Both sluts whimpered and clung tighter to each other when the lights blazed on.

 

She’d been awake. She knew she was awake when she knew she was hearing LaLa breathe next to her, slow and even. A sleeper's breath. LaLa’s thigh was tucked against her pussy. It was disorienting having a moment of private awareness. It felt wrong. In the deep dark the volume of the cell seemed to collect itself around their cot. Her eyes tracked automatically to where she knew the door would be.

 

When the girls had sleep period they were never out of each other’s embrace. The cot was so small, and if they came apart at all, if one of them shifted say and the other fell to the floor, their world was plunged at once into full and awful illumination. Lexi knew they did that with the lights to train them, to what she couldn't know, but she was sure it was working. Dark and quiet had become a kind of physical craving for her, something she needed that was out of her control, and whenever it was allowed her she felt a superstitious dread of anything disturbing it. Probably LaLa was the same way. So they wrapped themselves tight in each other at night and they stayed like that, barely a movement till being waked, and it seemed only natural to her now. Like how else would a pair of sluts expect to sleep.

 

We're still together, she protested in her head when the door burst open. But why had she been awake in the first place.

 

She was face down, her head buried in the crook of LaLa's arm. Like there was some dark left there she could find. For a long minute it was just light and harsh noises and Lexi trying to root under her cellmate. She heard herself praying out loud, Please masters it was her, take LaLa, it wasn't me masters, please, over and over. She didn't know the slut's actual name. She never knew any of their names. She used LaLa because that was the sound it made in her head whenever they told her who they were.

 

She like saying it when they fucked. Rape me LaLa. Punish me LaLa. She loved how stupid it made her feel to call them that. She wondered sometimes how many LaLas she'd actually had, but numbers confused her now, so she never tried to count.

 

LaLa was close enough to Lexi that sometimes she got them mixed up. A lot of the time. Fuck my pussy Lexi, and for a moment she'd forget which of them was which. Sometimes she fantasized losing her name entirely, and it fucked with her how much the idea turned her on.

 

Hands gripped her hard below the knees and pulled. Lexi moaned at feeling herself separated but her training kept her passive and limp, and her pussy gushed. Underneath her she could tell LaLa was already masturbating.

 

They called it washing because of the nice clean feeling you had once it was over. The feeling of being less than you were,— less trouble, less worry, less Lexi. More and more just slave. She focused on that while they strapped her to the gurney.