Pentonbridge Pig	Back to M	Back to main page

Collected by Djian
updated oct 5 2011

Another story by Garmonbozia| My Very Own | Pentonbridge Pig

F+/F, nc, D/s, BDsm, humil, rough

Pentonbridge Pig
by Garmonbozia


Synopsis: The story of one woman's prison sentence in a very special penitentiary.

Chapter 1 - Arrival


"Bitches Out!"


The bellow of the guard was followed by the almost musical tinkling of chains. Chains attached to cuffs at each girls' ankles; connecting upwards to a belly chain and onwards, on the shortest of links, to wrist cuffs, forcing the girls to hold their hands tight to their waists, elbows snug in at their sides. These travel-chains by no means made it easy for the girls to negotiate the step down out of the bus, down to the dusty tarmac outside Pentonbridge prison.


"Bitches! Line on me," bellowed the guard, the last man most of these girls would see for many years. The guard then proceeded back to the bus, walking down the line of girls in their bright orange jumpsuits; some gazing forlornly at the sprawling complex before them; some gazing with hatred at the burly guard, who simply smiled back - their rebelliousness would not last long. Yet most kept their eyes downcast; they had been in the prison system long enough to hear at least a few rumours about Pentonbridge, none of them inspiring anything but dread.


Back on the bus, the guard moved towards the cages at the back, swinging the keychain with apparent glee. The back of the bus was divided into individual cages from floor to ceiling, barely large enough to permit any sideways movement, though the occupants rarely had the chance to move. Two of the cages were occupied: chained tightly to the seat at ankle, knee, waist and chest. The driver, who never left the bus, stood at the ready with a shock-baton - secretly willing either of these luscious bitches to resist. It had been a long time since he had shocked such a lovely specimen of womanhood. Most of these bitches they transported were as ugly as sin, only slightly diminishing his sadistic pleasure but diminishing nonetheless - there was just nothing quite like causing pain to a beautiful woman.


"Rise and shine my lovely D-wing bitches," said the guard, a smirk playing at his lips. "It's time to see your new home. I'm sure you'll be comfortable in no time." The guard grinned and began chuckling to himself. Emily Johannsen looked up at the guard she had nicknamed Snigger. Every time he looked at her he seemed to be having a laugh at her expense. She found this disconcerting in the extreme. Emily was used to men looking at her with desire, a feeling she was usually quite happy to cultivate though she had resigned herself to the fact that it was what had actually led her to where she was today.


Now free of the chains confining her to the hard metal seat, though still fastened in the movement inhibiting travel-chains, Emily rose stiffly from the cage. Her knees cracked as she stood and her back was one large rod of pain. The chains had kept her held stiff-backed and tight to the unforgiving metal of the seat and she had felt every bump and rock along the journey. She knew better than to waste time stretching out the pain and began her slow shuffle to the front of the bus, under the ever watchful eye of the guard and driver. She could hear behind her the tinkling chains and shuffling feet of her fellow cagee. She had attempted to talk to her during the ride from the watchhouse but had only managed to get her name and age: Susan Brown, aged nineteen. What the young girl could have done Emily couldn't even begin to imagine. A pretty little thing she was; only five and a half feet tall; mousy brown hair; a substantial bust for someone her size, C Emily had guessed; a perfect little oval face with a cute button nose. No doubt, with a look like hers, her crime had to have involved men in some way or another. Whose didn't, mused Emily as she thought of the particulars of her own case. She knew nothing about prison really but she knew that Susan and herself would be prime targets for the rampant lesbianism that was a mainstay of women’s prisons. From the other prisoners she had seen, beautiful girls would be prime targets. Not that she could deduce much under these shapeless and garish overalls she had been given, orange for Christ's sake, but their faces were homely at best.


Emily was jarred back to reality by a shove to her back which almost sent her tumbling down the steps onto the asphalt below. She managed to stay on her feet, though stumbling forward a number of steps before she could right herself and make her way into line, followed closely by Susan.


All this was overseen by three women, dressed in severe blue skirts and jackets, stark white shirts underneath, enhancing the authoritarian tone of the outfit. Snigger walked up to the tallest of the three and handed her a clipboard to which she signed her name and rank, countersigned by the guard, before turning swiftly away and marching back to the bus without a backwards glance, though Emily knew he would have some kind of smarmy smile plastered across his face.


As the bus drove away behind her Emily began to look at the prison for the first time. A forbidding edifice of stone, barred windows, and miles and miles of chainlink fence and razorwire. To find such a place in the middle of nowhere was surprising to Emily. She had been able to see out a sliver of window on the journey here and for the last 2 hours she had seen nothing but a kind of grassy open forest. She looked back to the three female guards when she noticed movement. She saw two of the women come striding towards her. It was only then she noticed the large metal rods they carried, each ending in something of a large metal loop. Her attention was drawn back to the remaining matronly guard as she began bellowing commands as if on a military paradeground.


"Right face!" This order was met with some consternation, muttering and shuffling from among the gathered prisoners, with a few of the dimmer girls turning the wrong way.


"Forward march! And the next bitch who opens her mouth will meet my assistant Boris here." With that she revealed her 2 foot long, black shock-baton. A formidable correctional tool most of the girls had not seen before but which nevertheless caused universal anxiety among them.


As Emily attempted to shuffle off with the other inmates she felt a sharp pain around her waist. The guard, who was now behind her after her turn, had clamped the metal loop about her waist constricting and digging her waist chains into her tender flesh. From the gasp behind her she deduced Susan was similarly restrained. Emily then felt a hard pressure in the small of her back, she stumbled forward in an effort to keep up and realised she had very little control over her movements. By a simple shift in direction of force on the staff, the guard could direct Emily anywhere she wanted leaving her feeling increasingly vulnerable, simply doing her best to keep her feet moving fast enough to prevent her from getting a faceful of asphalt.


Not a word was spoken as Emily and Susan were frogmarched into the great stone building and through the stark grey halls. It did not take long for the decor to change noticeably from empty grey halls to more lavish surroundings with carpet and woodpanelling. Emily was stopped abruptly outside a large wooden door, as her guard jerked backwards on her staff, knocking the wind out of her. She stood gasping in air like a dying fish as the doors slowly swung inwards. Before she had regained her breath she was forced inside the room and the doors boomed shut behind her.


"Emily Johannsen, 22 years old, sentenced to 26 months for fraud and embezzlement. Additional: no parole possible, sentence to be served on D-wing, Pentonbridge. Additional, Judge Pitman: base defiler, moral leper, slut, nihilist, agitator."


"Thank you Sergeant Mailer," responded a rather striking woman, seated behind a large mahogany desk that dominated the room. Emily looked up, still fighting for breath, into the gentle blue eyes of the woman behind the desk. Emily could do nothing but stare. The eyes were of the most pure turquoise, accentuated by the raven black hair cascading around the strong, aquiline face. Here was a woman who should be walking the runways not working in a prison. She was... wait a minute. What had that Amazonian bitch at the side of the desk said. Slut! What the fuck was that all about.


"Now hang on a minute I don't know where you got that tripe from bu SNNNUGGGHHH." Emily found herself on the floor, once again gasping for air, her left buttock aching as if someone had hit her with a baseball bat. She didn't have time to orientate herself as she was forcibly pulled to her feet by the metal band encircling her waist, digging painfully into her hipbone.


"You will not speak unless spoken to bitch. And that includes snorting. In fact, pig if you like snorting so much that will be your name from now on. Prisoner 23984, designation PIG."


"Stand up straight pig," yelled Sergeant Mailer an inch from Emily's face, spittle settling on her cheek as a baton was touched lightly to her right breast. Emily stood instantly to attention, knowing full well the consequences behind the touch of the baton.


"It never does take these stupid bitches much time to learn Boris is not to be trifled with."


"Indeed sergeant, even the more stupid fuckwits learn that lesson first time," said the warden softly, as if discussing the drapes at a cocktail party. "I believe pig here may very well be one of the more stupid sluts we get here from time to time so if you wouldn't mind sergeant, before we continue with the Indoctrination, pointing out to her a few of the fundamentals of the rules here at Pentonbridge."


"Of course warden," replied the sergeant. Sergeant Mailer stepped in front of Emily, her face only inches away.


"Listen up pig because I am going to say this only once. You are not permitted to speak unless asked a direct question. You will answer all questions with respect to your betters. Because you are such a lowly slag of a cunt that means everybody you will ever speak to. You will always use the proper form of address when answering a question, followed by Ma’am. In front of you is Warden Beaumont. I am Sergeant Mailer, all other guards are to be addressed as Guard and then their name. You had better remember the names of all the guards as this is only proper behaviour from a low cunt like you to show respect for those who have to work with a stupid shit like you everyday," sneered Sergeant Mailer, her obvious distaste for her subject showing.


"Do you understand pig?" yelled Sergeant Mailer.


"Yes sergeant Mailer Ma’am," replied Emily meekly. "I understand that it's just that I'm only here for a little embezzlement, I'm no troublemaker and I'm not a slut and I just don't understand wh- OOOOF." Once again Emily found herself on the floor after being struck so hard to the side of her head the guard holding her could not keep her up. She was dragged to her feet again, saliva dripping from her mouth and mucus starting to run from her nose.


"It's obvious you are such a stupid fuckhead I am going to have to pay special attention to your training. You don't understand! Of course you don't. How a dumb cow like you ever managed to function in the outside world is a mystery to all of us, it was simply a matter of time someone so retarded would find herself behind bars. Now listen up and listen good you empty-headed sack of dogshit," said Sergeant Mailer as she placed the tip of Boris in the depression at the base of the terrified girl’s throat. Emily was shaking and her eyes flitted about the room, sure that if she was shocked there she would surely die. What sort of madhouse had she been sent to?


"Pig, do you understand the words that I am saying?" Sergeant Mailer spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly.


"Yes sergeant Mailer," replied Emily her lip quivering, and tears beginning to well in her eyes. She had a degree in Business Finance, she had almost topped her class and here she was being treated like a little baby. She didn't really understand. She had only stolen a little money from some faceless corporation and they had sent her to a maximum security prison.


"I don't think you really do understand pig but that's good enough for now considering what a backwards dipshit we are dealing with. There will be a great many more rules that you must learn to avoid punishment while you are here and going on your performance so far you will be with us for quite a long time. Now listen to the warden while she explains a few more complex concepts to you so I had better see you paying full attention or you will be punished again."


Emily forced her eyes off the imposing 6 foot sergeant and back to the stunningly beautiful eyes of the warden. She could feel herself blushing as the warden began speaking slowly as if she really was retarded.


"Now pig, let me acquaint you with how things will run while you are here in my prison."


Chapter 2 - Indoctrination, Exam


Emily desperately wanted to ask the warden to call her Emily. She could not believe how humiliating it was to be referred to as pig. She knew she wasn't a pig, or stupid or any of the other nasty things the sergeant had called her but to be so casually referred to in that demeaning way was pushing her to the verge of tears each time she heard it. She didn't understand a great many things, that was true. She didn't understand how they thought they could get away with treating her like this, how they could be so casual about it. She didn't understand why it hurt so much to be insulted the way she had been, and why it made her flush with embarrassment.


"Pig, are you listening?" Emily was shocked out of her reverie by the earpiercing screech of the sergeant in her ear followed by a sharp pain in her nose. Sergeant Mailer had pushed the tip of her nose back and up, opening her nostrils and causing pain to shoot up her nose and into her skull. Emily tried to move back and away to relieve the pressure but was pushed forwards by the guards' staff-loop around her waist.


"Warden I think we should proceed with the Indoctrination first and then we can return to conclude the interview. This filthy piece of shit is just too much of a dumbass to take all this in."

"I think that is wise sergeant. I don't hold out much hope for pig though. Clearly she has some type of mental retardation and I am beginning to wonder if she shouldn't be in Hopstead for more specialist care. Take her away then."


Emily was openly crying now as she was pushed and prodded and escorted out of the warden’s office. She barely even registered that she had made a journey of some minutes, getting used to the odd shuffling way of moving brought on by the travel-chains, but was brought out of her misery as she noticed the pressure being relieved around her waist.


She found herself in a stark white-tiled room with glaring fluorescent lights overhead making her blink through her tears.


"Stand up straight you filthy piece of shit. Head up, shoulders back, feet shoulder-width apart. Hurry up you dumb cunt. You don't get faster, next time you will be punished. Instant obedience is required here at Pentonbridge. We have the worst scum sent to us to hopefully get them ready for reintroduction to society. We do this by discipline, and it works. Retards like you usually take longer to discipline due to the general lack of intelligence but we do our best."


Emily felt like screaming that she wasn't a retard. She was probably smarter than all these stupid bitches. After all working in a prison was a pretty crap job and you would have to be pretty dumb to get lumped with that. There, didn't that reasoning show she wasn't a retard. What was she saying! Of course she wasn't! Why was this getting to her?


"Guard Jennings remove pig's chains."


"When your chains are removed pig, you will stand at attention. This is the standard posture you will adopt at all times when in the presence of a guard. This means you will stand up straight, head up, eyes downcast, shoulders back and straight, hands behind your back left wrist over right, feet shoulder-width apart. We will do a lot more posture training later but I hope even a deadshit like you can learn this one without too much trouble. Do you understand pig?"


"Yes," replied a tearful Emily.


"Goddamn you pig you're a slow bitch," lamented Sergeant Mailer, shaking her head.


"Pig. Five strokes. Insubordination," sergeant Mailer spoke into a small mic device attached to the lapel of her jacket.


"You just earned yourself five strokes and we will try again. Do you understand pig?"


Strokes, what's the bitch talking about now. And I answered her and... It dawned on her the mistake she had made. How stupid could you be to... Stop thinking like that. YOU. ARE. NOT. STUPID. I just have to pay more attention, I'll show this bitch.


"Yes sergeant Mailer Ma’am," said Emily quite pleased with herself at thwarting the efforts of this sadistic bitch from demeaning her further.


"What are you smirking at pig. I guess a dumbshit like you probably is proud that you can even get something as simple as that right but I can guarantee that smirk won't be there for long."


She was right. The small smile that had crept onto Emily's face with that tiny triumph had vanished and fresh tears began to well up and her chin began to quiver.


"Right pig now your chains are off, get out of that county outfit. We have to send it back so another fuckwit can wear it. Move."


Emily looked up in shock at the sergeant. She saw the steely determination in her eyes but also the genuine disgust this woman had for her. She had thought to ask where she should go to get changed but quickly realised the sergeant had meant here and now.


"Yes sergeant Mailer Ma’am."


There was not really much to the outfit she had been given by the county to transport her from the watchhouse to Pentonbridge. A one-piece orange overall with a zipper up the front from crotch to chest, a white singlet, white cotton panties, white socks and brown slippers. Emily began by slipping off the slippers, before starting to unzip the overalls.


"No you dopey fuckhead. You don't just take off your clothes and leave them discarded wherever they fall. I see that manners are also lacking from your development. I guess your parents figured you were a lost cause and didn't bother to teach you manners. Dumb cunts like you take off your clothes, which you were lucky to be given, and place them nicely in this tray, folding any items that need to be folded," Sergeant Mailer said, exasperated.


"And for a deadshit like you that means that the overalls get folded, so does the singlet and the panties and the socks. It really is a lot of work having to deal with retards. I don't know how they do it over at Hopstead."


Emily stood with her head down, her shoulders shrugging with tiny sobs, like a little girl admonished for being naughty. It seemed she couldn't do anything right for this woman. And folding her panties. That meant she would be completely naked in front of these three women. Admittedly one of them was in a white jacket and looked like a doctor and she knew she would be naked with the other inmates in the shower sometime but it was all getting too much for her.


"Move it pig," screamed Sergeant Mailer.


Emily jumped. Her hands flew to the zipper of the overalls and whipped it down. She shrugged the overalls off her shoulders and stepped her legs out before carefully folding them and placing them with the slippers in the steel tray on the steel table. In fact almost everything in this room was stainless steel and gleaming. She looked for the first time around the room as she started to reluctantly lift up the singlet. There was a table, three chairs, a basin off to one side and a bizarre looking chair apparatus that owed something to the look of a gynaecologists chair but much more frightening. The most disturbing thing she noticed, however, was the drain at one end of the table. It looked very much like those she had seen in the numerous police shows on television - those tables found in morgues and pathologists labs.


"Hurry up pig. Don't try and fool us with your false modesty. It says in your file you're a slut so I'm sure you've flaunted those tits and that cunt for quite a few men. If you aren't fully naked in 15 seconds Boris will have something to say," ordered Sergeant Mailer, hefting the large black baton menacingly.


Any thoughts of delaying tactics flew out of Emily's head at the mention of the baton. She glanced at it quickly as she pulled the singlet over her head. It did actually look like a dildo she had owned though she surely didn't want that anywhere near her sex. Where the hell did that thought come from. She speedily folded the singlet and placed it atop the overalls. Then, taking a deep breath, she looped her fingers in the elastic of her panties and in one sharp motion pushed them down her legs, stepped out of them and folded them carefully, placing them on top of the singlet and overalls.


She stepped away from the table and the tray containing what she felt was her last link to the outside world and all the accoutrements she had come to associate with it: freedom, privacy, modesty, respect. They were only prison garments she had worn for a short time but they had given her a sense of protection and normalcy. Now her life had been turned violently upside down and inside out. She was standing naked before three imperious women all looking at her with undisguised disgust and contempt. No way in hell had she done anything to deserve this.


"Attention! Pig! What did I just finish telling you? I thought that even a simple cunt like you would be able to grasp that one simple posture," barked Sergeant Mailer.


Emily slowly moved her hands away from her sex and behind her back, left wrist over right, and thrust back her shoulders causing her breasts to jut slightly forward. She could feel her nipples stiffening in the cool of the airconditioning and a fresh wave of crimson flushed from her chest and face.


"I do believe pig is getting turned on by this. Look at the nipples on the bitch. Doctor are they normal?" inquired Sergeant Mailer.


The doctor moved forward and looked more closely at Emily's nipples, something she had always been slightly self-conscious of. When hard, the nipple stood out almost an inch from the aureola.


"Not strictly normal sergeant, well within the natural parameters if somewhat on the large side. Quite a high degree of elongation with turgidity and I would surmise an increased sensitivity would be concurrent with such highscale development," postulated the doctor.


"Is that true pig? Are your nips sensitive?"


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," answered Emily, her voice almost inaudible with embarrassment.


"Speak up pig. And yes what?"


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am, my nipples are sensitive."


Tears ran down her face and her shoulders shook as the pent-up humiliation of the last hour finally became too much. She was being forced to admit things to these strangers she had never told anyone in her life. She always liked to think her nipples were her great secret, she could even orgasm from attention to them alone. And now, within an hour in this place it was no longer a secret. Not only that but she just knew these horrid women would find some way of using it against her.


"Just goes to show you doc. The files are never wrong. File says pig's a slut, and pig's just confirmed it."


"Sergeant, why is this prisoner being referred to as pig and not the usual numerical nomenclature?"


"This silly slut thinks it's funny to go around snorting like a pig. She even decided to give us a display in front of the warden. If the simple bitch wants to snort like a pig then she can be one. Pig, show the doctor how you got your new name."


Emily hung her head in shame, knowing if she didn't degrade herself here for the sergeant she would only be punished and be forced to do it anyway.


"Nugh."


"Oh you feeble little toerag. Do it again, and this time I had better believe that you love snuffling like a pig."


"SNNNUGGGHHH."


"Again pig."


"SNNNUGGGHHH." Emily was openly crying now, tears running down her face, joining the twin trails of mucus sliding down from her nose. It couldn't get much worse than this.


"See doctor. She loves it. Probably has some perverted fetish where she fantasises about being fucked by pigs."


"Oh sergeant you are incorrigible, though I dare say with this specimen you could be right. Ok then pig time for the first step in your Indoctrination to your new life at Pentonbridge. First things first." The doctor produced a small flashlight from one pocket and a wooden tongue depressor from a jar on the table.


"Open your mouth wide pig. I am going to check your level of dental hygiene," said the doctor as she pressed the wooden sliver down on Emily's tongue and shone the light in her mouth and down her throat.


"Good teeth, some plaque though. Quite a bit of scar tissue towards the back of the throat, from what you have told me of pig's file most probably caused from vigorous fellatio."


Emily couldn't believe what she was hearing. If she hadn't had a piece of wood halfway down her throat she doubted she could have stopped herself from denouncing this doctor as a fraudulent cow who wouldn't get a job as a doctor in the slums of Calcutta.


"It all adds up doctor. I have no doubt that if we pumped pig's stomach on any given day it would no doubt be half full of spunk."


"I'll check her ears now."


"I doubt even a whore like pig could have much cock damage in there," said Sergeant Mailer, eliciting a chuckle from the doctor and Guard Jennings.


After checking Emily's ears it was pronounced they were clean and that sergeant Mailer was right, no cock damage. This pronouncement left Emily fuming. Goddamit, she was not a slut. When they got back to the warden she would ask for the chance to explain this misunderstanding.


"Right pig step over here and get into the chair," ordered the doctor.


Emily hesitantly made her way over to the ominous looking chair and sat on the edge with her buttocks barely touching metal.


"Sit back properly pig, head at the rest at the top, legs in the stirrups and relax."


Emily sat back and placed her head on the headrest. How the hell could she relax. She looked with fear at the stirrups but afraid of being punished she slowly raised and spread her legs until her ankles rested in each stirrup. This gave the effect of raising her ass slightly off the seat and spreading her sex ever so slightly. Not that that would be seen. Emily was rather over-endowed when it came to pubic hair. She was immensely proud of her thick bush and felt it was the ultimate indicator of her womanhood. She trimmed the edges into a nice symmetrical triangle but had never trimmed the length and it had subsequently grown into a tight, compact mass of brown curls, all but totally obscuring her vagina from view.


"Look at the forest this slut's got between her legs Doc," exclaimed Guard Jennings.


"It's hard to believe she would be able to get a cock past that mess at all. Fuck you're a dirty pig, pig. You sure are living up to your name of choice," said Sergeant Mailer shaking her head.


"We'll clean this mess up first sergeant then I will be able to continue with the examination in the proper fashion," said the doctor as she reached over and flipped on some electric clippers. The sudden buzzing sound made Emily jump and she looked with fearful eyes at the vibrating tool. No. No, no, no. That's not right. They don't do this in prisons. Where the fuck was she? Emily was about to protest when she felt a sharp constriction at her neck. A heavy strap had been tightened around her throat, followed by each wrist being strapped to the side of the chair. Her ankles were then strapped into each stirrup and the doctor hit a button on a remote, connected to the chair on a long cord, and the stirrups began to spread apart further. The whine of the chair and the buzzing of the clippers drowned out the feeble protests Emily was trying to make. The strap had all but cut off her airflow and made it virtually impossible to speak above a whisper.


"Now pig don't be silly. This filthy mess here needs to be cleaned up. I have to be able to see what I am working with, not only that but it will prevent any nastiness later on when you're in general population, plus we have to tag you. So this has to go." And with that the doctor began denuding Emily's pussy. The rest of the procedure was a blur for the sobbing girl. Her once proud pubis was being slowly shorn from her. She felt as if her womanhood was being stolen, she slumped back onto the hard metal chair and tried to think herself away. Away to that nice resort where she had planned to spend all her money and those sexy latin men who would help her spend it. She could feel a sudden tugging on her vaginal lips as the doctor tried to manoeuvre for a better shave. She had almost been there in Rio, on the beach and this fucking quack snapped her back by actually touching her sex. NO woman had ever done that.


As suddenly as the buzzing had began it stopped. Emily didn't want to but she could not stop herself from looking down. Her pussy was a mess. Her pubic hair had been cut to within a few millimetres of her skin and the clipped hair lay about her mound and legs like witnesses to the funeral of her maturity. Pull yourself together girl. It will grow back. A couple of weeks and you'll look as good as new.


The doctor sucked the shaved hair away with a dust-buster before turning to Sergeant Mailer, "It looks so much better already but I think there is quite a fat pussy lying under that stubble. No wonder this one is such a slut. Once it is waxed we will be able to really begin."



Waxed! Emily's eyes flew wide at the pronouncement. She began struggling in her bonds again, trying desperately to stop this nightmare. Sergeant Mailer strode forward, placed the tip of her baton to the stiff nipple of Emily's left breast and let a 5,000 volt surge rip into the helpless girl. Emily jolted violently in her bonds then was completely still, apart from the heaving of her chest as she struggled for breath a second later.


"Settle down pig. I know a filthy whore like you wants to keep all the signs of her debasement to show all the lowlifes you fuck but we know what is best for you now. Besides it will be a long time before you do any fucking. Look the bitch is actually crying because she has finally realised what being in prison means. No more fat cocks stretching that cunt of yours. Boo hoo, little whore."


The doctor returned with a jar of hot wax and a number of cloth strips as Sergeant Mailer finished her diatribe.


"Pig, now this is going to hurt. I will be placing hot wax directly on your pubis and anal region. This will adhere to the remaining hair which will allow me to apply the cloth strips, removing each hair from the root. After all the hair is removed I will then be applying a depilatory spray which will enter the hair follicle, opened by the removal of the root, and essentially burn the follicle. This will prevent hair growth for up to 8 weeks in normal individuals but from the evidence of that tangle you had before it may be less in your case. After that it will be your duty to keep your vagina and anus clean and free of hair. When growth begins, and it will be light downy hair due to the damage to the follicle, it will be your responsibility to schedule another depilatory session. Do you understand pig?"


"Yes Doctor Ma’am," Emily whispered, a noise barely registering in the room.


"She can't speak Doc. Neckstrap. Jiggle those bags if you understand pig."


Humiliated beyond belief Emily briefly jiggled her breasts to indicate she understood that she was now to be totally denuded and it would be her responsibility to continue her degradation. She began to drift off again. Rico was there giving her a massage in her luxurious hotel room. Her sex was getting hot now and she realised Rico was down there panting all over her sex and now he would...


"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Her agonised scream should have been loud but only came out as a protracted gasp.


"There we are. Look at the left labia. Nice and smooth," exclaimed the doctor, her pride in her work apparent.


Emily was lost again but this time there was no luxury and definitely no Rico. Her entire crotch felt as if it was on fire. The initial sting felt like she had been split open but this burning aftermath was worse.


"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. Please that's enou.. Ahhhhhhhhh."


Again and again the doctor applied the strips to her pubic and anal region. Finally satisfied with her work, she threw the cloth strips onto the tray and lifted off a pair of rubber gloves. Donning the gloves, with the ease only trained professionals are able to manage, the doctor reached for a pump-action spray bottle.


"Now pig this spray will burn a little as the chemical reaction eats away at your follicles. This process will probably take about five minutes sergeant so if you don't mind I could use your help in getting the next stage of the assessment ready."


"Happy to oblige doc," replied a cheerful sergeant Mailer. She loved to see these snooty sluts taken down a peg or two. Especially these harlots who acted like virgins one minute and prostitutes the next.


Emily was left to her thoughts and the intense burning in her crotch and ass. It was as if a naked flame was being applied to her sex and she was consumed with the thought of permanent scarring. What seemed only seconds after she had been left to herself, Emily felt hands once again at her sex.


"See pig, doesn't that look so much better. It is a little red now due to the irritation to the skin but that will fade and your vagina will look neat and clean and I expect it to stay that way. I dislike intensely when I have to deal with inmates more often than I should. In fact I would hope never to see you again pig but unfortunately your physical is scheduled every 4 months and infractions will be accrued if due care hasn't been shown. Now lets check the vagina, take a pap smear, a quick breast exam and you can move on to Processing."


Thank god. This was moving into familiar territory now. The embarrassed flush had not left her face and chest since the moment she had stripped for these women but at least now this were getting back to normal. She had never been examined by a woman but she would just have to deal with that.


"Sergeant the speculum please," said the doctor holding out her hand expectantly.


"Speculum," droned sergeant Mailer as she slapped the large metal implement in the waiting palm. She was really enjoying this. It felt like she was in the surgery on ER.


The doctor placed the flanges of the speculum inside the entrance to Emily's vagina. The steel was ice-cold and caused Emily to suck in her breath with the surprise. She wouldn't put it past these cows to actually refrigerate the bloody thing.


"Now pig I am spreading your vagina with the speculum. This will allow me access to your vagina and cervix. See how plump the labia are sergeant. It was something I was expecting. It is most common in wanton individuals to have fuller sex organs. I would be surprised if she did not also have an enlarged clitoris."



Where was this bitch getting this shit from. So she had a nice plump vagina. So her clitoris was a little larger than normal. That did not make her a slut. This was like some goddamn conspiracy or something. Emily began to feel her vagina being stretched slowly wider as the doctor wound the speculum open. It was uncomfortable but not too painful.


"Having her cunt spread wide like that doesn't seem to bother the bitch much doc. The last bitch I saw was crying like a baby by now," observed sergeant Mailer.


"Undoubtedly her cunt, as you so aptly put it, has been stretched during the numerous sexual encounters that seem to make up such a large part of pig's life. I will prescribe a range of Kegel exercises to attempt to tighten her vagina. It is a small hope but maybe if her vagina is not so loose it may provide some slight psychological benefit in preventing further sluttish behaviour. Ok pig, now that your vagina is sufficiently spread for me to continue I am going to insert a catheter into your urethra to prevent any accidents."


"Pleeease. I won't go. Pleeease don't," pleaded the bound girl.


"First pig I will swab your urethra. Of course the catheter is sterile but god knows your vagina most probably isn't," continued the doctor as if Emily hadn't spoken. She felt a cold moisture on her vagina as the doctor swabbed.


"Now I will insert the catheter into your urethra. You will feel a burning sensation as the catheter tube makes its way along your urethra. Then I will inflate a blub inside your bladder to prevent you expelling the catheter and to prevent any leakage," said the doctor, sounding as if she was teaching a lecture. "I will be using a 10 gauge catheter, now I know that is larger than usual but I prefer to be able to drain the bladder as quickly as possible. You would also probably notice that I am not using any anaesthetic gel, but you must realise you are in prison after all and you shouldn't be pandered to. Don't you agree pig?"


Small beads of sweat had started to form on Emily's forehead and she began to tense her muscles. They were going to actually stick something in the hole she peed from, and now she was actually being asked to agree that it was in her best interests. Well she wouldn't agree to that. They couldn't tell her what to think. Emily stoically remained silent and stared at the ceiling as she felt a gentle prodding at her vagina. Emily caught sight of a small movement in her peripheral vision, before she could shift her sight to the left she felt a sharp and excruciating pain in her left nipple. She looked down through the haze of tears to see Sergeant Mailer's fingers firmly gripped around her left nipple, squeezing with great force and pulling the nipple up and away from her body, causing her size C breast into a taut cone.


"You were asked a question pig. Your disobedience is really wearing thin. Five more strokes, and if you don't answer the doctor appropriately it will be another five," barked the sergeant as she let go of the burning nipple.


"Pig, five strokes, insubordination." Emily watched in disbelief as the sergeant spoke into her lapel mic again. Her mind was spinning. Answer the doctor. Answer correctly. She knew what she had to do. Emily once again shook her shoulders as much as the restraining straps would allow, causing her pert breasts to jiggle invitingly at the three women. Emily wished fervently that she was anywhere but here. She tried forcing herself to faint, trying to will herself into unconsciousness. She tried drifting off into a fantasyland but found that she could not. She was stuck in the here and now, her pussy spread uncomfortably wide, about to have her bladder invaded and agreeing that it is only what she deserved.


"Next time pig you answer right first time or it will be an extension infraction. Three infractions of the same kind in one day constitutes an extension. You better believe a dimwitted fuckwit like you will be earning a few of those," chuckled Sergeant Mailer. Emily blinked the tears out of her eyes and sniffed the running mucus into her nose. A large sticky trail still ran from her nose across her mouth and chin but she could breathe a little better now. Just as she had her breathing under control her breath was shocked from her lungs as the doctor plunged the thick catheter roughly into her urethra. Emily was forced into a shallow, halting breath pattern as she forced herself to fight through the intense burning pain shooting through her vagina.


"God, anyone would think you were having a baby, pig. You're such a soft bitch, I don't know how you are ever going to stand the punishment you will incur here," teased Sergeant Mailer. But Emily wasn't listening. She was focused entirely on the inferno in her sex, which was rapidly being joined by the most intense need to urinate she had ever felt. She pushed down with all she was worth, flexing her stomach muscles, but to no avail. The slow progress of the catheter up her sensitive urethra and into her bladder was inexorable.


"There we are pig. The catheter is in your bladder and I have expanded the balloon to ensure a snug fit. I see you have already tried to urinate so no need to ask you to try. That will stay in until the termination of your preliminary exam." The doctor then proceeded to tape the outer end of the catheter off above Emily's pubis to allow her work to proceed unhindered.


"I am sure you have had a pap smear before. Once I have performed this procedure and taken various measurements for your medical records, we'll get you all cleaned up and you will be able to move along to processing."


Emily took no notice of the following procedure. Her entire mind and body was focused tightly on one small area of her body. Focused so intently she felt that she could almost see the catheter invading her privates. She was sure this obsession with the discomfort, for it wasn't painful exactly just extremely disturbing, only made it worse and if she could think on something else she would be able to deal with it easily. But it was as if everyone present recognised this and conspired, through their silence, to heighten her distress. She couldn't stand it any longer, she tried tightening her stomach muscles again, trying to expel the invader that made her feel so dirty. Nothing. Emily burst into a fresh flood of tears.


She felt like hours had passed with the foul intruder wedged into her but she knew it was more like 10 minutes. That's what it usually took for a pap smear. The doctor was returning her apparatus to the tray and Sergeant Mailer and Guard Jennings were loosening the straps pressing her into the metal chair. At last this would be over and she could get this thing out of her. Emily's entire world now existed simply to rid herself of the catheter.


"Attention pig," bellowed sergeant Mailer. "Do you think we have all day to stand around here watching your lazy fat ass resting while the rest of us work."


Emily tenderly eased herself down from the metal chair and onto the cold tile floor. She tried her best to stand as she had been told but the catheter made her want to hunch over and she had to use all her willpower not to reach around and try to pull it out.


"Straight you retarded cow," sergeant Mailer screamed in her ear. Emily gingerly straightened up. She felt as if the catheter moving, slowly worming it's way into her body. The disgust was evident on her face.


"Are you constipated or something pig?" enquired Sergeant Mailer.


"No Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," replied Emily in a strained voice.


"Well you sure sound like it pig."


"Sergeant, it is most likely the unusual sensation of the catheter. I believe that is one orifice that pig is not used to having stuffed with any regularity. Now pig I need to take some measurements for your files. Over to the scales."


Chapter 3 - Indoctrination, Exam 2


At least this part of the nightmare couldn't be too bad. If only she could get this fucking thing out of her she would happily submit herself to anything these bitches could throw at her. Emily waddled over to the large set of scales in one corner of the examination room.


"Get back over here pig," sergeant Mailer boomed. Emily stepped down and waddled, with what speed she could manage, back to sergeant Mailer.


"Why the fuck are you walking like a donkey has just fucked you up the ass? Reminiscing were we?" Emily cringed at the unbelievable crudity of this woman. She wasn't exactly sure how to answer but decided honesty was the best policy, after all how much trouble could she get into by telling the truth.


"The catheter feels terrible inside me Sergeant Mailer Ma’am and I was walking like that so it didn't feel so bad," stated Emily squaring her shoulders a little, as if telling the truth and actually talking to the sergeant, something she had not really attempted, gave her some inner strength.


"I don't give a shit what you feel you fucking simple bitch. You've got 10 strokes coming to you and you're worried about a little bit of plastic up your pisser. Now stand up straight and walk over to those goddamn scales properly. Show your betters some respect you lazy lump of shit," spat Sergeant Mailer, fingering the ominous black baton at her side.


Emily stood straight, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and strode confidently over to the scales, doing her best to ignore the rising feeling of nausea as the catheter, wedged in her vagina, felt like it was wriggling and squirming with a life of it's own.


"And stand at attention when you get there bitch. Any more slacking and you'll be on a charge. Idleness carries a mandatory two day extension and I have been way too soft on you already. I thought maybe making some kind of concession for your obvious mental retardation would be a kindness but it seems that approach only leads you to be more disobedient and disrespectful. It might take you many months pig but these are things you will most definitely learn."


Emily stepped up onto the scales, watching the arm within the circular dial swing around and bounce somewhere around 34 kilograms. She thought that was kind of odd before she noticed the strut extending out to the left containing a number of counterweights. She had seen this kind of scale before in a butcher's, though not of this size of course. She stood at attention as she had been taught and waited for her ordeal to be over. The catheter still made her feel physically sick and she was still managing to get her stomach under control. The last thing she wanted was to throw up. She was sure she would be punished for that. Emily took a number of deep breaths to combat the impending sense of losing her stomach contents when an image of her bent over in front of the sergeant, who was covered in vomit, made her smile and blanch simultaneously. Emily stood and waited.


"Sergeant is there anything in her file about the obvious mental deficiency afflicting pig," enquired the doctor.


"Surprisingly no Doc, but then again Judge Pitman isn't medically trained and I dare say he didn't want to bias any subsequent opinions of pig's mental state by making his own recommendations. A good man, Judge Pitman. I actually met him once when he was touring the state's penal facilities. He was quite impressed with our facilities and our charter. Have you ever had the pleasure Doc?"


"Unfortunately not sergeant. I met old Judge Hoffman once. He was a splendid fellow. I was called in as an expert witness when some misguided fool tried to sue Stockwell for mistreatment. That penitentiary had an excellent infirmary, not as complete as we have here but quite comprehensive nonetheless. The silly girl lost of course, ended up $38,000 in debt to her lawyers and was then countersued for defamation. A very interesting case," mused the doctor.


Hurry up you morons! Emily was beginning to lose patience. She was waiting here stuffed to capacity, dying to go to the toilet and relieve the burning pressure on her bladder and these idiots were discussing some bullshit no one could possibly care about. She tried to bear down again in what she knew was a vain attempt to expel her invader, but she had to try. She couldn't stand this any longer. Panic was beginning to set in and Emily began to fidget, shifting her weight from side to side and clenching and unclenching her hands.


She felt an intense pinch on her earlobe and froze.


"I warned you pig. You were told to stand to attention not dance around like some slut working the strip for a buck a fuck," hissed Sergeant Mailer. "Pig, five strokes, insubordination," the sergeant spoke into her lapel mic. "And you just earned yourself an extension. Ah pig you have so much to learn. If you ever stop fucking around we may just get back to the warden eventually and she will be able to enlighten you."


Emily stood rigidly at attention as Sergeant Mailer and the doctor continued their conversation. Emily was too caught up in her own misery to follow what they were talking about. If it didn't involve getting this thing out of her and her getting out of here she wasn't interested. It was then she noticed Guard Jennings standing against the wall in front of her, smirking as she watched the distressed girl. A wide grin split Jennings' face as she noticed Emily looking at her.


"Turn and face me pig," said Jennings in a conversational tone. Emily turned to face Guard Jennings. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the full-length mirror by which Jennings stood. She saw for the first time what the few short hours at Pentonbridge had done to her. Her face was a mess: her eyes were bleary and red; her cheeks wet with tears; her nose, which she had not been able to attend to in any way, was dribbling mucus onto her top lip, a large strand swinging free at the tip of her nose. Her chest was still flushed red and she wondered if she would ever return to a normal colour. She found it hard to believe that anyone could be humiliated and demeaned as much as she had been in the last few hours. Her nipples however were still intensely hard. Emily knew they would be painful to touch, as always occurred when her nipples were erect for too long. But her will was almost completely shattered when her gaze was inevitably drawn to her crotch. Jesus! She looked like a ten year old. She saw her plump pussylips for the first time since she was twelve and she was not impressed. Of course the plump labia and the large clitoris visible at the top of her slit didn't look very little-girlish but Emily could not shake the impression that it was a little girl's body she was staring at. If she just glanced up, the pendulous breasts, heaving gently as she struggled for breath between sobs, would have disabused her of that notion but she could not draw her eyes away from her sex.


And then it seemed to hit her all at once. There it was. That was the catheter. That tiny little tube, smaller than a pencil was what was causing her so much distress. The end was looped up and taped off to her lower belly, above her mound, and as she watched she felt it move within her. She let out a sharp cry and wrenched her eyes off the terrible sight. How could they do this to another woman?


