The Wheel
  Copyright, dungeonmouse, 2005

    Helga enters the cell as Dark begins.  She whistles a tune that sounds like Marquis de Sade playing John Phillip Sousa.  The tune that means trouble.  Diedra lies spread-eagled on the rough stone floor.  She is nude but then she's not felt fabric on her skin since arriving in the dungeons.  Chains from her wrist and ankle cuffs stretch to huge eyebolts sunk deep in the bedrock.  Two more chains lead sideways from her steel waist band to more eyebolts.  Yet two more lead from the sides of the steel collar around her neck to two more eyebolts.  The chains are snug.  Diedra isn't stretched rigid.  By struggling, she can  almost make the chains tinkle.  Not that she has struggled much to prove this fact.  Life in the Prison for Women's dungeons quickly inures one to long periods of immobility.  Lying chained to a stone floor or wall is how Diedra gets what little sleep she is allowed. 
    During this Dusk, Diedra has not slept at all.  The chains haven't kept her awake.  The steel bands permanently fixed to her wrists, ankles, neck and waist haven't kept her awake.  The leash chain from the front of her collar snaking loosely under her breasts hasn't kept her awake.  Even the sharp lump just above her pubic bone that she can wiggle enough to make bigger but not enough to move to a different place hasn't kept her awake.  She's been an inmate too long for hard steel and jagged stone to keep her from sleep.  No, this sleepless Dusk she owes to the phallus.  It rises out of bedrock as solid as the eyebolts.  Countless labia and butts sliding along it's unyielding skin have polished it to a gun-metal patina.  Diedra is no stranger to this particular phallus.  It has probed both her lower holes numerous times.  The phallus is slender, as phallus' go in the dungeons.  Sleeping while sitting on the steel shaft can actually be relaxing, depending how Smyrna, the Barbie-doll blonde supervisor during Diedra's rest periods, arranges the chains.
    But when Smyrna can on duty this time, she had a rare flash of originality.  Smyrna usually displays as much character and intelligence as the doll she resembles.  But she has an unpredictable cruel streak.  When the evil Barbie takes over, Smyrna gets very nasty and very creative.  Although Helga is far more skilled with torture implements, Diedra prefers having Helga around.  With Helga, you know you will get whipped, it will be bad then it will be over.  With Smyrna, you stay all tensed up, waiting for who knows what. 
    When she took over from Helga as Dawn ended, Smyrna wore her evil Barbie smile.  She left Diedra chained to an iron ring in the corridor while she fastened the other prisoners on the Furies shift in their cells.  From the cries and screams as unyielding steel implements penetrated and immobilized the girls' bodies, this Dusk would be long for everyone.  With Diedra still chained to the wall, Smyrna braided Diedra's hair into two long pigtails, plaiting chains into the braids.  This was not good.  Anytime Smyrna spent more time than absolutely necessary tending a prisoner, something was up.  Something bad.  When Smyrna lead Diedra to the phallus cell and spread-eagled her face down on the floor, Diedra's worst fears were confirmed.  The two chains braided in Diedra's hair led to two more eyebolts.   Together with the collar chains, the hair chains fixed her mouth over the phallus.  By pulling back her head until the chains were taut, Diedra could keep the phallus tip over her tongue.  The only direction her head could move from there was down.  Down onto the phallus.  Every time Diedra relaxed, the steel monster probed into her throat, gagging her.  If she relaxed long enough, it would strangle her.  She spent Dusk alternating between pulling her head back with burning neck muscles and clamping her teeth around the steel shaft, these being the only two ways she could keep the steel  from plunging into her throat.  If she even considered relaxing, the steel monster forced its way into her gullet and regained her undivided attention.  It was a rough Dusk, not the roughest she has spent in the Prison for Women, but certainly one she will remember for a long time.  So, come Dark, Diedra is in no mood for Helga's attempt at music.
    Helga walks along Diedra's body.  Helga stops when she straddles Diedra's chest with one stiletto heel resting on Diedra's right breast where it bulges out from under Diedra's chest.  The heel presses into the soft flesh.  Diedra screams.  She loses her focus on the phallus which quickly turns the muffled scream into an anguished, coughing rattle.  Helga stands for a moment then steps over Diedra's head, turns and looks back down the nude form struggling and gasping at her feet.  Diedra senses the sharp-toed black boots almost touching her forehead but her main concern is lifting her head off the damn phallus one more time. 
