Now standing in front of prisoner #113, he held in his large right hand, a filthy fly covered bowl. Never cleaned out in all the years he had worked a... a guard in the ‘cells’. In his other hand he held the steel branding tool he would soon use on this sweet enslaved woman.……A woman still somewhat new to the dungeon, only just finishing her third month of a thirty six month sentence. She had been fun to incarcerate, to indoctrinate, into the ways of the prison. Screaming out of her innocence,. "I'll just take off these, if you don't mind." He removed her pretty pumps as he slowly lifted each foot. Her feet were delicate and bare. She wasn't wearing hose. He liked that. Her toenails were pedicured, with a bright coat of red polish. He preferred them to be clear and natural, but there was nothing wrong with these toes in the least. No, nothing wrong at all. As he had been taking off each shoe he had felt himself growing. He spread his legs wider apart. He glanced up to her face. Her. He hadhis toys, wooden soldiers, toy swords, sailboats and horse drawn cartswith pretend wares, and he had his picture books of animals, althoughthe illustrations were all of males.At first, the Queen had come to the nursery at night, when her baby wassleeping. She was allowed to hold him, since it was doubtful that thecontact would influence his development at that age. As he grew older,she could only watch him sleep peacefully and tuck the blankets aroundhim. As the years went by, she watched. The two men climbed up the ladder practically overlapping each other. This made the climbing awkward, but it helped the feelings of both men, so it was worth the sacrifice of speed at the lower end of the ladder. They got to the top and the first man scrambled over the coping as fast as he could, but he kicked his helper in the face as he did it. This caused the second man to fall from the ladder and break his leg when he hit the ground. He wasn't dead, but he was certainly out of the fight.The.