"I'm not a whore," Lisle said softly, remembering the doctor's comments about Amsterdam.  It wasn't an outright refusal - closer to an explanation, and almost an apology.  From her angle, the other woman's cock looked even bigger than it really was, and she had only a basic idea about the act she was being ordered to perform.<br/><br/><em>Suck me now, puss puss.</em>It sounded straight forward enough, even to a mind struggling against the news of her future and the buzzing fury of the vibrator inside her.  Desire was irrelevant, unless it was the desire to avoid pain.  Tears trickled down her cheeks as she forced her head closer to the impossibility before her, and trembling lips touched the searing heat of the head.<br/><br/>The taste made her throat tighten with renewed hysteria.  She'd had a lover once - a kind young man who had promised to marry her once the war ended.  She'd had a ring from him that she had worn even after his own truck had been blown up on a run.  The ring was long gone, stripped from her with the rest of her belongings when she was brought to the Stalag.<br/><br/>He had never asked this of her.  The tentative suction against the doctor's monstrosity was the first time her lips had touched that portion of a man - and it wasn't even<em>on</em>a man.