    Helga looks like a female kick-boxer dressed for a fetish party.  Corded muscles ripple under black leather.  Her cat's eyes can see your soul.  Her unwavering devotion to The Bitch, the dungeon's deity, make her strong, brutal, cunning, vicious and fair, in a twisted way.  The other guards pay lip service to the Bitch; Helga worships her with passion.   Diedra worships the Bitch with passion too, a passion for life.  Diedra isn't sure where Helga's passion originates.
    Helga uncoils her short whip.  At six feet, it is not particularly short as whips go.  But Helga skillfully uses whips as long as twenty feet.  You get chained in the corridor for those.  The short whip holds a special place in her heart and in the minds of the prisoners.  Helga calls this whip the "Bitch's Tongue."  The prisoners call it "Hell with a Handle" or usually just "Nooooooooo!"  She flicks it a few times to straighten the coils then lets the thin leather snake lie across Diedra's left shoulder.  Diedra feels the hard leather edge.  She glimpses the almost-black strip leering in the corner of her eye.  She smells the aged leather, stale sweat and dried blood.  She doesn't know why the whip lies there.  The whip needs no reason to touch her skin.  She knows it will slice into her flesh with ferocious force.  Diedra tries not to think on these things.  She tries to focus on not letting the phallus strangle her.  She works her head a little higher, breathing in jagged hiccups.  But she can't ignore the whip.  Her body shakes and she cries.
    Helga swings the whip over her head in a smooth arc.  The whip glides off Diedra's shoulder and swishes through the air.  Helga's gentle swing belies the power behind the blow.  As the whip falls, the swish increases to a whistle then a shriek.  Diedra knows by the sound exactly when it will bite her flesh.  As the leather approaches that hideous pitch, every muscle in Diedra's body tightens into an agonizing cringe.  Flame bursts across Diedra's back as the whip tears a narrow flesh strip from her left shoulder down her back across her right buttock  and along her right leg to mid-calf.  As the whip rises in another easy arc, Helga deftly switches hands and lands the next blow on the opposite angle: right shoulder, back, left buttock, left leg.  A perfect X marks Diedra from corner to corner.  The blows fall in a lazy rhythm, alternating sides, embellishing the X.  Wiggly strokes decorate the long legs of the X.  Tiny tick marks made with the last millimeters of the tip add detail to the work.  Diedra's body jerks with each blow.  Every body fiber pulls on the chains.  Muscles shiver and vibrate, her fingers claw at the bare rock, her toes scratch against the floor.  With all her strength, she fights to go somewhere, anywhere away from that whip.  The chains do not struggle or fight back.  The chains calmly hold her still.
    For a dozen strokes, she keeps the phallus just beyond her throat.  She sucks in almost enough air for the struggle.  Without missing a beat on the whip, Helga places a foot on Diedra's head and pushes it onto the phallus.  The phallus crawls down Diedra's throat.  Her throat muscles contract around the shaft.  Bile and air from her stomach and lungs splatter against the shaft's tip but cannot get past it.  Her throat closed, Diedra's lungs fight for air against solid steel.
    "Bitch, here I come.  Helga will kill me this time."
Helga isn't killing anyone.  Helga is causing pain.  Surrender to the pain and you kill yourself.  Conquer the pain and you live.  Simple as that.
    Things don't seem quite that simple to Diedra.  She screams and sobs in frustration but fights to pull her head off the phallus, fights to conquer the pain, fights to keep her sanity when everything around her shoves her towards madness and despair.  Slowly, she works her head back off the shaft, fighting every millimeter against Helga's foot.  Her neck muscles throb with fire.  Her jaw quivers with pain and anger and fear.  Sour odors fill the cell along with a peculiar wet-dog-musk smell.  The her fear, her pain and her arousal waif across the stones.  She fights the fear and the pain.  She enjoys the arousal.  Arousal is the only pleasure allowed prisoners.  Diedra enjoys it when she can, even when it comes in the midst of torture.  Diedra's sweat and blood and tears contain no shame or humiliation.  Shame and humiliation are luxury emotions.  Diedra long ago jettisoned them into the caverns under the Prison for Women.
    Helga pauses.  The Bitch's Tongue hangs slack, the end lying across Diedra's back.  Even that touch makes Diedra shudder. 