"Pig stop staring at yourself and turn around. Leave the slut alone for two minutes and she's eyeing herself off. She's probably just dying to stuff something in that fat cunt of hers. Aren't you pig?"


"No Sergeant Mailer Ma’am."


"Are you calling me a liar pig?" asked Sergeant Mailer in a venomous tone, causing a shiver of fear up Emily's spine.


"No Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," replied a quivering Emily.


"Then you are keen to stuff that fat cunt of yours. Probably with something like a big black cock. You like that kind of thing pig? Well pig?" asked Sergeant Mailer getting right in Emily's face. Emily thought better of pissing off this woman. She knew it would do no good to deny any of the ridiculous accusations so she decided to go along with whatever the sergeant said. She felt like dying but she just wanted it to be over.


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am."


"Yes what pig?"


Emily took a deep breath.


"Yes I want my sex to be stuffed Sergeant Mailer Ma’am."


"That's not right pig. It seems you won't let me forget you're a retard. You want your CUNT stuffed pig. Pig's like you have CUNT's. You hear me now fuckwit?"


How could she not. The sergeant had bellowed the word cunt in her loudest parade ground bawl only inches from her ear.


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," squeaked a completely cowed Emily.


"Yes what pig! For fuck's sake pig talking to you is like having teeth pulled."


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am, I want to have my cunt stuffed."


Sergeant Mailer marvelled at the sight of fresh tears spilling from pig's bleary eyes. She had been crying for almost two hours now, surely she was almost spent.


"And?" replied Sergeant Mailer, tapping her boot ominously on the white tiles. The sharp tap tap sending hammer blows onto Emily's already stretched nerves.


"Sergeant Mailer Ma’am, I would really love to have my slutty fat cunt stuffed full," sobbed Emily.


"We already know all that you dozy cow. With what you dumbass? Do I have to explain each part of every sentence you speak. My patience is through. If you don't start behaving with obedience and respect this day will be terminated and we will begin again tomorrow," Sergeant Mailer threatened the beaten girl. Emily came close to losing it completely and running screaming from the room. She had humiliated herself, slutty fat cunt - where the hell had that come from, when all she wanted was to know what with. What with?


"Sergeant Mailer Ma’am, I would really love to have my slutty fat cunt stuffed full of big black cock," Emily managed to say before bursting into tears.



God this bitch has some well in there, thought sergeant Mailer smugly - knowing it was her work that was plumbing those depths. She was no lesbian but there was nothing more fetching than the sight of a lovely young girl in tears - even better if those tears were of her making. She would fuck the hell out of her husband tonight.


"As I thought doctor, this slut can't think of anything but fucking. Well pig you are in for a world of disappointment," sneered sergeant Mailer.


"I'll make a note for her file that she has an abnormally heightened sex drive and should be watched for possible sexual congress infractions. Now I had better proceed or we will spend all day on pig and there are a number of new intakes for me to process," noted the doctor.

"Of course doc, we wouldn't want you to waste your time on this lousy cumbucket. Now stand still pig while we see how much that fat ass of yours weighs," said Sergeant Mailer.


"Yes sergeant Mailer Ma’am," replied a frozen Emily. The doctor then proceeded to move the small weights up and down the strut making minute corrections. Five minutes later, and what felt like 50, to Emily distracted as she was by the irritation of a blocked urethra, the doctor was satisfied and pronounced her weight to be 58 kilograms.


"Your carrying far too much weight on that fat ass pig. But don't worry. I don't think there is a fitness regime in the world that can hold a light up to your work program while you're here. We'll get you looking halfway decent by the time you are reformed," prophesied Sergeant Mailer.


"Right pig over to the wall and you will have your height measured. Then we'll take a few body measurements and the examination will be over bar the cleansing."

"You heard the doctor dogfuck move it," barked the sergeant.


Emily moved briskly over to a stretch of wall which had been marked with measurements from the floor to the ceiling and stood with her back to the wall, facing her antagonists, praying that the ordeal would soon be over.


"Turn around you ugly bitch. I don't want to have to stare at your fat cunt if I don't have to," spat sergeant Mailer.


Emily turned to face the wall, her shoulders jerking as she attempted to bring her breathing and her tears under control. She stared at the measurements on the tiles in front of her, her nose almost touching the tiles. She heard the sergeant talking behind her back; of her impudence in showing off her pussy to everyone, as if that fat cunt was something anyone other than some dero off the streets would be interested in. The sergeant realised that Emily was one of the most striking and pretty girls that she had ever seen, definitely the prettiest ever to grace the cells of Pentonbridge. She knew that if she ever got into general population, which she would never do, she would be eating pussy night and day. But telling her that would only encourage the little slut to further acts of wanton bravado. The kind of behaviour the homely sergeant had always despised in the sluts on the outside. The sluts who always drew all the mens' attention. Well Emily's beauty would draw her some attention in Pentonbridge, but the sergeant was sure it would not be appreciated in quite the same way.


"One hundred and sixty centimetres," noted the doctor. Now pig step back here and lift your arms out beside your body parallel to the floor."


"Doc please keep it a little more simple for pig. I doubt that the dopey shit understood everything you said. Pig, parallel means you hold your arms out at the same height as your shoulders," said Sergeant Mailer without a hint of sarcasm. It was as if she really does believe I am some kind of retard thought Emily. That lifted Emily's spirits a little. At least now she could, by being good and not getting into trouble anymore, show them all she wasn't stupid. Then these crazy bitches would have to eat their words.


Emily stepped away from the wall and lifted her arms so they were thrust to either side of her body at shoulder height.


"Turn around you silly cunt. How do expect the doctor to take your measurements facing the wall. Christ pig, I'm beginning to wonder if your IQ is even in double digits," said Sergeant Mailer, shaking her head in exasperation.


Emily turned about face, blushing furiously. She had calmed down slightly in the few moments of peace she had while against the height chart. Now, with one sentence the sergeant had again made her feel stupid, dirty and embarrassed. She noticed the sergeant with a tape measure in her hand, the flexible kind her mother used in sewing. The sergeant approached her, coming close enough for Emily to feel her breath on her cheek. The almost intimate contact caused her to cringe, fearing another angry tirade. Instead the sergeant wrapped the tape around her neck in a snug fit and read off a number. She repeated the process from arm to shoulder, shoulder to waist, around her chest, waist, down the outside and inside of her legs. The sergeant did not directly touch her skin once. It was as if she was so disgusted by pig she could not stand to touch her, those at least were Emily's thoughts. Once all the measurements were taken the doctor entered the data into a computer terminal at the bench in the corner of the room. Sergeant Mailer was talking quietly with the doctor, her back to Emily. Guard Jennings was clearing the stainless steel table of the implements used in her examination and rigging up some kind of pole across the middle of the table, projecting a foot off the surface across the middle of the table.


Emily's shoulders were beginning to ache from keeping her arms raised and she lowered both arms with an audible sigh of relief.


"Get those fucking arms up you lazy cunt," screamed Sergeant Mailer. Emily's arms shot out to her sides like the limbs of a marionette suddenly jerked taut by the puppeteer.


"Did anyone tell you to change positions pig," Sergeant Mailer continued in her ear-pounding shriek.


"No s-sergeant M-Mailer Ma’am," stammered Emily, surprised and severely frightened by the sudden outburst.


"Right pig let's get something straight so we can move on. I'm sick of looking at your fucking filthy ass of a face and I can't wait to get you back to the warden so I can be rid of you. While you are here at Pentonbridge you don't do anything without permission. This isn't some country club prison. This is Pentonbridge Reform Penitentiary, where the refuse of the prison system is dumped to make sure they are ready to rejoin society. While you are here you don't eat unless you are told to, you don't sleep unless told to, you don't speak unless told to and you don't piss or shit unless told to. Do you understand pig?" Sergeant Mailer was red in the face from yelling, her spittle coating Emily's face as she raged.


"Yes sergeant Mailer Ma’am," squeaked Emily, lost and shivering beneath the terrifying visage of sergeant Mailer in full scream.


"Get your filthy ass up on the table. Any more shit from you and it's straight to solitary for a week and we'll begin all over again after you have hopefully learnt some respect," continued Sergeant Mailer.


Emily cringed away from the sneering demonic visage and quickly climbed up on the table. She wasn't sure exactly what to do and so moved onto her hands and knees hoping for further instructions. Knowing they would be coloured with insults Emily waited with her head hung in defeat. She needed for this to end. She needed some sleep or at least some quiet time to collect her thoughts. But most of all she needed this bloody thing out of her pussy. Just the thought of it still embedded within her made her gorge rise and her stomach started to heave. She could not hold it down any longer: the fear, the disgusting feeling of the catheter deep in her sex, the everpresent urge to urinate and the exhaustion of being berated and demeaned for two hours finally overwhelmed her. She vomited onto the burnished steel table top, her stomach and chest heaving as her body tried to alleviate the stress in the only way it knew how.


Emily was lucky. The splatter of her vomit was caught by the high lip of the table ensuring all the foul smelling semi-liquid was caught and contained only inches from her face. The stench was overpowering. Emily had always found vomit to be the most disgusting of substances and throwing up was something that made her want to... well vomit.


"Jennings, secure that low cunt to the table and wheel over the enema bag. I've had enough. You can oversee her cleansing and I'll see you in Processing," said Sergeant Mailer, the sour look of contempt and disgust contorting her face into a grotesquerie.


Emily watched through the ragged curtain of her dank hair, fallen over her face, as the sergeant turned back to the doctor, exchanged a few words and strode out of the white tiled room.


Chapter 4 Indoctrination - Cleansing, Internal


"Ok pig, now it's you and me," sneered Jennings, a lascivious smile playing across her face. "It seems you haven't exactly hit if off with the sarge. Hopefully you and I can form a better relationship. What do you say pig?"


"Yes Guard..." Oh Christ what was her name thought Emily frantically. She had to think quickly. Something with a J. How could she think with all this crap going on? The stench from her vomit was wafting up from the table and the everpresent catheter gave her no respite from its awful invasion.


"Yes Guard Jenson maam."


"Why you little bitch. I thought even a whore as stupid as you could remember a simple name, I guess I vastly overestimated your intelligence pig. My...name...is...guard...JENNINGS. I bet if my name was cock you wouldn't forget it would you pig?"


Emily swayed on all fours. Her fortunes, raised ever so slightly by the departure of the satanic Sergeant Mailer, had been smashed through her own stupidity.


"Pig, five strokes, disrespect," Jennings reported into her lapel mic. "Well pig would you?"


"No guard Jennings Ma’am."

"No what you fucking slag. You'd try the patience of the Pope pig."


"No guard Jennings Ma’am, I would not forget your name if it was cock." Emily hung her head in shame. Her willpower was shattered.


"Now drape that fat sack over the bar, hands and feet spread to the corners," said guard Jennings, now all business.


Emily all but flopped her body over the bar across the table, spreading her arms and legs to the four corners of the steel surface. Jennings quickly locked her hands and feet into steel cuffs: spreading her body taut, her ass thrust high in the air by the bar under her hips. Emily let her body go limp, offering no resistance, knowing it would only bring more punishment. Guard Jennings then secured another bar to the table across Emily's neck, forcing her head down onto the table. Emily could barely move any part of her body. Her arms and legs were painfully stretched, her ass held a foot off the table by the hard steel bar, her head pressed down onto the table surface still covered in her own vomit. Her face was almost resting in the pool of bile and half-eaten chunks of food. Emily tried breathing sharp shallow breaths to attempt to overcome the smell, to no avail. She could see a drain mere inches from her face and thought of trying to blow the vomit towards the drain before realising she hadn't been told she could do this and feared further retribution for insubordination. So Emily lay on the cold steel table, breathing in her own vomit and waiting for the next indignity she was sure would come her way.


"Thank you Jennings. I think you had best get suited up while I prepare pig for her enema," stated the doctor, returned from entering her vital statistics in Emily's file.


"Now pig, before we send you to cohabit with other inmates and guards here at Pentonbridge we must first ensure your cleanliness. I know your personal hygiene is not a priority for you but while you are an inmate here it will become one of your main priorities in life. Contrary to your obvious beliefs no one likes a dirty bitch so we are going to thoroughly cleanse you inside and out. First I will drain your bladder and remove the catheter and then we'll begin with a 1.5 litre enema," lectured the doctor.


That was all Emily needed to hear. The catheter was coming out. An immense sense of relief washed over her. She was beginning to think that it would have to stay in her forever. She knew that was irrational but who knew exactly what these psychos were capable of. Emily heard the word enema and it did register way in the back of her brain but she was so focused on the impending release of her bladder from its captivity, that she didn't think much about it.


The doctor snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and moved behind the captive girl. Emily could not shift her head more than an inch in either direction and lost sight of the doctor. She could only hear what was going on behind her and it did not bode well. But as long as she got the catheter out anything that happened afterwards was secondary to her right now. She felt hands on her buttocks, the rubber of the glove feeling oddly alien on her warm flesh. Fingers gently prodded her anus causing her to instinctively tense her sphincter.


The doctor reached under Emily's raised posterior, ripped the taped catheter from her belly and released the clamp. The catheter end now lay on the table surface and a steady stream of urine flowed out, pooling around before drifting down the slight incline towards the drain, and Emily's face. Emily moaned with the joyous release as her bladder quickly emptied. She realised now that the insistent pressure had actually become painful and wondered exactly when the transition had been made from discomfort to pain and why she hadn't noticed. She soon felt the tide of urine flowing past her breasts, mashed into the cool table top, and on past her face. The caustic ammonia smell pricked her nostrils and she forced her head up, only gaining perhaps half an inch clearance but enough to allow the flow of piss to pass under her.


It did not take long for her bladder to empty, due to the large gauge catheter the doctor favoured. Emily now waited expectantly for the removal. Then she could relax.


"Ok pig, out it comes. Now just relax and don't bear down. It will only be that much more painful if you do. I know your lack of intelligence makes it difficult to follow orders but try hard this time because it will go easier for you if you do," said the doctor as she grasped the catheter, deflated the bulb and gently pulled it from her urethra.


Emily gasped as the tube was finally drawn from her. She now strangely felt very empty. Happy, yet empty, as if something was missing. Well of course it was, you just had a huge plastic tube pulled from your cunt you stupid bitch what did you expect. What? What the hell was she doing! Not only was she talking to herself, she was talking like the sergeant. She really had to get a grip. This place was starting to mess with her head. At least the piss had washed away most of the vomit though she could now smell faint traces of piss and vomit and she noticed a few small food chunks stuck in the grate of the drain.


"Guard Jennings, the enema if you please."


Emily heard the squeaking of wheels on the tiles then felt a slight bump against the side of the table.


"Thank you. Now pig this is the first enema you will be given. It contains water and a mild laxative to promote the rapid break-up of any large packs of faecal matter. The first enema will be 1.5 litres, a generous amount. The second enema will be 2.5 litres. This will allow a thorough cleansing. After all we want to flush out any spunk or other nastiness that may be lurking up there, not just faeces."


As the doctor finished her explanation she prodded Emily's tight asshole with the tip of the enema nozzle. Her asshole tightened up once again in an attempt to deny admittance to what Emily believed should always remain an exit and never become an entry.


"Just imagine this is one of your many sexual dalliances with a proclivity for anal intercourse and loosen your anus. The enema nozzle has a small inflatable bladder which I will insert into your rectum to ensure you retain the fluid until it has had a chance to thoroughly soften your faeces." As she said this the doctor placed the lubricated enema nozzle at Emily's tightly puckered asshole and began to push. Her effort was gentle but insistent and did not give Emily time to adjust to the intrusion. Emily gasped in pain as the nozzle forced its way past her sphincter and seated itself in her ass.


She could hardly believe this doctor's casual sexual talk. She had never even contemplated anal sex, the very idea was disgusting to her. She had only ever had sex with 5 men and she fervently wished all this talk of promiscuity would stop. It's not like she didn't enjoy sex, she did. She loved it. It's just that she didn't sleep around. She was not a slut, in any shape or form. She wished they would just move on from this stupid cr... OH Christ what the fuck was that.


"I have now inflated the little bladder inside your rectum pig. That will ensure a nice tight seal. So it doesn't matter how loose your sphincter is, you can stop worrying about leaking," continued the doctor in her casual tones.


Emily suddenly felt a cool sensation within her bowels. It was something so new it shocked her and caused her to jerk in her bonds, bumping her neck on the bar holding her into the table.


"I have started the flow pig and it will take approximately 5 minutes for the bag to empty into you. While we are waiting I would like to ask you a few questions for the files. Ready pig?"

"Yes Doctor Ma’am."

"You may call me Doctor Monetti pig."

"Yes Doctor Monetti Ma’am."

"Are you allergic to any medicines?"

"No Doctor Monetti Ma’am."


Emily could feel her bowels slowly filling with the cool water. The feeling was not entirely unpleasant but as the sensation began to creep higher into her intestines she began to notice an odd warmth radiating throughout her chest. Even though the room was cool and the table was cool and the enema water, slowly filling her bowels to capacity, was cool she was experiencing a hot flush. Beads of sweat began to form on her brow.


"Do you possess any physical disabilities?"


"No Doctor Monetti Ma’am," Emily replied through clenched teeth. The enema was now starting to cause minor cramps in her belly. She had experienced worse during her periods but this was somehow different - more intense. Emily tried hard to concentrate on the doctor's words but only managed to catch the end of the question.


"...self-examination?" asked the doctor. Emily was close to panic. She did not know what the doctor had asked and the pain from the cramps had now become quite acute. She felt it best to reply in the negative as that had been working so far.


"No Doctor Monetti Ma’am."


"Ok pig after you are clean I will show you how. There isn't much else I really need to know. The small sample of your urine will be tested and will provide more information than you could verbally. A sample of your DNA will be filed and used in some research I am conducting on criminal delinquency. Don't worry about consent pig, you relinquished that when you came to Pentonbridge." The doctor looked to the enema bag and pronounced the first enema complete. She disconnected the hose from the enema nozzle and wheeled the stand out of the way, at the same time lowering a clear perspex shield at the base of the table. The shield fitted the end of the table, enclosing all three sides and projecting a metre in the air on a 30 degree recline. Emily could witness none of this and simply lay patiently for the release she so desperately needed. The cramps had subsided somewhat, only to be replaced by the urgent need to relieve herself. She once again tried to expel the invader but simply caused the cramps to spike again.


"Pig don't be so impatient. You have to give the laxative time to work. You will relieve yourself when I decide and not before," admonished Doctor Monetti. "I know an underdeveloped brain such as yours is having trouble realising the futility of your situation but you are only causing yourself distress."


Emily felt like screaming at this idiot doctor. She wasn't doing anything to herself. They were doing it all to her. She was so close to begging for them to stop but the fear of the nightmare being prolonged for even a second longer helped her to hold her tongue. So Emily lay there in a quiet despair: her bowels full to capacity, churning in desperation; the bar forcing, her ass into the air, digging painfully into her hip; the bar forcing her face onto the table pressing painfully on the back of her neck. And now the initial warm flush brought on by the enema was fading, her skin began to cool. Her alabaster flesh was awash in goosebumps and she began to shiver.


"Right Jennings step away from pig's rear. I am going to release the enema," said the doctor. Guard Jennings had been carefully inspecting every inch of Emily's ass and pussy, afforded a perfect view by the bar raising her midriff.


Emily wondered what the bitch had been doing back there. She was positive Jennings was a lesbian, which to Emily made her a little more frightening. Sergeant Mailer was simply disgusted by her, and however much that hurt her to realise, she was more comfortable with that than with a sexual attraction. She had never had any lesbian encounters and until a few minutes ago had never been touched by a woman.


"Ooh doc, the bitch is gonna blow," exclaimed guard Jennings, her excitement clear to all.


Emily felt rubber-gloved hands at her ass once again. Suddenly the pressure on her sphincter lessened and she could feel the nozzle being removed in one steady movement. Immediately she squeezed her muscles and began the slow, humiliating process of defecating in front of her tormentors.


Emily flexed her stomach muscles and water jetted out of her anus like a high-pressure hose. She wondered exactly what was going to happen. She could not see behind her so she simply kept bearing down, trying to expel the contents of her bowels as quickly as possible. She didn't know where all the muck would go and hoped she would not get into trouble for it going all over the floor. A vision entered her head of her on all fours cleaning it all up with a tiny rag and bucket and she groaned with despair. But the jet of, what at this early stage was fairly clean water, hit the perspex shield with a loud pattering and fell back onto the table. It was a remarkably efficient system and not a drop landed anywhere other than on the table.


"Look doc, our own little pig fountain," Jennings exclaimed with glee.


"Yes Jennings, very droll," replied Doctor Monetti, though a smile also lit her face. She felt it was good for any of the workers in this establishment to gain as much enjoyment as they could in this dreary place.


The initial jet from Emily's ass had now subsided and she had to keep flexing to keep the flow going. The water became brown and suddenly met with a slight obstruction. Emily bore down harder and felt an explosive release. She heard a loud farting noise followed by what sounded like hail on a roof. Emily had sprayed out a large jet of water containing small hard pellets of shit, all hitting the shield and dropping back onto the now less-shiny tabletop.


"Jennings notice the work the enema has done on pig's faeces. It has broken her faeces down into a porridge like consistency, which we have yet to see, and left these hard kernels. Jennings if you wouldn't mind working the spray, pig cannot see and is missing out on this valuable lesson."

"Sure Doc," replied Jennings moving over and unlooping a hose attachment from underneath the table. The hose ended in a trigger mechanism for ease of control.


"Make sure you stay to the side Jennings, pig is a long way from being finished showing us how well she eats," Doctor Monetti cautioned. Guard Jennings proceeded to stand beside Emily and directed a heavy spray of water on the perspex shield and down the tabletop, forcing the small pellets of shit to flow down the table, underneath Emily's raised body and continuing their journey around Emily's mashed breasts until they emerged directly under her face. Emily had screwed her eyes tight and lifted her head as far off the table as the bar at her neck would allow, but she could smell the shit.


"Open your eyes pig. One of the very important reasons you are here is to learn. You should always embrace every opportunity to do so. Do you understand pig?"


"Yes Doctor Monetti Ma’am," Emily answered between clenched teeth. She opened her eyes gingerly and there, not three inches from her face, were a number of dark brown, almost black, pellets of her own shit. Emily couldn't take her eyes off them and watched as a few floated on the wave of water towards the drain. Most however seemed too heavy and stayed where they were, directly under her face. The smell was disgusting but manageable. Emily guessed because they were only small or that they were hard they didn't stink as much.


Just then she felt her bowels churn again and bore down with all her might. She felt like she would release a huge turd the size of an apple but she heard a loud brrbrrrruuup, followed by a disgusting wet sound as if a large wad of wet paper had been dropped on the floor. Emily felt the hot, thick porridge-like shit land on the back of her thighs and began to cry.


"Oh pig you are such a fucking disgusting loser," said Guard Jennings as she took a step back from the now reeking table. Emily continued to expel more and more of the foul sludge but with less and less force. Her asshole tightened and relaxed time after time expelling the vile slop directly onto her legs. Emily suddenly stiffened as she felt the shit-porridge from her last squeeze simply dribble out of her asshole and begin coating her pussy. She tried to shake her body with what little strength she had left but could barely move, restrained as she was. She had to lie there and simply wait for her own shit to flow over her pussy and drip onto the table. She let out a loud groan, almost speaking, but even in her distressed state of mind still had the forethought to stop short of saying actual words. She could feel the warm shit coating her sex and felt disgusted at herself. How could she ever feel clean after this?


"Pig you have got shit all over that filthy cunt of yours. What would all those hobos think of fucking that fat cunt now?" asked guard Jennings. Emily was lost in her feelings of despair and disgust and did not realise she had even been asked a question. Guard Jennings touched her baton to the side of Emily's squashed left breast. Her body was suddenly jolted rigid, actually causing the table to jump within its mounts. The sudden tensing of all her muscles caused a last large dollop of shit to be sprayed out of her anus with great force, spattering her legs and upturned ass.


"I asked you a question bitch. I am not as forgiving as Sergeant Mailer. She is a bit soft when it comes to correcting with the stick. Fucking Boris! Well mine has no name but if you don't start showing some GODDAMN respect you and it are going to become firm friends. Now answer the question you pathetic little snot," yelled Guard Jennings.


Emily fought for breath as she listened to Jennings' tirade. Her whole body ached, and now there were sharp pains in her ankles and wrists where she had tried to wrench herself free of the restraints. She struggled to think of the question she had been asked but her focus had been on her soiled vagina not on anything this bitch was babbling about. There was only one thing for it.


"Sorry Guard Jennings Ma’am could you please repeat the question," Emily spoke softly, defeated. Jennings stepped up and cuffed Emily on the back of the head, causing her face to hit the hard metal table with force, stunning the girl and mashing a number of shit pellets into her face.


"Christ you're a simple bitch. Too busy enjoying the feeling of wallowing in your own shit no doubt. I said what do you think those hobos and derelicts would think about fucking your fat cunt now?"



Emily was at a loss as to how to answer. She knew the guard wanted to hear something demeaning and she knew she would do anything to prevent another shock from that evil baton but just what could she say. Emily struggled to lower herself to the level of self-degradation. She was given a great incentive as she noticed the sadistic guard move towards her, baton raised.


"Guard Jennings Ma’am, I guess they would think my fat cunt was disgusting," Emily quickly interjected, hoping to avoid further torture.


"You guess! You had better be a little more sure than that pig, I would have thought the answer was obvious to anyone with more intelligence than a baboon but once again you have shown you don't quite qualify. Pig there are some very important parts of that sentence missing so try again and if it's not right this time I predict your asshole is in for a little lesson in conductivity."


Emily's mind spun. She was being forced to demean and degrade herself and she couldn't even do that properly. If that baton was put on her bottom she was sure she wouldn't survive. What was missing? What more could she say about her fat cunt and how disgusting it was? She had to think and think fast.


"Guard Jennings Ma’am," she began hesitantly, hoping to gain more time to think. "I know that the bums and hobos would think my fat, shit-covered cunt would be too disgusting to want to fuck it at all." Emily broke down and lowered her head to the table before quickly realising what she would be resting on and jerked her head back until it hit the steel restraint bar. Talking about herself in that way had actually made her think about exactly what her vagina was like now. It had been denuded of her precious pubic hair, a symbol of her maturity and femininity, and now it was covered in her own shit. She was sure no one would ever want to have anything to do with it again. She was sure she wouldn't.


"That's right pig. Even the lowest trash of society, those people who you look up to, have standards. Now I know you will be disappointed but I have to clean your shit off your cunt and ass now. The doctor doesn't want to have to deal with that when she fills your fat ass with the next enema."



The next enema! Emily had forgotten she would now be subjected to another dose of cramping, full bowels. And this one was supposed to be bigger than the last. She was not even sure how that was possible. She had felt like she was about to burst last time. She heard guard Jennings start the hose again and felt the warm water washing her ass and legs. She felt a slight relief knowing that her shit would not be staining her body anymore. The relaxing water jet moved down to her vagina and began to wash away the thick brown sludge covering the plump, pink slit. Emily began to relax and enjoy the warm water caressing her body, making her clean. She stopped shivering and no longer felt cold, perhaps for the first time since she had been forced to strip when she first entered this white nightmare room. Emily closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was at a lovely health resort getting the latest hydrotherapy.


The sharp stink of shit snapped her back. She realised with horror what was happening. Guard Jennings was washing all her shit down the table to the drain just inches past her head. But to get there it had to pass under and around her face. Emily opened her mouth in an attempt to breathe through it instead of her nose, trying desperately not to smell her own shit.


"Look at the bitch Doc. She's such a filthy whore she wants to eat her own shit. Christ pig, even pigs don't eat their own shit," exclaimed guard Jennings.


"Pig I would advise against consuming any of your own faeces," began Doctor Monetti. "It is extremely unhygienic and provides no dietary benefits. We are not here to indulge your perverted sexual fantasies so close that mouth and stop thinking about such disgusting things." Emily snapped her mouth shut, wanting to hang her head in shame but afraid to move a millimetre closer to the foul brown sludge pooling around the drain and slowly filling the table towards her face. How could they possibly think she wanted to eat shit? She had never heard of anything so disgusting in her life. Emily didn't know how much more she could take of this. Her neck and back were killing her from trying to keep her head raised out of the shit soup steadily rising underneath her and she was constantly being bombarded with insults she found deeply disturbing even though she knew them to be untrue.


"Ok Doc pig's ass is as clean as it's gonna get with just water," noted guard Jennings.


"Thank you, I think it would be best to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. I think that pool of shit may prove a little too enticing for pig," Doctor Monetti commented to Jennings. "And pig, no matter how much you want to, if I see any attempt to consume any part of that faecal stew I will let guard Jennings here have free reign with her shock-baton. Do you understand?"


"Yes Doctor Monetti Ma’am."

"Yes Doctor Monetti maam what?" Jennings screamed at her.


"Yes Doctor Monetti Ma’am I will try not to eat any of the shit stew no matter how much I want to," replied Emily softly, gasping out the words trying not to breathe the vile vapours too deeply into her lungs.


"You'll try will you pig. So even with a direct order not to eat your own shit you're still only going to TRY to obey? Geez doc, this bitch has got it bad," guard Jennings said in disbelief.


"Yes Jennings, we call those perverted and disgusting minority who enjoy consuming faeces coprophagous. Pig is obviously afflicted with this perversion, and I will add it into her files among the growing list of behaviours to warrant special attention during her stay here. This kind of behaviour does not benefit society in any way and will have to be dealt with before successful rehabilitation is achieved."

Emily could not believe what she was hearing. They were actually going to put it in her file that she wanted to eat shit. No way. She could imagine what kind of trouble that would let her in for while she was trapped here.


"Doctor Monetti" began Emily but before she could continue her head was pushed down from behind and her mouth and nose were actually submerged in the shitty soup pooled at the lower end of the table. Emily pushed back with all her strength but she was too weak from her ordeal to budge the hand an inch. She held her breath and hoped to god she would be allowed up before she drowned in her own shit.


"You haven't learnt a goddamn thing have you pig. You don't speak without permission. No one is interested in hearing you beg to be allowed to eat any shit. I know it must seem a terrible waste to a filthy fuck like you but when you are told you can't eat shit or any other disgusting activity you enjoy you deal with it and obey. Next time you step out of line I'm going to shove my stick up your cunt and let rip." Jennings let Emily's head out of the putrid muck, "Now do you understand pig?"


Emily's face had a thin sheen of watery shit covering her mouth, nose and cheeks and she hesitated slightly before answering, hoping any of the poo soup around her mouth would drip away first.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am," Emily spluttered, tasting shit for the first time and going instantly into a dry heave. Emily's chest and stomach heaved and heaved but she had already voided her stomach and only a small amount of acidic bile was swept up into her mouth to coat the back of her throat and tongue.


"Jennings, wash this off her face before she licks it off," interjected the doctor. Emily's face was sprayed with a harsh jet, forcing water into her mouth and up her nostrils, causing her to splutter and cough once again. No sooner was her face clean than Emily felt the dreaded enema nozzle force it's way deep into her bottom again. She grunted as the doctor inserted and inflated the bulb and grunted and moaned when she felt the water begin to flow into her ass. Emily fought hard to regain her composure and tried to breathe normally. The everpresent stink of her own shit made this task almost impossible.


"Pig this enema will be slightly larger than the first, to precipitate a full cleansing of your bowels. I have also added a mild irritant to the enema. Hopefully this will provide a much needed lesson that your anus is not meant to supply sustenance. Please think on that lesson while the enema takes effect," informed Doctor Monetti.


While Emily's bowels were slowly filled with 2.5 litres of warm water the doctor and guard Jennings moved away and sat down. Emily could not fully hear what was being said but the term shiteater stung her like a slap in the face. They were obviously discussing their theory of her being so repulsive as to actually do that. This was the first time since the beginning of the examination that she had been left alone with her thoughts. She had no idea how this kind of thing was allowed to happen. Maybe all prisons were like this but she doubted it. She was sure this was deemed as torture and she would let Amnesty International know about this place as soon as she could. Her thoughts moved from grandiose future plans for social change and back to more immediate concerns. She could not turn around to look at the bag filling her ass but she already felt more full than before. The cramps had already begun and a mild burning itch seemed to be developing in her ass. Emily tried to squirm to find a position that would provide a little more comfort but none was to be had. Her low moans began to raise in volume and frequency as the enema began to distend her belly and the burning intensified past an itch to a decidedly painful heat.


Emily tried again and again to push the nozzle and enema out of her ass. She knew she would not succeed but she could not just lie there and give in to the pain. Fresh tears began to roll down Emily's cheeks and her nose began to run. Thank you god for small mercies. The mucus was blocking her nose and helping to combat the shit stench she thought she would never be rid of. Her body had flushed hot again, something she now associated with part of the process of having an enema, and sweat dripped down her forehead.


Emily's escalating moans finally attracted the attention of guard Jennings and Doctor Monetti. They broke off their conversation, which turned out to be a lecture by Doctor Monetti on the many sexual perversions exhibited by pig. Guard Jennings was even more disgusted by pig after this very informative talk and she was not one to hide her dislike.


"Right shiteater time to empty you out and move on to the exterior," sneered Jennings as the doctor removed the enema nozzle from Emily's ass. Water shot out of Emily's ass, once again spattering against the perspex shield and flowing back onto the table. The flow was intermittent as the cramps in Emily's ass caused her to tighten and relax her sphincter. Even though she was now able to release the maddening pressure from her belly the cramps had not subsided as they did during her first enema. Emily was breathing in short shallow gasps and grunting with each sphincter tightening cramp. She was expelling the water at a great rate but there seemed to be no end to how much had been pumped inside her. Soon though, the flow began to decrease and Emily was left with a spasming sphincter, a completely cleansed ass and a feeling of exhaustion that threatened to send her into unconsciousness.


"I shall leave the remainder of the procedure to you Jennings. When she is clean, page me and I will return to complete the examination," said the doctor wiping her brow before exiting the room.


Complete the examination. Surely she was finished here. What more could these sadistic bitches do to her? God she needed to rest. But as she saw the evil grin split guard Jennings' face she knew that was the last thing she would be allowed.


Chapter 5 Indoctrination - Cleansing, External


"Ok clitlips time to clean that fat carcass of yours. You are very lucky to have me performing this procedure for you. A lot of the guards find this distasteful and so do a half-assed job. I, on the other hand, know the importance of setting a good example to inmates, especially fuckwits like you. You see, from today onwards you will be in charge of cleaning yourself and that is a very big step for you pig. So I am going to do my best to get you as clean as possible so you will know the standard to which you are expected to rise while you are here," guard Jennings lectured.


"So first things first, lets get you hosed down and get all that shit out of the way. 'Lead us not into temptation', hey pig. I've got to say pig I have seen a lot of pretty dirty bitches come through here but being a shiteater is pretty low. And trying to do it in front of the Doc and me, well that is just too much. I don't like to be exposed to such perversion. I am a prison guard, not some fetish brothel madam," said Jennings, her ire beginning to grow. She lifted a large wooden brush with hard, harsh bristles covering the large round head.


"YOU GODDAMN FILTHY SLUT," screamed Jennings as she smacked Emily's upturned buttocks with each word.


'Ahhhhhhhh," screamed Emily with each strike, finally she snapped. "Fuck off you fucking psycho." As soon as the words were out of her mouth Emily shrunk inside. She knew she was in serious trouble. Guard Jennings stopped beating her ass and moved down towards her head. She crouched down until she was face to face with a shivering Emily.


"Pig, five strokes, insubordination. Pig, five strokes, disrespect," Jennings spoke into her lapel mic. "Request alpha position for punishment of prisoner pig." Jennings crouched and waited for a reply, watching the fear and confusion wash over Emily's face.


"Request granted," crackled from the collar of Jennings' jacket. A huge smile lit up Jennings' face sending Emily into a spiral of despair. She had no idea what was going on but she knew it would go badly for her.


"Ah pig, you have really made my day. I thought Sergeant Mailer may have requested the honour but it seems she wants as little to do with you as possible. I had better get a move on or there will be a backlog in processing. As it is, because of your dimwitted performance there will be a few girls spending their first night in a holding cage."


With that, Duard Jennings took hold of the trigger handle of the hose and began to spray every nook and cranny of Emily's stretched body. She started at Emily's feet and slowly moved up her legs being careful to direct all the flow down the table towards the drain. When she came to Emily's pussy she took special care to clean the plump lips, even pushing the nozzle into her pussy and squirting a few long jets up the length of her vagina.


Emily screamed when the water was forced into her pussy. The power of the jet had sent the water up her full length to impact on her cervix, only to come gushing back out around the nozzle. Jennings enjoyed this effect and repeated the process a number of times. Then a weird glint came into her eye. She removed the nozzle from Emily's pussy and began to play the stream gently over her clitoris. At first Emily was simply glad to have it out of her vagina but the gentle pressure soon began to have an effect on her.


She could hardly believe that in the midst of the degradation and pain that she could be aroused. She rationalised it away. Of course if someone is going to play with your clitoris it's going to feel good. And god did the water pressure gently massaging her clitoris feel good. Suddenly guard Jennings increased the flow to full jet blast and forced Emily's hood from her clitoris, exposing the sensitive nubbin of nerve fibres to the direct, harsh spray of water. It was like being scoured by a sandblast and Emily screamed and jerked in her bonds. Jennings only laughed and continued with the washdown, spraying up Emily's back and sides, over her head, wetting her hair, and face.


Emily spluttered and blinked her eyes to clear them of the water. Her hair was plastered to her head and now that the warm spray was no longer playing along her body she began to feel the cool bite of the air-conditioning again. Her body was cold and shivering, except for two round pink spots, one on each buttock, where guard Jennings had spanked her with the wooden scrubbing brush. Emily had no idea what it looked like but she could feel the warmth radiate though her quivering cheeks.


While Emily was thinking on her abused backside she began to smell the lovely citrus smell of oranges and lemons. She had always loved the smell of fresh oranges but where was it coming from.


"Pig wake up. God you're a lazy bugger. You are supposed to be paying attention to how I clean you. There are some major infractions for poor hygiene. I know you're a slow cunt, pig but I can't afford to go too slow with this so you had better pay attention. I am using an industrial cleaning agent, you may be able to smell it already. It's guaranteed to get anything clean, even a filthy shiteater like you. It's also an antibacterial so it will hopefully kill any germs you may have lurking in that nasty carcass."


With that Jennings started to squirt some of the orange liquid onto the back of Emily's legs before applying the stiff bristled brush. She started scrubbing as if she was cleaning graffiti off a wall. Emily began to groan as she felt her skin being scrubbed away. She was sure the bitch guard was trying to scrub all the way to her bones. Even through the pain she was feeling from the intense prickling of the harsh bristles of the scrubbing brush, she began to feel more ashamed than she had throughout the examination with the doctor. Her face was burning with the humiliation of actually being washed and scrubbed by another person as if she was a baby. The constant babble from the guard didn't help her mental state either.


"Dirty little pig gonna get clean now. You going to stay clean and be a good little pig?" cooed the guard.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am," replied Emily softly, wondering why the heat from her fiery face and chest wasn't turning the water into steam. She hadn't done anything to deserve this. Through her pained groans from the furious scrubbing Jennings was giving her legs, Emily tried to compose herself. But the thought of her body lying there, strapped down, her most private and feminine parts splayed and raised, being scrubbed like some filthy farm animal, would not leave her. She closed her eyes and sobbed gently to herself, hoping it wouldn't be noticed. Why she should care if they saw her crying now she didn't know, it just seemed to be so important to her to appear to be strong even though she wasn't.


She could feel the zealous scrubbing rising up her legs and a thought suddenly struck her like a shock from one of those evil batons. Her sex would be next. It was splayed and vulnerable and she knew this bitch would pay some special attention to it. The scrubbing on her legs had been painful and she felt as if she had been rubbed raw. How could she survive anything remotely like that on her tender labia? She gritted her teeth as she felt a squirt of the cleaning liquid land on her upturned buttocks and then a squirt directly on her vagina. She knew what was coming and started to breathe deeply trying to prepare for the pain to explode along her sex.


