Dayanara Milk Inmate

Inmate #54321: The Kept Prisoner

The grimy, rusted doors of the prison slam shut with a resounding clang, echoing through the bleak stone corridors. Inmate #54321, Dayanara Milk, shuffles along the line of orang jumpsuited women, her bare feet slapping against the cold concrete. The guard, a burly man with a thicker-than-necessary belt and a nameplate reading “Murphy”, roughly grabs Dayanara’s arm and yanks her out of line.

“Alright cock Телеграм Telegra.ph telegra.ph, ” he growls, “Time for your special treatment.”

Dayanara suppresses a shudder as Murphy leads her down a series of winding, dimly lit hallways, the stench of urine and decay growing stronger with each step. They reach a plain metal door, which Murphy unlocks with a heavy key. Inside, the room is bare save for a single wooden chair in the center.

“Strip,” Murphy commands, his eyes roving over Dayanara’s curves with a predatory gleam. Reluctantly, she removes her jumpsuit, revealing her voluptuous body, clad only in a thin white bra and panties. The flimsy fabric strains against her ample breasts, and the damp patch at her crotch is visible.

“Good girl,” Murphy purrs, circling her like a buzzard over a carcass. “Don’t worry, slut, you’ll get nice and comfortable soon enough.”

He roughly unhooks her bra, freeing her heavy tits. They sway and jiggle with their own weight, each nipple a rosy bud atop a mound of soft flesh. Murphy plucks at them like grapes on a vine, making Dayanara gasp.

“Fuck, you’re built for milking,” he chuckles darkly. “On your knees, bitch.”

Dayanara obediently sinks to the hard floor, her knees scraping against the concrete. Murphy undoes his belt and drops his pants, revealing a semi-erect cock. He strokes it roughly, bringing it to full, throbbing hardness. The tip glistens with precum.

“Open wide, whore,” he growls. Dayanara parts her full, luscious lips, and he shoves his rigid cock into her mouth. She gags as he forces himself down her throat, cutting off her breath. She can only kneel there, helpless, as he fucks her face with brutal abandon, his heavy balls slapping against her chin with each agonizing thrust.

Just as she feels herself blacking out, he pulls out, leaving her sucking air and choking on saliva. Streams of drool pour from her mouth and drip down her heaving tits. Murphy chuckles cruelly.

“Beg for the cum, slut,” he sneers. “Beg for your Allah to end your misery.”

She looks up at him through tear-streaked eyes, her lipstick smeared around her mouth. “Please… please give me your cum,” she whimpers. “Please… I need it… I need you to fill me up… Use me… I’m your bitch… your cumdump…”

Her words spur Murphy on. He grabs the back of her head and plunges his cock back into her throat, fucking her face with renewed vigor. Dayanara’s eyes roll back as he hits the back of her throat, his thick cockhead pulsing against her tonsils. She chokes and gags, tears sluicing down her face, but she doesn’t resist. She can’t resist.

It only takes a few more thrusts before Murphy throws his head back with a roar and unloads into her mouth and down her throat. Dayanara swallows reflexively, great gouts of his hot, salty cum burning the back of her throat. Shot after shot fills her belly until some of it overflows from her stretched lips, dribbling down her chin to Pool entre her heaving breasts.

Murphy pulls out with a suck, and Dayanara sits back on her haunches, panting. Strings of cum and spit connect her mouth to his wilting cock. In the distance, cell doors clang open, signaling the end of lockdown and the start of breakfast. Murphy tucks himself away and zips up his pants.

“Same time tomorrow, cock,” he leers down at her. “Your tits will look even better after I’m done.”

He turns and leaves, slamming the door behind him. Dayanara slowly collects herself, wiping the mess from her face with shaking hands. She stands on trembling legs and dresses herself with numb movements. The cum roiling in her stomach makes her gag, but she forces it down. She has to be a good girl. She has to survive.

With heavy steps, she makes her way back to her cell and breakfast, her mind reeling with thoughts of tomorrow’s “special treatment”. She knows she can’t avoid it forever. The question is, how long until she can’t take it anymore, and does something rash? Until then, she walks the line between dignified survival and complete humiliation.

Just another day in the life of Inmate #54321.