    "That she is, Bitch, that she is."  Diedra is too busy breathing to hear Helga's quiet comment.  Helga lifts her foot off Diedra's neck.  She nods at two guards outside the cell door.  They enter and disconnect Diedra from the chains.  They release her hands first, re-chaining them behind her back to the waist band.  Then the ankles which they shackle together with a short chain.  The waist band next with nothing new attached to it.  Lastly they unlock the four chains holding Diedra's head on the phallus.  As soon as the tension comes off the chains, Diedra's head snaps up off the phallus then falls to the floor with a nasty thunk.  Helga flicks the Bitch's Tongue across Diedra's back.
    "Good Dark, Diedra.  Time for work."
    Diedra grunts as her exhausted muscles push her burning body off the floor.  She pulls her legs under her then rises to a kneeling position by pushing against the phallus with a shoulder.  Once kneeling on the rocks, she slowly gets her feet under her and stands, shaking.  The leash chain under her chin clanks down between her breasts as she stands, leaving bright red indentions where she lay on it all Dusk..  Helga indicates the door with the Bitch's Tongue and Diedra staggers into the corridor.
    Diedra joins the line outside her cell.  The other girls look drawn and weary.  Several carry fresh welts on their backs and thighs.  None, save Diedra, carry the Tongue's signature welt design.  A guard locks Diedra's neck chain to the last girl's collar.  Monica, a tall, black girl with straight jet hair, nods almost imperceptibly to Diedra.  Diedra returns the greeting as the Furies shift shuffle down the corridor. 
    Diedra knows where they were going.  Down the corridor to the central chamber.  Turn right.  Follow the wall of the circular main chamber to the second corridor.  Down that corridor to the first archway on the left.  Through the archway into Wheel Room #1.  WR1 is large with a high, domed ceiling.   The floor is smoother than most and is sprinkled with sand to improve footing.  In the center, the wheel creaks round and round.  The wheel is a huge oak cylinder with eight spokes extending waist-high over the floor.  This oak structure is clamped around an iron shaft.  The shaft runs  up to the ceiling where it connects to the machinery that runs the dungeons of the Prison for Women.  The spokes are long oak poles, as thick as Diedra's leg and several meters long.  Each spoke has four eyebolts arranged in pairs, front and rear, near the outer end.  Below each pair of eye bolts, a large metal hook extends below the spoke.  Two girls are chained to each spoke and push it round and round.  Twelve wheels in twelve chambers provide the dungeons with energy.
    Helga leaves as Diedra enters the chamber.  A guard at the door unlocks each girl from the coffle as she enters.  From long habit, Diedra falls in behind the first spoke that passes her with an empty eyebolt.  Her pole mate is a tall, willowy blond.  Diedra saw her ahead in the coffle but didn't recognize her.  New prisoners arrive frequently and this girl's soft skin with few scars screams "fresh meat."  Diedra whispers "Welcome to the Furies" but gets no response from the girl other than a rather horrified stare.  Diedra guesses her back art from the Bitch's Tongue along with the chain dreadlocks still dangling from her hair present a pretty horrible sight.  A guard falls into step beside Diedra.  She unlocks Diedra's wrist chains from her waist band, threads the shoulder-width chain through the rear eyebolt and relocks the chain to her wrists.  She grabs Diedra's neck chain and locks it to the front eyebolt.  Diedra leans forward and down on the spoke and pushes. 
    Diedra settles into a familiar stride, pushing the wheel round and round.  Her manacled hands rest on the spoke along with her breasts.  Her leash chain dangles in front of the spoke, tinkling merrily.  The chains braided in her hair bounce alongside her shoulders.  She pushes with her legs, transmitting the force to the spoke through her hands and chest.  The chain between her ankles clinks along the sandy stone floor.  Diedra's stride exactly matches the length of the chain.  Diedra pushes with steady force, hard enough to work up a sweat yet not hard enough to collapse before the shift ends.  The guard who chained her to the spoke gives her a love tap across the buttocks with her riding crop, leaving a bright red mark but no welt.  The guard moves on, chaining other Furies prisoners to the spokes.
    Dungeon guards are distressing identical:  sturdy brunettes with impassive faces and dark eyes.  They all wear the same gray uniform with black leather trim.  They all carry riding crops tightly braided with hard leather.  They all have no scruples, no compassion and few weak spots.  Diedra strongly suspects they are androids.  Two guards rule each wheel room, a senior guard, called,  "Senior," and a deputy guard, called "Deputy."   Senior guards have a larger leather swatch on their shoulder.  Diedra wonders idly whether the guards work shifts like Helga, Smyrna and Morgana, the third supervisor.  The guards are so alike, Diedra cannot tell whether new ones show up during the shift or not.  If they really are androids, maybe they just work all the time with short breaks for lube jobs and maintenance.  Diedra imagines Senior bent over in a maintenance shop with a grease gun shoved up her ass, pumping her full of 10W30.