"Pig what are you doing with that asshole. Are you going to shit again and wreck all my nice cleaning work you fucking gross turd."


Emily had been unaware she was tightening her ass, making her anus jerk in and out, in fear of the inevitable attack on her tender parts.


"No Guard Jennings Ma’am," replied a cringing and totally cowed Emily.


"Then what the fuck do you think you are doing. Don't think I'm gonna stick anything in there. I'm not interested in getting a filthy slut like you off. God I've heard of whores before but you take the cake pig," said Jennings, shaking her head in incredulity. "Well pig do you want your fat ass stuffed, is that it?"


"No Guard Jennings Ma’am, I don't want to have my fat ass stuffed," she whispered.


"Then stop it pig," exclaimed Jennings as she slapped Emily's ass with the wooden brush. Emily yelped at the sharp pain in her buttock.


"And stop lying, if I want any shit out of you I'll squeeze it out of your head. You got that pig," bawled the irate guard.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am."


No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she felt the bristles of the scrubbing brush pricking her vulva. It felt like she was being scrubbed with a steel-wire brush. There was no way that she wasn't bleeding back there. Emily gritted her teeth as the brush continued to scrub up and down her slit, occasionally moved up giving a few quick scrubs to her asshole before moving back down and once again scouring her intimate cleft. Emily was exhausted and all she could do was lie there and grunt in pain as the scrubbing continued. Her life had been reduced to simply wanting the current torture to end. She had no thought for the future, she didn't care what would happen tomorrow or even what would happen in five minutes time. All she wanted was for the pain in her vagina to end. She knew she was ruined. Her labia felt like flaps of raw meat.


Finally, Jennings tired of working over Emily's pussy and moved up her back, squirting soap and scrubbing her back and sides. Emily groaned in relief and lowered her head to the table. Her vagina was still burning from the vicious scrubbing it had received but at least it was over. She had prayed for it to end but now that it had she feared what would be next.


Emily's tears had finally dried up. She still burned with the shame of her experience but she felt as if she would never cry again. Her eyes were red and swollen. She lay there, spent, as the brush moved up her neck and began scrubbing her hair. She whimpered in despair as the foul-smelling, as she now thought of it, industrial cleaner was used to lather up her hair. She was so proud of her hair, using the latest and most expensive shampoos and conditioners, she had always managed to keep her long, black hair lustrous and shiny.


Emily squeezed her eyes closed as the brush continued its journey across her body and began scrubbing her face. Even though she kept her eyes closed tight the soap still stung ferociously. She didn't dare open her mouth, so simply whined in self-pity.


"Okay pig, wash-down then the other side," said Jennings as she sprayed Emily's body with the soft mister, washing all the soap off her freshly scrubbed skin. Once her body was free of soap Jennings unlocked the cuffs at her wrists and ankles.


Emily was totally defeated and simply lay there waiting for further instructions. She could not escape. She was in prison. She couldn't fight back, these sadistic bitches would simply hurt her more. She couldn't even voice her outrage as she would only be punished further. Small beads of water continued to run off Emily's shivering body, her once alabaster skin now a raging pink.


"Turn over toerag. I can see we are going to have problems with your work ethic. Every fucking chance you get you're trying to slack off."


When Emily didn't move guard Jennings followed up with a hard slap on her upturned ass causing Emily to scramble onto her back, anything to avoid more punishment to her aching buttocks. It was made very difficult as neither bar had been removed and while her ass was stuck up in the air her neck was trapped close to the table making the simple manoeuvre of turning over a most difficult task. Emily squirmed and struggled trying to find some kind of purchase on the slick tabletop.


WHAP. Another blow from the wooden brush landed on her still vulnerable buttocks driving Emily to greater efforts. She scrambled and wriggled trying desperately to turn over, attempting only to hide her burning asscheeks, not even considering what would be on display once she was on her back.


She finally managed to turn herself over; her buttocks now resting painfully on the central bar, her sex thrust wantonly into the air. Her neck was sore from the constant bumping and jarring as she frantically tried to change positions. Emily moved her hands up to protect her flaming vagina. The cool air seemed to be making the hurt worse. She still couldn't see what was going on but as soon as her fingers touched her labia she knew she would be alright. There was nothing different! They were smooth and intact and a little warm. A small smile lit her face with the knowledge that she hadn't been disfigured by the evil guard's obscene attentions.


"Pig!" screamed guard Jennings. Emily jumped and instinctively drew her hands away from her vagina. It was as if she was a little girl caught playing with herself by an irate mother. Emily's chest and face flushed with shame, she knew she had not been doing anything wrong but she knew what was coming and the humiliation affected her deeply.


"Goddamn pig. A bigger slut than you just doesn't exist. Soon as your hands are free you're busy diddling yourself. I was going to have a little play there myself, after all I always like to have some pudenda on my agenda, but that would only be like a red rag to a bull for a whore like you. I was going to leave you free for now but I can see that with a cockweasel like you that is not a good idea."


So saying, Guard Jennings grabbed each of Emily's arms and legs and once again stretched her out in a taut spreadeagle on the wet steel table.


"We've just got to get those fat titties clean and make sure not a hint of shit remains on that dog's ass you call a face. We wouldn't want you going in front of the warden licking your lips all the time now would we?"


"No Guard Jennings Ma’am," Emily replied obediently.


"Oh pig you didn't really understand what I meant then did you?" asked Jennings, an evil glint in her eye.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am," Emily replied in trepidation. She knew what she would have to say.


"Then show me that you understood pig and I won't be angry at you for lying."


"Guard Jennings Ma’am I would be licking my lips trying to taste the shit on them and that would not be a good thing because the warden would think I was disgusting," replied Emily, her voice quavering.


"Damn straight you would you nasty felcher. But I guarantee the warden already thinks you're disgusting, everyone who meets you does. She will also have your updated file so she will be appraised of your shiteating proclivities. We don't want you licking your lips all the time because then you would be enjoying yourself. Isn't that right pig?"


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am." Emily was on the brink of tears, though how she did not know. This was the most humiliating thing she had ever been forced to do. The fact that none of it was true meant nothing. She was made to say disgusting things about herself, taking orders blindly like a dog. She could refuse to do so but it would only mean her pain and humiliation would go on for longer. She still had enough sense to realise that.


"Ok pig lets get you finished and get the Doc back in here."


Guard Jennings proceeded to wash the now available tops of Emily's feet and legs; giving her mound only a few cursory scrubs, enough to cause an intense stabbing pain in her abused sexlips, before washing her belly and on up to her breasts. Emily's nipples were still standing to attention and now that they were exposed to the cool air they hardened further, causing the vulnerable girl great discomfort. She was dreading the touch of the brush on her sensitive nubbins. Guard Jennings scrubbed her breasts in a rough up and down motion, squashing the fleshy mounds hard into her ribs. When the stiff bristles rubbed across her nipples Emily thrashed in her bonds. It felt as if her nipples were being ripped off. She had always had sensitive nipples but the prolonged period of engorgement, and they had been at attention for more than two hours, had caused a hypersensitivity in them. She had never felt pain like this before. The enema, the swats with the brush, the scrubbing of her tender bottom and vagina - they had all been nothing compared to this torture. Emily shrieked at the top of her voice, rasping the back of her throat with the force of her scream.


SLAP. Emily's head rocked to the left. Her right cheek stung and tears welled in her eyes.


"Shut the fuck up pig. You'd think someone was killing you. You have to be clean. I don't know why you are fighting it so much. You can't be let loose in this fine establishment looking and smelling like the same filthy cunt you were when you arrived. Just deal with it. From now on you will be forced to be clean. Life here will be much better for you if you just accept it." With that pearl of wisdom Guard Jennings went back to scrubbing Emily's tits.


"Fuck," Emily gasped.


"That mouth is going to get you in trouble pig. Cursing is not permitted at Pentonbridge. Do you understand you dense fuckwit," barked guard Jennings.


"Yes Guard Jenngluuurgh," spluttered Emily as the brush was thrust in her mouth, the acidic soap scalding her tongue and throat.


"Then let that be a lesson to you pig. Didn't your mother ever wash your mouth out with soap when you swore?"


"No Guard Jennings Ma’am," replied Emily, desperately trying to spit the caustic soap out of her mouth.


"No I doubt she would have wasted much time on a little fathead like you. Well pig just one more spot to clean and we're all done. Now I know you will appreciate me after this. I am the only one here who provides this service and I don't do it for just anyone. Only truly nasty, vile little sluts like you are eligible for this cleaning service," Jennings sneered. She put the brush down on the table and moved out of Emily's sight, returning with a smug grin on her face and a small brush in her hand.


"Pig, in its previous incarnation this was a bottle-brush. Now after a little creative thinking from yours truly," she gave a slight curtsey, "it's a cunt-brush." Jennings beamed at the horrified girl. Emily shook her head and whimpered like a wounded puppy. How could a woman do this to another woman. The brush was 4 inches long, covered in lengthy, and she had no doubt sharp, bristles, with a wire handle projecting from one end. She knew this was going to hurt but also knew there was nothing she could do.


Jennings placed the head of the cunt-brush at the opening of Emily's vagina. "Hopefully this will teach you that filthy cunts must come clean sooner or later," taunted Guard Jennings as she pushed the cunt-brush into the waiting pussy.


Emily immediately tensed up and tried her best to keep the brush from going in. Jennings only laughed as she felt Emily's pussy grip the brush and kept on pushing until the it's entire length was firmly seated deep inside the splayed vagina. Jennings released the brush and looked appraisingly at the three inches of wire handle protruding from Emily's now stuffed pussy.


That wasn't too bad thought Emily. She could feel the bristles pushing against the delicate inner walls of her feminine canal but apart from the unpleasant prickly sensation she felt no real pain. Jennings saw the relief wash over Emily's tense features and was waiting for just this moment to proceed with her purging of this dirty slut's cunt.


She grabbed the wire and with determination began scraping it in and out of the sensitive and already abused vagina, thrust so rudely up from the table. Emily felt the breath rush out of her lungs, as if sucked by an industrial vacuum. She tried to scream but was still gasping for enough air to fill her lungs. Her eyes flew wide as the bristles were pulled to full extension as the brush was pulled back out along her vaginal walls, each tiny plastic tormentor felt like a needle piercing her most intimate flesh. Back and forth the diabolical brush swept her tender pink folds, causing discomfort on each directional push and exquisite torture at each change of direction, as the bristles extended fully and pushed out the walls of Emily's sex to accommodate its new found girth. Emily tried to absorb the pain and wait for the torment to stop but with each fresh push or pull a new spike of agony drove up through her belly and into her chest.


She pulled with all her might against her bonds, but she could not budge them an inch, she tried wiggling her ass from side to side to upset the fierce guard's rhythm but Jennings only laughed and made some derogatory comment about her enjoying it and wiggling like an alleycat on heat. Emily began to feel lightheaded, due to the fact that she had lifted her head and pressed her neck tight against the restraint bar, cutting off her airway. But before she could sink thankfully into unconsciousness Jennings pulled the brush from her abraded vagina and tossed it onto the table next to the scrubbing brush.


"There we are pig, all nice and clean now. Aren't you appreciative that I took time out of the busy schedule to make sure your dirty cunt was cleaned properly?" asked Jennings, fishing for compliments as was her wont.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am," gasped Emily, "thank you for cleaning my dirty cunt properly." Her poor abused sex still radiated pain throughout her body and she doubted whether she would ever feel normal again. This day had been one tortuous nightmare followed by another. She had thought that nothing could be worse than a catheter stuffed inside her urethra but the stinging bite of the cunt-brush was beyond her wildest imaginings.


As her mind spiralled in despair, thinking back on the humiliations and pain of the last few hours, she felt a gentle pressure at her clitoris. Jennings was sitting on the edge of the table leaning over and delicately pulling back her clitoral hood, exposing her large clitoris.


"My, my, isn't this a beauty. This lovely little button is wasted on a dense pile of filth like you pig. My girlfriend's is about the size of a tic tac and that's fully aroused. This is three times as large and your slut reaction hasn't even set in yet. Let me just see if I can coax her out shall I," cooed Jennings, a mischievious smile twitching her lips. "I know I said I wouldn't but with you offering it up so nicely I just couldn't resist."


This was what Emily had been afraid of. She had never had a lesbian experience in her life. She had never even kissed a girl, she wasn't really one for close girlfriends. She had kind of figured that she would be exposed to some lesbianism while in prison, after all there had to be some truth to all those prison movies, didn't there? But from a guard! On the first day! Trussed up like some prize pig! The irony of the saying was not lost on her, even in the midst of this horror. She knew if she offended Guard Jennings in any way she would be punished so she lay back and attempted to think of Josh. Her last lover had been gentle and attentive and had always loved to play with her clit.


As Jennings began to tenderly squeeze her clitoris Emily imagined Josh's skilled fingers were upon her instead and she began to feel the familiar tingling heat of the beginnings of her arousal.


"That's it pig. Inflate that little love bud for your good friend Guard Jennings. You see pig if you're a good little slut then sometimes you get rewarded."



God couldn't this bitch shut up for two minutes. Emily was even denied her mental escape, the continuous cooing of the clearly aroused guard kept her focused in the here and now. Emily could feel her pussy begin to secrete her juices in response to the extremely skilled manipulations of the guard. So this was what a lesbian was like. She supposed that only having vaginas to play with they became very skilled indeed. She tried to fight the pleasurable sensations starting to flow outwards and upwards from her now gaping sex, her labia parted and engorged as her arousal surged, but she had never been very good at holding back the floodgates of her arousal. Once it had begun, she was lost. She released herself into the maelstrom of her impending orgasm.


"There we are pig. I knew it wouldn't take long for a slut like you to show me what you are made of. Look at that clit. What a fucking monster. God I'd love to take a picture for Sarah. Maybe I can work something out with Processing. Right, that's all I needed to see. Let's get you off the table and drying off while I call the doctor back in."


What! screamed Emily inside her head. I mean good, she quickly corrected herself. She was glad that she hadn't been forced to come for that perverted bitch. She knew she couldn't have stopped herself but to have done that would have been the final indignity. She would have enjoyed the moment, she knew. But the aftermath would have been too much to bear.


Jennings uncuffed her arms and legs and walked to the telephone on the desk to page the doctor. Emily lay on the table, her mound still thrust towards the ceiling, her nipples still pointing skywards also, exhausted but still coming down from the slight sexual high she had been forced to experience.


"Stand to attention pig," bellowed guard Jennings.


Emily scrambled to raise herself from the table and only succeeded in slipping on the slick metal and falling to the floor. She heard the guard muttering something about "stupid lazy fuckwit" and "clumsy cunt" but she took no notice, focusing all her attention on trying to right herself and obey the order. Her legs seemed to be asleep and as she leant against the table in an attempt to rise a wave of pins and needles prickled her legs, from her toes to her thighs. Emily fought back the pain and stood to attention as she had been taught, shoulders square, legs apart, hands behind her back, left wrist over right. She began grinding her teeth trying to work through the sharp pricking pain in her legs until a sharp look from Jennings told her she had better keep quiet.


It took a few minutes for full sensation to come back to her extremities and during this time guard Jennings had tidied up the cleaning items, or torture implements as Emily thought of them. The cold had once again begun to bite and the water on her body was drying very slowly. Her shivering was becoming worse, but it wasn't until her teeth started chattering that guard Jennings finally threw her a small handtowel and ordered her to dry herself.


Emily worked with gusto, drying every nook and cranny trying to get as warm as she could. She gingerly applied the towel to her privates, afraid to cause herself pain in the abused area.


"Stop playing with your fat cunt pig. I gave you the towel to dry yourself with not to frig yourself with," chuckled Guard Jennings.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am," she replied. Emily bet she had been watching and waiting for her to dry between her legs so she could scold her again. She concluded her drying by thoroughly drying her hair with the, by now, wet towel. She finished drying herself and stood straight, looking to guard Jennings for instructions on what to do with the towel.


"Put it in the hamper pig," said guard Jennings noting the look. Emily had only taken two steps towards the hamper before Jennings yelled "Don't dawdle", startling her and making her run to the hamper, deposit the wet towel and hurry back to stand at attention.


"Who told you to run pig?"


"No one Guard Jennings Ma’am," replied a confused Emily. What could she have done wrong now?


"Then why did you run?"

"I thought you wanted me to hurry Guard Jennings Ma’am so I did."


"Ah pig there's your problem. Do you see it pig?"

"No Guard Jennings Ma’am," replied a now very confused young girl.


"That's because you’re a dense bonehead isn't it?"

"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am."


"You’re so goddamn dense that light bends around you, fucking window licker," sneered guard Jennings. "You thought I wanted you to hurry. You thought! I dare say your limited mental processes were stretched to the limit on that one. And you still got it wrong. Does that indicate anything to you pig, hmmm. Maybe you shouldn't think you should just do as you're told. Does that sound like a good idea to you pig?"

"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am."


"Well then let's see. Lift your left leg pig."


Emily's face flushed red with shame. She was being ordered to perform like a trained monkey. And she knew she had to perform well. Emily lifted her left leg off the floor.


"Higher you silly pinhead. So your knee is level with your waist," Guard Jennings corrected.


Emily raised her leg higher to the desired position, fixing her gaze on the tiles on the wall opposite. She knew if she looked at her tormentor she would break down.


"Now bark like a dog," commanded Jennings, her entire face lit up with glee at her control over this docile bitch.


"Woof, Woof," barked Emily, fresh tears threatening to spill over her cheeks.


"No, no cumbubble," spat guard Jennings, "a small dog. A little yappy annoying dog. That is more suited to you."


"Ruff, ruff." Emily could not hold them back. Tears streamed down her cheeks, tiny sobs causing her breasts to bounce enticingly.


"Okay enough of you're annoying noise. Now put that leg down and lift your right leg to the same position. Higher, pig. Right now walk in position like that until I tell you to stop. And make sure each knee is raised properly or I won't be happy and you don't want to upset me do you pig?"


"No Guard Jennings Ma’am."


'Right you are bitch, I'm the only friend you've got now."

What the fuck was this crazy fucker on about. Friends! Emily risked a glance at her tormentor, she was watching her intently a hand gently rubbing her breasts. Fucking pervert, Emily thought. Fucking lesbian pervert. Yeah, she could imagine what kind of friends this sick bitch was thinking of. Hopefully once she was out of here and in with other prisoners she would never see her again.


Emily was still highstepping when the doctor entered the room.


"What's going on here Jennings?" inquired Doctor Monetti, the scene before her most curious.


"An idea of pig's Doc. She wanted to try obeying orders for once instead of being an insubordinate shitstain like usual."


"Very good Jennings, you have made some improvement with pig already. I will mention this to the warden."


What! shouted Emily, the amazement echoing around her head as she continued highstepping, afraid to even slow down. That bitch Jennings was getting the credit for her improvement. Christ, Emily thought. This was really getting to her. You are doing what you have to to survive in this hellhole. You are not improving because there was nothing wrong with you in the first place, she tried to convince herself.


"Right pig that's enough. No need to show off in front of the doctor."


Bitch, Emily spat silently as she stopped highstepping and stood at attention as the doctor approached.


"A breast examination is quite simple and I believe even you will be able to master it quite easily pig. I am a little surprised that you have not already been taught how to do one. Too busy seducing men to see a gynaecologist I suppose. Now place your hands on your hips. Of course this you can't do yourself but I want tension on the suspensory ligaments to check the axillae for lymph node enlargement before moving on to the glandular tissue," Doctor Monetti explained as she felt Emily's armpits. She then moved in front of Emily and leaned down to examine her nipples. "No dimpling or nipple deformity. It would be nice to examine them out of the engorged state but that seems too much to ask of such a slut."


"Yeah doc a real couple of glasscutters she's got there," smirked Jennings.


"Right raise your left arm and put your hand behind your head," Doctor Monetti continued a slight twitch of the mouth the only indication she had heard Jennings crudity.


Emily meekly raised her arm and ran her fingers through the hair at the back of her head. Running her hands through her hair had always comforted her in the past. She needed all the comfort she could get now. She knew what was going to happen. She knew how to do a breast exam. She read it all from a book. She had never bothered to do it however, she was far too young to worry about that sort of thing.


"Other hand behind your back pig, don't be such a slack fuck," interjected Jennings. Emily calmly put her other hand in the small of her back and waited for the indignity to begin. This was the reason she rarely went to gynaecologists. She disliked the men touching her, and could never stand it from the women.


Doctor Monetti cupped her left breast and began massaging and pressing with her left hand while her right remained stationary, the fingertips centred over her nipple. Emily could feel the familiar tingling beginning in her pussy. She was becoming aroused from the expert manipulation of her breasts, more significantly the constant warm pressure on her nipples. She had been able to achieve orgasm from breast stimulation alone on a number of occasions and she fervently hoped and prayed this would not become one of those. She thought of the nine times table in her head trying to distract herself but the gentle pressure was insistent and her focus kept coming back to the wonderful feeling radiating from her nipples and pussy. Her sex was starting to spasm and Emily begged anyone, whoever was listening God, Buddha, whoever the fuck else was out there, to please let her control herself just this once. She swore she would never have sex again, not that it would be a problem for a while at least. Just as she could feel the building pressure reach boiling point, or more accurately explosion point, the doctor stopped manipulating her breast and drew a few odd shaped contours on a pair of stylised breasts on her chart. Emily tried to will herself down while she had the chance. The doctor would soon begin on her right breast and the nightmare would begin again.


"Switch arms pig," ordered the doctor, which Emily dutifully did.


She was given only a few moments respite in which to calm herself before the doctor returned and worked on her right breast, massaging and prodding, rubbing the nipple in circular motions and driving Emily crazy. She fought with all her might, trying to monitor her body in as cold and calculating a way as she could, hoping to control herself. She thought of her vagina, thinking of the lips puffy and pink with arousal and how they would look now they had been denuded of their feminine protection, her thick white cream that would be forming inside her, flowing towards her opening hoping to ease the passage of the invader that would never come, noting the tightening of her stomach and the warm flushing of her chest and face, turning her smooth white skin into a mottled red signal of her arousal and humiliation. Thinking on her painfully hard nipples, the left open to the cool draft of the air conditioning her right firmly manipulated under the doctors expert, warm hands. She felt her orgasm rising, causing her to gasp involuntarily and close her eyes on the nightmare of her humiliation. She was so close but she wasn't going to make it. She was going to come and come explosively in front of these women, one a sterile doctor and the other a demented lesbian. She resigned herself to her fate and gave in, riding the wave of pleasure towards an orgasm she now desperately needed.


And then it stopped. The doctor removed her hands made a few more squiggly drawings on the chart and stepped back.


"Pig I hope you were taking notice and not just indulging your sluttish tendencies. I don't have time right now but the next time you come in here I will expect you to perform that examination for me. There is a time in every girl's life when she has to start taking responsibility for herself and just because your time is being forced on you by being here at Pentonbridge doesn't mean you should be flippant about it.


"Jesus," guard Jennings exclaimed from behind Emily, where she had remained seated throughout the breast examination.


"What is it Jennings?" inquired the doctor.


"Look at pig's cunt doc. There's a big string of cream hanging down. The fucking dirty slut was using your examination to get herself off. Fucking hell!" Jennings couldn't believe it. "I left the bitch uncuffed for two seconds before and she already started playing with herself. Do you think she's some kind of nympho?"


"I doubt it. Nymphomania is a recognised mental illness, like any other addiction. Pig is just an ordinary slut. One with a little less self control than others I grant you but a slut nonetheless. Isn't that right pig?"

"Yes Doctor Monetti Ma’am," Emily managed to gasp out in between shallow breaths. She was still coming down from her almost-orgasm and hearing that she actually had some of her cream dangling from her pussylips made her want to curl up and die. At least she hadn't come. She held on to that, repeating it like a mantra, as if that was all that was important.


"You're finished pig. I hope not to see you for six months," finished Doctor Monetti, clearing her notes.

"Pig, say thank you doctor."


"Thank you Doctor Monetti Ma’am," said Emily just wanting to get out of here. The doctor didn't even look back, simply waved her arm dismissively. Guard Jennings fastened handcuffs to Emily's wrists.


"Okey dokey pig, on to Processing. Attention! About face! Quick march," ordered Jennings, holding open the door to the examination room. Emily began a brisk march, her movements slightly awkward, hampered as she was by her hands cuffed behind her. She was being made to walk naked down these corridors, she could be seen by God knows how many people. She thought that her hours of degradation and forced nudity in the examination room would have inured her to being this exposed but she still felt humiliated walking in the open. She couldn't cover any part of herself and she was sure anyone they met would notice the thick strand of white cream dangling from between her legs.


She was surprised when they had walked for only 50 metres, thankfully without meeting anyone, when she was ordered to stop in front of a door marked 'Processing' in large bold letters. Emily was hopeful this would be better.


Chapter 6 Processing


"Well pig," exclaimed guard Jennings, nodding at the door. Emily looked at the door then back at her guard. Even with her hands cuffed behind her this sadist wanted her to open the door. Emily resigned herself to obeying all orders she was given, anything to speed this humiliating process up and get into the comfort of a cell, or so she hoped.


She turned around and felt for the door handle with her cuffed hands.


"What the fuck do you think you are doing pig? Did you study to be so expertly stupid or does it come naturally?"


Emily froze, dumbfounded. What had she done wrong now?


"Well pig, which is it?" asked an impatient guard Jennings.


"It comes naturally to me Guard Jennings Ma’am" Emily replied meekly. She couldn't win with this woman. Everything she did seemed to leave her open for more abuse.


"I thought so pig. Now listen to me. Lowlife bitches like you do not just open doors. First you knock. Weren't you ever taught any manners?"


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am."

"So you chose to deliberately piss me off is that it?"

"No Guard Jennings Ma’am, I am too stupid to remember any manners Ma’am," Emily hoped that self-deprecating statement would placate her tormentor so they could just move on.


"Pig I think that is a breakthrough, I really do. I have finally enabled you to admit your stupidity without any prompting. I should be doing therapy instead of babysitting jizzbag's like you. Well don't just stand there like a stunned mullet, knock."


Emily turned around and tried her best to reach out with her cuffed hands. "Not like that pig, Jesus Christ. Do you think the first thing the person opening that door wants to see is your ugly fat ass. Turn around and knock properly. Not that your face is much of an improvement."


Emily turned slowly around, her shoulders slumped in defeat. She was beginning to think her first attempt at anything, no matter what it was or how easy a task, would always be wrong. She stood facing the door, leaned towards it and banged her head against the door twice. The door vibrated with a deep boom and rattled on its hinges.


"I said 'knock', not 'knock down' you daft cunt. Working with you is enough to drive someone insane." Jennings reached past her and threw open the door.


As Emily was ushered inside with the help of a push in the back, she noticed two middle aged women seated behind a large grey, plastic desktop, a large stack of files on the right side of the table and a smaller stack on the left. The wall behind the table was completely covered in filing cabinets, from floor to ceiling. A small ladder, mounted on rails, allowed access to the higher drawers. The wall to her left had a height chart, identical to the one she had been photographed against when she had been arrested. The wall to the right had a large square opening like that in restaurants, with the kitchen out the back and a wide serving counter of stainless steel. Through the window she could see large numbers of crates and boxes, all stacked neatly and in precise order. Beside the door on her left was another chair with stirrups, identical to that in the exam room in which she had just spent two harrowing hours. What could they possibly need one of those for in here.


"Stop gawking pig. Step up to the table," commanded Guard Jennings. Emily walked towards the table but was brought up short by a shout from behind.


"STOP. Look down pig. You see those two yellow circles. That is where your feet go. They do not move from there unless ordered to. You understand pig?"

"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am."


"These two lovely ladies are Miss Foster and Miss Beaumont. They are the processing clerks who were unlucky enough to be rostered on today. Ladies this is pig."


Emily looked at the two women seated serenely behind the desk. They both looked about 40 years old and both as plain as the table behind which they sat.


"Well pig show some respect," barked Guard Jennings swatting her lightly on the arm. Emily gave a small curtsey, blushing furiously and feeling exactly how she was being treated, like a six year old girl being introduced by her mummy.


"Pleased to meet you Miss Foster. Pleased to meet you Miss Beaumont."

"Ma’am you retarded dunce," spat Jennings, her mouth almost touching Emily's ear.


"Pleased to meet you Miss Foster Ma’am. Pleased to meet you Miss Beaumont Ma’am." Emily curtseyed again for good measure. She would do her best not to annoy these women as well.


"Prisoner number," said Miss Foster, the fatter and plainer of the two, in an uninterested voice. Emily stood at attention, her feet carefully placed in the yellow circles, her eyes on Miss Foster, totally unaware the question had been asked of her.


Foster looked to the guard for some explanation.


"Sorry Joan you must not have heard yet. You will have it as 23984. Her designation has changed to pig. I'll let pig explain why."


Emily could hear the smile in Jennings' voice and dreaded what she must do.


"My name is pig because I love to snort like a pig," Emily blurted out. She kept her eyes on the file drawers above the women’s heads but she could see their reaction.


"I think you have confused them a little pig. If you show them I think they will understand." The smile in Jennings' voice sounded to Emily as if it was splitting her face apart.


"Snuuught," she snorted, her breasts jiggling slightly as her chest rattled with the vibration.


"I see," said Foster, her eyebrows raised as she turned to her partner.


"We have the unamended file here. Emily Johannsen, 22 years old, sentenced to 26 months for fraud and embezzlement. Additional: no parole possible, sentence to be served on D-wing, Pentonbridge. Additional, Judge Pitman: base defiler, moral leper, slut, nihilist, agitator."


Emily Johannsen! That was her name. It had been so long since she had heard it. What was she saying? It had only been a few hours. At least it wouldn't be long now. Soon she would be with other prisoners and she would get treated like a person again.


"That's not all ladies. Look at the cunt." Both clerks looked intently at Emily.


"No, the cunt's cunt." Their gaze travelled down her body until it rested between her legs. Emily could see the surprise on their faces as they leaned over the table to get a closer view of her naked sex.


"What is that?" inquired Beaumont, a hint of understanding already in her voice.


"It looks like semen," interjected the other clerk. "She wasn't raped on the way here was she?"


"Of course not. I've just come from Examination where she was thoroughly cleaned. And I mean thoroughly ladies," Jennings smiled lasciviously.


"Oh Rose you're incorrigible," replied Foster, a smirk on her face also. Jennings was well known for her little idiosyncrasies.


"No ladies that's the slut's own cunt juice. Thick and white, though I doubt particularly creamy. She almost came while doc was giving her a breast examination. She was constantly trying to frig herself during the whole exam."

"What is she, some kind of nympho?" asked Maggie Beaumont.


"I thought that too. The Doc said no though, just a slut without any self-control. You'll never believe what else she tried to do."

Emily's already flushed face and chest turned a darker shade of crimson. It wasn't going to stop with the end of the exam. She would be branded for good. She hung her head in shame and tried to fight back the tears.


"She tried to eat her own shit after she had been given an enema."

"Oooh, Rose that's disgusting." Joan Foster's face was screwed up in disgust. Both clerks looked at Emily with a new found abhorrence and wanted to get her out of their department as quickly as possible.


"Don't blame me Joan. I tried as hard as I could to stop her. She didn't manage to get any but she's going to have to be watched during ablutions. Doc has her signed up for some corrective courses as well, so we can only hope."


It took all of Emily's willpower not to turn and run screaming from the room. She looked longingly at the filing drawers on the wall in front of her, hoping she could crawl in one of them and disappear forever.


"Ok then let's get this sickening cow processed and out of here." Both clerks stood up and moved over to the camera set up in front of the measurement wall. Foster changed the memory stick in the digital camera and adjusted the tripod.


"Well move yourself pig, you've made everyone late as it is," commented Guard Jennings.


Emily hurried over in front of the camera and stood to attention. She noticed there were four yellow circles on the floor here, one in each compass direction. She carefully placed her feet in the two circles so she would be facing the camera. This would be alright. She had done this before, though she hadn't been naked last time of course.


She tried hard to become comfortable with her nudity. She had a great body: nice firm breasts; fairly flat stomach, a little bit of a tummy was sexy she thought; taut athletic legs; a high, pert ass. She had a body to be proud of. So why did she feel so childlike and small when she was naked in front of these women. She should stand tall and show them what a real woman was. But she remained still, head bowed forlornly, unable to find the confidence she desperately needed.


"Head up pig, look into the camera," ordered Foster. Emily looked up and into the lens. It felt somehow worse when one of these women, whom she had met only moments before, were so casually calling her pig.


"Rose would you take the cuffs off please. She needs to be able to move her arms," Foster requested.


Why would she need to move her arms Emily mused. What kind of pictures were these? The colour drained out of her face when she realised the only reason for new pictures to be taken was that they were going to be unlike the others. No simple head shots here.


Her cuffs were removed and the guard moved back behind the camera. Her wrists hurt from the tight steel cuffs but she dared not attempt to rub them. She didn't want to be accused of trying to play with her bottom or some other ludicrous claim she was sure Jennings would concoct.


Glaring lights suddenly blazed into Emily's eyes. She could no longer see anything behind the camera. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust enough for her to stop squinting. She could barely make out three shadowy figures beyond the lights.


FLASH. Emily blinked from the sudden blinding light. Red spots danced before her eyes and she lifted her hands to her face to rub away the after-effects of the flash.


"PIG!" screamed guard Jennings. Emily's hands flew behind her back, as if she was afraid they would be cut off.


"See what I have to deal with. This bitch is no doubt vying for the title of the dunce of D-wing. I did manage to teach her one thing though. Pig show these ladies how well you prance," Jennings suggested.


Without a second thought Emily began highstepping as she had done in the exam room, bringing her knees up to waist level with each step.


"She took to this like a duck to water, or more appropriately like a fly to shit," laughed Jennings.


"She probably enjoys the way it makes her pussy gape each time she steps," observed Maggie Beaumont.


"Maggie stop it. You know I don't like such talk. I expect it from Rose but I thought you had more decorum," lamented a shocked Joan Foster. She disliked all this crude sexual talk and she hated having to deal with these foul, naked inmates. But it was the job she was stuck with and she tried to do her best.


Finally, Emily thought, someone who wouldn't make her feel like complete crap and constantly talk about her vagina and how disgusting she was.


"Oh Maggie, I hadn't noticed that before. It does gape open. And look at that cream-string swing when she steps." Jennings was enjoying herself immensely, choosing to ignore the prudish clerk.


"Pig turn to your right," ordered a now even more disgusted Joan. She just wanted this slut processed and gone. The aura of sluttishness was even affecting her long time friend.


Emily cringed when the nice clerk, or so she had thought, called her pig. She didn't like crude talk but she still called her pig as if it meant nothing. She turned to the right, her eyes still dancing with the flashspots.


"Hands by your sides pig. And stop that bloody stupid crap," admonished Foster. Emily had continued to highstep after she had turned, afraid to stop unless told to. She stood still as ordered and waited for the next photo.


FLASH


"Turn the other way pig."


FLASH


"Maggie would you do the inspection please," asked her partner.


"Why do I have to?" whined Beaumont


"I'm not going anywhere near that."


"So why should I have to," pined Beaumont.


"Because you thought staring at its sex organs was so interesting, that's why," stated Joan Foster, confident this would be the last word on the issue. Emily couldn't stand this. They were talking about her as if she had some incurable and highly contagious disease. It was all lies. Couldn't they see that? She was a good girl and there was nothing wrong with her. She wanted to scream it at them. She needed just one person to be nice to her for one minute. The humiliation of being treated like some trained monkey, and a disgusting diseased one at that, was becoming unbearable.


She heard someone struggling to apply rubber gloves and guessed it was the unlucky Beaumont.


"Maggie, what are you doing," laughed Jennings.


"Putting on two pairs of gloves, what does it look like? Better safe than sorry," replied Beaumont as she slapped the last glove in place. Jennings burst out laughing as she watched the clerk prepare for her close encounter of the pig kind.


Emily's fragile ego shattered; the dam had burst. Tears started flowing down her cheeks and small whimpering sobs burst from her mouth. Through the watery blur of her tears she saw the clerk, now double-gloved and even wearing a surgeons mask, emerge from the darkness behind the camera.


Beaumont began by inspecting her face in great detail before moving down her neck and shoulders and inspecting her back and breasts. She ordered Emily to turn around every time she found a mole or tiny scar and a picture was taken for the records. A close-up picture was even taken of her vagina, as she had a small mole above her left labia. Beaumont moved around behind her and ordered Emily to part her buttocks. She dutifully parted the fleshy globes, allowing the clerk an unobstructed view of her asshole. Beaumont started mumbling something but moved on down her legs without event until she came to Emily's ankle.


"We have a tattoo here, right ankle. Some chink symbol," spat Beaumont. "Why would anyone want to deface their body with chink crap? What's this supposed to mean pig?"


"It means serenity in Chinese Miss Beaumont Ma’am." Emily had always wondered why she had the tattoo. It had been a spur of the moment thing and she rarely thought of it now.


"Well it's vile pig so I guess it suits you to a tee," scorned the rabidly racist clerk. The Asian inmates were always glad that Beaumont wasn't a guard.


Emily was told to lift her leg up and turn it out so her inside ankle was available to the camera. Jennings started snickering as she noticed Emily's vagina gaping open in the unflattering position. Beaumont noticed a second later and scrambled backwards, no longer finding anything particularly interesting in Emily's genitals. A photo was taken of her tattoo and Foster began to replace the camera on the tripod.


"Um Joan, Maggie would you mind if I could get a picture for myself," Jennings asked the two clerks, somewhat tentatively. "You see the bitch has a huge clit and I'd love to get a shot of it to show Sarah."

"Come off it Rose. Besides it doesn't seem too big to me," Beaumont replied.


"But you haven't seen it when the slut's all hot. She almost came down the hall remember and I saw it large as life. Fucking thing was as big as the cunt's nipple. In fact that is what it is like - a cunt-nipple. Come on, I'll give you twenty bucks," pleaded Jennings.


"Make it thirty," replied Beaumont.


"Each," chimed in Foster who had remained silent until now.


"Done," laughed Jennings.


Emily was aghast. They were haggling over taking pictures of her in a state of arousal. She wasn't some whore to be sold in this way. She would have to speak up now. She couldn't let this happen. They had already taken photos of her naked body but this was not going to happen. She would stop it. She would tell them no.


Jennings came towards her, a rubber glove encasing her right hand.


"You'd love to have your big clitty stroked wouldn't you pig?" Jennings babytalked to her. "You're dying to show these ladies your huge slut's clit aren't you pig?"

"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am." She couldn't do it. She couldn't stand up for herself. She felt like a little child, afraid of being disobedient for fear of her being told off. She was going to submit herself to being raped by this woman. That's what it was. It was rape but she was going to do nothing. Emily hated herself for her weakness.


"Well stop that snivelling then. You've got snot running all down your face. Don't tell me you like eating snot as well as shit?"

"No Guard Jennings Ma’am."


"So you only like to eat shit?"

"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am," replied Emily meekly. She would say anything and do anything. She had no strength left to fight her cruel captors.


"Maggie bring me a tissue will you." Jennings took the proffered tissue and held it up to Emily's nose.


"Blow pig," Jennings ordered. "God I bet you've heard that hundreds of times."

Emily blew her nose into the waiting tissue, reinforcing her childhood regression. Even her nose was being blown for her. She didn't care, they could do what they liked, she told herself, not believing it for a second. She was slowly dying inside with each new indignity. Jennings removed the tissue, folded it and held it to Emily's nose.


"Again pig." Emily blew with all her might, pushing her nose against the guards hand to gain purchase for her blow.


"Good girl pig." Emily looked up. Praise! Finally she had received something other than degrading insults and demeaning orders. And all she had to do was behave like a little girl and degrade and demean herself.


"Hold this pig." The soiled tissue was thrust into her hand. Emily could feel the wetness seeping through the flimsy tissue onto her hand. She wanted to thrust it back into the bitches face. You go girl, big tough Emily. She was even mocking herself now! She badly needed time to rest, away from these sadists.


