Both sluts whimpered and clung tighter to each other when the lights came on.
She’d been awake. She knew it from hearing the sound of LaLa’s slow, even breaths. LaLa’s thigh was tucked against her pussy. It felt strange, to have a moment of private awareness. The volume of the cell collected itself around her in the dark. Her eyes tracked to where she knew the door was.
When the girls slept they were never out of each other’s embrace. The cot was too small, and any time they did come apart, even a little, they were plunged immediately into full and awful illumination. Lexie knew they did that with the lights to train them. She also knew it was working. Living under a constant glare meant dark and quiet had become a physical craving, and when it was allowed her she felt a supersitious dread of doing anything to disturb it. If the craving and the supersition extended to the slut she was bedded with, to the feel of being naked in her arms, it was only natural. There was nothing you could do about it.
When the door exploded open she thought, wildly, but I wasn’t up. But it was wrong for her to be awake on her own.
She had her face down, her head deep in the crook of LaLa’s arm. Like she was trying to dive beneath the girl, or burrow into her. For a long minute there was just light and harsh noise and nothing happening. She heard herself muttering a prayer, Take her, please, it was her, take LaLa, over and over. It wasn’t her name. It wasn’t any of their names. She called her sluts LaLa because that’s all she heard in her head when she tried to think of them.
She called them that when they fucked. She had to. It turned her on, how dumb it made her feel.
How much she’d started dreaming about losing her own name.
Hands gripped her below the knees and pulled. Lexie moaned and went limp, and her pussy gushed. Under her, LaLa was already masturbating.
Limp was a training too, before it had turned into instinct. By the time they brought her back she knew another one would have joined it.