    Early in Dark, the porridge girls waltz into the chamber.  One carries the porridge bucket; the other, wooden bowls.  They also wear chains on their wrists, necks and ankles but their cuffs and collars are shiny silver rings rather than the wide steel cuffs that wheel girls wear.  The porridge girls walk along with the wheel, slower than the wheel turns.  The one with the bowls fills a bowl and hands it to each spoke as it passes.  The girl next to Diedra gets her bowl first, as she's been on the wheel longer, even if only by a few minutes.  Diedra, on the outside, dutifully passes the bowl to her.  Failure to observe such niceties can get your eyes scratched out.  The blonde has until the porridge servers make their way around the wheel to finish her porridge.  When they next appear alongside to that spoke, the porridge servers will take the bowl, refill it and hand it to Diedra.
    The blonde next to Diedra takes her hands off the wheel to accept the bowl.  Diedra, along with the other girls not eating, leans hard into her spoke so the wheel doesn't slow.  With half the girls eating, the other half are soon breathing hard and dripping sweat.  Diedra breathes fast, deep and steady, pumping her legs at a pace she knows she can sustain until the feeding ends.  The guards stroll beside the wheel with whips, carefully monitoring the rotation speed.  The blond stares into her bowl.  Tears trickle down her cheeks.  Her chest heaves with heavy sobs.  She walks behind the spoke, staring at her manacled hands holding the cold porridge.  Diedra recognizes the symptoms.  The girl is remembering some moment from an imagined earlier life.
    "Eat.  Eat, damn you!"  Diedra hisses at the girl.  Dungeon porridge isn't tasty and rarely warm but it keeps prisoners alive and healthy enough to push if they eat all they are given.  "Goddess damn you, eat!"
    Diedra is less concerned with the other girl's well being than with wasting the porridge.  There is also the small matter that, should the blond collapse, Diedra and the other prisoners will take up the extra load. 
    The blond continues sobbing.  Diedra pushes the spoke with one arm and shoves the bowl to the girl's mouth with the other elbow, stretching her wrist chain tight.  The blond nibbles some porridge.  Diedra pushes the bowl higher, pouring porridge into the blonde's mouth.  When porridge spills out the edges of the girl's mouth, Diedra backs off.  No sense wasting porridge.  The porridge girls appear alongside Diedra.  Diedra grabs the bowl from the blonde when she hands it to the porridge girl and empties the bowl in one swallow.  The porridge girl takes the bowl, fills it half full and hands it back to Diedra.  Diedra glares at the girl and jerks her head towards the porridge bucket.  The porridge girl looks at Diedra's muscles, hard as cable.  She glances at the welts and bloody stripes on Diedra's back and the countless scars beneath them.  She notes the flint-hard energy flashing from Diedra's eyes.  She fills the porridge bowl.
    Diedra doesn't stop pushing when she eats.  The blonde isn't pushing at all.  If the wheel slows, everyone gets whipped and Diedra dislikes eating under the lash.  She eats almost all the porridge and offers the rest to the blonde.  The blonde shakes her head.  Diedra finishes the porridge and hands the bowl back to the porridge girls on the next pass.  She watches the porridge girls mince from the chamber.  Porridge girls spend their rest periods chained in a cell enthusiastically giving pleasure to the male guards from the upper levels of the Prison for Women.  They are rarely whipped but possess acting talents beyond Diedra's imagination.
    "Smooth."  The whisper is barely audible behind Diedra.  She glances quickly back at the spoke behind them.  Two girls from the Mares shift, a redhead and a mousy brown, push steadily.  They started their shift at Dusk while Diedra was resting.  Both are coated in sweat.  The redhead nods to Diedra.
    Diedra resumes pushing.  The load is steady for a change so she can establish a pace.  On other shifts, the wheel loads up unpredictably and the guards whip the prisoners mercilessly to keep the wheel moving.  Diedra has been on the other end of the mechanism once, chained in a cage that hung in the caverns.  Now, when the wheel loads up, she pushes with all her might, whips or no.