Guard Jennings rolled a chair from behind the desk and sat down in front of Emily, resting her hand gently on the frightened girl's quivering stomach. The hand began to slide slowly down her belly, creeping closer to her denuded pussy. Emily wished she would just hurry up and play with her clit already. She wasn't eager to begin, she was eager to finish. The last time the guard had sexually assaulted her they had been alone. That was much easier to deal with. Your shame was your own. But now there were other women watching her being manipulated to arousal, something she had been sure would never happen to her. As the gloved hand finally reached her vagina, Emily closed her eyes and tried to hasten the process, thinking once again of Josh and his tender ways.


Once the guard's rubbery fingers encountered her clitoris they wasted no time. The nimble fingers took a gentle but firm grip at the base of her clit and worked slowly up and away from her body. Upon reaching the tip of the sensitive nubbin they slid back down, applying firm pressure the length of Emily's button. Jennings alternated between this loving stroking and a harsher pinching, applying sharp pressure only at the very tip of the clitoris. Emily could not believe how talented this woman's fingers were. Her clitoris had sprung out of its protective sheath like a jack in the box. The expert manipulation lasted only a few seconds more. Her clitoris was thoroughly engorged as Jennings stood up and wheeled the chair out of the way.


"Right take the picture."

FLASH. Emily's eyes flew wide, her mouth hung open in shock. The brief, but intensely pleasurable, sensations had made her forget that she wasn't being masturbated by someone who had any interest in her pleasure or even had any liking for her. She felt like a piece of meat, a freak in a freak show being stared at by slack-jawed yokels, 'Look at the monster clitty Paw'. The only reason guard Jennings had even touched her again was to get her goddamn picture so she and her girlfriend could laugh at her.


"See what a slut she is. Fucking clit rock hard in under 90 seconds. Pig you could learn a thing or two about standing at attention from that clit of yours. Sharp little bugger too, I almost cut myself on it," laughed Jennings.


FLASH. Emily cringed as another photo was taken of her shameful arousal, this time from a slightly different angle. She was begging her clitoris to deflate, trying to will herself calm. She was having no success, feeling even slight movements of the cool air flowing across the burning cluster of nerves, still unwilling to duck back into shelter and don its protective hood.


"We're done Rose. I thought you said she had a big clit."


"Oooh, Maggie exactly what are you saying. Have you got a big secret?" Jennings' interest was tweaked.


"Ah Rose, wouldn't you like to know," Maggie taunted back.


"As a matter of fact I would," Jennings turned on the clerk, who smiled back coquettishly.


"Enough you two. This nasty thing seems to be bringing you both down to her filthy level. Rose I've never seen you like this, playing with the sex organs of an inmate, and one who you know is as perverted and dirty as that. God knows what the slut has," Foster chided her colleague. "And Maggie Beaumont. I've worked with you for 7 years and never once heard you talk so crudely. Get the pig in the chair and get it out of here. Even the air in here seems to be turning foetid."


Emily had been submitted to the most humiliating experiences of her life since entering the prison mere hours ago and yet she was still able to be shamed by the smallest comments. Every time she had thought she could fall no lower into her pit of shame, down she went.


Here she was, standing naked in front of three women, making jokes about her - jokes about her sex organs as the fat one so elegantly put it. How could they treat her as if she couldn't hear them, or didn't care if she did.


Foster removed the memory stick from the camera and sat down at a laptop and began to process the photos of Emily. Jennings walked to the serving counter, chatting amiable and watching as Beaumont read some details from a slip of paper and went searching through the stores. Emily was left, apparently forgotten, standing at attention. The swelling in her clitoris slowly decreasing but her arousal was still apparent; her nipples remained rock-hard, though the cool air made a substantial contribution to their constant protrusion. Emily also knew there would be at least some of her cream visible on her sexlips. She had always been quick to lubricate and she had never thought about her juices before. She had assumed every woman produced copious amounts of thick white cream but from the amazed and disgusted reactions of the clerks she was beginning to think maybe she was some sort of sexual freak. Emily fought this kind of reasoning, pushing her attention back to guard Jennings and Miss Beaumont at the stores window. She tried to focus all her attention on their conversation, which she could barely hear. She had wanted to be left alone with her thoughts but as soon as she was her mind turned in on itself. She knew what she was thinking was wrong but it made it no easier to stop her thought processes once they had begun on that lonely road to ignominy and self-contempt.


"Here Rose, your pictures of the filth." Foster threw Jennings a small computer disk. Jennings caught the disk nimbly and placed it in her jacket pocket, eyeing Emily as she did so.


"Don't just stand there pig. An idle body breeds an idle mind and god knows you can't afford to get any dumber. You don't even have enough wit to be a halfwit as it is. Get back prancing, that will help your fat mind as well as your fat ass."


Emily resignedly began the embarrassing prancing, now aware that her vagina opened with each step. She endeavoured to keep her legs moving to the correct height not wanting to further displease the guard and finding the physical movement an excellent way to keep her mind off more displeasing topics. Maybe Jennings was right about an idle body. And if she was right about that then... No just focus. Left leg high, knee to the waist, right leg high, knee to the waist, Emily repeated her new mantra. Don't think about your cunt, your vagina Emily corrected herself, gaping lewdly with each step, that dribble of cream swinging with each motion. Left leg high, knee to the waist, right leg high knee to the waist, she forced her focus back on the exercise.


Jennings turned back to the stores window where she was joined by Foster who oversaw the withdrawal of stock, marking each item down on a prescribed list. All three women had their backs to Emily. She seemed to have been forgotten, or at the very least deemed unworthy of further attention. She continued to highstep, not daring to stop until ordered, besides it helped her to not think. She had begun to grow warm from the exercise, small rivulets of sweat forming in her armpits and beginning to creep down her sides. Finally, as Emily's legs had begun to grow heavy and her efforts to maintain her pace had started to flag, the three women returned to the table, a pile of paraphernalia heaped to one side of her opened file.


"Pig," spat guard Jennings. Emily sighed as she lowered her lifted leg to the floor in relief.


"Wait for it pig," bawled Jennings. "Who the fuck do you think you are pre-empting a guard's orders."


Emily quickly resumed walking, lifting her knees higher than her waist, afraid of what she had done to herself now. She couldn't do anything right, even something as simple as being told to stop and she had fucked it up.


"Pig," Jennings said expectantly waiting for a response. Emily continued to highstep, looking straight ahead, her eyes gazing unfocused at the far wall, determined not to stop until the exact order was given.


"Stop strutting pig." Emily thankfully lowered her leg to the floor, her chest heaving slightly with the prolonged physical exertion. Her shoulders hunched slightly as she fought for breath.


"Stand at attention pig. Goddamn you're a lazy bitch. I bet if there was a cock dangled above your head you wouldn't have any trouble standing straight, and on tiptoes too, I bet. Whenever you have the inclination to be a lazy sow just think back on that fat clit of yours and how well it can stand to attention. You got that pig?" Jennings glowered at her as if waiting for her to fuck up. Emily thought carefully before answering.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am, when I want to be a lazy sow I should think about my big fat clit instead and stand properly at attention," replied Emily trembling, hoping to dear god it would satisfy the depraved guard.


"About time you started learning you tiresome pinhead. Now move that doughy ass of yours and get in the chair, lazy lump of lard."


"Wait pig," exclaimed Beaumont.


"Rose wipe its cunt first, I'm not going anywhere near that until it's cleaned," Beaumont said, waving dismissively in the direction of Emily's sex.


"I guess it is a bit of a mess," chuckled Jennings. She approached Emily with a handful of tissues and ordered her to spread her legs. Emily shuffled her feet outwards until told to stop. Jennings leant in, her face imposingly close to Emily's. She reached down and began wiping Emily's vagina clear of her slimy sexual spume. Emily felt the heat from the blush begin to rise. She was having her sex wiped clean, like a little girl incapable of doing it herself. Of course she wasn't given the option but she knew that even though this made her want to be swallowed up by oblivion it was better than the alternative. She did not want to be given the option of cleaning herself, she could only imagine what the outcome of that little farce would have been.


"Now don't go pumping up that clit again pig. I am only cleaning your filthy slime off not trying to get you to make more. The stink is bad enough without having to see or touch the vile stuff. You were only just cleaned and now you stink like a whore's bedsheets again."


Jennings finished wiping the distressed girl's crotch and pushed the now sticky tissues into pig's hand. They joined the soiled tissue she had been made to hold since her nose was blown. It had turned into a ball of mush from the sweat generated from her display of highstepping.


"Put those in the trash pig and then get in the chair. I think everyone is pretty sick of you wasting time," derided Jennings.


Emily hurried over to the table and threw the soiled tissues in the trashcan. It took her a few moments to scrape off the gooey tissues stuck to her hand and a fresh wave of nausea swept over her as the last of the soiled tissue fell from her hands. She hurried back to the chair and all but threw herself into it, knowing she had spent too long at the trashcan and feared being degraded further. She didn't want to waste anyone's time. It's just that everything seemed to be conspiring against her, even her own body. She immediately spread her legs and placed them in the wide stirrups.


"See how eager the slut is to spread her legs for you Maggie. Watch out for the clit my dear it'll pop out when you least expect it."

"If I so much as see it Rose I guarantee no one else will for quite a long time," responded a clearly angry Beaumont. This was the part of her job she disliked the most, she didn't see why the doctor couldn't do it. At least this pig wouldn't enjoy it. She could take a small sense of satisfaction from that.


Emily wondered what the hell was going on. She began to tremble in fear, cursing herself, praying she wouldn't get aroused. She didn't think she had much to worry about really seeing this clerk was obviously disgusted by her but she still didn't know why she was splayed open in this extremely vulnerable and humiliating position again. And now she was being strapped down just as before. It certainly did not bode well.


Emily tore her gaze away from Beaumont pulling on a pair of surgical gloves as she noticed Foster standing over her.


"Pig this is your tag. Under section 24 of the Pentonbridge Reform Penitentiary Penal Code all inmates are to be positively identifiable at all times. To ensure this, each inmate is tagged with an identity disk. This disk," Foster held out a small, oval sliver of metal the size of her thumb, for Emily to inspect, "comprises your designation, usually a number but in your case it says pig, as well as your title specification here on the back. For you that is Pentonbridge Reform Penitentiary, D-36. This denotes your title is now held by Pentonbridge and your block designation is D-wing, cell 36. You had better remember that because constantly checking your tag will bring infractions." Foster handed the metallic-blue tag to Beaumont, seated between Emily's legs, ready to begin the procedure.


Emily was dumbfounded. What the fuck was this all about. Tagged? She remembered hearing the term before but now she knew they meant TAGGED! She was going to be tagged like some farm animal. Emily began to strain at her bonds and beg for release. "Please no, please don't, pleeease," Emily wailed as she felt Beaumont dabbing something wet on her left labia.


"Stop whining pig. Do you think anyone else is enjoying this. God, no one actually wants to be near your nasty cunt but this is the only way. Tags in the ears are too easily removed, Joan remember some of those raggedy bitches in the early days, fucking ears mangled as if a pitbull had been gnawing on em." Foster nodded her assent, the Doc had been busy in those days.


Emily now felt a sharp pain in her left lip. Well that didn't seem too bad, she had heard piercings were really painful.


"We can't tattoo you anymore, bloody judiciary was weak on that one, and so we find the best way for the tags to remain unmolested is in your cuntlip, though with a slut like you maybe it won't go too unmolested. But we'll all be here to help you overcome those tendencies," Jennings continued her lecture as Emily felt her apprehension growing again. It wasn't over. She hadn't been pierced, so what was that pain before. She plucked up enough courage to raise her head and look down her body at her exposed crotch.


Beaumont had what looked like a long pair of tongs attached somehow to Emily's left labia. She noticed a small hole in the end of the prongs, her tender flesh bulging slightly through the opening. She had been clamped, no doubt so the useless bitch would get it in the right place. At least it would be done the first time Emily mused disconsolately.


As she watched Beaumont pulled her sexlip out from her body and slowly, as if in a dream, Emily watched as the long metal needle made its inexorable journey toward her soft, intimate lip. She wanted to look away. She tried to look away but her eyes were glued on the needle. She watched as the metal spike pierced her plump vaginal meat. The pain didn't register until the needle had emerged from the other side and Emily wailed as she gazed transfixed at the needle now running through her pussy.


Beaumont expertly removed the needle, threading a large steel ring through the hole so recently vacated. The colour had drained out of her face and her already pale skin had become tinged with a yellow pallor yet she was oddly amazed at the lack of blood. Emily watched as her tag was carefully threaded onto the ring before Beaumont applied a small dollop of a clear liquid on the ends of the ring and gently squeezed it closed. It shut with an audible click that Emily felt was the death knell of her life as a human being. She was now simply a domesticated animal tagged so she wouldn't get lost. She was a pig.


Her new piercing was daubed once again before the straps were removed and she was ordered out of the chair.


"Well pig what do you think of your new jewellery," Jennings was always eager to see how these bitches reacted to tagging. It wasn't permanent but it was amazing to see how so many of the tough bitches were instantly docile after their tagging, it didn't last but it was a decent first step.


"It is very nice Guard Jennings Ma’am." Emily was standing at attention beside the chair, something she would always associate with her loss of being. She could still feel the pain radiating in her pussy but more disturbing was the gentle tickle as the tag swayed in its ring and brushed her inner thighs.


"I am so glad you like it," Jennings replied, her voice dripping with condescension. "Don't worry about losing it. Some locktite was put on the ring before it closed. It won't ever come off. We have a few more pieces for you to enjoy as well. Step over to the table so you can be fitted."


Emily moved slowly to the table, walking as a condemned prisoner to the gallows. She was still in a daze of degradation and despair and could not imagine anything worse than being labelled like an object. She saw on the table immediately before her two circles of metal, one much smaller than the other. The larger circlet was a herringbone chain, similar to a necklace she used to own. It was only as wide as her little finger and flat but it was much larger than any necklace could be. The smaller circlet, she knew, was a collar. It was an inch wide with a D-ring attached to a strengthened area at what Emily assumed was the front of the collar. She blanched at the thought of that around her neck. She had never liked wearing chokers or scarves or even turtleneck sweaters. She hated the feeling of constriction on her neck. And now she would have to wear that thick metal band, she would surely suffocate.


Emily froze in indecision. A battle was waging in her mind. Resist, she was shouting at herself. No, it will only get worse and they'll do what they want anyway. You fucking coward, she retorted. Yes, that's exactly what I am.


Foster approached her with the larger herringbone chain and draped it about her waist. Foster snapped the chain shut and Emily knew it also would never be coming off. Emily noticed 4 small silver rings had been threaded through the chain. They were only the size of small sleeper earrings, able to move right around the chain and her body. She could only guess what they were for. The chain was a little tight but it rested on her hips snugly, much like the bellychain she had seen some young girls wearing at the beach.


She had been trembling the whole time Foster had been attaching the chain about her waist but she fought herself into motionlessness as Foster brought the collar closer to her neck. She watched in horrified fascination as the collar was broken into two halves, placed around her neck and snapped shut with the deafening click of finality. Foster moved back around the other side of the desk, where she was soon joined by Beaumont and they began to order the remaining items on the tabletop.


Emily was fighting for breath. The collar was too tight. She was being strangled. She began to gasp for air and her hands flew up to the collar pulling at it and tugging with all her might. She was going to die. Couldn't these stupid bitches see she was suffocating.


Pain exploded in her side. Her right kidney felt as if it had been squashed in a vice. Emily found herself on her hands and knees, gasping for breath, spittle drooling from her mouth.


"Get up pig," bawled guard Jennings. Emily struggled to stand, collapsed onto the cold tiles once but managed on her second attempt to gain her feet and stand up, if not to attention.


"You are being a lazy sow now aren't you pig." After all she had been through in the last 10 minutes Emily still had the presence of mind to answer her tormentor.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am," she gasped.


"And?"


"I am thinking of my fat clit Guard Jennings Ma’am and learning to stand to attention." Emily matched her actions to her words and managed to stand straight, hands behind her back in the regulation manner. Her chest still heaved drawing in each breath as if it were her last, her breasts quivering with each exhalation.


"Next time you act like a complete fuckwit and have a spaz attack I'll shock that big fat clit of yours. Hopefully that might give you a little more presence of mind. Now what the fuck was all that about. Don't you like the new jewellery the State has so kindly supplied you with to ensure a more trouble-free stay in our institution."


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am."

"Yes you do like it or yes you don't like it. Don't be so fucking obtuse shiteater."


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am I do like my new jewellery," Emily replied knowing by now that denial only meant trouble.


"Then thank the State for providing you with it. And seeing the State can't be here you can thank its representatives who have so generously provided their time to supply it to you."


"Thank you Miss Beaumont Ma’am. Thank you Miss Foster Ma’am.' Emily curtseyed for good measure knowing it would do her no good but not knowing whether it's absence would do her harm.


"Now pig what was all that fuss about?" inquired a genuinely curious guard Jennings. Foster and Beaumont sat behind their desk, both eager to finish with this troublesome prisoner but also intrigued as to the reason for Emily's attack.


"I am sorry Guard Jennings Ma’am I do not like to have things around my neck and the collar makes me feel funny." Emily knew it sounded weak but the truth was all she had.


"I couldn't give a fuck if it made you feel like flying to the moon. Another display like that and I'll give you something you won't think is so funny pig," sneered guard Jennings, appalled at the gall of the little bitch. Poor baby felt funny. That will be the only kind of funny she's going to feel from now on.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am." Emily knew that was no idle threat. The guard had no compunction in using that shockstick of hers as the last few minutes had evidenced.


"Now pay attention pig. The State has some more lovely presents for you." Emily's attention was drawn back to the pile of material on the table in front of her.


"Pig you have been issued with your ID tag, your collar, your waist-chain. Don't worry about that chain, it was decided from your physical exam you could do to lose some weight so you have been issued a smaller size, you'll grow into it." As Foster mentioned each item Beaumont made a small tick next to the item on a checklist. "As with all the following items you are to receive they are now your responsibility to maintain and at the end of your sentence return them in the same condition they were issued. Do you understand pig?"


"Yes Miss Foster Ma’am."


"As you will soon learn, there are four classes of infractions, A through D. Wilfully damaging, destroying, altering, tampering with or losing State property is a class B offence. Do you understand pig?"

"Yes Miss Foster Ma’am."


"Right then we can proceed. As I place each item on the table in front of you, you are required to say 'Check' to indicate you have inspected the item and are then aware of the condition in which it is to be returned. Do you understand pig?"

"Yes Miss Foster Ma’am." Emily almost dared to flavour her response with a hint of sarcasm. Of course she understood these fucking simple directions. Her short time at Pentonbridge had, however, taught her she was no longer in a position to choose even the tone of voice she could use.


"One grey jumpsuit size C4." A grey jumpsuit with the moniker 'pig' embroidered over her left breast was placed on the table in front of her.


"Check."


Emily's left breast was propelled forcefully towards her face as guard Jennings swung her shock-baton up, striking the underside of the breast with considerable force. Emily was forced to take a step back and her hands flew to the injured, and still bouncing breast.


"Pig," screamed guard Jennings. "Attention. Get back here." Emily scrambled forward; visibly trembling, no idea as to what she had done.

"Pig, five strokes, disrespect," Jennings spoke into her lapel mic.


"Pig you are going to learn some goddamn respect or so help me god I'm gonna beat your ass into next week. Proceed Joan." The venom in guard Jennings' voice disappeared as quickly as it came, only scaring Emily more. The sudden quick change of demeanour was truly frightening.


"One grey jumpsuit, size C4," Foster repeated.


"Check Miss Foster Ma’am," Emily responded correctly, the pain in her breast still aching.


"One grey halter singlet, size C4."


"Check Miss Foster Ma’am."


"One pair grey panties, size small."


"Check Miss Foster Ma’am." Small! There was no way she could wear small. And what the fuck was C4 for that matter. Emily was taking refuge in the last resort of all desperately debased women - anger.


"Three pair grey socks, size small."


"Check Miss Foster Ma’am."


"One pair black boots, size 6."

"Check Miss Foster Ma’am." What, all out of grey!


"One toothbrush, firm - 23984."

"Check Miss Foster Ma’am."


"Should we have that changed Joan," interjected guard Jennings.


"And waste a perfectly good toothbrush?"


"Point taken," agreed Jennings.


"One copy Pentonbridge Reform Penitentiary Code of Conduct."


"Check Miss Foster Ma’am."


"That's it pig. All you need to know now is contained in that book. I suggest you study it, study it and study it some more. No doubt a dullard like you will need to read it a hundred times before anything sinks in. How presumptuous of me pig. Can you even read?"


"Yes Miss Foster Ma’am."


"Thank the lord for minor miracles. Now sign here at the bottom of this page and we can finally be rid of your slovenly carcass."


Emily stepped forward to grasp the pen attached to the clipboard. Agony erupted in her vagina. She found herself moments later on the floor. As she had stepped forward guard Jennings had leant in behind her and shocked her vulnerable pussy from behind. She had jumped forward knocking the desk with her hip before falling to the floor, writhing in pain. Her tortured sex tingled in torment. As soon as she had gathered her wits, she jumped to her feet and stood at attention. Her pussy was on fire and she could still feel the sharp sting at the point of impact. She could add this latest pain to the litany of aches and agonies amassing in her body.


"What were you told about moving your fucking feet off those circles pig? I am so tired of repeating myself that the next time you will go to a holding cage for the night and we'll come back tomorrow and try again," spat Jennings exasperated and drained by the constant stupidity of the girl.


Emily hung her head in shame. She leaned forward, bending at the waist, aware of how vulnerable her behind and sex were in this position. She took up the pen and glanced at the paper she was signing. She could see it was a document of many pages.


"Don't tell me you're actually reading the fucking thing pig," scoffed Jennings.


Emily hurriedly scrawled her signature at the bottom of the page, replaced the pen and straightened up, returning her hands to the small of her back. Foster swung the clipboard around and looked at the signature. She then swung it back towards Emily.


"You're not done pig," stated Foster, putting the emphasis on pig. Emily knew what was required. It seemed her few hours of humiliation had given her an instinct in what further degradation was required of her.


She bent over once again, strained towards the table and signed pig under her old name. As she straightened up, tears fell from her eyes. God, she could still cry!


"Right, now it's official. The State now formally recognises you as pig. Your indenture with PRP has officially begun, a sentence to be served of not less than 26 months, as per specification, on D-wing. Now get this bitch out of here. I need a break and a shower."


Both clerks returned to their work, filing and cleaning up the room. Pig had been dismissed from their thoughts as easily as a used condom. She stood forlorn, an island of shame in a room full of everyday activity. Her body no longer felt like her own. Her throat constricted, each swallow reinforced the presence of her collar, her vagina ached from the recent shock and the appalling piercing forced upon her. She was dying to cover her breasts and her perpetually hard nipples. They still felt terribly exposed after all this time naked. The waist chain was an ever-present menace, slightly cleaving the flesh of her soft belly and her feet had begun to go numb from standing motionless on the cold tiles. She felt lost and alone and she was scared to death of what more could happen to her. If they could do what they had with impunity what else could they do.


"Pick up your presents pig. We're off to see the warden. It's time for a little education for you pig."


Emily picked up the small bundle that now comprised everything she had in the world. She was not even being allowed to dress before she left. At least carrying the bundle in front of her covered up her breasts somewhat. Her pussy and her new tag would still be on display to anyone seeing her but at least she was now one step closer to getting into her cell. The only long term goal she had.


"Come on pig you lazy fucktard. You've kept the warden waiting long enough as it is."

A much altered Emily marched out of Processing and on to the waiting warden.


Chapter 7 Interview with the Warden


Emily was marched along the stark, grey corridors. She was beginning to wonder if the entire prison was this pallid, lifeless colour. At least now she was moving the goosebumps covering her body had started to dissipate. Was it simply because she was nude or was this whole facility deliberately chilly. Why had she not been allowed to dress in Processing? She had been issued with her clothes. They wouldn't win any fashion or colour awards but they would prevent her from feeling so revealed and vulnerable as if she was on exhibition, but she was stuck with carrying them before her. Her glance kept creeping down to the rulebook she had been issued. Her new life was outlined in that slim volume. She was dying to read it but at the same time dreading what was contained within its cover.


To add to the continuing humiliation of walking naked, and she was sure Jennings was staring at her ass as she walked, she could feel her new tag swaying gently between her legs, maddeningly brushing her inner thighs with each step she took. The constant tickling was infuriating, continually reinforcing her new animal status.


Emily suddenly heard the noise of many booted feet reverberate along the austere corridor. It was bound to happen sooner or later Emily supposed. She could see the two guards twenty metres in front of her. Their dress was indistinguishable from that of Guard Jennings, it seemed the guards uniforms were as uninspired as the prisoners'. The guards were talking in hushed tones as they advanced towards her. Emily was blushing furiously, hanging her head in shame and focusing on the bare tiles at her feet. She was sure they were staring at her and discussing her nudity. Emily was dreading the confrontation, sure her callous guard would use this as a fresh opportunity to degrade her.


Emily became confused as the footsteps came almost level with her and Jennings had made no comment or told her to stop. She risked a glance at the oncoming guards. They were still chatting quietly and apparently ignoring her. They must have seen her and felt she was beneath their consideration. As she was about to turn away she noticed the guard closest to her look her up and down. Her nose turned up in disgust and she continued her conversation with her partner.


Emily was momentarily stunned. She was a naked girl walking among fully clothed women who seemed to have no interest in her, apart from a sense of obvious distaste. She felt like an animal in a zoo - one of those ugly little pig things from Guatemala that everyone walked straight past. That should have reassured her. Her nudity was no big deal, no one was even interested in her. But maybe it was her nudity that everyone found so disgusting. Maybe when she was finally allowed to dress things would be better.


Jennings ordered her to go right at the next corridor. She could hear voices from around the corner and was apprehensive as to how this next encounter would go. She had not been able to convince herself that she would not be the subject of lurid glares and degrading comments from everyone else they would meet.


As she rounded the corner Emily was forced to stop. In front of her were four inmates, all dressed in their regulation prison jumpsuits, chatting away amiably, reminding Emily of a bunch of schoolgirls at recess. Normalcy at last rejoiced Emily, until she noticed the horrified stares on each face. Horror quickly turned to disgust as the inmates, her fellow inmates, took in her appearance. She tried her best to stave off the tears threatening to fall. Jennings came to her rescue. Emily jumped as her guard's piercing bellow echoed down the spartan corridor.


"What the fuck do you think you bitches are doing?"


All four inmates instantly stood to attention, their fear evident on their pale faces. Guard Jennings was livid. Four unattended inmates babbling like monkeys in an Administration corridor! She would deal with this swiftly and severely.


"You," Jennings pointed her baton at the nearest shivering inmate. "What are you doing here?"


"Waiting to be processed for Lodge Duty guard Jennings Ma’am," replied the shivering inmate. Sweat had begun to bead on her brow.


"It looked to me like four noisy cunts slouching around exhibiting their contempt for this august institution," barked Jennings. She stepped down the line of frightened prisoners, eyeballing each quivering convict. Emily stood to one side watching the irate guard intimidate the four women. Apparently she had been forgotten, which pleased her greatly. She knew she should not be finding pleasure in the misfortune of these women but at least it wasn't her, and they had looked at her in that condescending way. Emily's lip curled into a smirk.


"Wipe that smirk off your face pig. These bitches are filthy scum but they are still your superiors," Jennings spun back towards her, the malice in her voice an almost physical presence. Emily's face instantly went blank and she lowered her eyes to the ground, afraid looking the guard in the eye would only taunt her further. Emily was stunned as guard Jennings spat in her face. She opened her eyes in shock, her left eye blurred as the saliva slid across her lashes and spilt onto her cheek.


"Is that funny pig?"

"No Guard Jennings Ma’am." Emily was still in shock and answered by reflex. She felt dirty and soiled as the slime slowly oozed down her cheek. She blinked rapidly to rid her eye of the spittle which seemed to be burn her eye like acid. It was the first time, regardless of the continual distasteful glares, the demeaning treatment and the constant insults, that she actually felt disgusting. She had felt the disgust of others many times, but it had always come from without. Now, after the simple of act of being spat upon, she seemed to join the common consensus - she was disgusting.


Jennings spun on her heel dismissing Emily as her ire returned to the four unfortunate women lined along the wall, like prisoners waiting their turn at the gibbet. She walked down the line scrutinising their uniforms.


"Present," bawled Jennings.


All four women immediately reached for the zip at the front of their jumpsuit. As one they unzipped, from throat to crotch, and shrugged the garments off their shoulders and down their hips to lie in a crumpled heap around their knees. Again, as it synchronised automatons, they hooked their fingers into the waistbands of their regulation grey panties and lowered them to their knees. The inmates then stood at attention, their hands behind their backs and their hips thrust forward, exposing their bare genitals and their tags, twirling from their labia. Emily noted, oddly, that even though all four women wore collars and were tagged only one wore the flat, herringbone bellychain identical to the one currently digging into her waist.


Jennings reached down and grabbed the tag of the first inmate pulling the small disc out and upwards, distending the labia painfully. The inmate grunted with the pain but kept her position.


"21002," Jennings spoke into her lapel mic before dropping the tag and moving to the next woman and repeating the process down the line.


"19310, 10331, 20227, five strokes idleness, five strokes disrespect. Punishment in lieu of Lodge Duty - three days Box, consecutive sentence. Right you idle bitches get those foul cunts out of my sight."


The women dressed hurriedly, the fear evident on their faces. Emily had no idea what the Box was but from the look of terror that flashed across the faces of all four women it was something to be avoided at all costs.


At that moment the door opposite the group of terrified women opened, to reveal a severe-visaged matron, dressed in the same blue skirt and jacket as the other guards but wearing an apron with many pockets over the top.


"Get yourself four new bitches Pitt. Call a guard to escort these dogfuckers to the 303. And next time keep your cows in order," sneered guard Jennings at the slightly bewildered matron.


"Move it pig," Jennings barked, already moving off down the corridor. Emily, terrified of the obviously psychotic guard, ran to catch up and hastily resumed her position in front of the incensed guard. She could hear the matron behind her finally find her wits.


"Right you little shits what's been going on out here?"


But Emily was not fated to hear the response. Jennings kept up a grueling pace, Emily almost running to stay ahead of her, until they reached a set of concrete stairs at the end of the corridor.


"Up pig." Emily headed up the stairs, hopeful her tormentor sounded less furious, though with this demented witch you could never be sure. It was awkward walking up the steps, carrying her bundle before her. She had never much thought about how much the use of the arms affected the balance and elegance of motion.


"Move it pig, two steps at a time. We don't have all day." She was already finding the climb up the stairs strenuous after her day's ordeal and now this bitch wanted her to go faster. There was nothing for it but to take the steps two at a time. Her thighs burned with the extra strain and she knew her sex was gaping lewdly with every step. She was sure Jennings was staring at her sex. Emily shuddered as she imagined the cruel guard licking her lips at the sight of her open vagina, still coated with the milky slime of her arousal.


Emily passed a landing, denoting the second floor, but Jennings gave her no order to stop so she continued climbing. The burn in her legs began to intensify and her mouth began to dry. She began to slow down, her legs seemed to become heavier with each step. Emily almost dropped her bundle when she felt a hard, cold object touch her bare buttock. It could only be one thing. Emily pushed herself to move faster. She could not take another jolt of pain from the baton, she would break her neck if she was shocked here. After a few steps at her increased pace she felt the baton being removed from her behind. She sighed in relief, wanting desperately to wipe away the beads of sweat forming on her forehead.


As they neared the next landing Jennings ordered her to move to the right along the corridor. As Emily stepped out into the hallway she was surprised to feel carpet beneath her feet. She looked down at the luscious royal-blue carpet and almost cried with delight. Her feet had begun to go numb from the constant exposure to the cold tiles and the feel of the soft, deep carpet-pile was like a gentle massage.


"Head up pig! Look where you're going pig, not where you belong," guard Jennings bellowed at her.


Emily's head snapped up and she looked down the long hallway. She could see the corridor widened into a large room about fifteen metres in front of her. She assumed this was the foyer to the warden's office.


The foyer was lavishly decorated: stunning paintings graced three walls, the fourth being dominated by the large, imposing wooden double doors; a number of beautiful leather couches and chairs were placed along the walls, complemented beautifully by an impressive oak coffee table, inlaid in intricate arabesques with mother of pearl. Emily knew she must have been here before but she had no recollection of any of this. She had been in a daze on the initial trip from the courtyard.


"Have a seat pig," said guard Jennings waving expansively at the leather lounges around the room. Emily began to move gratefully toward them, eager for some release for her tired legs and arms, when she heard Jennings' booming laughter behind her.


"Ah pig you really are a fucking idiot. They say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit and you can't even manage to grasp that. At least you're good for a laugh pig. As if anyone would want your dirty ass on their good leather couch, not to mention that slimy cunt of yours, still oozing filth I might add," chuckled Jennings, shaking her head. Emily flushed with embarrassment at her stupid mistake. She had played right into the hands of her tormentor.


"Stand over here pig and you'll wait until the warden will see you," Jennings indicated a spot to the left of the large doors. Emily moved to the spot and watched as Jennings opened the door and stepped inside. Emily was grateful to be finally left alone. She was still panting slightly from the long climb up the stairs and she craved a drink of water. Her mouth was dry and she had trouble finding any saliva with which to wet her lips. Her thoughts jumped to the saliva that was now drying on her cheek. Fresh tears welled up, threatening to begin a deluge of weeping. She could still not believe someone would be so terrible as to actually spit on her. It was so filthy! She tried to distract herself by looking around the room. Her gaze was drawn to the beautiful paintings hanging on the wall opposite. She had no idea who the artist was, she was never really into art, but this painting of a beautiful nude woman rising from a frothing ocean of waves, captivated her. The colours were so subtle and the movement so gentle and graceful, she lost herself in its beauty. She took a tentative step closer to the picture before she realised what she was doing. Emily stepped back and glanced fearfully around to see if she had been seen. The doors were closed; there was no one there. You're just being paranoid, she thought. Her curiosity for the painting and her fear of retribution warred for but a second. She still did not know what else was going to happen to her today; she couldn't dig herself any deeper so she stayed put. Her gaze never left the painting until guard Jennings reappeared.


"Get in here pig."


Emily stepped tentatively through the large doors. This was where her nightmare had begun. She was determined to keep herself out of trouble; not give an excuse to these sadists for any further abuse. Emily's gaze flitted about the room nervously. The young girl’s heart skipped. Sergeant Mailer was there, standing off to the right, eyeing her with disgust. The warden sat behind her desk, daintily eating what looked to Emily like the most delicious steak in the world. The delicious aroma of the meat reminded her she had not eaten since the paltry watch-house meal the night before. Her stomach grumbled in protest, she fervently hoped no one had heard. Her apprehensive gaze then settled on the strangest sight she had ever seen. Standing to attention behind, and to the right, of the warden was a woman dressed in a tiny french-maid's costume. It was identical to one she had worn to a fancy-dress party some years ago: little black dress, with short puffy skirting, tiny white apron, little white tiara-cap. But the most striking part of the outfit was the large strip of stiff, black leather covering the woman's face from her chin to just under her nose.


Emily had an idea what it was, she could tell from the slight distension of the woman's jaw that the gag, she was sure of it now, not only wrapped her head but had also inserted something into her mouth. The woman's cheeks bulged slightly over the top of the leather strip and Emily could only guess what horrors the poor inmate was experiencing. Emily noted the collar, identical to her own, around the woman's neck. What the fuck was going on here? Emily reluctantly tore her gaze from the statuesque woman as she heard the clatter of cutlery.


The warden was gracefully dabbing her mouth with a pristinely white napkin. She placed the napkin on the tray in front of her and motioned for the inmate to remove the tray. The maid-inmate stepped forward, gathered up the tray and luncheon dishes, and moved gracefully out of the room. Emily noted, as she walked out from behind the desk, that she was wearing high-heeled black pumps with an ankle strap. Such beautiful shoes, thought Emily.


"So pig, you are back, gracing us with your presence once again. I trust you will not be quite as intractable as this morning," said the warden, her mellow tones seeming to drift towards Emily like a gentle mist.


"No warden Ma’am." Emily hoped she would not get into trouble. She couldn't remember if she had been told the warden's name. She hunched her shoulders ever so slightly in anticipation of the coming shock. She was relieved, for the first time, when all she heard was sergeant Mailers stentorian voice.


"Warden Cartwright, pig."


"No Warden Cartwright Ma’am," Emily complied.


"My name is warden Aurelie Cartwright, pig, but as you have just learned you will address me as Warden Cartwright. I have been the warden of Pentonbridge Reform Penitentiary for six years. In that time I have watched this establishment flourish with the introduction of work release programs and a number of treatment programs designed to reform the criminals we receive into productive members of society. But the core principle of our work here remains discipline. You have been issued your handbook and I suggest you study it and try to take in as much as you can. I know it may be hard to begin with but there aren't too many big words in there and I do trust, for your sake, that you will learn by your mistakes. I have been appraised by my staff of your antics since arriving here and I must say that I am not impressed with you pig. I was hoping that maybe you were just exceptionally slow but it seems you are also more perverted than De Sade himself. I have recommended you partake of the Sex Offender Program, I know you are here for embezzlement and fraud but this program will help you curb your profligate wanton behaviour and Cognitive Restructuring with a special adjunct suggested by Doctor Moretti to help with your faecal fetish as well as the usual plethora of training each inmate must undertake before release."


Emily was aghast. They were making her take a sex offender's program! And she didn't like the sound of cognitive restructuring, whatever that was. But what worried her the most was the reference to the misunderstanding with the enema. She had been planning to explain it to the warden and plead for a fair hearing but she now slumped her head in defeat. It seemed it was officially part of her file now, and they were even designing a course for her.


"You are right to be ashamed pig. The behaviour you have exhibited since your arrival has not been complimentary. Many of my staff have requested that you be kept in solitary so they will not have to deal with you, but I have spoken to Sergeant Mailer and she has agreed to oversee your sentence. Isn't that admirable of her pig?"

"Yes Warden Cartwright Ma’am."

"Then show her your appreciation pig," ordered the warden. Emily turned to face the scowling sergeant Mailer.


"Thank you Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," Emily croaked. Her fear making her voice feeble. She was shaking with anxiety. Emily could tell Sergeant Mailer had agreed to no such thing. She had more than likely been ordered to be her overseer and the sergeant was not impressed.


"Now pig," continued the warden. "I'll wager you have been thinking about why you are here at Pentonbridge. I would hate for you to spend your sentence here constantly wondering why so I will enlighten you a little. What was the name of the company you so foolishly decided to defraud?" asked the warden.


"Consul Industries Warden Cartwright Ma’am."


"Do you know who owns Consul Industries pig?"

"No Warden Cartwright Ma’am."


"It just so happens that a Randolph Pitman is the majority owner. Who just happens to be the brother of the delightful Judge Pitman, who presided over your case, and the cousin, by marriage, of the current governor of our fair state. Of course Randolph's name is not on the statement of ownership, conflict of interest and all, but nevertheless you chose the wrong company to attempt your second-rate account pillaging. It says in your file you didn't even finish college. Is that true pig?"

"Yes Warden Cartwright Ma’am." Emily was responding automatically. She was in shock from the revelation she had been given. But this was all illegal then. She could call for a mistrial or something and get out of here. She knew to whom she would write her first letter.


"I am amazed you even got into college. Apparently sleeping your way to the top still works in our day and age, how very quaint of you pig. Your sexual wiles will not gain you anything in this institution pig. As you will no doubt learn while studying your handbook, sexual congress is a breach of inmate conduct and will be punished. I only hope our programs will be able to rein in your depravity."


Emily did not know why, but she blushed. If she only had the chance to speak in her defense. She had made her way to college through sheer hard work. She hadn't finished only because she had been offered a full-time position with Consul, while they paid for her to complete her degree at night. She should never have listened to Josh. Sure the scheme had been an inspired one but she should have known better.


"Do you have any questions about your time here pig?" The warden was extending to her the opportunity she had been waiting for ever since she stepped off the bus that morning. She could right all the wrongs perpetrated on her today, she could plead her innocence, well not of the crimes she had been convicted of but of the depravity she had been accused of during her processing at least, she could ask to see her lawyer, she could...


"No Warden Cartwright Ma’am." You fucking coward, Emily screamed at herself.


