light must be mid-morning, we come across a galley room with a well-stocked larder. There I wolf down my first proper meal since arriving on this barbaric planet. I am doomed unless my leeches are removed within days, but it still feels like a temporary victory to eat food meant for Slavers, and not gruel for slaves. Leesha and I say little during the meal break. It’s not safe to converse. She’s keeping secrets for a reason, concealing them from the cameras more than from me. Afterwards I feel too full. My first rich meal for some time filling my village belly combines with the sensation of parasites swelling in both my vagina and my bowel. I have to rush to the bathroom to void myself, and even after there’s nothing left in my stomach I still feel bloated. Just as we’re leaving the galley, I notice something completely out of place for this world of horror. There is a outdoor child’s doll on the floor, a blue-eyed baby with collage blonde curly hair, dressed in a miniature romper suit. It’s lying on its back and staring blindly up to the ceiling. I feel a surge of sympathy for the thing. I don’t know how it got here but it doesn’t deserve to decay on this cruel world. Sujata: I punjabi don’t want to look like a slut for him. Katie then took it up another notch, she asked my father to pull off the string, it didn’t cover anything and she did not want a tan line from it. The group waits for Amy to appear. 'Yeah...' he replied in a strangled gasp. I had hoped one indian couple of our advantages would be surprise.” “You dirty pig, I love you!” I got just regular hugs from Diane and her friend. He handed me a little bag and when I opened it I discovered a little silver, remote controlled bullet vibrator. I gently laid myself atop her, letting village her feel the comforting outdoor weight of me, the enticing pressing of my pillowing breasts, my collage silken flesh, my leaking slit on the back of her thigh. A lot of.