    The blonde sniffles and sobs.  She isn't pushing, just resting her hands on the spoke.  The girl needs to push.  Setting a pace, working up a sweat, focusing on the spoke, that is are how you get through a shift.  The blonde looks like she might come unhinged at any moment.  When a prisoner freaks out, the guards  whip her until she calms down which usually occurs when she collapses.  The guards aren't careful with their whips and frequently hit everyone in the general vicinity of a thrashing prisoner.  What the guards lack in precision, they make up in strokes.  A whipping by the guards is nothing compared to a whipping by Helga.  However, a whipping is a whipping and Diedra has already had one too many this Dark.
    Talking among prisoners is forbidden but if the guards are on the other side, the wheel noise covers a whisper and the prisoners can exchange a few words.  Just now the two guards are walking on the opposite side.  Diedra risks a whipping and checks on her spoke mate.
    "You OK?"  The blonde looks at Diedra with red-rimmed eyes and shakes her head.
    "What's your name?"
    "Tiffany."  The girl looks like a Tiffany.
    "Hi, Tiffany.  I'm Diedra."  Tiffany glances at Diedra with a funny look, part awe, part dread.
    "Tiffany, lean against the spoke and push.  The shift will go faster if you push."
    Tiffany nods and leans against the pole.  Diedra doesn't feel the load lighten any but at least the girl looks like she might try.  Tiffany stares at the pole for a few rotations.  Then she looks at the steel manacles on her wrists and the heavy chain fastening her to the spoke.  She studies the almost invisible notched line where the two thick halves join forever around her slender wrist.  She turns her wrist and peers at the two large bulges for the chain locks, one on the inside of her wrist, one on the outside.  She turns the cuff back and forth, watching the light play across the shiny black surface.  A new cuff is a hideously beautiful thing.  She glances at Diedra's manacles, identical in design but scratched from  countless impacts on the rock walls and rusty from oceans of sweat.  She is imagining what will happen to her between now and the time when her manacles look like Diedra's.  
    "Tiffany, honey, listen to me..."  The girl ignores Diedra.  She moves her hands from side to side and the chain rattles through the eyebolt.  She tugs on the wrist chain, twisting her wrists around inside the cuffs.  One hand runs up the chain to the steel collar clamped around her neck.  Tears run down her cheeks.  Her shoulders shake.  She closes her eyes and jerks her head back and forth, fighting the collar and its chain.  She yanks on the chains with increasing fury.  Her struggles attract the guards' attention.  Oh shit, thinks Diedra, here it comes.  Senior steps in front of Diedra's spoke and walks backward looking at the Tiffany.  Deputy falls in behind Diedra, ready to focus the other prisoners back on their spokes should they become distracted.  Senior slaps Tiffany across the face, hard, three times back and forth and back.  Whap!  Whap!  Whap!  Tiffany jerks back from the blows.  She tries to cover her face with her hands but only succeeds in pulling backwards on the spoke even harder.  Diedra leans into the spoke hard but gets a nasty slap on the butt from Deputy even so.  Deputy then turns and prods the two girls on the spoke behind.
    Tiffany keeps crying but her struggles cease for a moment.  Senior points at the spoke with her riding crop.  Tiffany stares at the crop then at the spoke then at the guard.  She shakes her head again and closes her eyes.  A banshee wail bursts from her lips.
    "NOOOOOOOO!  I can't!  Please, stop!  Let me go!  PLEASE!  NOOOO..."  Senior's crop rips across Tiffany's breasts.  Her wail turns into an anguished scream.  Senior grabs the girl's throat chain and drags her forward across the spoke.  Senior then flays Tiffany's back with a vengeance.  She pauses after a dozen strokes, looks at Deputy and jerks her head towards the other girls.  Deputy moves quickly around the wheel, whipping all the girls on the first pass then paying extra attention to any whose shoulder muscles show insufficient effort.  As soon as Tiffany wailed, Diedra shoved against the spoke with all her might.  The guards will beat Tiffany bloody no matter what.  The best the other girls can do is keep the wheel moving and save their own skins, literally.  Deputy slashes Diedra's thighs twice on the first round then ignores her to concentrate on the slackers.  Senior resumes shredding Tiffany's back.