"Right then pig, I will move on and explain the mechanics of your sentence and what is expected of you while you are serving your sentence at Pentonbridge. As stipulated in your sentencing you are to serve your full sentence on D-wing. This is the section reserved for what is colourfully termed the "scum" of the prison system. It houses escapees, maximum security prisoners too troublesome for other institutions and the occasional punishment case." The warden leaned back in her chair, making herself more comfortable. This small gesture only heightened Emily's discomfort. Her arms were becoming increasingly strained from holding her bundle in front of her and even though her breathing was back to normal her mouth remained dry, her craving for a cool drink of water was almost maddening.


"All inmates at Pentonbridge are expected to work an eight-hour day for that day to be subtracted from their sentence. Inmates housed on D-wing are expected to work ten hours a day for the same privilege. So, for example, today will not count towards your sentence served, as you have not worked the requisite ten hours."


Emily's mouth dropped. What the fuck! She had thought she had heard it all. Surely this wasn't legal.


"Your surprise does you no credit pig. This is not a country-club prison. You didn't think you were just going to laze around seducing other inmates and wallowing in your own sluttishness all day did you?"


"No Warden Cartwright Ma’am."


"Bitch is too dumb to know what to do warden. You should have seen her during processing," interrupted guard Jennings.


"Thank you Jennings but I am rather glad I was not present."


"Well I'm just saying the bitch is so dumb I think she must have been dropped on her head as a kid."

"Try bounced," sneered sergeant Mailer. All three women erupted into laughter. Emily cringed, feeling each laugh as a spike driving into her heart.


"Oh Karen you're a card," chuckled the warden. "Anyway pig if, for any reason, you do not provide this institution with the full complement of work hours, you will not be credited for that day. Do not worry about the programs you have enrolled in, they will be conducted out of work hours. You may also gain an extension to your sentence through disobedience. If you are rated with three punishments of a similar grade within a twenty-four hour period you will be permitted a one day extension. For more serious infractions, direct extensions may be granted." The warden glanced down at the open file before her. "In your case that means after your first day with us you have actually managed to add a day to your sentence with four infractions for insubordination."


"Of course corporal punishment is integral to the discipline of inmates here at Pentonbridge and I see from your file that you have already requested a number of punishments during the course of today. I think to make a good first impression we can dispense with those here and now. What do you think Sergeant Mailer?" Emily's body straightened and she looked at the warden with renewed shock. Requested? No, she must have heard wrong.


"Yes Ma’am. Jennings here has requested the alpha position so it is her decision," replied Sergeant Mailer.


"Ma’am I have decided on the cane and hose and if you would care to oversee the correction then I would be honoured. If I may peruse the correction sheet we could start right away." What was going on here? Corporal punishment! Cane, hose? Emily began shifting her weight from foot to foot, trying to work up the courage to speak out. She didn't know exactly what was going on but she had an idea - and that was torture.


The warden spied Emily's anxiousness as she handed the correction sheet to guard Jennings.


"You have something to say pig?"


"Yes Warden Cartwright Ma’am, it's just that I didn't request anything and I didn't do anything all day and I have tried to be good and it's not my fault and please don't hit me," Emily gushed. She had not meant to say so much but once she started her mouth began to rush ahead of her thoughts. She cringed hoping her outburst had not brought her more suffering.


"Pig you requested that you be corrected each time you were disrespectful or insubordinate. You must take responsibility for your own actions. You are certainly not insinuating that your superiors have assigned punishment for you that your behaviour did not warrant. Are you making such an allegation pig?" The warden’s tone was wavering between annoyance and incredulity.


"No Warden Cartwright Ma’am," Emily replied, knowing she was beaten. They seemed to be able to twist her words to make her seem stupid and wrong. She badly needed some sleep.


"Then what is your contention? Are you saying society is to blame for your wicked behaviour?"

"No Warden Cartwright Ma’am," Emily replied feebly. Tears had begun to stream down her cheeks.


"Then if you have no objection we can proceed with the session. Sergeant you know where everything is. Will you set things up while Jennings gets ready? Pig I always like to take an interest in how the new inmates find some of our methods. What are your thoughts on your new accoutrements?"

"She means your new jewellery pig," guard Jennings interrupted. She had removed her jacket and was rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. Emily thought hard and fast. She could not insult the warden. The room was already being readied for her first beating and she doubted if she would be able to handle even that.


"Um, Warden Cartwright Ma’am, I don't like the collar Ma’am," Emily mumbled.


"Really pig, what don't you like about it?" The warden was intrigued now. Usually inmates espoused their dislike of the tagging but this amoral slut seemed unperturbed by it, instead focusing her aversion on the rather innocuous collar.


"I feel like I am being strangled Warden Cartwright Ma’am," Emily gasped in reply. Thinking about the presence of the collar was beginning to make her feel tense and anxious again. Her breathing was becoming shallow, striving for breath she believed was being denied her by the collar.


"Well pig, your collar is essential for discipline. It shall not be removed until your sentence is served and you are released. I am surprised that your ID tag does not bother you, though I suppose I should really know better. A slut like you is probably quite happy with the attention her privates were given."


The heat in Emily's face threatened to burn off her skin. She thought back to the attention her sex had been given, in particular her delicate button, and wondered exactly how much the warden knew.


"Time to shut that ugly trap of yours pig. I'd rather watch dogshit dry in the sun than listen to any more of your boring bullshit whinging," Sergeant Mailer snarled.


A swooshing noise drew Emily's attention to her right. Guard Jennings stood in front of a wooden structure, shaped like a T, swishing a long cane from side to side. Emily's eyes welled with tears and her shoulders began to shake with fear.


"Up to the stock pig," barked Sergeant Mailer. Emily slowly made her way towards the wooden apparatus, her delicate feet stepping hesitantly forward, the bundle in her arms shaking.


"Put that on the floor pig," said Sergeant Mailer indicating her bundle of belongings. "No pig not there. Fucking hell, Jennings is going to have to step there to allow a proper swing. Put it behind the stocks."

Emily bent down and placed her paltry bundle in front of the stocks, very aware of the sight she was creating, her bare ass thrust out behind her, her tag no doubt visible between her thighs. She stood up and stood in front of the stocks, remembering to stand to attention and just glad she no longer had to carry the bundle before her. She longed to rub the aching pain out of her arms but she dared not move.


"Right pig, head here, arms here and here," Sergeant Mailer grunted, indicating first a large groove in the centre of the T and two smaller grooves towards the ends. Emily noted as she bent down to place her neck in the centre groove that all three grooves were padded with black leather, studded at the edges with metal rivets. Emily felt terribly vulnerable: bent over from the waist, her full buttocks on display, her pendulous breasts swinging slightly beneath her, her nipples still painfully swollen. She had barely enough time to register the humiliating position she had placed herself in when Sergeant Mailer placed a crossbeam over her, trapping her neck and wrists in tight, padded holes, created by the alignment of similar grooves in the crossbeams above and below. Emily struggled for only a second before realising the utter futility of her actions, it was more the instinct of a trapped animal than any conscious effort on her part. Emily wriggled her wrists and twisted her neck within the padded holes, seeking a more comfortable position. None was to be found.


"Pig," guard Jennings punctuated her exclamation with a slap to Emily's defenseless behind, producing a yelp, more of surprise than pain, from the restrained girl.


"This is your first correction at Pentonbridge and in a way you are very lucky. You will be able to experience the procedure first hand, learn from it and benefit from it during future corrections. It will save you some difficult reading anyway pig." Jennings stepped in front of the stocks and stood directly in front of Emily's bowed head.


"Head up pig. God you're a lazy little pinhead. Now pig you have requested a total of 30 strokes. It is within my power to decide whether you have a choice of instrument for the correction. Today I will decide for you, after all you don't know any of the tools of correction yet, though I am sure you will be intimately acquainted with them all before long. Today I have decided to use the hose for disrespect and the cane for insubordination. That is 10 strokes for the hose and 20 for the cane. This is the hose pig."

Jennings produced a two foot length of black rubber hose, much thicker than Emily's thumb, attached to a foot-long wooden handle. Emily could see the hose was hollow but doubted that would lessen the pain she would feel. Just the sight of the instrument of her forthcoming torture was enough to start Emily's legs quivering.


"And this is the cane." Jennings swapped the hose for a long rattan cane. It was only about as thick as her pinky but Emily knew the pain these could cause. Her daddy had caned her once when she was twelve. She had cried so much he stopped after only one. And I have twenty of those! Emily tried to pull her head and arms out of the stocks in panic. Emily's movements became frantic.


Sergeant Mailer moved quickly behind her and placed her baton tight up against Emily's plump labia, just peeking between her thighs. Emily froze, knowing what had been placed at her most tender of regions. She began to sob uncontrollably, begging for them to stop torturing her.


"Pig, we haven't even started yet. The bitches usually don't start crying until at least the fourth stroke. If you start behaving like some epileptic bitch having a fit again I'll let Boris here zap that fat cunt of yours until its smoking. You got that pig?"


Emily sniveled and sniffed her nose, though a long string of mucus hung from its tip, still swinging from her frenetic motions of a moment before.


"Yes," sniff, "Sergeant Mailer Ma’am."


"God you're a pathetic little asslicker. How you ever managed to stay out of jail for this long I'll never know. I suppose it is a good thing you are here, at least the poor citizenry no longer have to deal with your fucking filthy shit, but I just wish you hadn't arrived on my watch. How do you feel about that pig?"


Emily's mind raced. She was still too worried about the hose that guard Jennings was now flicking just inches from her nose to listen too intently to what Sergeant Mailer was babbling about. She believed she had the gist of it though and guessed what was required. She hoped she was right, otherwise she knew she just might feel Boris at her sex again.


"I am sorry that I arrived on your watch Sergeant Mailer Ma’am." Emily was still sobbing gently, her eyes were blurred from the unreleased tears but she could still see the hose swish past her face, sending a shiver down her spine each time it swept past.


"And how do you feel about being here pig."

"I am glad I am here Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," whimpered Emily. Her heart almost broke having to say she liked this hellhole. She detested it and everyone in it, even the beautiful warden. I fucking hate all you BITCHES!


"Why pig?"


"Um... because now everyone won't have to deal with my nastiness Sergeant Mailer Ma’am."

"Well pig I think that cognitive restructuring will do you a world of good. Ok Jennings proceed."


"Right pig, I'm going to walk you through this nice and slow so that the next time you request correction that guard won't have to waste time. Next time of course your punishment will be presented in room 303. Now the first thing you do is read out your request." Guard Jennings placed a piece of paper in front of Emily's face. She could barely read it through the hair draped down across her face.


"Well pig. Don't tell me you were lying about being able to read," Jennings snarled.


"No Guard Jennings Ma’am," Emily quickly exclaimed. "I can't see it because my hair is in the way."


"Fucking hell pig you want me to be your fucking hairdresser too. Right then you pointless pile of puke." Jennings went to the same cupboard from which Emily had seen Sergeant Mailer take the stocks, and emerge with what looked like a long piece of thick string. She felt Guard Jennings grab her hair tightly, gathering in all the loose strands and tying the string tautly around the hair, creating a very severe ponytail. Without warning Emily's head was yanked painfully back, her throat straining and her hair felt like it was being pulled out at the roots. The string tying her hair had been secured to the beam of the stocks, forcing her head painfully back.


Guard Jennings stepped back in front of Emily and stood, hands on hips, admiring her work.


"Is that better pig. Do you think your peabrain will be able to read it now pig."

"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am."


Emily focused on the paper held once again before her face. It was a little blurry but after blinking a few times she began to make out the words.


"Anytime once your brain gets warmed up pig." Emily blushed and hurriedly began reading.


"I," Emily cringed as she saw the next word, that had been written in pen in the appropriate blank.


"For fucks sake pig you should be able to read the next word, it is your name after all," exclaimed Guard Jennings.


"I, pig, have requested a correction for insubordination and disrespect. I, pig, would be grateful if the resources of Pentonbridge Reform Penitentiary would be utilised to educate me as to the error of my ways. I, pig, am intensely repentant for my misbehaviour and do humbly request that correction of 10 strokes of the hose for disrespect and 20 strokes of the cane for insubordination be administered to the bare buttocks." Emily's voice caught as she read the details of her punishment.


"I, pig, am very sorry for wasting the invaluable time of this institution and wish for my correction to begin forthwith and to be administered with the utmost fervour." Emily wavered as she read the last line of the document, condemning herself to torture and even asking for them to be harder on her. A pen was thrust into her hand and the paper moved across so she could sign the document formalising the request. Emily found it difficult to sign in the position she was in, bent over and vulnerable, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. She managed to scrawl those three shameful letters that were her new name.


"Right now the difficult part is out of the way, hey pig. Your brain won't have much to do from here on in so you can relax," sneered guard Jennings. "Now you ask for the correction to begin by saying "May I please have the first stroke" and then the rest is up to me. So come on you filthy whore lets get this show on the road."


Emily swallowed hard, the severe angle her neck was at making it more difficult, and steeled herself for the hell to be unleashed. She had no illusions about holding firm and not crying out just to 'show these bitches a lesson'. Emily was sure she would be balling and screaming after the first stroke.


"M...may I please h...ave the first s...stroke Guard Jennings m...mmaam," whimpered Emily.


Almost before the last word was out of her mouth she heard the whooshing sound of displaced air from behind her. Emily didn't even have any time to tense her muscles before the hose, wielded expertly by Guard Jennings, described its arc towards her naked behind.


WHOOMP. The hose impacted with Emily's ass, her buttocks flattened with the force of the blow, sending her body jolting into the beam of the stock. The breath was knocked from her lungs and she struggled to remain standing. Emily gasped for breath, the pain in her ass was radiating up her spine and through her hips, belly and chest.


WHOOMP. She was still fighting for breath when pain exploded in her ass a second time, pushing her into the padded crossbeam. Her mouth opened and closed silently, like a dying fish gasping for air.


WHOOMP. The scream that had been fighting inside her since the first terrible impact burst from Emily's throat. She felt the scream tearing at the back of her throat. Her world now consisted entirely of pain. Not only her ass but her hips and back all felt as if they had been hit by a wrecking ball. Emily continued to scream, stopping only to refill her lungs with air until the next time the hose impacted with her already bruised buttocks.


WHOOMP. Emily had been ready for this stroke, but it made no difference. The pain from the stroke pounded through her legs and back. Emily almost collapsed as her legs gave way; the strain placed upon her neck when her backside lowered made her scramble quickly to her feet, panting and moaning. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. Her skin tingled and burned, as if her entire being was affected by pins and needles. The pain in her buttocks was throbbing incessantly and she doubted she would be able to walk after this.


WHOOMP. Again she was bounced into the beam of the stock, her hair pulling her head back more severely as she moved forward. Her moaning became tinged with sobs and her breathing became a series of shallow gasps as she tried to fill her lungs enough to scream. She was beginning to become a little lightheaded from the constant battle for oxygen. That was ten surely! Emily closed her eyes and tried to calm herself.


Another scream was torn from her as the hose landed once more upon her rapidly discolouring ass. She hadn't even heard that one. Maybe my brain is shutting down, she thought. Now if only her sense of pain would go offline she could maybe make it through this.


The next few minutes became a blur of pain for Emily as Jennings continued to beat her ass with the hose, landing a stroke every 40 seconds as proscribed in the guard’s handbook. Sergeant Mailer stood to one side timing, lifting her arm at the 35 second mark giving Jennings the time to line up, draw back and swing to land a stroke precisely 40 seconds after the previous.


Jennings' face was split by an evil grin for the entire punishment. She could see each individual bruise develop upon, what had been, pig's unblemished buttocks. By tomorrow, she knew, the bruises would be a disgusting yellowish purple and would be intensely painful. There was nothing like the hose to leave deep bruises upon a bitch's ass. This was something pig would remember for the rest of her life. All inmates remembered their first punishment, but that was usually five strokes. Pig was getting thirty.


"Pig. Did you hear me pig?" yelled guard Jennings. Emily felt a sharp stinging in the left half of her face and her head was jerked sharply to the right, tugging painfully at her scalp. Emily blinked through the pain and the tears in her eyes and looked up at Guard Jennings standing in front of her.


"Goddam you stupid fuckhole. Did some shit get stuck in your ears when I cleaned that filthy carcass or do you just have a hankering for more punishment? Well pig answer me." Emily stared blankly at the irate guard. What the hell was she talking about? Emily's brain was having a hard time processing anything other than the intense agony throbbing throughout her abused behind. It felt as if her ass had swollen to three times the normal size and Emily was sure she was disfigured. And now she was supposed to answer a question she hadn't even heard.


"I," croaked Emily. Her throat was raw from screaming and each sound she made felt like sandpaper grating across her tender oesophagus.


"I didn't hear the question Guard Jennings Ma’am," Emily finally managed to rasp out.


"I said your first 10 strokes for disrespect have been administered. Do you wish to continue with the 20 strokes of the cane for insubordination?" Emily's brow furrowed and her brain, which had still been in a slight state of shock, burst into life. Did she want to continue? Of course she fucking didn't! But even with the pain in her ass pounding her consciousness she knew she was being tested. If she said no what would happen. She knew it would be bad.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am," Emily sobbed. She was consumed by despair. There was absolutely nothing she could do to escape this torture. Nothing she could possibly say or do would even make the sadistic bitch spare her one whit. Emily was sure she would be leaving Pentonbridge in a wooden box, and on the first day of her sentence.


"Right then pig, we'll get straight to it. Ok sergeant the dumbass bitch doesn't even want a break so we can begin the caning immediately." Emily could tell from her voice that Jennings was smiling. She didn't know she could have a rest. She needed one desperately. Emily opened her mouth to beg to change her mind but thought better of it. She closed her mouth and gritted her teeth. Would the cane be worse than the hose? It couldn't be. They had given her ten of the hose because it was the worst. She was sure this would hurt immensely, after all her ass was already bruised and swollen, but it couldn't be as bad. Surely!


Emily could hear talking somewhere off to her left and she tried to shut out the pain from her throbbing buttocks to listen. She strained to hear what was being said, she caught her name, pig, and something about dogs but the talk was too faint and...


WHACK. Pain exploded in Emily's ass. The cane had landed perfectly across both bruised globes and an immediate welt formed. The young girl grunted with the blow. It felt as if someone had slashed her buttocks with a knife! The pain had caused yellow spots to dance before her eyes and Emily just knew she had been irreparably damaged. Jennings began tapping the exposed and abused mounds of flesh, lining up her second stroke. She wanted these strokes to be evenly spaced; her precision would be testimony to her professionalism. She had been hoping for a transfer to room 303 and this session in front of the warden would help her chances immensely.


WHACK. Only two strokes and already Emily was panting through gritted teeth. She began to feel nauseous and tried to swallow the feeling but that was made almost impossible by the severe angle at which her neck was pulled back. A small string of drool dribbled slowly from the corner of her mouth and she could taste the mucus trailing down from her nose. That made her feel worse and her stomach, which surely held nothing but acids, threatened once again to void its contents from her mouth. The pain in her behind was consuming her. She was more certain than ever that she would not survive this beating.


WHACK. The hardened rattan cane landed below her buttocks this time, at the sensitive juncture of her buttocks and her thighs. Emily screamed again. Unable to deal with the explosion of pain, this time bursting out in agonising ripples, travelling down her legs and up her back, Emily collapsed. Her legs wobbled and gave way to the onslaught of sheer agony flowing through her body. She began to gasp for air as the pressure put on her throat, as her legs failed and her body sank to the floor, cut off her airway. She struggled to draw air into her lungs while willing her trembling legs to support her. Emily gasped for air like a dying fish, her eyes flickered frantically about the room seeking help. This was it then. They were going to let her suffocate here, like this. She felt a sudden pressure at her belly and her body was lifted up, the pressure of her body weight upon her throat and neck abated and she desperately gulped in air.


"Fuck you're a useless cunt pig. You only got three little love taps from the cane and already you’re acting as if someone was beating you to death. By being so ill-disciplined you just earned yourself an extra five strokes. Whenever the buttress must be used it shows a lack of commitment by the inmate to undergo correction and this incurs a penalty. But don't worry too much you lazy slut, the extra strokes are administered to your calves so that fat ass of yours, which by the way has become quite colourful over the last few minutes, will be spared. You see pig we do things by the book here. You had better learn that very quickly or these two mounds of fat," Jennings poked each of Emily's buttocks with the tip of the cane, eliciting a painful yelp, "will quickly become a most delightful patchwork of bruises and scars."


WHACK. Pain stabbed deep into Emily's body as the cane again crashed into her discoloured buttocks. The 'buttress' that had been placed under her belly had forced her body to remain parallel to the ground, her toes barely brushing the thickly carpeted floor. It was a sparsely padded block of wood attached to the base of the stocks and not only prevented an inmate from collapsing during punishment but forced the buttocks up and out, presenting the maximum expanse of flesh to be punished.


The caning continued without further interruption, Emily's tender behind beaten and marked by the incessant fall of the cane, her cries and whimpers of pain accompanying each fall of the hard rattan upon her delicate flesh. She kept her eyes closed as best she could, her tears falling continually, as her face and throat were stretched painfully by her tied hair. Great sobs wracked her body between the relentless stinging agony of the cane. Her nose ran copiously down her lips and chin and dripped onto the floor, creating a sticky puddle of mucus directly beneath her face. Emily no longer tried to sniff the viscous substance back into her nose. She was already in so much pain that the added humiliation of having snot cascading down her face did little to upset her.


It was a moment before Emily realised that it had been some time since the cane last blasted its fiery agony across her buttocks and thighs. Still sobbing, and gasping for breath, she blinked her eyes clear of tears. Her vision was still a little blurry, her red and swollen eyes glittered in the harsh light, scanned the small section of the room she could see. Sergeant Mailer still stood to her left and she was talking quietly with guard Jennings. The warden was not in sight but her soft, smoky voice was barely audible. Emily tried hard to focus on the voices of the three women whom it seemed now held her life in their hands but the overwhelming pain still blazing in her ass and thighs was too distracting. The harsh biting pain of the cane had been replaced with a fiery, throbbing agony in her bruised behind. Her legs also ached from the strain of trying to keep the buttress from jabbing painfully into her belly, causing each breath to be an agonised fight for air. Her throat ached. Her scalp ached. Even her eyes ached, swollen as they were from her constant crying.


"Pig!" Jennings screamed into her ear, startling Emily out of the distressing catalogue of her aches and pains. "Now after a correction you are to thank the corrective officer for their efforts in disciplining you."


Emily trembled at the thought of thanking this bitch for what she had just done to her. She couldn't see her ass, nor even feel enough of the ravaged area to truly know the extent of the damage, but she was sure she had been horribly disfigured. There was simply no way something could hurt so much and not have terribly damaged the area. Emily was sure her lovely, rounded ass (and she had been complimented many times on its perfection) was now a red and bloody ruin. And she was to be thankful! Well no matter what they did or said to her they could not make her thankful but she would tell the bitches what they wanted to hear.


Emily cleared her throat before attempting to speak. Her throat was raw and sore from screaming and she didn't want to be punished for not speaking properly. She knew how easily fault had been found with her behaviour and she had promised herself to think before doing or saying anything in the future.


"What the fuck are you grunting for now pig. You sound like a dirty great sow with its face deep in a trough of slop. Well it will be a while before you are fed so get on with your speech so we can finish here and we can be rid of your filth for the night."


"Thank you Guard Jennings Ma’am for disciplining me," Emily trembled as she mouthed the words. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as Emily realised that no matter what she thought to herself the constant sniping and insults directed at her were making her feel like she truly was just a piece of filth. She was sure it would be better once she was with the other prisoners though.


"Right shitstain we have the matter of the penalty strokes and then the warden can finally be rid of your fucking foul presence. I'm sure everyone is sick of the sight of you, god knows I am. And the stench as well. The warden and sergeant Mailer are lucky they don't have to stand so close to you. I can smell the vile stink of that gross cunt of yours. Did getting the cane turn you on you filthy whore?"


"No Guard Jennings Ma’am," Emily meekly replied. She had hoped no one else had been aware of her musk. The powerful perfume still lingered from the manipulation of her clit she endured in processing.


"Whatever bitch, it makes me want to gag but at least the stink of shit is gone. I know you aren't too happy about that but we aren't here to make you happy are we pig?"

"No Guard Jennings Ma’am."


"What are we here for pig?"


Emily was at a loss. What did she mean? Why were they here in this room? Why was she here at Pentonbridge? She knew the wrong answer would lead to further castigation but she also knew hesitation would guarantee it.


"Because I am a filthy pig whore who needs to be kept off the streets and disciplined Guard Jennings Ma’am," Emily cringed as she denigrated herself. It seemed she would do anything to stop them hitting her. She had to be strong but she couldn't find the courage and she knew her self-respect was being slowly eroded.


"You are a filthy whore, pig. That is true. But we are here to help you to become a better person. I know there isn't a lot we can do with a retard but we're going to show those pricks at Hopstead how to get the best out of their mental defectives. Now for all penalty strokes you must ask to be given the penalty strokes and apologise for showing a lack of commitment to your correction. Well do it pig, don't just lie there or you'll get another five for idleness as well," Jennings screamed in her ear.


Emily winced at the deafening yell just inches from her ear, causing her whole head to ache. She was sure Jennings was trying to make her deaf.


"Guard Jennings Ma’am, may I please have the penalty strokes. I am very sorry for showing a lack of commitment to my correction and promise to do better next time," Emily stammered.


"I am sure there will be a next time pig and you had better behave with more decorum in room 303. They don't stand for all the shit you have gone on with today. If you're not careful you might find yourself spending a few days in there but I suppose it's a waste of time warning you. You're such a dense fuckwit you are bound to disregard any advice. I know it's not by choice. You're brain just doesn't work as well as normal people's but I don't think there is anyone in the world who could bring themselves to pity a filthy jizzbag like you. Right then pig. Are you ready?" asked Jennings smiling. These silly cunts always thought that the strokes on their calves would be so much easier than on their ass. She always loved to see them realise just how wrong they were.


"Yes Guard Jennings maaaaaargh."


The cane landed a resounding blow across the thickest part of Emily's straining calves. Emily kicked up her legs at the sudden, blinding pain. Fuuuuck. Her mind simply reeled in response to the overwhelming sensations of agony that flooded it. Emily squeezed her calves into the backs of her thighs, ignoring the jabbing pain of the buttress in her belly.


"Pig if you don't get those legs down before the next stroke you will be tied down and another five penalty strokes will be awarded," Jennings advised, the amusement in her voice obvious to all.


Emily lowered her legs the instant the idea of more strokes penetrated the haze in her brain. She fervently hoped she was in time. The first stroke felt like she had been slashed with a knife, her tendons lying severed and useless. She knew they weren't but her distressed mind was playing frighteningly real tricks upon her.


Pain exploded again in her pain-wracked calves. Once again she could not stop swinging her legs in the air, pivoting her weight on the buttress. But this time she managed to replace them only moments later. Now she had time to feel the pain flowing up her legs and into her ass, uniting with the throbbing ache centred in her tortuous mounds. She also had time to anticipate the next stroke: wondering where it would land, would it be worse than the last, would she be able to stand after this.


A piteous gurgle erupted from Emily as the cane struck again, overlapping a previous welt. She began to feel light-headed and nauseous again. Her vision began to blur and she wished she was falling into the safe black void of unconsciousness. She welcomed it, wishing through the horrendous pain that it would come.


Bright yellow spots of light exploded in front of Emily's eyes as the cane smacked into the tender flesh of her calves for the fourth time. Her legs hung limply, trembling, as she waited for the initial biting horror of the stroke to dissipate. Knowing only one more stroke was to follow allowed her to steel herself for the pain, somehow ignoring the tortuous agony stabbing her legs and calm herself for the final stroke.


She thought it odd that for the first time she actually heard the movement of the cane as it flew in to smash her vulnerable calves one last time. Time seemed to slow as the cane made contact with her trembling muscles, flattening the flesh, then rebounding to shape as the cane came away. The pain from the stroke seemed to be dulled, a mere shadow of the previous strokes. Maybe I have discovered the secret of dealing with pain, Emily thought to herself. She remembered a documentary she saw on the National Geographic channel about some men in some Asian country who skewered themselves with large needles and hooks and apparently felt no pain. Then it hit her. Time sped up, pain flashed from her tortured calves to her brain, dispelling any grandiose claims of pain suppression as a ragged scream was torn from her painfully raw throat as the full extent of the impact battered her flimsy defences. Emily writhed in agony in the stocks. Her movement was greatly restricted but her thrashing actually managed to move the stocks a fraction of an inch.


Before she had a chance to calm down on her own she felt the cold, blunt head of a shock-baton placed against her exposed vagina.


"Settle down pig or you're going to have a reason to thrash." Sergeant Mailer's voice was low and heavy with menace. Emily instantly became still. Her whole being was alight with pain, it seemed even her eyelashes were causing her suffering. She felt, rather than saw, guard Jennings move in front of her and release her hair from its severe tie. Relief flushed through Emily as the terrible pain in her scalp was alleviated. Her neck felt as if it had been stretched out of shape, an intense stabbing sensation now evident along her spine. She was sure her throat would take many days to recover from being strained for so long. She could not enjoy the sensations as she would have liked as the menacing fear of the baton at her sex overshadowed her relief. She remained motionless as she felt the buttress being removed from beneath her and steeled herself to support her entire weight on her own two feet once more. She desperately wanted to collapse to the floor and lie there until doomsday but she knew she could not, and would only bring herself more misery if she did not show some self-control. The crossbeam of the stocks was removed and the last pressure on her neck and wrists was finally removed. She dared not stand up without permission, besides she needed as much time as she could get to strengthen her still trembling legs. Finally the baton was removed and she dared to look down, while she waited for the command to rise, reveling in the normal use of her neck and was shocked to see the large wet stain her mucus drippings had left on the carpet. It was then she fully realised just what a state she was in.


She could now feel the entire lower half of her face was covered in the slime from her nose and she felt nauseous at the thought of it. Her eyes, now dry for the first time in as long as she cared to remember, had become painful and tight, as if the swelling were about to burst the delicate skin of her face.


"Wake up pig, you fucking lazy pinhead," barked Sergeant Mailer. "Stand to attention and face the warden."


Emily hesitantly raised her upper body, realising after a moment she needed the strength of her arms to raise herself off the stocks. She turned gingerly around to face the warden and placed her hands behind her back, left wrist over right, and straightened her shoulders. The pounding torment of her buttocks and legs threatened to overwhelm Emily, her face paled and she swayed a little but managed to stay standing.


"Turn around pig so the warden can see the results of your requests."


Emily turned around, showing her brutalised behind to the warden. She was now left to face guard Jennings. The self-satisfied smirk on her face was yet another blow to Emily. This had meant nothing to the evil guard, she was nothing. The hours of torture she had been subjected to had simply been a task for Jennings to perform. Emily lowered her gaze and wallowed in despair.


"Good job Jennings, very nice spacing." The wardens compliment made Jennings beam with pride, and ambition. Maybe she truly would be able to get that transfer to room 303. Emily couldn't believe it. They were discussing her ravaged behind and praising the evil cow for her technique. Emily felt her head pulled to one side as Sergeant Mailer grabbed her hair and yanked her head down. She felt something being rubbed in her hair but, bent over as she was, could not see what was happening. Sergeant Mailer let go of Emily's hair pushing her head away from her in disgust. Emily stumbled to her left but quickly resumed the attention position. She flushed when she realised that Sergeant Mailer had been wiping the end of her baton in Emily's hair, ridding it of her vaginal juices. This is what she had become. Her own body used like a rag to clean her filth off the implements of her own torture.


"Pick up your bundle and stop snivelling. My shift is almost over and I want your fat bitch carcass safely in a cell before I leave," snarled Sergeant Mailer.


"Perhaps Jennings might be kind enough to finish pig's induction so you don't miss any precious time with your children simply because of a disgusting cunt. Rose, what say you?" the warden inquired sweetly. Jennings' face screwed up in distaste but answered in the affirmative, her thoughts only of impressing the warden.


"I know it is a distasteful job Rose but someone has to deal with the more degenerate things we get here and Sergeant Mailer will be spending more than enough time in this foul bitch's company." The warden turned slowly to Emily and her face hardened. "Pig, Jennings will now escort you to your cell. You have not made a particularly auspicious start so I would suggest that you not request any further corrections for a while. That pigskin of yours will need time to heal and I am sure the doctor will not wish to see you again so soon." Warden Cartwright turned away from Emily, her voice and expression softening. Was it truly that distasteful for someone to look at or speak to her? Emily was finding it easier and easier to believe she was indeed a vile, hateful piece of filth.


"Sergeant organise for some V12 to be supplied to pig." With that the warden washed her hands of the situation and returned to her desk. "Send in two-fourteen."


Almost immediately the large doors opened and the maid-inmate hobbled in, now minus the gag Emily noted. She walked up to the desk and curtseyed to the warden before standing to attention.


"Pig made a mess of my carpet. Clean it," the warden's tone, though stern, held none of the disgust evident when she addressed pig. The maid-inmate turned to the stocks and scrambled over as quickly as the ankle hobbles allowed. She immediately spied the mucus-puddle in front of the stocks, sank to her knees and without hesitation began to lick at the slimy mess. Emily's eyes narrowed in disgust but she quickly checked herself. She was lucky she didn't have to do it. And even more lucky she didn't get punished for creating the mess. Watching the poor girl on her hands and knees lapping at the slimy muck, smearing it around her mouth as she endeavoured to remove as much as she could from the lush carpet, reminded Emily of the condition of her own face. The gooey fluid coated almost her entire face below her nose and had begun to dry slowly, causing a tightness in certain parts of her face.


"Move it pig," barked Jennings. "No time to daydream about eating your own snot now, just accept that the job has been given to another. Jesus Christ you sicken me pig. First it's shit, now you want to eat your own snot. A very careful eye is going to be kept on you from now on so you had better resign yourself to the fact that you will no longer be able to eat your own waste. Now move it."


With that Jennings slapped Emily's ass with her baton. The abused girl jumped forward yelping in pain, almost losing control of her bundle. She had hardly been touched and yet it almost felt like she had been struck with the cane again. She knew that was an exaggeration but the memory of the pain from the beating was diminishing and all she could focus on now was the pain she felt at that moment.


Emily quickly paced out the doors and into the waiting room beyond. She darted one last lingering look around the sumptuously furnished room as she passed through, knowing she would not see it's like for a long time. As she stepped into the adjoining corridor the cold of the tiles hit her feet almost like a physical blow. She had become used to the warm, gentle feel of the carpet and had forgotten the unforgiving chill of the prison corridors.


She was marched without a word from Guard Jennings back down the stairs and down the long corridor. The silence gave her time to concentrate her thoughts on her abused body. The pain from her beating had subsided somewhat but it was still an ever-present torment. She had all but forgotten the collar around her neck and the tag on her labia but cataloguing her hurts brought everything back into sharp focus.


"Left here pig. Then continue down the corridor past the guardhouse and stand at attention at the gate."


Emily strode down the barren corridor, past the large glass windows to her left, and stood before the barred gate. She had glanced inside the guardhouse as she passed and noted three guards seated before banks of computer screens. They barely even looked in her direction before turning their attention back to the screens. Emily could hear a muted conversation behind her and wondered what foul rumours Jennings was spreading about her now. She tried to take her mind off it by looking past the bars of the gate and into the corridor beyond. About every 20 metres along this long corridor was another gate, on alternating sides. She could see a large bold, black letter above the first gate: A. She was destined for 'D wing', so the fourth door down was where she would be spending the next two years.


"Don't just stand there pig start prancing."

Emily immediately began high-stepping as Jennings had taught her. She could hear laughter behind her and could imagine what a sight she was presenting. Her ass black and blue, no doubt dripping blood, holding her heavy bundle in front of her, thankfully hiding her breasts, and prancing like some animal on show.


She jumped in fright as a loud CLANG sounded as the gate unlocked and began to slide open. Emily kept high-stepping as she waited for guard Jennings to join her to begin the last part of her journey. She yearned to be allowed into her cell and to be left alone for just a little while. She desperately needed sleep, something to wet her parched mouth (besides mucus) and most importantly time away from the constant degradation of her tormentors.


"You enjoy that don't you pig," Jennings whispered close to her ear. Emily's body jerked in midstride, startled by the sudden appearance of her tormentor. How could she move so quietly? Here I go again, she thought. Emily gritted her teeth fighting back tears. She would not cry again, not over this. She knew it wasn't true so why did having to say it upset her so much.


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am I love prancing." Emily's eyes were downcast but she just knew guard Jennings was smiling at her.


"Move to the second gate on the right pig. No one said to stop prancing you dense cunt. You said you loved doing it so why stop unless you're told to. Or were you lying pig? Well answer me dickbrain."


"No Guard Jennings Ma’am I wasn't lying."


"Then prance on pig," chuckled Jennings.


Emily high-stepped her way down the corridor, the exaggerated movements of her legs causing her to feel more intensely the hurts of her backside and legs. She also had to struggle to hold her increasingly heavy bundle up and away from her elevated knees. She heard the gate bang shut behind her and the gate to which she was heading began to slide open. This was it, finally she would be in D wing, able to relax in her cell. A small smile crept on Emily's face. Rest; it was all she could think of now.


Chapter 8 - D Wing


Emily stepped through the open gate into D wing. All she ever knew of prisons had been garnered from television and movies and the fantasy did not do the reality justice. Emily found herself in a large hall, rows upon rows of bars to her right and left. She glanced furtively about her to absorb as much of the scene as she could as she continued to prance on the spot until guard Jennings told her to move. She could make out only minor details in the cells surrounding her. They were all empty, that she could discern. The cells were almost empty of furnishings though she could make out a slab to one side but she had no time for a more detailed scrutiny as guard Jennings yelled at her to move.


Emily pranced down the hall, passing cell after cell. She attempted to take her mind off the lewd display she was putting on as she brought her knees high up to her waist with each step, she could feel the sway of her tag as it pulled at her labia and brushed her thighs with each exaggerated step. She counted the cells as she passed them, two on each side, and had almost reached the end, and she had counted more than thirty individual cells, when guard Jennings told her to stop and face right. Emily, pranced on the spot and turned to her right.


"Open thirty-six," Jennings yelled. Emily glanced to her left, the large glass windows of the wing's guardhouse only metres away. Her cell was only one removed from the guardhouse. She noticed the guard inside nod to Jennings and the barred gate in front of her slid open.


This was it: her cell.


It was tiny, perhaps as big as the bathroom in her apartment. She estimated it was perhaps two metres wide and three deep. On the right was the slab she had seen before. It was the bed, a tiny metre-wide concrete slab topped with a thin plastic mattress. Emily noted a thick metal railing ran around the outside of the bed, seemingly to keep the mattress in place but more likely to be used for restraint. It reminded her greatly of those railings they used for disabled people to grab on to but not quite as thick. A paltry looking pillow was placed at the head of the bed, actually resting against the bars of her cell. It was then she realised that the entire front wall of her cell was composed entirely of bars and she could be observed 24 hours a day. Other inmates would be able to see her and she them, not to mention the guards. Privacy it seemed was a thing of the past for inmates of Pentonbridge.


From the far end of the bed a free-standing stainless steel shelf jutted out from the wall at waist height. It's gleaming, smooth surface held only two small metal circlets. At the far end of the cell, and in the middle of the floor, sat a steel bucket with a large number 36 painted in yellow on the side, she didn't even need to guess what that was for. Her attention was drawn to two large yellow circles painted on the floor, just inside the door, and two corresponding circles painted at shoulder-height on the wall above them. Emily was just beginning to contemplate their use when a push in the back caused her to stumble forward into her cell.


"Stop daydreaming pig and put that stuff down on the bench," barked Jennings.


Emily pranced over to the small bench and awkwardly placed her bundle on the benchtop, trying to avoid hitting her knees as she continued high-stepping.


"For fuck's sake you dim slut, you stop strutting when given an order. I know you love it, and no doubt that nasty cunt of yours is sopping again, but you can't do it all the time."


Emily cringed as Jennings admonished her for continuing to do what she had been told. She couldn't win. So why even bother trying.


