Amy ran her fingers through her long, silky black hair and washed the shampoo through. That was the only good thing about this place: in Carson’s Locke Prison, the female inmates were the most valuable commodities, so they didn’t spare any money on high-quality moisturizers and shampoos. They wanted the girls to look their best—it made them more fuckable.
The showers were spaces evenly apart so close that Amy could have reached out to touch the naked woman next to her. This, too, was done for a purpose: there were close to ten cameras covering every inch of the showers, and the tapes were sold to the highest bidder.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped, turning quickly.
“Calm down, girl, there’s no need to throw a fit.” Butch. Amy couldn’t decide if the woman was as bad or worse than the prison guards. Butch was a favorite among the men running the place, simply because she was more than happy to take advantage of every naked girl she came across, and she was so big and burly that few girls would even resist. She was their little star, and though they would often come into her cell to drop a load off down her throat, she maintained the position at the top of the food chain among the inmates.