    Tiffany doesn't last long.  She probably missed meals before now.  Her skin is still relatively unmarked and her muscles soft.  She isn’t hardened to life in the dungeons.  After several dozen strokes, with red welts crisscrossing her back, she passes out.  Senior lays a few more blows to check for shamming.  She pulls Tiffany up so she hangs across the spoke then lifts Tiffany's head by her hair and looks into her face.  Senior pokes a closed eye, cocks her ear to listen for breathing and feels Tiffany's throat for a pulse.  Senior lets Tiffany's head drop and steps out of the wheel.
    "She'll live." Senior says to no one in particular.
    The excitement over, the wheel settles back into a steady pace.  No other prisoners collapse or come unhinged.  With only one girl missing out of sixteen, the extra load isn't bad.  After a while, Tiffany stirs.  Senior has left for a moment and Deputy is watching the guards on the wheel across the hall deal with a fight between two prisoners.  Diedra looks at the two girls on the spoke behind her and mouths "Push."  The red head nods and leans into the spoke harder.  The mousy brown mouths back something obscene.  Diedra keeps one hand on her spoke and slides as close to Tiffany as her chains will allow.  She leans over the spoke so she can whisper in the blonde's ear.
    "Lie still.  The guards are elsewhere.  I'll get you comfortable."  Diedra shifts the girl with her elbow and shoulder.  Tiffany is surprisingly light.  She really hasn't been eating.  Diedra moves her forward a bit so the spoke presses into her belly not her diaphragm, making it easier to breath.  She can’t reach the chain wedged under Tiffany’s belly.  Oh well, the girl must learn to sleep with pain sooner or later.
    "Rest while you can.  Pull yourself together.  Understand?"  Tiffany nods slowly and slumps over the spoke.  Next door, the guards contain the fight with numerous lashes and Deputy turns back towards her own wheel.  Diedra whispers a last warning.
    "Don't even twitch until you can push."  Diedra moves back to her spot and leans into the pole as Deputy looks back into the chamber.  Tiffany stays slumped over the spoke for a good while.  Senior comes back and checks on her.  Senior pokes Tiffany with the crop.  The girl twitches ever so slightly.  Senior looks like she isn't sure and raises her crop for a test blow.  Diedra lets her feet slide out from under her and falls to the ground.  She lets the spoke drag her along by her wrist chains. The cuffs are a smooth fit on her wrists so being dragged by the chains isn't bad but the rock floor scrapes her feet and knees.  The wheel slows.  Deputy makes a snide comment about the wheel turning fine during Senior's absence and both guards fall to their work.     Senior brings the crop down across Diedra's back and yanks on her neck chain.  Deputy whips the remaining prisoners.  Diedra struggles back to her feet and begins pushing.  Slowly the wheel comes up to speed.  Senior issues a couple dire warnings then stands back, Tiffany forgotten for now.
    Midway through Dark, the porridge girls come back with the toilet buckets.  The drill is the same as with the porridge bowls: one bucket on each spoke, do your business before the bucket girls get back and move it to the other hook for your spoke mate.  The buckets are long, front to rear, with an upturned lip on the end that faces the prisoner, much like a bed pan.  On the other end, two steel loops extend from the rim on either side.  The porridge girl looks at Tiffany draped over the spoke.  Diedra shakes her head and the porridge girl hangs the bucket in front of Diedra.  Diedra rests her forearms atop the spoke, straddles the bucket then sits on it as she swings her legs up and hooks her heels on the loops on the far end.  Now stable on the bucket, she quickly relieves herself from both holes.  She then kicks her heels forward so her leg irons clear the far end of the bucket, hops off and resumes pushing.  The process takes only moments.
    Later in Dark, Senior strolls alongside the wheel, letting the spokes pass her.  Just after Diedra's spoke passes, Senior slashes Tiffany's back with a vicious blow.  Tiffany screams.  Senior grabs her by her hair and lifts her bodily off the spoke.  She slams Tiffany chest-first into the spoke and lashes her across the buttocks.  The red-head on the spoke behind yells an obscenity and swings at her partner on the spoke.  Senior and Deputy both move towards this new problem.  Diedra grabs Tiffany by the arm and forces her on her feet.
    "Push.  If you value your life, grab the spoke and lean on it.  Push, Bitchdamn you."  Diedra hisses the words in girl's ear, hoping it is loud enough to make an impression but quiet enough so Senior doesn't hear.  The altercation behind them takes a little longer. The red-head claims the mousy brown hit her.  The mousy brown does like being used as a distraction and says so.  The guards aren't buying either girl's story and sort it out with several dozen lashes.  When they are done, Tiffany is leaning on the pole and almost looks like she might entertain the idea of pushing.   Diedra pushes as hard as she dares without showing up Tiffany and the wheel speed stays constant.  Senior checks Tiffany, slaps her on the butt twice and moves on.