"Now pick up the cuffs and bring them to me pig. Right now pig, these cuffs are to be worn whenever you are in your cell. They will be placed on you upon entering the cell after your days work and removed before morning ablutions." Guard Jennings leaned in close to Emily's face, her breath hot on her cheek. Emily wanted desperately to cringe away and escape the loathsome guard but dared not move.


"Now pig, these little bracelets are for your own good. They will keep your nasty cunt out of bounds of temptation. All the bitches on D-wing wear them in their cells but not for the same reason as you. Did you enjoy having that monster clit of yours played with today pig?"


"Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am," replied Emily trembling, after all what else could she say without offending the foul guard.


"Christ pig your breath stinks," spat guard Jennings. "I didn't think you managed to get much of your shit in your mouth but it seems you got at least one big mouthful. And I suppose you were going to hide that and savour it all night long were you, you filthy cunt. Well pig not on my watch you aren't. Hasn't all we have done for you today sunk in at all. Here you are still trying to cling to your old depraved habits. Well listen to me pig. You will be cured of this vile habit. Have no fear of that." Guard Jennings moved around beside Emily, her mouth almost touching her ear and screamed, "you fucking disgust me pig."


Emily cringed and drew away from the psychotic guard.


"Turn around pig and keep your hands behind your back. In the future you will restrain yourself, the cuffs being checked by the duty sergeant before lockdown." Emily felt Jennings' hands on her side, moving the small rings attached to her belly chain behind her. Emily was quite ticklish and the gentle brushing of the guard on her sensitive waist was maddening but she managed to stand still and escape provoking the clearly unbalanced guard further. Her left hand was jerked to the side and she felt the metal cuff placed around her wrist and slid through the small bellychain ring. The click of the cuff as it was closed sounded deafening to Emily. Even in her cell, where she thought to find some measure of sanctuary, her confinement was to be emphasised by these terrible restraints. The almost inaudible click of the second cuff closing about her right wrist was like the last nail in the coffin of her imprisonment. She tried to remain strong and valiantly fought back the tears threatening to overwhelm her composure. Soon, she comforted herself. Soon I will be alone and I can just huddle up in bed and pretend for just a little while that none of this is happening.


"Now get your toothbrush pig, we are going to see about that shiteating mouth of yours."


Emily walked back to the bench upon which she had deposited her bundle. She noted the position of the toothbrush and turned around, and stepped up on her tiptoes in order to reach it with her hands behind her back.


"What the fuck are you doing assbreath?"


"Getting my toothbrush Guard Jennings Ma’am," Emily replied quizzically. Surely she could not be doing anything wrong now.


"Christ you're a dense bitch pig. You can move your hands in front of you. The rings attached to your bellychain have 360 degree movement. For you pig that means they can move all the way around. Move your hands around in front of you."



Emily stood back on her heels and slowly slid her hands around in front of her. She could feel the friction of the rings as they pulled around her bellychain until both her hands were resting, a little uncomfortably, on her belly.


"Now I know you are dying to play with your cunt so give it a try," sneered Guard Jennings.


Emily flushed as she moved her hands tentatively down towards her crotch. They had only moved an inch or two before being brought up short by the bellychain. Even with her fingers stretched out Emily could only just touch the top of her cleft with her middle finger. She would not even be able to reach her clit. Emily's head jerked up as the guard’s boisterous laugh echoed throughout the cell-block.


"You should have seen the look on your face when you realised you couldn't get to your cunt. Pig you are priceless. Looks like your days of playing with that sloppy snatch for hours are over, hey pig. Now don't be such a retard this time and get your toothbrush. It seems your lessons are not yet over for the day."


Emily turned back to the bench and reached out to grasp her toothbrush. She had to lean her entire body into the task but she was surprised with the ease of movement she had in the demeaning restraints.


"Out pig, now face right, and keep moving down the corridor into the shower block. This will be where you are to go for morning and evening ablutions. Move it pig, goddam you're a lazy shit."

Emily hurried along the corridor, past the empty cell between hers and the glass guardhouse, and down a corridor to one side. She could make out a similar corridor on the opposite side of the cellblock. After only a few steps the corridor opened out into a large white-tiled room. To her left sat a bank of small white, porcelain toilets all arrayed against one wall. There were eight toilets, with mere feet between them, but what caused Emily to blush was the fact that they were totally exposed. There were no cubicles, nor even any small partitions between the toilets or between the toilets and the rest of the room. The toilets simply extruded from the wall and sat there, like eight gaping pits of humiliation.


"Pig," guard Jennings screamed. "You're not here to daydream about shit you fucking nasty cunt. Every fucking chance you get hey pig. You'll never be eating from those bowls," Jennings laughed boisterously. "Now get your fat ass over here and listen very closely because you won't be told again."


Emily jerked in fright at guard Jennings' scream and shuffled in front of where the guard was standing. Before her was a large shelved unit, consisting of 38 small pigeon holes. Each one was marked with the appropriate cell number and inmate number. As Emily scanned them she noticed there was very little to be seen in each compartment. A toothbrush, a small scrubbing brush and a small plastic comb was all that they contained.


"These are the nests pig. Each inmate has one and yours is way down there at the bottom." Emily's gaze followed Guard Jennings’ pointed hand. There was her 'nest' right down at the floor: 36, pig. Hers was the only nest with a name instead of a number.


"Each instrument is to be taken from the nest to be used and replaced upon completion of the task. Now pig that means when it is time for you to shower then you take the brush and go into the showers, wash that godawful blob you call a body then return the brush to the nest. The same goes for the comb. When you want to see to that's rats-nest on your empty head then you take the comb proceed to the mirrors, do what you can, which won't be much, and return the comb. And for the toothbrush, well we are going to go through that procedure now. Over here now pig."


Emily followed guard Jennings to a bank of basins along another wall, each topped with a large, square mirror.


"First we have to clean all that snot away." Guard Jennings picked up a white towel from a pile to the right, at the entrance to the shower area and held it up to Emily's nose. "Ok pig blow. Come on we have to go to the source and get all the snot out of there first. Blow harder you silly bitch. I bet that's the first time you've ever heard that one pig. Once more." Emily again blew her nose into the rough towel. Her hands clenched at her waist, sending her knuckles white. Please couldn't this end for just a little while. Please couldn't they just leave her alone. Her entire body ached but it was as nothing to the ache in her mind. She had been degraded and humiliated beyond endurance and to have her nose blown for her was simply another fiery slash to her already tattered self-esteem. Satisfied pig had blown her nose properly, Jennings folded the towel and began to scrape away the dried, crusty snot from Emily's mouth and jaw. The towel rasped harshly across her tender skin as Jennings roughly scoured away the congealed mess. Emily tried to pull her head away but Jennings reached around and grabbed her hair tightly, sending spikes of pain through her already abused scalp, until she was still and submitted to the humiliating scrubbing. Finished, Jennings threw the towel haphazardly in a corner.


"Now pig this is what you do. You take the toothpaste from here on the basin top. Then you take the toothbrush from your nest, well give me the brush you fuckwit, and then you open up the toothpaste and apply it along the length of the head of the toothbrush, you see the bit with the bristles." Emily nodded her head, too humiliated to speak. Her face was a blazing red as she was instructed like a child on how to brush her own teeth.


"You always squeeze from the bottom of the tube pig. That makes it easier for all other dumbass bitches to get the toothpaste and ensures that none gets wasted in the process. See how I have placed a liberal dollop of paste on the end of the brush," said Jennings holding the brush up close to Emily's face. "And did you see how I started at one end of the bristles and slowly moved down to the other end all the while gently squeezing the tube of paste to ensure a nice even discharge. You are not to just heap a big dollop onto the brush, nor to smear it thinly like butter. Then you open your mouth, well pig get it open. I know you want to hold onto that shit for as long as you can but this is going to happen now. Lips back further."



Emily opened her mouth and pulled back her lips from her teeth as instructed. A solitary tear formed at her left eye. So that was all she could manage now she thought. She could never escape the stigma that had been placed on her, and now she was being instructed in something even small children knew how to do. She dreaded what would happen when she needed to go to the toilet.


"Look up pig, how the fuck are you going to learn if you don't watch. You can watch in the mirror while I show you what to do."

Emily looked up and saw herself for the first time since processing. She looked frightful. Her hair was indeed a mess, a small clump stuck out at a stiff angle from her head, her own juices wiped from Sergeant Mailer's shock-baton the cause. Her eyes were red and puffy, no wonder they hurt so much; even so her eyes seemed to be sunk into her skull. She looked pale and sickly, except for the lower half of her face, pink and flushed, where her dried mucus had recently been so roughly scoured from her skin.


She watched as Jennings lifted the toothbrush to her mouth and proceeded to brush her teeth.


"Now pig you start with the front teeth. See how I am doing an up and down motion and see now how I have changed it to a circular motion. You change between these to fully clean your teeth. Then you move to the back teeth and also clean the outer side of them. Open your mouth wider so we can get back there. Now then you move on to the tops and bottoms of the teeth. Now I know it is a little confusing pig but for these areas the motion is changed. We use a simple scrubbing motion. Back and forth, back and forth, you see how that works pig? Well answer me fathead."


"eh ar ennin am," garbled Emily, her mouth wide and full of toothbrush and paste. It took every last shred of her willpower to suppress her despair and humiliation, biting back on the nascent howl of anguish that would, she knew, achieve nothing but the exacerbation of her own sense of helplessness.


Here she was naked, her hands pinned to her side, her ass and thighs sending wave after wave of pain radiating through her body, the tag in her labia maddeningly brushing her inner thighs and she was forced to cooperate while someone not only brushed her teeth for her but talked to her like a baby while doing it. She knew tears would only provide fresh ammunition for her tormentor so Emily clenched her hands at her sides and stared in despair at the broken woman in the mirror in front of her.


She tried to keep as still as she could, hoping the ordeal would end, but her head was jerked constantly by the forceful brushing of her teeth. She noticed also that her breasts jiggled in concert with guard Jennings' less than gentle brushing motion, her nipples still erect after all this time. She wasn't cold now so why were the goddamn things still hard. Not only was it an added source of discomfort, they were achingly tender after hours of turgidity, but the clear sign of her arousal bothered Emily deeply.


"Then we move to the inner sides of the teeth and we go back to the first motions of up and down and round. There now we have finished the teeth pig we are usually done. But this time I am going to clean a little more thoroughly. I don't want to leave any traces of shit in there. You won't have to do this again because you won't get the chance again to eat shit and soon you will be cured and won't even want to."


Guard Jennings proceeded to scrape the toothbrush along the inside of Emily's cheeks, the roof of her mouth and her tongue, shoving the brush far down her throat and making her gag once or twice.


"Pig, you dozy bitch stop pretending. If you don't gag on big black men's cocks then a little toothbrush you'd hardly even feel."


Jennings continued her cleansing of Emily's mouth and removed the brush.


"Then you rinse the toothbrush of the paste and whatever foulness you had in your mouth like this and then bend down and drink from the faucet to rinse your mouth."

Emily bent down and placed her mouth under the running tap and took a grateful swig of water. She was dying of thirst and the water mixed with the mint of the toothpaste felt like manna from heaven. She gulped down three mouthfuls before a slap on her abused ass made her jump forward, bumping her head painfully into the metal tap.


"Don't gorge yourself pig. For fuck's sake don't you have any self-control. Now go put your toothbrush back in your nest and get back to your cell," Jennings shouted.


Emily quickly gathered the toothbrush the guard had placed on the basin counter and trotted back to the nests, bent down and placed her toothbrush in with her brush and comb and hurried back to her cell. She stole a quick glance behind her as she left the basin area and was shocked to see the state of her behind. She had expected it to be terribly mangled. Her buttocks were horribly discoloured, almost entirely dark shades of purple, and she could see numerous red welts down her thighs and calves. But there was none of the blood or ragged flesh she had expected. She just couldn't see how she wasn't disfigured by such a beating.


Emily thought upon the punishment she had received as she walked back to her cell. If there weren't any open suppurating wounds then they could beat her like that extremely often. The thought made her whole body shiver violently in dread at the possibility. Emily stepped back into her cell and turned around to face the grinning guard.


"Now pig I know that you are dying to lie that fat ass of yours down like the lazy sow that you are but do you see that plastic cup that is on the bench now? That is V12, contains a bunch of crap but mainly witch-hazel and it's for that fat ass of yours, helps with bruising. I suggest you use all of it otherwise you will be in a greater amount of pain over the next couple of days. I'm sure as hell not going to smear it on your filthy ass. I made the marks and I'll be fucked if I'm going to help clear them up. I would also suggest you do some reading of your handbook if you don't wish to be back for another round of punishments very soon."

With that Jennings turned to the guardhouse, nodded and walked away as the gate to Emily's cell clanged shut. The exhausted girl watched as the sadistic guard strode away. Finally she was alone. She turned around and stared disconsolately around her desolate cell. So this was to be her home for the next two years, if she was lucky.


She sat down on her plastic bed but jumped instantly to her feet as her bruised flesh came into contact with the hard surface. She looked at the plastic cup of cream and decided to get it over and done with, anything to help ease the pain. Bending over the bench and leaning her hands out as far from her body as the chain allowed she managed to nudge the cup closer to the edge of the bench. She looked closer at the contents and thought how similar it looked to a man's cum. She lowered her head in shame at the thought. Maybe she was a slut if every little incident made her think of sex in some way or another. She reached over and dipped her fingers into the cup. The cream felt cool and rich on her fingers. She was sure this would do her poor behind a world of good.


Emily slid her hand around her hip to behind her back and reached down to smear the cream on her buttocks. As hard as she could stretch she could only apply the cream to the tops of her buttocks and, to her dismay, this was perhaps the least affected area. Emily continued to swing her hands around to her belly, dip her fingers in the cup, slide back around and continue applying the soothing cream to her aching buttocks. Once she had reached everywhere she was ever going to she thought desperately of a way to apply the sweet relief to the rest of her tortured skin.


Emily soon found that by kneeling down and then sitting cross-legged she could apply the cream to the livid red welts on her calves and inner thighs. More importantly she realised she could actually reach her pussy by doing this. Not enough to do anything perhaps but she thought if she lost some weight and worked at it hard enough she could maybe even reach her clit. What the fuck am I thinking, she scolded herself. My ass is pounding in agony every moment I sit like this and I'm thinking that if I work hard I might be able to masturbate. She groaned to her feet once she had reached as many welts as she could on her legs. But it still left the larger and most painful area of her buttocks and upper thighs. The pain was coming in waves now, the pressure of sitting on the affected area had worsened it tenfold.


Emily continued to moan and dance from foot to foot as she frantically tried to think of some way to get the cream to her ass. She leaned her head against the cool bricks of her cell wall and calmed herself down. Getting agitated was not going to do her any good. Just think Em, think. Ok girl, you've got two agonised buttcheeks and one small cup of cu... cream. Focus Em!


Emily scanned her tiny cell for inspiration. The metal bucket? No way, she was going to keep away from that, who knew what had been done to it. The bench? What if she could tip the cream on it and rub her bottom on it. Emily's face lit up in triumph. She moved purposefully to the bench and carefully picked up the cup full of cream before realising the bench was simply too high for her to reach with her behind. The bed! Emily spun around and eyed her small, hard pallet - perfect. It was plastic so wouldn't stain and she could always clean up the extra cream with the blanket she had been given, which now she saw it a little more closely looked very prickly and poorly made.


Emily poured the remaining cream onto the end of her plastic mattress, creating a long, lumpy line of white cream on the smooth grey surface. She placed the cup back on the bench and slowly lowered her ass onto the mattress, looking between her legs to make sure she was on target. She saw her tag swinging from her denuded labia and instantly blushed, it seemed her tormentors could humiliate her even when they weren't around. She very gently lowered her bruised and swollen mounds to the mattress and immediately felt the cool cream on the burning flesh of her buttocks. She began to slide her ass from side to side, massaging the cream into her cheeks, almost instantly feeling some degree of alleviation from the incessant ache. A smile crept onto her face at the cool relief. It felt like the first time she had ever smiled, and tears threatened to overwhelm her once again as she thought how much she had lost in such a short time. She was determined that the moment would not be ruined, not this time, and so closed her eyes and lost herself in the fleeting pleasure of the cream working its magic.


Emily jerked suddenly, her reverie broken by the harsh sounds of the main door grating open and many pairs of shuffling feet. She sprang up from her the mattress. She did not want to be seen squatting over in such a compromised position and quickly leaned down and pushed the prickly, grey blanket over the smeared, sticky mess on the bed.


It was only now, at the prospect of other people seeing her, that she realised she was still naked. She rushed over to the bench, and her small bundle of clothes and stared at them in despair. She could never get dressed with her hands cuffed like this! The mass of footsteps was now coming down the main hall of the wing. She had mere moments. She decided it may be a little childish but decided to hunch down behind the end of the bed, bringing her knees up to cover her breasts as best she could. She was only partially covered, as the small bed was raised only a small way off the ground. The position was uncomfortable as her buttocks were still too painful to put any kind of pressure on, which left her squatting in what she assumed was quite an obscene manner.


She looked up and out of the bars of her cell as the first of the women walked past.


First was another guard, the familiar, and by now nauseating, blue uniform immaculately tailored, then followed two lines of inmates, their grey jumpsuits dusty, scuffed and in generally shabby condition. They were of all heights and sizes, a few blacks, maybe an Asian but they all had one thing in common - they all looked exhausted, filing past in two columns of what appeared to be dazed and dishevelled, grey automata. She watched as they filed past, shuffling weariedly, the ankle hobbles on each woman dragging pitifully on the concrete floor. Emily watched as they continued past her cell and down the corridor to the shower block.


There at the end of the line was Susan Brown! The very pretty girl with whom she had shared the bus ride from the watchhouse. She had obviously been put to work, for she seemed as exhausted as the other women.


Emily lowered her head, crestfallen at the realisation that she had spent her day being tortured and humiliated needlessly. If she had followed orders and kept her mouth shut, especially during that bath, she would have been put to work instead of beaten and degraded. Her mind turned to her still throbbing behind and she vowed she would not put herself in that situation again. She would be a model prisoner.


As Susan Brown trudged down the corridor to the showers Emily noticed the guard following Susan turned to her cell and looked straight at her. She was not a large woman, but the cold, hard glare was intimidating and caused Emily to look away after mere seconds. She felt as if she was nothing compared to this woman. She felt as if she knew all her degrading secrets.


"You, stand to attention," ordered the guard, her icy voice entirely bereft of feeling. Emily knew this was one woman not to be crossed. She was scared of Guard Jennings for she was obviously psychopathic. She feared Sergeant Mailer for her manifest hatred of her, and what it may lead her to do. But she was afraid of this woman because she felt so cold, so merciless, so lifeless.


"So you are pig," stated the guard icily. Emily simply stood there trembling, her eyes downcast, not daring to look upon this woman as an equal. "You answer your superiors when they speak to you pig." The guard’s voice was soft and conversational but the undercurrent of obvious menace made Emily shiver.


"Yes Guard Ma’am," replied Emily meekly. God she hoped that was alright. She didn't know the guard's name. Surely she couldn't get into trouble for not knowing her name when she hadn't even seen her before. Emily's eyes remained downcast and from where she was looking she could see the guard's hand resting comfortably on the handle of her shock-baton. Emily's trembling increased at the sight.


"Pig, I am Guard Coteaz. Look at me when I am speaking to you pig." Emily raised her head to gaze once more upon the imposing guard's face. She could not look her in the eyes so focused on her mouth, her thin vermillion lips a striking counterpoint to the pale alabaster face.


"Pig, you are the property of Pentonbridge Reform Penitentiary. You are an object now. To use and dispose of as we see fit. You ceased to be a human being when you broke the laws that govern a civilised society. I hear that you have the charm, wit and intellect of a dog turd and the personal hygiene to suit. Who you are is inconsequential while you are incarcerated on D-wing. It is what you are that is of import. And what you are is merely an object, you are here to work. You cease to be a useful addition to the work program then you cease to be a benefit and will be disposed of as befits an object that has no further use. Do you understand pig?"


"Yes Guard Coteaz Ma’am," replied Emily, humbled and horrified by what she was hearing. Her mind was still spinning from the talk of disposal and it took her a few moments to realise the frightening guard had gone. She had said her piece and moved on without a second thought, as if Emily truly was an object without feelings. The nightmare just kept getting worse.


She was still standing at the bars of her cell, her mind still coming to terms with the shock of the last few moments, when she realised she could hear sounds coming from the corridor to the shower block. The sounds were not as pronounced as before but it was definitely the noise of many bare feet on concrete. She saw the inmates return to the main concourse and stand in front of each cell. They were silent and well drilled, only Susan a little hesitant in her movements. She noticed they were all scrubbed clean and their skin almost glowed a healthy pink, even through the extensive tans some girls sported. All the inmates were wearing the grey cotton panties and grey singlet, holding their boots and folded jumpsuits in front of them, many of them also wearing tattered grey socks as well.


With a loud clang that startled Emily, the barred gates of all the cells in D block slid open. Even Emily's own gate began to slide along. She watched as each inmate stepped inside their cells, quickly deposited their boots and jumpsuits on the benches, and stepped onto the yellow circles in the floor and placed their hands in the yellow circles. Emily watched guard Coteaz and the other escort-guard as they walked from the guardhouse onto the cellblock floor. The attention of both guards was instantly drawn to Emily's cell. She was the only inmate not standing on the yellow circles. She realised too late and by the time she had begun to move Coteaz was already at the entrance to her cell.


"Stand at attention pig," the menacing quiet of the guard’s hushed tones disturbed Emily. As Coteaz moved into the cell, closing in on the timid girl struggling to stand straight as she had been taught, the other guard stood at the entrance to Emily's cell, her shock-baton held at the ready.


"Pig I understand that your day has been an eventful one and you have not had the time for a proper induction but that is your own fault. If you had not requested so many punishments you may have had time to read your handbook and so avoided another round of punishment. Ignorance is not an excuse at Pentonbridge. Nor is stupidity so you really have nothing to fall back on do you pig, hmm."


"No Guard Coteaz Ma’am," replied a quivering Emily.


"Pig, five strokes, disobedience, class C,' Coteaz spoke into her lapel mic. "Get in position."


Emily scrambled quickly into position, placing each foot in one of the yellow circles. She stood straight, as if at attention, unsure of what to do next. Her hands were cuffed to her waist so what was she supposed to do! She felt something hard pushing on the back of her head, forcing her body forward until her forehead rested against the wall of her cell. She managed to keep her feet in each circle, forcing her back to arch and her buttocks to thrust out as she balanced her weight onto her forehead.


She heard the guards move out of her cell and on down the line. Tears came that Emily could not stop. He shoulders shook and her body heaved as she sobbed uncontrollably. She had hoped her cell would be a refuge. She had dreamed of being cordoned away, safe from the guards and free to recover her strength and start to rebuild her battered self-esteem. But her cell was none of those things. It was simply an extension of the rest of this nightmarish hellhole. And now she had earned another punishment. If they took her tonight she was sure she would crack. Her hands were trembling at her sides and she almost cried out as the gate to her cell clanged shut. Small whimpering noises escaped from her mouth, Emily unaware she was even making them.


She stayed uncomfortably bent over, an ache beginning in her forehead and washing back across her skull as she pressed her brow into the rough, cold walls of the cell. She dared to dart her eyes to the left, hoping to glimpse Susan in the cell across the way. Her vision was all fuzzy and blurred from the tears clouding her eyes but she was sure Susan was no longer standing in the circles. Should she move or was this just what they were waiting for. Were they standing just out of her peripheral vision and laughing silently at her, anticipating her next disobedient act.


Emily stood, as if stuck to the wall and floor, for a further five minutes. Five minutes that felt like an hour to the distressed girl. Her mind was caught in a maelstrom of paranoia, guilt, despair and pain. When her legs began to tremble from the strain of their stretched and unnatural position Emily decided she would acquiesce to the pernicious guards and she was going to move, and damn the consequences. It still took her another minute after this decision to overcome the almost overwhelming fear of possible punishment. When she finally lifted her feet from the circles and stepped in towards the wall, to prevent her from losing her balance, she glanced surreptitiously at the cells opposite. Susan Brown lay on her bed, the poorly woven blanket of coarse wool, pulled up over her shoulders. In the cell to the left of Susan's stood a large black woman, her pendulous breasts barely contained within the ragged grey singlet, staring at Emily. A large grin was spread across her face, showing her many gold teeth and her obvious delight at Emily's predicament. She turned away, laughing, to leave Emily alone with her despair.


Emily exhaustedly trudged the few steps to her pallet and gently lowered herself onto the plastic mattress. She lay on her side and attempted to unfurl the blanket and cover herself. The prickly material resisted her and Emily only managed to partly unfold the blanket before giving up in frustration and pulling the coarse garment over her shoulders, huddling up into the foetal position to try and bring her legs under the flimsy protection of the blanket.


She was weak from the ordeal she had experienced. She was hungry, tired and emotionally spent. She could no longer tell where one pain began and another ended. All her individual hurts had fused together into one dull ache that seemed to be crushing her bones and squeezing her organs, stretching her skin and compressing her flesh.


She just wanted it to end. Just for a little while. Tomorrow. That was the answer. It would all be better tomorrow. Emily began sobbing gently, not truly believing the lie she tried to tell herself. She could do one thing though. She had the power to do one thing tomorrow.


Emily vowed to be good.


Chapter 9 - First Night on the Wing


Emily awoke suddenly. She blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to rid her vision of the dancing yellow and red spots that were almost blinding her. Was it morning already? She stayed huddled under the crude blanket as best she could, trying to preserve the warmth and hold on to the last remnants of the oblivion of sleep. She couldn't have slept very well, she was still so very tired and the aches and pains in her body had not lessened at all.


Emily shifted her head and glanced out the bars of her cell. Across the way Susan was still in bed sleeping, as was the black woman who had found her predicament so amusing. It was then she noticed the lights in the concourse were off but each cell was still lit up as bright as day. She looked to the ceiling of her own cell and saw a long strip of light set into the ceiling, covered by a wire-mesh cage. She had never had any great trouble going to sleep with the lights on, after all she used to love napping in the afternoon sun, curled up like a cat, but this was a bit too much. How could they expect someone to sleep with these spotlights shining in your eyes.


Emily tried but she could not get back to sleep. She kicked off the blanket in frustration and sat up, wincing as she placed her weight on the abused flesh of her ass. She quickly stood and looked forlornly around her cell. At home, when she had trouble sleeping, she would prowl around her apartment, step onto the balcony and gaze at the night sky or watch the traffic go past underneath her in an endless, snaking trail of white and red lights. But here, what did she have? She tried to throw her arms around in an expansive gesture of disgust, only to have her confinement further reinforced when her hands jerked at their restraints. A tiny plastic bed, tin bucket and steel bench. Her gaze fell on the bundle on the bench: her clothes and her handbook. She could not sleep so maybe she should check out this handbook. She had vowed to stay out of trouble and this looked like it was the only thing that was going to help her do that.


Emily stepped to the bench and leaned over, shuffling her hands to the front of her chain and extending them as much as she could. She pulled the handbook towards her and opened the cover to begin her education of her new life.


The First Duty of the convict is OBEDIENCE, and it will be for its interest to obey all rules.


Emily stopped and thought about the short statement, shouting at her in bold black text from the page. If that is what they need to leave me alone then that is what they will get. She was strong and smart and she could outlast any of these crazy bitches in here. The few hours sleep she had managed to snatch had done her mindset a world of good. She no longer felt so downtrodden and helpless. Emily turned the page, a new determination rising up inside her, steeling her resolve.


Citation and Commencement


1. These Rules may be cited as the Prison Rules 1989 and shall come


into force on 1st April 1989.


2. (1) In these Rules, where the context so admits, the expression:


"controlled drug" means any drug which is a controlled drug for the


purposes of the Misuse of Drugs Act 1971[2];


"inmate" means, subject to the provisions of rule 7(3), a


prisoner who has been convicted or found guilty of an offence or


committed or attached for contempt of court or for failing to do or


abstain from doing anything required to be done or left undone.


(2) In these Rules -


(a) a reference to an award of additional days means additional days


awarded under these Rules by virtue of section 42 of the Criminal


Justice Act 1989;


(b) a reference to a numbered rule is, unless otherwise stated, a


reference to the rule of that number in these Rules and a reference in a


rule to a numbered paragraph is, unless otherwise stated, a reference to


the paragraph of that number in that rule.


Blah, blah, blah. This was sheer gobbledegook. If she was going to get any help out of this stupid book then it had better get a little more intelligible. Emily continued to skim through the page, and the page following. It was yet more inanity about 'paragraph 7 of the penal code' this and 'subsection 2 of part C' that. How did they expect this drivel to help her? Emily decided to skip the introductory legal mumbo jumbo and flick through the book at random. It would be useful to find some information on those damn yellow circles so she could know when and how she was expected to use them.


Emily leaned further and stretched out her hand and roughly flicked a number of pages over. A crude, and quite lewd, sketch caught her eye, drawing her to the page. She scanned to the top of the page: Procedure for Intra-cell Urination. Emily stood a little stunned. They had a procedure for going to the toilet? Now that she had read it, she realised she needed to go quite badly, she must have had the need for quite a while but it had been driven from her mind by more immediate concerns. She twisted her head to glance at the bucket then turned back to the handbook. Right, this was a test. If this was how it was going to be then she would be damn sure they could find no fault with her intra-cell urination. Emily began to read what she had to do.


Procedure for Intra-cell Urination


The voiding of bodily waste within an inmate's cell is a practice to be avoided and is stringently disapproved of. Repeated failure to provide a modicum of proper behaviour is cause for correction. If, through poor hygiene practices and inferior individual control, an inmate requires a voiding of the bladder within its cell the following procedure must be followed. Failure to do so is cause for correction.


1. The inmate will position itself over the night-bucket as shown in diagram 17a.


Emily glanced down at the diagram indicated. It was a very stylised drawing of a woman squatting over a bucket, her knees spread wide and her hands on her knees. It reminded her of the in-flight safety manuals they provided on airplanes.


(a) The inmate will stand with a foot either side of the bucket, its feet arranged so as to come into contact with the base of the receptacle,


(b) The inmate will lower itself into the squatting position, by bending at the knees, its back remaining perpendicular to the floor,


(c) The knees are to be spread as the inmate descends to the squatting position, to ensure the inmate has reached the correct position upon the culmination of the descent,


(d) The inmate will ensure its vagina is placed over the centre of the receptacle,


(e) The inmate will then place its hands upon its knees, a cuffed inmate's hands are to be placed behind its back,


(f) The inmate will ensure its head is then raised.


2. The inmate will then commence urination until its bladder is empty.


3. The inmate will then shake its lower body to ensure the bladder has voided properly and excess urine is not left within its vagina.


4. The inmate will then tilt its upper body forwards and move its vagina towards the rearward rim of the receptacle, wiping its vagina clear of residual urine.


5. The inmate will then rise, reducing the spread of its legs in appropriate correlation with the vertical ascent.


6. The inmate will then step away from the receptacle.


7. The inmate will then inspect the receptacle, its discharge within, and the surrounding vicinity, spillage is cause for correction.


Emily stood, hunched over the bench and simply stared at the diagram. They expected her to debase herself like that simply for needing to go to the toilet. How could it be her fault, everyone needed to go to the toilet. She wasn't some kind of robot. Emily glanced back at the bucket, then back at the handbook, then back at the bucket. The longer Emily stood thinking about her need the more it grew. There wasn't any way she could hold out until morning. She had no idea when that was. The sun could have already arisen or it could be midnight. There weren't any clocks and these fucking lights masked any passage of time. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot, her legs crossed in a childish attempt to stave off her increasing need for relief. Right then; she had to go so go she would.


Emily stepped with purpose from the bench and turned to look at the night-bucket. What if I just... No, she corrected herself. How much trouble could she get into for going to the toilet the wrong way? Plenty! It was disgusting that she had to do it but there wasn't any other way. Just pretend you're in the woods somewhere on a hike and you really need to go. So, you have stepped off the trail and into some bushes, and it's so bright because it's daytime. And you're nude and cuffed because, well ignore that, you're strong enough. With her delusions now in place Emily stepped to the bucket. She quickly realised that she could not squat down the way the handbook instructed and still be able to face the wall, her back would almost be touching even facing away from the wall. She assumed she couldn't move the bucket, it was set within a yellow circle. Which reminded her, after relieving herself she needed to look for those circles in the handbook.


Emily stepped over to the bucket, turned around and shuffled her feet into place either side of the metal receptacle, just touching the base. She took a deep breath and began lowering herself into position, starting to slide her knees out to the side as she descended. It took only a few moments until she was squatting over the bucket, her legs spread wide, her hands slid around her bellychain into the small of her back and her back straight. Emily looked down her body to ensure her sex was in the centre of the bucket before she started peeing, she didn't want to spill a drop. God knows what they would do to her if that happened. Probably make her lick it up like that poor girl from the warden's office. She was a prisoner too but how could they make her do things like that. Emily almost laughed out loud at the naivete of her thoughts. How could they indeed! Wake up girl. You are squatting over a bucket, ready to pee into it, your legs spread open like some whore awaiting her next client. They could make you do anything they wanted and you had better remember that.


Emily set her jaw, raised her head high, closed her eyes and began to pee. In the woods now, ahh yes, a bright sunny day the birds twittering away. I'm wearing my khaki hiking skirt and I am teasing Josh a little so I decided not to wear any panties, and it's after lunch and a beautiful bottle of Riesling. I'm hiding in the bushes a little off the path and...


Emily's eyes jerked open as the urine began to jet out of her urethra and into the metal bucket. The sound was almost deafening. She had not even thought about how it would sound. Water hitting an empty metal container at high speed. What did she expect? Her face and chest flushed in embarrassment and she squeezed down stopping the flow. Please, please, please don't anyone wake up. Emily's eyes jerked frantically around the cells opposite her, looking for any sign that her pissing had awoken any of the inmates there. No one stirred. She closed her eyes once more, steeling herself to continue with the demeaning act. There was no way she could ever get back to the woods now, not with the terrible metallic splattering resonating throughout her cell, and more than likely the entire block.


Emily opened her eyes again to check once more before she started peeing again. She jumped and almost died of shock. There was a figure in blue at the bars of her cell. A cold, hard bitch of a figure. Guard Coteaz was standing nonchalantly outside her cell, her shock-baton swinging lazily by her side. Emily's flush deepened and burned, threatening to melt the flesh from her face. It felt like her skin was on fire. She was frozen where she was, squatting lewdly over the bucket, the acrid odour of her piss rising from the bucket beneath her and tickling her nostrils. Emily focused on the baton, pendulously spiralling at the side of the terrifying guard. She could not look any higher, she simply couldn't bear to look into the face of this woman who intimidated her so much. She was dying inside, squatting there, her sex parted, droplets of urine clinging like glittering yellow stalactites from her cloven lips.


What was she going to do? Stand there and just stare? Emily's mind was spinning. She needed to pee, and now she had started it was becoming painful to try and hold it back, but she couldn't do it in front of someone else.


Please go away, she pleaded. Emily was in despair, tears were forming again, her still puffy eyes stinging a little as the salty tears threatened to spill down her face. She couldn't go now. She would wait, yes, wait until the guard had gone and try again. Emily tensed her muscles, preparing to stand.


"Pig," Guard Coteaz spoke harshly.


"Yes Guard Coteaz Ma’am," Emily choked out, her voice almost failing her.


"You have read the procedures for cell urination have you not?"


This was a trick. Emily was sure of it. Had she done something wrong? Please god, please let me just do this one thing properly.


"Yes Guard Coteaz Ma’am," Emily replied meekly, ever aware of the obscene picture she presented.


"Is your bladder emptied pig?"


"No Guard Coteaz Ma’am."


"Then I hope you were not getting ready to vacate the urination position before emptying your bladder completely."


What could she say to that? If she told the truth she would be in trouble, she was getting ready to stand and she hadn't finished peeing, but did she really know that or was she just guessing? Emily just didn't know what to do. She had had so little sleep, and she was so confused, why couldn't they leave her alone. Her shoulders began to shudder as her emotions overwhelmed her and she began to sob silently under the fierce, unrelenting glare of guard Coteaz. So Emily decided to say nothing.


"Pig, five strokes, insubordination," the cold, hushed voice of Guard Coteaz chilled Emily's blood. “Pig I asked you a question."


"Yes Guard Coteaz Ma’am," responded a confused Emily.


"Yes what pig. Yes you are a complete fuckwit? Yes you are the most insolent and depraved piece of filth that has entered the hallowed halls of Pentonbridge? Yes you are severely mentally retarded and it seems you need a twenty-four hour nursemaid to even help you answer simple questions? Well pig."


Emily was flustered and disoriented. What was she supposed to say? Yes? To everything? Would that be right? She just didn't know but she knew she had to say something. Silence would only earn her more strokes.


"Y-yes Guard Coteaz Ma’am. I am a fuckwit and a retard and I am so filthy and don't deserve anything good and I am an idiot and..."


"Shut up pig." Emily was startled as guard Coteaz raised her voice to her. It still wasn't a yell but she knew the change did not bode well for her. Emily began to shiver, scared she had angered the imposing woman. She had only tried to tell her what she wanted to hear.


"You are a prime candidate for sterilisation pig. There is no way that something like you should be allowed to breed. I asked you a question and here you are babbling about how much of a brainless, degenerate cunt you are. Were you preparing to rise with an unemptied bladder?"


"Yes Guard Coteaz Ma’am," Emily sobbed. That was all she had been asked. And she had been prattling on about being a stupid fuckwit to try and placate the guard. Now she would be punished again, she had no doubt. She couldn't do anything right. When she kept her mouth closed she got herself in trouble and when she opened her mouth she got in trouble. The tears were flowing freely down her face again, her breasts bobbing as her shoulders shuddered as she wept.


"Pig, five strokes, disobedience Class C," Guard Coteaz spoke once again into her lapel mike. "Pig, I suggest you complete the procedure before you request any more corrections."


"Yes Guard Coteaz Ma’am," sniffled a completely cowed Emily. She sniffed and tried to get her breathing under control, her chest shuddering as she fought back the sobs. Emily took a deep breath and focused on peeing, anything to get this over with and get back under her blanket. Pee, come on, pee. She couldn't go! She stared at the feet of the waiting guard, the sensible prison issue leathers for some reason imprinting themselves in her memory. She pushed, clenching her stomach muscles, desperate to empty her bladder. Nothing came. She could not pee while someone was watching her.


Emily began to feel the strain in her legs as she held the degrading squatting position. She felt the tightness in her abused buttocks, sending mild spears of pain through her body. Sweat began to bead on her forehead as the exertion of holding the position and the effort of squeezing her stomach took its toll on her already depleted energy. Emily's anal sphincter began to distend and prolapse from the constant pushing and extended pressure being placed upon it. Christ she had to make sure nothing came out of there. Emily began to panic, sure she would be punished further if she didn't pee right here, right now in front of the pernicious guard. She saw Guard Coteaz's hand tighten on her baton and desperation gave her strength.


Never had Emily thought she would rejoice at the sound of piss hitting a bucket but as the first few drops became a steady stream a smile spread across her face. She had been good. She wouldn't be punished, she had finally managed to do something right.


"What the fuck are you smiling for pig? Does pissing in a bucket give you that much enjoyment? I will have to mention this in my report. I am sure Doctor Robbins will find yet another example of your degeneracy important in diagnosing you."


Emily's smile vanished. She watched in dread as the baton was tapped gently against the guard’s leg as her urine continued to fill the bucket. The sound had changed slightly as the bucket had begun to fill. The clamour of the first spray had been replaced by a vulgar bubbling noise as her stream splashed into the pool of urine in the bucket. Emily could feel her face and chest burn with embarrassment, beads of sweat running down from her armpits down her flanks. After what seemed an eternity her flow began to recede. The steady stream changing to a morse code of broken spurts, then a few final dribbles before finally stopping altogether. Emily exhaled in exhausted relief. She would never have imagined going to the toilet could have ever been so distressing nor so draining. She almost burst out laughing at her most unintended pun. Christ knows what kind of punishment she would have received for that. A trip to the psyche wing probably and she didn't want to even contemplate what that would be like. A shiver ran through her entire body. She had always had a bit of a phobia when it came to shrinks. She practiced a system of defensive avoidance, even in her personal life. She had this niggling feeling that she would somehow be found quite insane and locked away for the rest of her life. And now look at me, Emily thought. Not far from it and not a shrink in sight.


Emily snapped herself back to her predicament. She was still squatting over a bucket that now contained a fair amount of her urine, her legs spread quite indecently, the muscles in her legs quivering with the strain of holding the degrading position. What next? Her mind was a maelstrom of humiliation, despair and anger. She kept thinking of the figure standing at the entrance to her cell, watching her, diminishing her by her very presence. Why couldn't the bitch just leave me alone? Emily was getting a little cold, the sheen of sweat on her body cooling, the remaining few droplets of pee cold and wet on the lips of her vagina.


That was it! She had to wipe the pee off of her sex. But there was something else... Emily frantically searched her brain for the answer. She had 10 or was it 15 strokes already and she was sure any more would finish her off this time, especially coming so close on the last set. Her abused ass, while not as damaged as she had thought, was still in a horrific state. What was it? She had to pee, then she had to wipe her sex on the bucket edge but she had to...wiggle her ass. She had to shake herself to dislodge any drops of pee still hanging around.


Emily hung her head in shame as she wiggled her ass from side to side like a duck emerging from a pond. Then she bent forward, tilting her ass back towards the rear edge of the bucket, lowered her behind a fraction and rubbed her vagina against the rim of the bucket. The tinkle of her tag hitting the metal bucket caused her shoulders to slump in defeat. Every tiny movement seemed designed to make her feel like nothing. She was supposed to be an object. Objects didn't have feelings. She could try to convince herself of that until she was a withered old hag but she knew it wasn't true. The searing flush radiating from her chest and face was evidence to the contrary. She felt disgusting and disgusted with herself for doing this. She could always stand up to them; she should. It was only pain. Pain was a transient sensation. Yeah but not if your ass is beaten black and blue everyday, not too transient then. And she knew she would then be made to do the vile acts anyway. But just to give in like this made her feel worthless.


Emily continued scraping her vagina across the brim of the bucket, the metal cold on her moist, warm nether-lips. Then she stood, being very careful to close her legs only as she rose and not before. She was shaking as she stood, her legs a little wobbly from the strange position she had been forced to adopt for so long. Now the rest was easy; she just had to make sure she didn't spill any.


Emily turned around and bent over slightly to look at the bucket, trying to put the presence of the guard out of her mind. She could see the pale yellow urine in the bottom of the bucket but the floor around it was dry. She had spilled nothing. Take that you bitches, Emily silently remonstrated. She quickly chided herself for her foolish behaviour. Like not actually peeing all over the floor was a major achievement now. Get a grip girl.


"Don't be stupid pig, you can't see properly from up there. When you inspect your filthy piss you get down on your knees and check closely that none has been spilt. Do you not remember the correct procedure. 'The inmate will then inspect the receptacle, it's discharge within, and the surrounding vicinity, spillage is cause for correction.' Now pig I want to see that performed properly," snarled Guard Coteaz.


Emily grimaced in disgust at the thought of looking into the bucket. But do it she must. She took a deep breath and bent to her knees, an awkward manoeuvre with her hands restrained at her waist. She looked closely into the bucket and was about to move away when Coteaz stopped her.


"Stay there pig. Now as you kneel there looking at your piss I want you to think about your ill-disciplined and vile behaviour of this your first night on D-wing. Do you see any of these other bitches getting up in the middle of the night and pissing away like some animal?"


Emily had been fighting to hold her breath during this speech but knew now she was going to have to breathe in the scent of her waste. Emily opened her mouth to breathe in, then thought better of it. She remembered the last time she had done so while her waste was within reach. She inhaled sharply though her nose instead, the caustic tang of her urine burning her nostrils. She coughed to clear the foul scent from her lungs.


"No Guard Coteaz Ma’am," coughed Emily.


"No pig, you do not. That is because these other bitches are trained and just like any other beast you will be trained also. Thankfully I do not have the misfortune to be granted that task but I shall see the benefits. The behaviour you have displayed this watch is disapproved of and you have now been warned pig. Another incident such as tonight and you will be subject to corrective measures." With that, Guard Coteaz turned on her heel and disappeared from Emily's sight. The terrified girl could hear the footsteps echo around the wing and wondered briefly how Coteaz could have walked to her cell without making a sound. The bitch was unnatural.


Corrective measures. Emily did not like the sound of that. It had the impression of something other than mere strokes. She painfully rose from her knees, staggered like a drunkard to her small pallet and collapsed upon the plastic mattress, barely managing to pull the blanket over her huddled form before the last of her will gave way.


Emily lay awake on her cot, unable to find the blissful oblivion of sleep. She had vowed to be good. How long ago was that? A few hours? And in that time she had requested, no she had been tricked, into further punishment. And for what, for needing to go to the toilet. A natural, primal urge that everyone had. What were they going to punish her for next? Breathing wrong. Emily began to giggle softly at the thought.


I am losing it. I just need to sleep. Sleep until morning that is all I need. Sleep deprivation is torture you know. Who the hell was she talking to? The only people around to even hear her, had she had the gall or the stupidity to talk aloud, were sadistic, demoniacal bitches of guards and other girls in the same predicament as her. And look, they all seemed to be getting plenty of sleep. Emily glanced through the bars, across the way to Susan's cell. She was surprised to see the pretty girl staring back, her eyes red and puffy as Emily had no doubt were her own. Emily tried to send out some sympathy in her expression but Susan looked away and huddled ever tighter under her thin blanket. So it seemed even the other new girl didn't want to know her.


Emily sighed, desperately wanting to cry herself to sleep but afraid there were simply no tears left to shed. She sighed forlornly and laid her head upon the lumpy pillow praying for sleep. It must be many hours until morning, she thought, and she would need every one to give her strength for the coming day. It may not be as bad as the first but she knew what was in store for her and it made it somehow much worse.


Chapter 10 - Another Day, Another Dunce


The fog of sleep began to clear slowly for Emily. There was a noise, loud and close, and she reached out to shut off that damn alarm, five more minutes that was all she needed, but her arm wouldn't move. She must have slept on it. Emily smiled sleepily, she had always loved the floppy, unreal sensation of having no control of her limbs.


"Pig!" The deafening screech actually made her brain hurt. Emily scrambled out of bed, losing her balance almost immediately, almost falling to the floor. She managed to recover herself only to stumble awkwardly into the wall opposite. Wall? What the...


Emily was wide awake now. Her predicament hit her like a thousand tonnes of sensation and emotion, crashing in upon her in a screaming avalanche. She was in Pentonbridge, torture capital of the world, naked, cuffed and being shouted at. Shouted at!


"Pig you fucking retarded cunt. What do you think you're doing dancing around like some fucking drunk reject from a disco club. Got the night fever hey pig, you useless waste of space. I bet you played with glue a lot when you were young pig. Now get in position."


Emily's sleep encrusted eyes blinked clear, focusing on the speaker: the ubiquitous blue uniform, but the guard was new. A large woman, in every way. She barely even made it into the skirt she was wearing and the shirt strained at each button. Focus Emily. Position, position, what position? Her eyes flicked to the cell opposite but the large guard was blocking her view. Emily wasn't sure but stood to attention hoping to high heaven that was right. She instantly knew it was not. The guards face twisted into a scowl, her lips pursed and her double chin quivered in obvious anger.


"Pig, five strokes, insubordination Class C. I was warned that you were not the brightest bitch in the barrel but I had expected something a little more than this pig. I'm not interested in your behaviour off-wing but while you're here you better not fuck me around. Now get over here so I can remove the cuffs. You're holding up the whole wing. Emily stepped hesitantly to the bars of her cage, towards the imposing figure of the guard. She felt as if she was taking the last few steps on her way to the gas chamber. She was still a little disoriented from such a sudden awakening and her emotional state was a little amorphous this early in the morning. She reached the bars and slowly swung her wrists around to her belly, offering them to the overweight guard.


There was a flash of black and Emily found herself writhing on the floor, her left breast awash with a pounding stabbing pain. Her mouth was open in a silent O, before she drew in a ragged, agonised breath and moaned in pain.


"Stop fucking about pig. Get up here, turn around and place your hands in the slot for me to uncuff you. I can't wait for Mailer to get here so she can get you out of my sight. I don't like trouble on my wing and pig, you look like trouble. Hell, you wretched shitstain you even smell like trouble. Now on your feet, fucking moron."



Emily staggered to her feet, her left breast felt as if it had been squashed in a vice and then almost twisted off. Well that's one thing that would never let her down. Her imagination was always up to the challenge of describing her pain to her. She spied the small slot in the bars, next to her pallet, quickly shuffled her hands behind her back and stepped to the bars doing her best to place her cuffed hands in the slot. She dared not look back to help her. Emily felt she was on target when her hands were yanked cruelly to the right and through the slot in the bars. The rough metal scraped her delicate skin and Emily cried out in pain. Her bellychain was digging into the soft flesh of her belly and she was bent over, pushing her behind into the cold metal bars. Her wrists were bent at a painful angle and her breathing was becoming ragged, drool dribbling from her mouth as the pain overwhelmed her.


"Stand up properly pig. I'm not some trick that you are offering that fat cunt to. I told you to put your hands in the slot not try to get your slot in my hands. That's better, dipshit. Where the fuck did they find you? If you were any more stupid you'd have to be watered twice a week. Now get in position fuckhead."


Emily's uncuffed hands were pushed callously back through the slot. She stumbled forward and rubbed her wrists together to assuage the pain in some small way. She glanced back to the entrance of her cell but the guard was gone. Instead she could see Susan across the way, standing in her cell, hands and feet in the yellow circles and staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Emily hastened to follow suit, desperate to avoid further notice. Fucking hell! She had been awake a minute maybe and she had already earned more punishment. It was that bitch Coteaz's fault. She had meant to read about the yellow circles and the wake up procedure last night but then that bitch had come along. Emily shuddered as she remembered the painful scene of last night.


The barred door to her cell suddenly clanged open, startling her. Emily stared intently at the wall in front of her, not daring to look out her cell.


"Right my Dense Wing bitches, form up," barked the corpulent guard. Emily didn't know her name so decided to call her Boombah. She knew that could be creating trouble, in case it slipped out by accident, but she reminded her so much of a girl at school that everyone called fatty boombah. She could hear the chants now, "fatty fatty boombah, fatty fatty boombah". Children could be so cruel. Maybe that was how women's prison guards were made. They came here to get their own back on a society that had labelled them unfairly, taking their revenge on those who had hurt them most - other women. Enough sociology for one day she chided herself. She had no idea what form up meant but she heard movement outside her cell and figured the door was open for a reason and she was expected to leave the cell to begin the days work, most likely off to the shower blocks first as Sergeant Mailer had mentioned morning and evening ablutions.


Emily pushed herself away from the cell wall and stepped outside. She was the last inmate to exit her cell. All the other women were already standing outside their cells, facing towards the guardhouse. Two silent rows of naked women. It was only then that Emily noticed that each inmate was holding a folded bundle before her. She was about to turn around to rush back inside to collect her own clothes when the door to her cell banged shut, the sound like a death-knell to Emily. She had thought they would shower and then return for their clothes. Well that was the problem wasn't it? She thought. She needed to do less of that, it simply got her into trouble.


"Proceed," yelled Boombah.


Emily glanced across at Susan who began to pace forward, down the corridor in front of her. Emily was the first in her line so quickly followed suit, not wanting to hold up her side of the wing. She hated to think what kind of trouble that could cause. She marched slowly past the guardhouse and down the stark corridor to the shower block. Emily was a little hesitant to reach her destination. She was sure there was another set of procedures she had no clue about. She was living in a different culture and she desperately needed a guide.


Yet another new guard was waiting for her at the entrance to the shower block. This one was actually quite pretty, if a little rotund. Did they put all the fat guards on the day shift? Emily smiled a little at her silent joke. The smile vanished as she realised the guard was watching her but Emily was shocked when the smile was returned.


"Pig, stand here. You other bitches get started," said the pudgy guard. Emily stood at attention where the guard had indicated. Boombah followed in the last of the inmates. The shower block was now a frenzy of activity. Naked women were moving hurriedly about the room: stopping at the nests to retrieve their meagre cleaning articles, stepping into the showers and rushing to the exposed bank of toilets. What Emily found slightly disturbing was the lack of noise. All the women were silent. Usually such a scene would be accompanied by the cacophony of 36 women confidently chatting away, laughter echoing throughout the tiled room. Here it was like something from a silent movie. A room full of women, moving with purpose but without sound.


"Pig, I see that you are a bitch who has a good sense of humour am I right?" enquired the pudgy guard. Boombah was moving throughout the room, inspecting the various activities of the inmates.


"Yes Guard Ma’am," replied Emily, hesitating for a moment to search her memory and make sure she did not know her name.


"Guard Parkes pig. You are being held here until Sergeant Mailer arrives. So in the meantime pig you can observe these dour bitches and we can have a bit of fun. How does a guy know if he has a high sperm count pig?"


"I don't know Guard Parkes Ma’am," Emily responded, somewhat bewildered. What the fuck was going on? She had been watching an inmate sit down to the toilet and pee, her eyes flickering along the row of porcelain fixtures, passing over those clearly in the midst of a bowel movement. She knew she should be watching to see how it was done but she couldn't bring herself to watch another person shit.


"If the girl has to chew before she swallows." Parkes burst out laughing and slapped Emily on the shoulder. Emily flinched at the touch but chuckled half-heartedly to placate the guard.


"I knew you would appreciate that one pig. These other sadsack cunts aren't any fun. Not a decent sense of humour among them. I just know we will get along pig. You may be a disgusting whore and I can't say I approve of you wanting to eat shit but that doesn't mean to say we can't have a laugh does it pig."


"No Guard Parkes Ma’am," Emily replied, her shoulders slumping. Everyone knew. It seemed she was a shiteater now. There was no escaping it but the realisation didn't make it any easier to accept.


"So what jokes do you know pig. Let's hear one," beamed Guard Parkes. Her enthusiasm for having found a partner for her bawdy hobby gleamed obviously in her jubilant face. Emily dared not let her down. This could be her only chance to find a guard that didn't despise her and she would do her best to make sure it stayed that way. She wracked her brain for some dirty joke Josh had told her. She was hopeless at jokes but Josh had loved them. Now if only she could remember one of the small, easy ones.


"Guard Parkes Ma’am, What did the two lesbian frogs say to each other?" It was the first joke that sprang to mind. Josh had always had a predilection for lesbians, what guy didn't, and the fetish even carried into his sense of humour.


"I don't know pig, what?"


"We DO taste like chicken."


Guard Parkes's raucous laughter echoed around the shower block, eliciting many quick glances, and many a scowl, from the busy inmates. Parkes swung her baton up and lightly tapped Emily in the stomach, causing her to cringe in anticipation of the pain and hunch slightly without breaking position.


"That's a good one pig. So you like dyke jokes huh. Most lezzos take offence at those kind of jokes but your first love being cock probably makes you appreciate them even more. Ok pig what about this one." As Parkes was about to launch into another ribald joke Sergeant Mailer arrived, the glower on her face dismissing any further thoughts of hilarity from both Parkes and Emily.


"What the fuck is going on here Parkes?" the stentorian tones of Sergeant Mailer made Emily stiffen her stance and even guard Parkes stood a little straighter.


"Simply waiting for your arrival sergeant," replied a much more professional Guard Parkes.


"This filthy cunt is supposed to be washing herself. Can't you smell the stink of the bitch?" said Sergeant Mailer, her nose crinkling in disgust.


"Yes sergeant but I was instructed to wait for you to arrive to oversee her training."

"Well I'm here now, so get the pathetic slut in the shower."


"You heard her pig, collect your brush from your nest and wash yourself," barked Guard Parkes, all joking now forgotten.


"Yes Guard Parkes Ma’am." Emily began to move off to the nests.


"Get back here pig," growled Sergeant Mailer. Emily's shoulders stiffened. That tone of voice meant only one thing for her - trouble.


"When your trainer arrives in the morning you are to greet them courteously. Do you understand you fucking dullard?"

"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," replied Emily fearfully. She was sure she was up for more torture now. She desperately needed to read her handbook tonight. The first chance she got she would read the dreaded thing from cover to cover. She couldn't keep going on like this, there would be nothing left of her before too long.


"Then do it you brainless cunt," the exasperation in Sergeant Mailer's tone evident.


"Good morning Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," Emily replied, curtseying in her most respectful manner.


"Now fuck off pig, when you come back you had better not reek of cunt like you do now." With that Sergeant Mailer dismissed her, sending her attention to the other inmates, scrutinising their every move.


Emily hastened to her nest to collect her brush and moved quickly into the showers. She stepped through the large opening into the shower room. Emily expected the room to be full of steam and naked women lathering themselves in soap suds. The reality was much different. She could not tell how many women were in the shower room, it was a mass of flesh and limbs. She guessed about twenty women were all furiously scrubbing their bodies with the small hard-bristled brushes. There were only four shower-heads on each side of the room and the constant movement of bodies, as the scrubbing women moved under the shower-head to wash off the few meagre suds, was like a dance.


Emily stepped hesitantly into the mass of squirming naked bodies. She was unsure what to do first and didn't want to offend any of the other inmates. Emily decided it would be wise to first get wet. As she headed to the right side of the room, towards the shower heads, she was constantly brushing slippery female forms. Breasts brushed against her arm, her hand lightly touched another's hip, an elbow pressed against her breasts, squashing them into her chest. She couldn't move without someone pressing themselves against her. Emily almost squealed as a hand gently grazed her denuded sex. She felt a gentle breeze swirl through her nervous system, running up her spine and out into her skin; her nipples tingled and her cheeks warmed with a mild flush, she could feel a tightness in her pussy and goosebumps appeared in waves across her body.


Emily put it down to being happy to finally be with people who weren't all trying to hurt her. They were strangers, naked strangers, but she felt happy just to be there, close to them. It was a feeling of companionship and camaraderie, of shared experience. She didn't want to even entertain the other possibilities.


Finally she was under the spray from the shower. The water was barely warm, but it was like manna from heaven for Emily. As she turned about under the tepid rain it felt as if the aches and pains of the previous day were being washed from her. She began to feel energised and opened her mouth to collect some water in her parched mouth. An elbow dug into her ribs and forced her out of the way.


Emily opened her eyes and saw the woman who had taken her place under the shower. It was the large black woman who had laughed at her last night. She was watching Emily as she rinsed herself under the shower, the predatory stare sending a shiver down her spine. Emily looked around for the soap. She assumed it was somewhere in the midst of the throng of wet flesh. She was making her way slowly through the writhing mass when she was gripped roughly from behind, her arms pinned to her shoulders and she was marched to the far wall. Her attacker spun her about and thrust her roughly against the tiles.


It was the ubiquitous black Amazon that had taken such an interest in Emily. The negress pinned her shoulders to the tiles and leaned in close to Emily's face. The naked girl was too frightened to do anything. She froze as the woman's great pendulous breasts pressed against her, the two large mammaries enveloping her own, the black scowling face only inches from her own frightened visage. Emily could feel the hot breath of the powerful woman on her ear as they were pressed cheek to cheek.


"Listen cunt, I don't care if you are sucking on all the guards' cunts, I'm the boss here and you better remember it. Now you stand there real quiet while I see who we have," the ebony virago whispered venomously, before stepping away from the quaking girl.


Emily yelped as her tag was grabbed and yanked out from her body, stretching her labia painfully. She looked down and saw the black woman peering intently at her tag. Emily flushed at being inspected so closely by this strange woman and clenched her teeth against the pain from her distended pussy lip.


"Pig? What the fuck is this? Where's your number," snarled the black woman clearly confused.


"Pig, forty-seven!" shouted Sergeant Mailer from the doorway to the shower room. "What the fuck do you think you are doing?"


At the first word from Sergeant Mailer, 47 had dropped Emily's tag and jumped to attention. Emily was still a little dazed from the sudden attack but quickly followed suit. The room full of nude inmates had frozen for a fraction of a second but on realising they were not the focus of the fearsome sergeant they continued with their duties, albeit a little faster and with a little more purpose.


"Pig, are we going to have to keep you isolated? Forty-seven, what is the first type of class B infraction?"


"Committing, soliciting or inciting others to commit any sexual act or indecently exposing oneself, or touching the intimate parts of oneself or another person for the purpose of sexual gratification, sergeant Mailer Ma’am."


"Correct bitch, so you should know better than to let a new slut seduce you the first chance she gets. 15647, pig, 5 strokes, disobedience class B. 47 you're finished in here, get out of my sight. Pig, stand facing into the corner, I don't want to see your fucking repulsive face until I say so," growled Sergeant Mailer.


47 scrambled out of the shower and out of the vicinity of the irate sergeant. Emily was frustrated and angry. She had been assaulted and threatened and once again it had been turned around on her. As if she would want anything to do with the bitch, fucking tits like huge water balloons. Emily stepped into the corner, stood at attention and turned her unfocused gaze upon the white tiles before her. But what did that make it now, 30 strokes. She leaned her head against the cool tiles, fighting back the despair; fighting a losing battle. So much was happening and none of it was her fault. Well some of it was. She could have made different choices. She could have yelled for help and told 47 to stop. So it was her fault but she still didn't deserve it. What upset her the most was that she couldn't do anything to change it. She couldn't simply explain it wasn't the way Sergeant Mailer thought, that would just earn her more punishment. The constant frustration of being misunderstood was beginning to wear her down.


Emily screamed in pain and smacked her head against the tiled wall in front of her and danced in place. It felt like her whole body was being stuck by hundreds of tiny needles but centered on her feet. She twisted about to see Sergeant Mailer holding her shock baton to the tiled floor of the shower room. Emily could also see a number of scowling faces from the other inmates who had stopped scrubbing themselves to stare at her in hatred. Sergeant Mailer had sent a shock through the water on the floor of the shower room, so everyone in there must have felt the same thing she did, that explained the odd noise she had thought she heard through her own scream. It was nothing like actually being shocked but her feet were still tingling with a fierce 'pins and needles' sensation.


"Stand at attention you lazy bitch. Any more shit from you this morning and Boris will shock you till you can't stand. The rest of you sluts get back to scrubbing those revolting sacks of fat," screamed Sergeant Mailer.


Emily stood rigidly at attention, using all her willpower not to shuffle her feet to alleviate the unpleasant sensation in her feet. Shit, shit, shit. Now she had been the cause of half the wing being shocked. Emily's hopes of finding some small amount of solace with her fellow prisoners was slowly evaporating and she had no one to blame but herself.


Emily stood, miserably waiting for whatever torment was coming next. She waited as the last of the women finished scrubbing and rinsing and left the shower area. She could hear the slaps of wet feet on tiles and the soft rasp of towels on skin as she stood in the corner awaiting her fate.


"Right pig, front and centre. Now it seems that you can't even be left to wash your nasty carcass without trying to get someone to play with your cunt. Step forward. Closer. Now you feel Boris there at that filthy hole?" asked Sergeant Mailer.


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," replied Emily, trembling. The head of the black baton was pushed hard against her vagina, the rounded tip actually pushing her labia aside and intruding slightly inside her. Emily gritted her teeth, waiting for the stabbing agony she was sure was coming.


"If I see another bitch playing with your cunt again I will insert Boris into that slimy fuckhole and stun you until you're smoking. Do you understand me pig?"


"Yes S-Sergeant Mailer M-Ma’am," stammered a terrified Emily. Sergeant Mailer removed the baton from Emily's pussy and inspected the metal-banded tip. "Clean that filth off Boris, you repulsive slag."


Emily glanced at the ebony baton, perplexed. She soon saw the milky cream coating the point of the instrument. No, she wasn't... It wasn't hers. But even as she thought it Emily knew it to be untrue. It was when all those girls were touching her; the smooth breasts, the taut buttocks. But she wasn't a lesbian, she had kissed a few girls and that was fun but she was no lesbian. I love cock too much to be a lesbian. What the fuck am I saying? I like sex, I don't love cock. Liking sex is healthy. This place was messing with her head. She didn't know what was happening to her anymore.


She stared at the small blob of cream on the baton, mindful of the order to clean it off. Emily reached out her hand to wipe the cream from the baton, fearful it would be discharged while she touched it.


"What the fuck do you think you are doing pig? You never touch Boris!" Sergeant Mailer yelled, the shout echoing around the now empty shower room. "Get down on you knees pig and lick your slime off like the hideous sexfreak that you are."


Emily sank to her knees before the furious guard. She hung her head in shame as she contemplated what she was about to do. She had tasted herself before, she had always thought it was a little naughty to do so and it turned her on, but to lick her juices off the baton while being watched was disgusting and the shame threatened to overwhelm her. And it wasn't just Sergeant Mailer but the other guards had stopped to watch and, in the absence of supervision, so had the inmates of D-wing.


Emily began to breathe heavily as she became anxious. Her whole body had become flushed from embarrassment and she was scared that just as her mouth touched the baton sergeant Mailer would shock her, and she couldn't even imagine how painful a shock to her face would be.


Emily leaned forward and bent her head towards the outstretched baton. She opened her mouth and gingerly extended her tongue, her entire body screaming a warning. The familiar musk of her scent became clear, mixed with a strange, artificial smell Emily assumed was the baton itself. Her searching tongue curled and gently touched the blob of creamy slime and licked it clean. The taste firing her senses, taking her back weeks before when Josh had been teasing her, inserting his fingers deep inside her, rubbing her delicate inner walls and offering his fingers to be licked and sucked clean. It was so devilish, so deliciously perverse and her nipples hardened in response to the erotic memory.


The next moment she was writhing on the ground in agony. She felt as if a sledgehammer had pounded her in the chest. Her right breast was throbbing in pain.


"Get up you dirty slut. Turned on by her own filth. You are so goddamn disgusting," Sergeant Mailer shouted, breaking the mood and sending the inmates scurrying to finish their morning ablutions. Emily could hear the other guards murmuring to each other and the word 'dyke' was mentioned more than once. So now she was a certified shiteater, sex maniac and now a dyke. Emily hesitated to think it could get no worse for every time she thought so she sank a little further into hell.


She raised herself warily to her feet, afraid of further repercussions. She had been turned on, but it was by something that happened weeks ago, and with a man. But what the hell was she doing thinking about that anyway. She was on her knees, naked, in front of forty women licking her own cream off a device used to torture her. And her pussy was getting wet!


"Now pick up your brush and get scrubbing. Retrieve the soap. Now come and stand in front of me. It seems I am going to have to watch every goddamn move you make pig and you have no idea how pissed off that makes me. Now scrub your brush across the soap. Right now start cleaning that carcass. Start at your neck," instructed sergeant Mailer, scrutinising Emily's every move.


The soap was hard and rough, and barely foamed at all. It had a slight astringent feel as she gently scrubbed the hard-bristled brush across the delicate skin of her neck. The coarse bristles of the brush were uncomfortable but not too painful. Emily avoided touching her collar if she could. Though the confining touch of the metal band was ever-present, touching it made her chest tighten and her breathing become laboured. She did not want to have another anxiety attack, the memory of the last one was still fresh in her mind.


"I said scrub you dickbrained dunce, not play with yourself. Now move down your shoulders, then down your sides. Now scrub those floppy udders," commanded the sergeant.


Now the brush had become painful. Even slight force abraded the skin, leaving a trail of flushed pink flesh. Emily winced as the brush touched her nipples, each bristle like a tiny needle scraping her tender buds.


"Do it properly pig. If I see you slackening it will be more punishment and Boris will make a closer acquaintance with those slack jugs of yours. Now scrub your tits, remove the filth. It is hard for you pig, I know. The filth is so ingrained that I doubt it will ever come off but that does not mean we still can't try our best. Now wash that belly. Now the source of your vile nature. Scour that fuckhole and remember bitch I am watching you."

Emily's universe had shrunk to her aching body and Sergeant Mailer's strident voice. She roughly scrubbed the brush over her plump labia, screeching as the bristles brushed her recent piercing. She scrubbed twice more over her now throbbing vagina then moved down her thighs, groaning as the discomfort began to grow.


"You're not finished there pig. Grab your tag and slide the ring through your cuntlip. Slide it completely around and then the other way, and remember pig I am watching you so stick to your task and no diddling yourself," ordered Sergeant Mailer.

Emily tensed as she touched the tag attached to her labia, fearing the pain to come. The piercing was very tender and sore and the cruel brush had only inflamed it more. As she held the cool metal tag between her fingers she realise that it was the first time she had touched her new adornment. It was an odd sensation to be holding something foreign attached to the most intimate part of your body. Hunched over to see what she was doing, Emily used her other hand to grip the small ring fastening her tag to her labia, being very careful not to stretch the sensitive flesh. She turned the ring to her left, gritting her teeth at the vicious sting from the pierced tissue. Emily could see small encrustations on the ring as it pulled away from her skin. She picked them off with her fingernail as she turned the ring on a full circuit through the hole in her plump sexlip. The counter turn was much less painful but the sting, like disinfectant on a wound still hurt more than anything she had experienced before entering the gates of the prison. When finished she let the tag drop, feeling its weight at her pussy, something she was already getting used to.


"Now turn around and clean that fat ass. Don't just scrub those lardy cheeks, clean the crack and shithole as well. Lift one leg up and twist it so you can get the brush right in. Oh so we have finally found something you don't like to do with your asshole hey pig. Be aware that random inspections are made of the prison population and any infringement in personal hygiene is strictly enforced."


Emily grunted as the needled bristles stung her tender anus.


"Now replace the soap, rinse yourself and step put of the shower."


Emily did as instructed and stepped out of the shower room trembling. Such a simple thing as taking a shower had started so promising and ended so frightfully. She had better get used to expecting the worst as that is all that seemed to happen to her in this hellhole.


"Dry yourself off pig, then replace your brush and retrieve your comb and toothbrush, then get over to the basin."


Emily looked for a clean towel. She had seen the pile on the bench by the doorway but it was empty now. What could she do now? There was a pile of used towels in the corner so she headed there to pick out one of those. She felt it better to dry herself as best she could, no doubt she would get punished for putting water everywhere if she didn't. Just as she reached down for a soiled towel, Sergeant Mailer's boisterous shout made her freeze.


"Get over here pig." The sergeant's voice dropped to a venomous hiss. "Were you going to use a dirty towel to dry yourself?"


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," replied Emily. What else could she say? It was true but if she tried to explain she would get in trouble.


"Your disgusting behaviour never ceases to amaze me, constantly searching for ways to defile yourself. Pentonbridge's prisoner programs have never yet failed to produce productive members of society but I think in your case pig there may be cause for concern."


Maybe just this once she could explain thought Emily. She opened her mouth to ask permission to attempt it but one look at the sergeant's face stopped her foolishness. She would get no chance to plead her case here. Maybe with Guard Parkes but not with this bitch. Emily hung her head in defeat, shamed at her lack of courage and the depths to which she had been driven. Instead of asking for a clean towel she had actually thought to use a dirty one. One that had been used to clean the ass and vagina of another woman.


"I will not allow such depravity here pig. Jump up and down and get as much water off as you can. We can't have you dripping water around the entire prison."


Emily began to bob up and down and shake her arms to dislodge as much water as she could. Her breasts were a little tender from the scrubbing and being shocked and the bouncing made them ache.


"That's enough fuckhead. Now use the comb to bring some semblance of order to that scrag's mess you call hair."


Emily took the comb and began to comb the tangles out of her hair. It had been so lovely once. Lustrous and full, something to be proud of. Now it was a tangled mess but the comb felt so good as it ran through her hair. Emily closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of something normal finally. She could feel the water rivulets running down her back and into the cleft between her buttocks as the comb squeezed the water from her hair. She was slowly drying in the cool air and her nipples were beginning to stiffen as the fresh water on her skin raised goosebumps down her flank.


"That's enough pig. Now brush your teeth. I know guard Jennings taught you how to do it properly so let's see if that one small task made it into that peabrain of yours."


Emily gathered her toothbrush and the toothpaste and proceeded to clean her teeth as she had been shown. Emily watched herself in the mirror as Jennings had instructed and out of the corner of her eye she could see Sergeant Mailer watching her every move.


"Finally you managed to complete one task without fucking it up." Emily refrained from smiling. She knew she shouldn't be, but she was glad that she had managed to complete a task without attracting the ire of her superiors. It was a tiny victory but maybe things were looking up. It was dangerous thinking but Emily couldn't help herself.


"Do you need to shit pig? Think carefully pig because it will be the last chance until evening ablutions."

"No Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," replied Emily thankfully. She was grateful that was at least one degradation she didn't have to undergo right now. She knew she would eventually but she had been awake for maybe half an hour and it was already a harrowing day.


"Put those back in your nest and stand to attention." Emily rushed to do as she was bid, bending down to replace her toothbrush and comb in the tiny square nest that was hers.


"Pig you slovenly slut, look at the nests of all these other bitches. Do you see how they are nice and neat?"


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," Emily sighed exasperatedly, it seems she had once again done something wrong. Her triumph had not lasted long. In each nest the three toilette instruments were placed in a neat row: brush on the left, then comb, then toothbrush.


"Now pig look at the mess in your nest." Emily looked: her brush, comb and toothbrush were placed haphazardly in her nest, it looked terrible next to the neat, orderly rows of the other inmates'.


"Fix it cunt," barked Sergeant Mailer. Emily rushed to arrange her nest in the correct way. Sergeant Mailer's patience was wearing thin, she could tell. She had to pay more attention; try to do things properly. It was just so hard when she didn't know what the proper way was. She was trying to be good; trying to please the guards and stay out of trouble but she had so much to learn. It wasn't stupidity, she had to believe that. It was just lack of knowledge. They were different things weren't they? She didn't want to be stupid.


"Get moving dumbass. It's breakfast time and your fucking around this morning has already made you late. I swear pig, I have never seen a more retarded cunt in my life, trying to get a bitch to play with your snatch on the first day. I knew you were dense but fucking hell, pig. The warden's fears about you were well founded; hopefully the sex-offenders program will help to curb your sluttishness."


Emily reddened as she walked before Sergeant Mailer, back down the corridor and out onto the wing. Her shoulders slumped in embarrassment and her head drooped, thinking how even being attacked by another inmate was somehow her fault. Emily glanced at her cell as she walked past, her bundle of clothes still sitting on her bench, so close yet so far. Her nudity, though constant now for almost a day was no easier to accept. Being naked while others around you were clothed was humiliating in itself but to have your entire body, your every move, scrutinised was more shameful than she had ever realised. She had a good body and enjoyed being sexy but not judged and degraded because she was not perfect.


"Walk straight pig," screamed Sergeant Mailer, accompanied by a hard slap to Emily's buttocks with her baton. Emily almost spun about in defense, but checked herself at the last moment. The movement was not lost on the sergeant.


Emily found herself grabbed painfully by the upper arm and slammed against the bars of a cell, her head banging against the hard metal, dazing her.


"Pig you wouldn't have been thinking about striking an officer would you?" Sergeant Mailer's sneering face was so close to hers Emily could see the individual pores in her skin. She was trembling in fear as she could feel the smooth form of Boris wedged into her left armpit.


"N-no Sergeant Mailer Ma’am, I swear I would nev..." Emily's body convulsed in midsentence as Sergeant Mailer thumbed the trigger switch on the handle of her baton. Five thousand volts course through Emily's body, her arms flailed back and struck the bars of the cell.


"I believe you pig, now move it else breakfast will be over by the time we get there." Sergeant Mailer stepped back casually, as if shocking a naked girl into near senselessness held no more import than picking some lint off her uniform.


Emily picked herself up off the floor; her left arm numb, her shoulder aching as if it had been wrenched from its socket. She stumbled slightly as she moved once again down the long rows of barred cells towards the entrance to the wing. She really hadn't thought of hitting the sergeant, she would love to of course, but she hadn't thought of it then. It was only instinct, to protect herself. She had so many things to learn and now, it seemed, so many things to unlearn. But the sergeant had said she believed her so why did she get shocked? It was an abject lesson in what she was to expect. Do nothing to even give the hint of disobedience. She would have to learn to become obedient, just like her handbook said. Emily decided then and there that the little handbook would become her bible. She just couldn't take much more of this punishment. The pain from the shock-baton was something that would never fully leave her.


The gate that led out of the wing and into the corridor clanged open before they reached it, allowing Emily to keep walking without stopping. Emily was still clenching and unclenching her left hand to try and get some feeling back into her arm.


"Left pig, to the door at the very end of the corridor." Emily continued down the bleak gray corridor to the room at the end. She could hear the soft clinking of metal on metal and almost no other noise from the room. As they approached, the metal gate slid back into a recess in the wall and Emily was able to step into the commissary.


The room was large, almost as big as the main concourse of D-wing. It was filled with burnished metal tables, with stools affixed to the floor in long rows to either side of the metal rectangles. The tables were mostly empty, it seemed D-wing ate its meals alone.


All the inmates from D-wing were huddled up at what Emily thought of as the head of the room. They were seated at the tables located closest to the long serving window. As she entered, 35 sets of eyes glanced quickly in her direction. All the inmates were clothed in their regulation grey jumpsuits and this made Emily acutely aware of her own nudity. She resisted the temptation to cover her breasts and pubis and a flush of heat welled up in her chest.


"Attention, pig," barked Sergeant Mailer. Emily stood just inside the door, in the now familiar Attention position. Sergeant Mailer strode purposefully to the serving window glaring at the inmates as she went. Many seemed oblivious to her passing but a number shrank closer to their bowls in a pitiful attempt to conceal themselves. While the sergeant conversed with the guard in the kitchen Emily studied her fellow inmates.


They were all furiously shovelling a thick gruel from small metal bowls on the table in front of them, into their mouths. The movement was almost robotic; done with speed and precision. As soon as the spoon had reached the mouth and deposited its load it was straight back to the bowl for another scoop; as if the movement was programmed and the inmates were caught in the loop until the bowls of gruel were empty.


Emily had not eaten for almost thirty hours. The scant and flavourless meal she had been given at the watchhouse before coming to this dreadful place was the last time she had had anything solid. So much had happened to her since stepping off the bus and it had driven all thoughts of hunger from her mind. Now, seeing the other prisoners eat, her stomach began grumbling and her hunger began to produce a physical pain in her belly.


"Don't just stand there pig, what were you told about being idle." Emily almost yelped as the dreaded sneer from Guard Jennings sounded from beside her. Emily started prancing, small droplets of sweat forming on her forehead almost immediately. Guard Jennings made her uneasy. Be honest, Emily told herself. She scares the utter shit out of you. Psychopaths tend to do that to people.


Emily kept her eyes straight ahead and lifted her knees up to her waist with each step. She could feel the pull on her vagina as she pranced, her tag dangling and spinning between her legs.


Sergeant Mailer returned from her brief conversation with the kitchen guard. A scowl was on her face and fear drained the colour from Emily's face.


"What the fuck do you think you are doing pig?"


"Prancing Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," replied a confused Emily.


"Stop it you fucking idiot. I suppose you think its funny flashing that fat cunt of yours to all these bitches. Hoping to lure a few more of them into your filthy clutches hey pig. When I tell you to stand at attention that means you stand at attention not dance around like some retarded hurdler thrusting that gaping fuckhole at everyone. I see that we will have to do some position training today."


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," choked Emily. She had been told to prance there! Emily's face burned with the humiliation, many of the inmates had glanced her way without breaking their feeding rhythm. She heard footsteps sound down the corridor to her left and Guard Jennings came into view a few moments later. That bitch. She must have snuck off before Sergeant Mailer saw her.


"Morning Rose," Sergeant Mailer greeted the new guard with a slight lessening of the frown that still clouded her face.


"Karen. How's this cunt doing? Still up to her usual gross sluttishness?"


"Fucking slut is right. I just caught the filthy felcher dancing around and poking her cunt at these other bitches. It doesn't stop for a minute. I will frankly be glad once she begins treatment. You can only beat and shock a bitch so much before they become used to it. Still I think with pig we are going to have to reach that limit before we see any improvement."

"What was she doing Karen?"


"High-stepping like a dirty great slut, by the looks of it she was having a ball as well."