    The rest of Dark goes almost without incident.  The porridge girls bring water towards the end of Dark.   Diedra hands her bowl back to the porridge girl but does not release the bowl when the girl grabs it.
    "Double ration for the red-head or I'll saw your twat in half with this chain the first chance I get."  Diedra releases the bowl and snaps her hands apart, pulling the chain bar-taut.  She moves her hands side to side and the links grind an ugly tune on the eyebolt.  The porridge girl stares at the chain then at Diedra.  She moves quickly back.  A few moments later Diedra hears a whispered "thanks" from behind. 
    At Dawn, the Mares leave for their rest and are replaced by girls from the Raven shift.  As the guards unlock the red-head from the spoke, Diedra glances back and winks at her.  The red-head blows her a quick kiss and joins the coffle.  During the Dawn feeding, Tiffany eats half her porridge.  Diedra gets the rest and another full bowl besides.  Tiffany leans on the spoke and actually pushes a little during Dawn. The wheel load stays steady and the guards mostly watch and snarl an occasional warning.
    The only glitch occurs during the Dawn toilet break.  Tiffany gets her leg irons tangled on the bucket and can't board it.  Diedra's wrist chain is too short for her to reach the bucket to help so Tiffany must fend for herself.  She never gets on the bucket and the porridge girls remove it when her time is up.  If she relieves herself in the sand, she will get whipped.   Tiffany has apparently ate and drunk too little to need relief, so she escapes that beating.
    After that, Dawn goes so well, Diedra actually works up a slow-burn arousal .  She holds her thighs together as she pushes, rubbing them roughly against each other.  Diedra's peculiar musk floats through the room. 
    "Give us a peek." comes a whisper from the next spoke back.  Diedra spreads her feet apart as she walks and feels the hot mucus trickle down her thighs.  A couple low moans issue from the Ravens behind and Diedra detects other scents curling through the room.  Senior walks beside Diedra.  Diedra ignores her, focusing on the wheel and on the simmering warmth between her legs.  If Senior beats her, so be it.  You must enjoy what you can while you can.  Senior thrusts her  riding crop between Diedra's legs and runs it back and forth across Diedra's warm mound.  Diedra grunts with pleasure and leans harder on the spoke while pushing against the riding crop.   She luxuriates as the rough leather wrappings rasp against her soft flesh.  Senior gets her throbbing then pulls out the crop and orders an increase in wheel speed.  The girls shove on the spokes.  Diedra moans with unfulfilled lust and pushes.  Senior looks at Diedra, sniffs the riding crop for a long moment then laughs.  Tiffany stares at Diedra with utter disgust.
    The Dawn watering comes and goes and soon another shift ends for the Furies.  At Dusk, Smyrna shows up as Deputy unchains Diedra and Tiffany from the spoke.  This time, their wrists are shackled in front.  When the guard locks them into the coffle, she runs the leash chain under the wrist chain before fastening the leash chain to the girl ahead.  The Mares who replace them shuffle into WH1, some with fresh welts, some smelling like minks in heat.  Tiffany stumbles along with her head down.  She lets her wrists hang from the leash chain, pulling on the girl's collar ahead.  The girl kicks backward at Tiffany's shins a couple times but Tiffany is too tired to care.  Diedra lifts Tiffany's wrist chain over Tiffany's head so her wrists dangle on her shoulders.  The girl ahead nods at Diedra then looks at Tiffany with sympathy and frustration.  She was in Tiffany's place once herself but, dammit, the girl needs to let it go and get with the program.
      Diedra feels almost sprightly.  The sleepless Dusk and grim whipping at Dark seem long ago.  The drama with Tiffany cost a little extra labor and a few extra lashes, but Diedra probably would have gotten those anyway.  She got extra porridge during both feedings.  She almost got over the edge on Senior's riding crop but getting close and missing is much better than not getting close at all.  In fact, this shift seems almost too easy.  Only that thought, along with the heavy chain shackling her ankles together, keeps Diedra from skipping down the corridor.

  To see if Diedra's and Tiffany's rest turns out as well as their wheel shift, read The Pole  
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