"Well that might be partly my fault. I was sick of the lazy bitch just slouching around all day yesterday and gave her a little exercise. No doubt she enjoyed the sluttish aspect more than the exercise and tries to exhibit it when she's around other people - showing off. She shouldn't just burst into it spontaneously though. I guess some sluts just can't be held back."


Burst into it! Emily was almost bursting alright. Her face had gone a bright red and her teeth were clenched in anger. The two guards were standing right in front of her talking about her as if she didn't understand a word that was being said. And that bitch Jennings was making out that she was the one who wanted to prance around. She hated it; the feeling of displaying her body in such a shameful way, the sense of helplessness that overwhelmed her. It was something she would never do on her own but was powerless to stop. She hated it, and she hated that bitch Jennings.


Emily tried to calm herself down. If she got angry it would only get her into more trouble. At the thought of punishment tears sprang to her eyes. She had so much punishment already. She really didn't know how much exactly but she was sure it was more than yesterday. Her ass still throbbed from yesterdays beating and she hated to think what it would be like if she hadn't managed to smear that wonderful cream all over the bruises and welts covering her buttocks and legs. Breathe girl, calm down, she told herself; repeating it like a mantra. Her emotions were on a rollercoaster at the moment, fluctuating without warning. She felt lost and alone and as the two guards continued to speak about her and her depraved ways as if she wasn't even there, despair started to rise within her. She lost track of what was being said, she was gazing at the mouths of the two women moving in speech but she could hear no sound. The world seemed to stop, all except for those two sets of lips talking about her, degrading her. They seemed to grow in size, filling her field of view. Four giant lips.


Emily's head snapped to the left. The right side of her face stung. It almost immediately started to burn, heat rising to the spot where Sergeant Mailer’s hand had slapped her with great force. Emily was still a little stunned and brought her hand up to cup her blazing cheek. Just as quickly she replaced her hand behind her back, resuming her position. The slap had not only returned Emily to reality, something she was grateful for as she feared she was losing it, but it made her intensely aware of the power these women had over her. So much had been done to her but being slapped like that without any fear of retribution hit home hard. She really was just an object to these women.


"Pig, 5 strokes, insubordination. You better fucking listen when your betters are talking bitch, and that means when every single person you will ever meet is talking you pay attention to every word they say because your life may very well depend on it."


Emily shivered as Sergeant Mailer snarled at her. She knew that was no idle threat.


"The kitchen is closed for D-wing pig so this morning you will have to rely on the generosity of your fellow bitches for your breakfast. You are to collect all the bowls from all the tables and you are to lick each bowl clean. It is only proper as you haven't done one minutes work since you have arrived and the privilege of the excellent provender that Pentonbridge provides is dependant on the work you do. You don't deserve a meal so you had better consider what you are getting a treat. Do you understand pig? Does that penetrate at all into your tiny shit brain?"


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma’am, thank you," replied Emily, her gaze flicking around the seated inmates and their empty bowls.


"Get to it then pig, you have five minutes," barked the sergeant.


Emily hesitated for just a moment then headed towards the nearest seated inmate. She tried to avoid looking at anyone but as she neared the table she couldn't help but glance at her fellow prisoners. Most of them were staring vacantly down at their bowls, but one or two were watching her. She saw many frowns and scowls but a number of sympathetic half-smiles gave Emily the strength to continue with the demeaning task.


Emily reached out for the first bowl but jerked her hands back as a yell from behind her echoed around the commissary.


"What the fuck do you think you are doing pig?"


"Licking the bowls Sergeant Mailer Ma’am like you told me to."


"Don't you fucking backchat me cunt," screamed sergeant Mailer, her hand flying towards Emily's left cheek snapping her head to the right and leaving a matching red handprint on her left cheek. Tears were flowing down both of Emily's flaming scarlet cheeks.


"You don't use your hands to lick a bowl. What do you lick with pig?" asked Sergeant Mailer as she knocked on the top of Emily's head with her fist. "The wheel is turning but the hamster is dead."

"My tongue Sergeant Mailer Ma’am," sniffled Emily.


"So use it you brainless cunt. The rest of you bitches form up. Parkes, Hackett take them off and get them working."


Emily bent over the table and towards the first empty bowl of gruel, buffeted by quickly moving inmates as she did so. The feel of the rough cloth of the jumpsuits on her bare skin was disturbing, reinforcing her shame and vulnerability at being naked in front of so many clothed people.


She tried to focus on her task. The bowl was almost scraped clean, there were a few scattered lines of gruel that the spoon had not been able to reach so Emily stretched her tongue to reach those. She had to place her face into the bowl to reach the gruel at the bottom and she was actually thankful there wasn't so much in there, she could imagine the state of her face after slurping at a bowl full of gruel.


The gruel was cold and gritty with almost no taste whatsoever. If anything it tasted like cardboard and Emily found herself wondering if that wasn't the main ingredient. Emily licked, lathing her tongue over the smooth metal of the bowl but was finding it difficult to keep it in one place. As Emily tried harder to reach the dregs at the bottom of the bowl, it would tip over and start moving across the table and she would have to stop licking and pull it back towards her by hooking the rim of the bowl with her chin.


It did not take long for Emily to clean the bowl. She had not even managed to lick one mouthful of the bland, lumpy gruel. Emily stood up, at Attention. It seemed that was becoming almost second nature to her already. She blushed at the realisation. She seemed to be very easy to train. The humbled girl stood and waited for further instructions. Her belly was still grumbling ferociously, as if the smidgen of leftover gruel she had been able to lick from the bowl was simply teasing her stomach.


"Fuckin hell you're a dense bitch, pig. You've got a lot of bowls to get through yet, when you have finished eating the scum the other bitches left you can stack the bowls and spoons, and take them to counter, sign for them and get that lardy carcass back over here," snapped Sergeant Mailer, who then turned from Emily and returned to her conversation with Jennings.


Emily looked at the rest of the bowls scattered around the three tables at which the inmates of D-wing had sat for their first meal of the day. She sighed and bent to the next bowl. There was almost no gruel left in this one and it took but a few licks to clean it. The next three bowls were the same and she began to despair of getting anything substantial out of the degrading experience. She kept bobbing and licking, moving around the table, gathering as much sustenance as she could from the scum at the bottom of the bowls. It became important to her to clean the bowls thoroughly, the humiliation of the task less important than the pain in her empty, rumbling belly.


She could feel gruel plastered around her mouth and on the tip of her nose, she was sure some had stuck to her hair as well. She tried as best she could to keep it out of the bowl but a few strands always found their way in and she spent a lot of time spitting out her own hair while trying to hang on to every last morsel of gruel. Emily lost track of time as she continued to move around the tables, licking each bowl, searching and scraping with her tongue for every last scrap of food she could find. She hated that only a few hours hunger had reduced her to pursue such a humiliating task with such vigour.


It did not take long for Emily to finish licking the last bowl used by the other bitches on D-wing. Her stomach still felt empty. She had licked clean 35 bowls and she still felt she had not eaten enough to half fill one of them. She glanced briefly at Sergeant Mailer and Guard Jennings. They had their backs to her chatting away like two old friends; they weren't even paying any attention to her. Emily was confused at the anger she felt at that. She was glad that they weren't watching her demean herself, licking other peoples' food from bowls like a stray dog, but she felt a little angry that they weren't paying attention to her do it. They weren't supervising her. But why should that worry her. The ambiguity of the sensation disturbed her and she scrambled to gather up all the bowls and spoons to finish her task. She wanted out of this room now; she felt decidedly uncomfortable.


Emily began collecting the bowls, stacking them within each other, creating an increasingly precarious leaning tower with the collected spoons resting in the upper-most bowl. Emily had to concentrate as she walked carefully to the counter and placed the bowls on the burnished steel countertop. She stood at attention and glanced into the kitchen.


There wasn't that much to see. It was a normal kitchen, if a little larger than the average household's. She guessed it had to be industrial sized to cater for the hundreds of prisoners that it had to feed each day. There were a lot of large pots and pans hanging from hooks in the ceiling and there were three of the large metal pots bubbling away on a stovetop. More gruel, Emily thought. Her gaze swept over ovens and benchtops; everything was spotlessly clean. It was just like any old kitchen, except for the two inmates standing at attention either side of a doorway on the far side of the room. They had the standard grey jumpsuit on but both wore the strange leather facial harness and gag that the 'maid' who served the warden had worn. There was something odd about the inmates. Both of the women were standing rigidly to attention and it wasn't until someone, presumably the cook as she was wearing a grey apron, stepped through the door and caused the inmates to move slightly that she noticed that not only was their hair cut extremely short but they both had tight hairnets covering their entire heads, like some strange beige swimming cap. It made them seem slightly alien.


Emily watched as the cook-guard, Emily wasn't entirely sure if she was one or the other or both, approached her.


"Yes?" enquired the cook imperiously, looking down her nose at the naked prisoner. Emily blushed furiously as she noted the woman's glance flicker distastefully over her body.


"I am returning the bowls from D-wing Ma’am," replied Emily, always nervous about addressing a new superior, never sure if she would be punished for not addressing them with their name. It was foolish to think she should be able to do so without knowing their names but she was beginning to understand that reason in this place meant very little.


"Right bitch. Let's see," said the cook as she produced a clipboard from under the counter. "D-wing, 35 bowls issued, 35 spoons issued. Right slopehead I had better count them up as you D-wing cunts are never to be trusted." With that the cook began to count the spoons taking them out of the top bowl and sliding them across the counter. When she reached thirty-five she made a small tick on the clipboard and proceeded to count the bowls. Satisfied with both counts the cook ticked and signed the paper on the clipboard and slid it around to Emily.


"Right bitch, countersign here and fuck off." The cook turned behind her to shout at the stationary inmates by the door. "Get over here you fucking lazy cunts, clean these bowls up." Both women surged forward, eager to complete their assignment as quickly as possible. They had felt the ire of the cook many times, she demanded perfection which could never be achieved by two simple women from general population. They had been permanently assigned to kitchen duty after failing at almost every other job-station they had been assigned. They knew this was their last chance. If they failed cook they would find themselves on D-wing, something no sane prisoner ever wanted to contemplate.


Emily signed her name next to the cooks scrawled signature. It felt odd to sign her name as pig. Degrading of course but she felt unsettled when she looked at what she had written as evidence of her presence at the handing over of the bowls. This was how she was to be identified for the next two years. Yes everyone called her pig but somehow seeing her name written by her own hand brought the concept crashing down on her like a ten tonne weight of despair and humiliation. Her breath became ragged and she knew she had to get control of herself or she would have another anxiety attack and be shocked out of it by some sadistic bitch.


Emily closed her eyes and forced herself to slow her breathing. She tried to think of something calming but all she could see was her signature, 'PIG', in huge letters swaying before her eyes. She managed to get her breathing under control but she could feel the sweat cooling on her body. She opened her eyes and noticed the cook staring at her, her nose crinkled in disgust.


"Sergeant," she yelled. Sergeant Mailer came striding over to the kitchen counter. "Get this filthy slut away from my kitchen. I think the bitch just had an orgasm." Emily's eyes flew wide at this statement but she knew better than to open her mouth to protest.


Sergeant Mailer glared at Emily, her nostrils flaring. Emily cowered away from the furious woman.


"Move it pig you fucking degenerate."


Emily scrambled back to the entrance to the commissary. She slowed down when she approached a widely grinning Guard Jennings. This bitch was quickly becoming her nemesis. Emily thought she had seen the last of her yesterday, she hoped to God or Krishna or whoever was listening that Jennings would not be a regular visitor to D-wing.


Chapter 11. Touring of the Grounds


"Straight down the hall cuntrag," boomed Sergeant Mailer.


Emily grit her teeth and strode purposefully down the hall. The constant degradation she felt each time a guard spoke that way to her was starting to grate on her nerves. She knew they were only words and she knew that she should be stronger but she had never been treated this way in her life. She didn't deserve this, she had to keep telling herself that. If she didn't she was in danger of believing it, believing that she was no better than a filthy cunt.


As she made her way down the sterile corridor she noticed another guard and two prisoners from the general population had turned a corner and were now approaching them. Everyone was clothed, everyone but her. Even her feet were bare, the cold from the hard floor penetrating up into her legs. She supposed it was her fault that she remained naked, though she had no chance to read any of the rules, but it did not make her nudity any easier to accept.


Emily watched as both the guard and the prisoners stared at her as they passed, curiosity on the faces of the prisoners, disgust on that of the guard. She had always been modest, letting very few people ever see her naked, which had always heightened the excitement she felt when she was with a new lover. Now she was being paraded around a prison wearing nothing but the restraints and demeaning jewellery that had been forced upon her. Strange as it seemed these hard pieces of metal only accentuated her feeling of vulnerability.


"Left, pig," directed the sergeant, walking a few paces behind the naked girl.


Emily veered to the left as they reached the corner, one of the many corridors shooting off the main thoroughfare. A few yards ahead the corridor ended in a large metal door, before which was a wall of bars creating a caged room some 6 feet in length. To either side of the first gate were two solid metal cupboards.


"Stop, pig."


Sergeant Mailer brushed past her and opened a cupboard. Emily could not see inside but drew her breath in sharply when the sergeant returned with a length of chain, four feet long. Emily had no problem guessing what this was and as it was lifted to her collar and secured to the ring at her throat, a small tear formed in each pretty green eye.


Sergeant Mailer kept hold of the handle of her leash as she stepped back to the cupboard, closing the metal door with a clang. Emily felt a tautness in the leash and stepped forward to follow.


"Pig," bellowed Sergeant Mailer. "You fucking retarded skank. Five strokes, insubordination. Listen pig, you do what you are told, when you are told. You are too goddamn stupid to be allowed to make any decisions, after all look where your choices have got you. You do nothing without being told. You piss when told, you eat when told, you move when told. If you are not told to do any of these things, what should happen pig?"

"I will not do them Sergeant Mailer Ma'am," Emily replied hesitantly.

"You will do nothing pig. You really are the densest whore that has ever disgraced D-wing. If I tell you to jump, you don't waste my time asking how high, because you have not been given permission to speak. What you do is get that filthy carcass in the air and hope that you jump high enough. Don't worry pig, if you fail you will be punished. You don't have to worry about a thing, everything in your life has been taken care of by those who know much better than you what you need and what you deserve."


Emily listened to the sergeant lay down the rules by which her life would be lived for the next two years. Didn't have to worry? Well she was worrying about everything at the moment. Her body ached from the punishment she received yesterday and everything she did seemed to be wrong.


"Next time you move without permission," Sergeant Mailer hissed in her ear, "I will simply deposit you in room 303 and you can become someone else's problem for a day. I think I can safely guarantee pig, that even a degenerate piece of scum like you would find no enjoyment in room 303."


Sergeant Mailer unlocked and opened the gate, sliding the panel of thick metal bars to one side. She stepped through and tugged on the leash. Emily bent forward, leaning her neck towards the door, but steadfastly held her ground.


"One sharp tug on your leash means you follow pig, even dogs know that. We are very quickly establishing your hierarchy within the animal kingdom. I suspect the first time we see a fly it will exhibit feats of intelligence that your feeble pea-brain can only marvel at."


The tears that had formed now rolled down the young girl's cheeks. She couldn't have done anything different, she was sure. She had only just been told not to move unless told. No doubt she was being set up to fail, and she was not smart enou- no she was smart enough it was just that she had no chance to do the right thing.


Emily stepped through the gate and waited as it was closed behind her. Sergeant Mailer spoke into her lapel mic, informing some unseen control area that she, accompanied by pig, was entering the yard. A loud buzzing reverberated around the empty corridor as the door in front opened.


Bright natural sunlight flooded through the opening and this glimpse of the outside world seemed only to sink Emily further into melancholia. At a sharp tug on her leash she stepped through the portal and into the yard. The change in the flooring was the first thing Emily noticed. The hard tiled floor had been replaced by warm, rough asphalt of a wide path that led off through the yard.


The yard itself was a small fenced area, the bright green grass that bordered the path was perfectly manicured. There were small gates in each of the three chain-link fences. Sergeant Mailer led her by the chain leash and they made for the gate directly across from the prison wall. It was early morning, the heat of the sun was still mild, though its delicious warmth on her bare skin almost made Emily smile. Her predicament, however, prevented any signs of joy from making themselves known.


"Stand up straight pig. You walk like an old hobo. Maybe Jennings was onto something. Despite the lewdness that I have no doubt you revelled in, you did look less slovenly pumping those knees high in the air. From now on when we stop you keep time, getting those knees high. Otherwise keep that back straight and your head up. Shoulders back toerag. Do you want to spend the rest of the day in room 303?"


"No Sergeant Mailer Ma'am," Emily replied quickly, the words rushing out of her in a torrent. She didn't know what was in room 303 but she knew it was not pleasant, you didn't have to be a genius to figure out that anything would be preferable to that.


Mailer turned back to the gate while Emily commenced prancing. She darted her eyes around the yard, grateful that there was no one present to see her display. She felt like such a slut. She could feel the tag that pierced her left pussylip brush her thigh with each step. Even though no one could see her, she blushed furiously as she continued her humiliating task. Now she had to do this each time they stopped! That bitch Jennings was to blame for this.


They were soon through the gate, out of the yard and into an area that Emily did not quite know how to describe. Was she now out of the prison? The ground beneath her feet was rough gravel that pricked her delicate soles with each step. Sergeant Mailer was walking at a fast pace and Emily was struggling to keep up and stop her leash from being pulled taut.


They walked in silence along the chain fence. She had been led for less than five minutes and already a thin sheen of sweat was covering her body. She was not in good shape, despite her slim figure. As she walked Emily noticed they were passing a series of small partitions similar to the yard she had exited into.


Some of them held small gardens, others were empty of anything but the odd pile of rocks. In one, there were 5 women, dressed in their grey jumpsuits, running laps around the yard. Even absorbed as they were in their exercise, they all looked at Emily as she was led past. She was unnerved as each woman looked her up and down, clearly drinking in her naked body, and glanced away, focusing on the back of Sergeant Mailer as she led her past.


"I saw you showing off for those sluts pig. Never has there been a better candidate for the special programs we run here. Unfortunately they will not begin until later in the week so until then you had better cut that shit out or we may have to put you in solitary."


Showing off, Emily screamed silently. She wanted nothing to do with these women, who were clearly lesbians. They were the ones who needed treatment. All she had done was be nude and that was not her fault. How was she blamed for everything if she only did what she was told? Her frustration warred with her humiliation as she tried to keep her emotions from overwhelming her.


Her preoccupation had distracted the pretty naked girl as they walked but she was brought back to the present by a sharp earthy smell. Sergeant Mailer seemed to be leading her towards a grouping of buildings, one large and many small boxes that looked like tiny dog houses. It was then she realised what the smell was. They didn't look like dog houses, they were dog houses. She could just make out movement inside two of them. She couldn't tell if the other six were empty or not.


As they approached the door to the small building opened and a tall, willowy guard stepped out. The instant she left the building one of the dogs came bounding out of its house. It ran up to the tall guard, tail wagging, until it noticed Emily. The hackles on the back of the large German Shepherd raised and it ran at the terrified girl, teeth bared in a primal snarl.


Emily was frozen with fear. She was lucky that Sergeant Mailer had also stopped, otherwise she would have been knocked over by the pull on her leash. Emily's legs trembled as the dog continued to advance on her, though a little slower now, as if it was sizing up its prey.


"Oberon, sit," spoke the dog handler. "Morning Mailer," she continued in a conversational tone, as the dog stopped a few feet from Emily.

"Morning Evans. I need to talk to you about a few things, do you have a minute?"

"Sure, come in."


Sergeant Mailer turned to Emily and pushed the leash's leather handle into her mouth. Emily obediently opened to take what she was offered though she didn't know why she could not have just held it. This was the only acknowledgement Emily received throughout the whole exchange. The two guards then proceeded to walk off to the guardhouse, chatting amiably.


Emily looked down at the dog that remained standing in front of her. She could not have moved even if she wanted to. The large black animal looked as if it would savage her at any moment. Her legs trembled as it growled at her, baring its sharp white teeth once again. Emily whimpered and looked away, she had heard something about not looking a dog in the eye, amazed that this tidbit of information had managed to pop into her brain.


She looked at the guardhouse, hoping Sergeant Mailer would return soon. It was not something she thought she would ever wish for but apparently there were worse things than the company of the abusive woman. Emily jumped and almost let go of the leash as she felt something brush her leg.


She whipped her head back frantically to look for the dog. Her eyes flew wide as she realised it had silently advanced upon her and what she had felt was its nose and whiskers sitting only inches away from her sex. The terrified girl had only flexed her muscles to step away when the dog growled, a deep menacing sound that caused the skin to rise on the back of Emily's neck.


She stayed frozen to the spot as the dog again pushed its nose towards her sex. She could not even move her hips backwards for fear that the dog would take offence and attack. She mewled softly as the hot breath of the dog wafted across her bare pussy. Emily felt the heat rise inside her. Her chest and face flushed, the red mottling of her skin evidence of the deep humiliation that overwhelmed her.


She looked plaintively at the guardhouse as the rough tongue of the dog searched out her womanly cleft. She could not believe this was happening. She should yell out for Sergeant Mailer. She could not possibly get in trouble for that, she was being raped by a dog! But what would the dog do? It growled at her each time she made a tiny whimper or each time she moved a muscle.


She simply had to clench her jaw and wait. Wait and hope her ordeal would be over soon. What had they done to her? She had been here less than 24 hours, she had been treated like an animal and now she was being violated by one.


Emily stood at strict attention, her posture one which the guards could not fault. Her legs were parted to shoulder width, unfortunately for her allowing the dog clear access to her pussy, back was straight, her wringing hands snug in the small of her back and her head held high.


As the hot, moist tongue lapped between her legs, tasting her sexual juices, Emily could do nothing but suffer in silence. After a few moments the dog became bolder and snuffled its nose more deeply, the long, malleable tongue questing and penetrating inside her. Emily bit the leash handle as she was violated again and again by the rough canine tongue. Emily's eyes flew wide as she felt her nipples harden under the incessant onslaught of the hot tongue but she had no time to process this latest development.


"Pig," bellowed Sergeant Mailer.

"Oberon," the unnamed handler called pleasantly.

"You fucking skank. You fucking filthy, fucking cunt. I cannot fucking believe you," yelled Sergeant Mailer as she advanced on the trembling girl.


The dog padded obediently over to its handler, leaving Emily alone to face the wrath of Sergeant Mailer. Her whole body tingled, her limbs trembled, feeling things she could never have expected and could not hope right now to understand.


"Just look at the filthy slut," boomed the sergeant as she reached the anxious girl. Her head snapped to the right as the sergeant landed a stinging blow on her cheek. She lost control of the leash as she yelped, the wet leather handle landing on the dusty ground at her feet.


"So there is no perversion too low for you to sink to. Pig, five strokes soliciting another five strokes insubordination. You were given a duty to hold the leash. A further five strokes for failing to keep time as you were instructed not 15 minutes ago. It is obvious the only thing you don't fail at is being a disgusting cunt. At that you excel."


Soliciting! She had just been tongue-raped by a dog and she was being punished as if she had made it happen. The sergeant had witnessed her violation and all she cared about was punishing her for losing the leash. Tears flowed freely down her face as Sergeant Mailer slapped her other cheek, both soft surfaces now red and stinging.


"Don't think your arousal has gone unnoticed pig. I am suggesting you be fitted with a C17. That should tame you down until you can be enrolled and your re-education can begin. You are really fucking pushing it pig."


Emily hung her head in shame, unable to even speak in her own defence, knowing it would do no good even if she had permission. Now she would be branded as a dogfucker as well as a shiteater. Two days ago she had been fearful of what prison would be like. She had worried about the lesbians, about the food, about if she would be able to make any friends. Having her pussy licked by a guard dog and being blamed for it, in fact being blamed for not only being an active participant but for having initiated it, could never possibly have occurred to her.


"How the fuck you didn't find yourself in prison 10 years ago is a sad indictment on our society. Too many base perverts are running rampant. We have you for two years pig, but I guarantee that when we return you to the community you will be a model citizen. In fact your current behaviour will disgust even you, believe it or not."


Emily stood, completely cowed, humiliated by not only the situation but by her own body. How could she have responded in such a way to something so terrible? She tried to tell herself there was nothing she could do, the stimulation was beyond her control, but she did not even believe herself now. Her mind was a complete blur as she watched Sergeant Mailer pick her leash up from the ground. She held the leather loop to Emily's face and she dutifully opened her mouth to receive it.


"Clean it pig."


Emily looked down her nose at the leather handle, noting the dirt and dust that had caked onto the moistness of her saliva. She licked the grit from the surface. As her tongue tasted the dry earth and her mouth filled with grit she became acutely aware of how thirsty she was.


Sergeant Mailer removed the leash once it was cleaned to her satisfaction and led Emily away from the kennels. The young girl was bewildered by how her brain worked. She had just had a sexual encounter with an animal. She had been turned on by it, and yet only moments later the most important thing to her was that she was thirsty.


The day had barely started and already she felt she needed a rest, she needed some time alone in her cell. She needed to process what had happened to her. She needed to think, but she knew she would not get the chance.


Chapter 12. Work Detail


“Move that lardy ass bitch. No more stops. The only thing that is going to keep that rank snatch from causing trouble is putting you to work,” snapped Sergeant Mailer as she tugged on Emily’s leash. “I doubt you have done a proper day’s work in your entire life but I can assure you that you will work while you are here. Of the many things you will learn while serving your sentence, none will be more valuable than learning the worth of a hard day’s work.”


Emily walked behind the quick-stepping sergeant as she listened to this latest diatribe. The naked girl had taken on the ungainly gait of someone rushing across hot sand. The sharp edges of the gravel prevented her from taking even one step without serious discomfort, the incessant tugging on her leash constantly urging her to greater speed. She could feel the sticky drool the dog had deposited all over her sex and inner thighs, drying as she moved. It left behind a tight, almost tacky, feeling on her skin, constantly reminding her of the degradation she had been subjected to.


They continued in silence for a few hundred metres, the surrounding vista changing little, until they came to the first yard that was not enclosed in the ubiquitous chain-link fence. The open area contained a row of small vehicles that looked like golf carts.


Sergeant Mailer led Emily to the first cart on the rank, pulled the small set of keys off her belt, extending the elastic cord tethering the keyring to her waist. She bent down to the wheel first, unlocking a device on the small hubcap, before inserting the same key in the dash and depressing a small green button. The cart hummed to life, its small electric motor producing only the most muted of emissions.


Emily was roughly jerked forward and stumbled after Sergeant Mailer as she made her way to the rear of the cart. A link in her leash was threaded through what looked like a carabiner, its small sprung gate then screwed close, securing the apprehensive young girl to the cart. Sergeant Mailer spoke not one word to the bewildered girl as she stepped into the small vehicle and seated herself comfortably on the small plastic bench seat.


Without warning the cart jumped forward, its hard rubber tyres crunching over the rough gravel. Emily looked at the moving cart in a daze. She watched in disbelief as the small length of chain attaching her to a support pole at the rear of the machine grew taut, her brain refusing to accept the picture with which it was confronted. It was not until her leash sprang horizontal that she snapped back to reality and leapt forward. She saved herself a painful jerk and began running as fast as she could to catch up to the rapidly moving vehicle. She had no time to spare a thought for the agonising pain in her feet as she landed each running step with full force on the small jagged rocks.


If she slipped she would surely be dragged to her death, of that Emily was sure. She could only keep pace with the cart if she ran at her full speed and she was unsure how long she could keep this up. If she put on a small burst of speed she could catch the cart and jump aboard, riding safely in the empty bench seat at the rear of the machine. She entertained the thought for a split second only, knowing the repercussions of such a precocious action would be horrid.


Finally, after only a few metres, they had progressed past the gravel and were now travelling on a much softer dirt track. Her pert breasts were bouncing erratically as she ran and Emily was amazed that she flushed with embarrassment as she realised what she must look like. How was she even worrying about her appearance when she was struggling to take a breath as she ran behind the cart like a tethered horse.


Emily did not even look at the countryside as she ran, her eyes glued as they were to the back seat only a few feet in front of her, its emptiness a constant frustration to the rapidly tiring girl. She did not notice the landscape change as they entered the cultivated fields that surrounded the prison.


Past fields of corn, barley and wheat; past empty fields, fallow for a season; past freshly tilled land, the tiny hillocks of soil organised into tidy rows that stretched into the distance. This picturesque pastoral panorama was lost of Emily as her focus had narrowed to her struggling body and the small space between her and the cart which she trailed.


As abruptly as it began, her terrifying journey ended as the cart slid to a stop on the rough dirt road. Emily was quickly enveloped in a small cloud of dust that had followed the cart and she coughed as her spent body struggled to fill its lungs with oxygen. She immediately bent at the waist, her hands resting on her knees, her chest heaving as she gasped through the dusty air.


“Attention pig,” bellowed Sergeant Mailer. “You’re not in the middle of one of your hobo fuckfests now. Back straight you lazy bitch. Anyone would think you had run in the Kentucky Derby rather than jogged for a mile. Why the fuck aren’t those knees up pig? I see you want to dance the tango with Boris again.”


Emily straightened her body slowly and moved her hands behind her back. A mile, a fucking mile! She had run a lot further than that, it had to be more like ten. She lowered her head in defeat as she began prancing on the spot at the sergeant’s direction. She looked down her body to see her breasts glistening with sweat, the twin mounds of soft, malleable flesh swaying as she continued to struggle for breath. She glimpsed the sunlight glint on the tag that was swinging between her legs and tears flooded her already sore eyes.


She had been reduced to a quivering mass of naked, sweaty flesh and her mind reeled at not only the indignity of her situation but at the terror she felt after the harrowing run she had been forced upon. Emily licked her lips, her tongue feeling swollen inside her dry mouth. She desperately needed to drink something. She had been thirsty before the run, when that dog had… She had almost forgotten the frightful degradation she had suffered already that morning. She just was not dealing with prison life at all. How was she ever going to adapt to this madness?


“Stop daydreaming pig. There are no dogs to lick that nasty cunt out here,” snapped Sergeant Mailer, watching Emily’s face redden further at her perceptive comment.


Emily sniffed back fresh tears and fought to keep her emotions under control. Would she ever be able to live down what had happened to her in the last 24 hours? The demeaning reality of where she was and what she had done kept her on the brink of an emotional breakdown. She felt the humiliation like a physical pain, her stomach tightening and her head aching as she thought about what she had been forced to do.


She was startled as a sharp honking pierced the quiet, early-morning air. Sergeant Mailer laid on the horn again and Emily looked around for the first time to see who she was signalling. To her left a field of bare dirt was filled with women in jumpsuits who had all looked her way at the strident sound of the horn. They quickly bent back to their work when the guard supervising them screamed an insult, unintelligible at this distance. The guard, a rifle held casually against her shoulder, sauntered over to the cart.


“Another bitch for you,” stated Sergeant Mailer conversationally. “Gotta keep your eyes on this one Mags, she is a fucking grade A pervert. Jennings caught her trying to eat her own shit during her cleaning.”


Emily had been staring at the guard as she had walked towards them, but dropped her eyes to the ground as the pretty oval face turned towards her now. The eerily reflective sunglasses showed her a picture she did not want to see: a pretty young girl, naked and covered in dusty sweat, walking on the spot, knees high, while leashed to a golf cart. She could not face the way she looked. The fact that her entire body was bared, on show to anyone who looked her way, was enough to make her want to crawl under the nearby cart, but the way she was prancing so lewdly, her breasts moving sensuously with each step caused a sharp pain deep inside her chest.


“Now you know what Jennings is like,” said Sergeant Mailer, the armed guard nodding in silent agreement, “so I wasn’t entirely sure about the whole shit-eating story but on the way out here she actually seduced one of Evans’s animals. The bitch actually got a dog to lick her cunt, and right in front of us. I know, I would not have believed anyone could be so damn stupid or so fucking disgusting but I saw it with my own eyes, pushing her vile cunt onto the dog’s snout. Bitch’s nips could have cut glass they were that tight.

“What’s it doing now?” asked the guard, shifting the rifle to a more comfortable grip.


“Lazy taint needs to learn some better posture. Leave the bitch alone for a second and she’s all hunched over like fucking Quasimodo. Wouldn’t surprise me if she was trying to lick her own cunt, she’s fucking dumb enough to try,” spat Sergeant Mailer. “I am leaving her with you but I will be back to collect her this afternoon. She has requested a substantial punishment and we will be heading straight to 303.”


“Right enough Mailer. I will have it ready on time. You can take the leash, it won’t need it out here,” replied the smoky-voiced guard, her sultry tones at odds with her harsh attitude.


“Pig this is Guard Lee. She is in charge of your Work Detail. She is not as forgiving as I am so you had fucking better watch it. You will be waiting on this exact spot for me to collect you or there will be trouble,” hissed Sergeant Mailer as she unclipped the chain from Emily’s collar.


“Why doesn’t it have a proper number?” asked Lee.

“Show her pig.”

“GUUGGHGGHGH,” Emily snorted, before hanging her head in shame. She could feel the heat of her humiliation burn her face like an uncontrollable fever. She had continued to prance throughout the guard’s conversation and continued to do so now as they both laughed at her.

“Well I suppose I should not even ask why it is not in uniform, it probably doesn’t really know what to do with clothes.”

“You may very well be on to something Mags,” said Sergeant Mailer with feigned consideration. “She has been enrolled in the sex offenders program and no doubt she spent most of her time rutting on her knees. Then again, people even dress their dogs up in clothes these days so it’s no surprise she has learnt what clothes are for.”


“It definitely seems to have taken to being naked. Look at the way it’s pushing its tits out. I take em as I get em Mailer, it’s not for me to comment on internals,” said Lee gesturing back towards the prison with her rifle. “You hurry on, it needs to get to work. It might consider flashing its vag work but we are going to have to differ on that point.”


As Emily listened to the two women degrade her, she felt the tears roll down her burning cheeks and fall unbidden onto the soft slope of her pert breasts. Each tiny drop contained a small fraction of the pain and humiliation that seemed to fill her entire body to bursting point. She watched as her tears created small clear tracks on her dust-caked breasts, the appearance of the small patches of clear, white skin reinforcing, for the poor girl, not only her nudity but the filthy state she was in.


Emily had never realised she sweat so profusely, but she had never really exercised much, it had always seemed like too much effort. Her entire body had been covered in the salty moisture and the dirt and dust from the track had covered her skin, creating a grimy tan.


Emily watched with trepidation as the cart bearing Sergeant Mailer drove silently away. She was a sadistic cow that Emily hated but she was a known entity. This new guard was an unknown and she had a strange manner that Emily found deeply intimidating. Being referred to as ‘it’ was part of her reticence to be left alone with her. If the woman talked as if she wasn’t a real person then what kind of treatment could she expect.


Emily glanced up at Guard Lee, trying to surreptitiously peek through her lowered eyes. Even through the drab guard’s uniform she could see that this woman was very beautiful. She had a full, womanly figure that filled out the uniform like no guard she had as yet seen. She moved with a sensual grace, a confidence borne by experience. Half her face was hidden behind the large mirrored sunglasses but the angular chin and straight, yet delicate, nose indicated a true beauty. Her sultry voice was something Emily was still marvelling over. She could just imagine the voice coming down a telephone line, costing lonely men a great deal of money.


The naked girl peeked for a second only, unable to meet the gaze of the stern guard who continued to scrutinise her silently. Emily felt her face flush, renewing the heat of humiliation that was something that she could never get used to. She had no idea where the guard’s searching eyes were watching, but she imagined what she looked like, her pussy-tag flashing in the sunlight as it was spun around and around by her constant prancing. She was completely naked out of doors, unable to hide her nudity in any way. She longed for some kind of covering, even a pair of panties would seem like a godsend right now.


“Right pig, over to the tray,” Guard Lee said, indicating with her rifle. Emily gratefully stopped prancing on the spot and moved off purposefully towards what looked like an unhitched trailer.


The vehicle, if it could be called such, looked like the back of a flat bed truck. At the front a long metal bar projected forward, resting in the dirt. It was a strange looking appendage, four wide metal crossbars protruded along its length and Emily could not quite grasp its purpose.


The wooden tray contained an array of tools and strange looking apparatus. Emily could see a large white water tank on the far side reminding her of how intensely thirsty she was. On the side nearest her however were metal buckets, a number of closed wooden chests and a small, comfortable looking leather seat that was able to swivel 360 degrees.


“Bucket pig. Hurry up and join these other bitches,” purred Guard Lee, her soft tones out of step with her harsh words. Emily reached forward and grabbed one of the remaining metal buckets and hurried into the field towards the other inmates of D-wing. Her fellow prisoners were all busy bending over, filling their buckets with something that she could not quite see. Emily was more interested in the fact that each of the women were fully clothed in the drab grey jumpsuits they had been issued, no doubt also wearing the small grey singlet and panties as well.


It was the sight of the large black boots on the feet of each woman that really caused her stomach to tighten. Her feet were throbbing from the run across the rough gravel and dirt road. She had been sure they were cut and bleeding profusely but she had glimpsed her feet as she brought each leg high while prancing and there were no outward signs of damage at all. Her feet were filthy but that was all. As she walked across the hot, dry soil she silently begged whoever was listening that she would be allowed her uniform tomorrow.


“I may be wasting my time pig, but I have a duty of care to explain all activities to any inmate on my work detail. This is a new field that is to be cleared for planting. Stage 3 has been reached, which means the soil must be cleared of obstructions. It is the bitches’ assignment to remove any, and all, foreign matter. The bitch collects all extraneous objects and places them in its bucket. When its bucket is full, the bitch indicates the need to empty and proceeds to the field’s periphery, empties its bucket and continues until the field is clear.”


Emily watched the other inmates work as she listened to the demeaning explanation of how her day was to be spent. Surely they could get some large machine to do this work in a tenth of the time. But then that was probably not the point, she admitted. Her mind soon drifted back to the uniforms worn by every inmate, making her more and more keenly aware of her own lack of covering. She could not bury her modesty under any amount of rationalising and felt helpless and vulnerable, naked in a field of clothed women.


“Move it pig. Right in the centre pig, right were I can keep an eye on you. We don’t want you jabbing any randomly cock-shaped stick inside you. Any discipline requested on my work detail is applied on my work detail. There will be no escape to 303 out here.”


Emily shuffled forward, fighting back a fresh wave of tears at the harsh words of the guard. She was bewildered by the final comment but her brain seemed to be incapable of focusing on anything other than the degradation that was heaped upon her. She tried to ignore the scathing words, but the harder she tried the more impossible it became. Each degrading phrase rolled around inside her head as she bent to her task, picking up her first small rock and dropping it in her bucket. ‘Cock-shaped stick’, ‘empties its bucket’, ‘gaping cunt’, ‘cock-shaped stick’.


The clang of the rock as it hit the base of the metal container jarred her back to reality and she looked at the empty field that stretched to the tree-line hundreds of metres ahead. She jerked her head to the left as she heard her first cry of “Full, Ma’am”, followed by the inmate breaking line and walking to the edge of the field. Emily watched her empty her bucket and return to the line and immediately resume collecting the detritus from the ground.


“Pig,” yelled Guard Lee from behind her.


Emily turned and hurried back as the guard beckoned with the long-barrelled rifle that seemed to be an extension of her arm. She watched with apprehension as Guard Lee uncoiled a long bullwhip in her right hand. Before she had stopped moving hesitantly forward, the whip flicked out towards her with such speed the dazed girl had no time to react. The thin corded leather snaked around her body, spending its force across her shoulders. Emily cried out in agony as the frayed end of the whip flicked around her body and stung the delicate flesh at the side of her right breast.


“Work pig,” Guard Lee said casually, dismissing her with a flick of the wrist.


Emily scurried out of reach before another blow could land, not stopping until she rejoined the long line of inmates. She chanced a look at her aching breast and could see a small red welt already changing colour, turning a dark, almost purple, hue. The line across her shoulder-blades felt like she was on fire but she wasted no time, bending to pick up sticks and stones with fresh enthusiasm. She could feel the eyes of the guard on her body, her flesh tingling under the intense scrutiny.


Emily bent to the monotonous task, eager to avoid any further punishment. Her lack of clothing had been a persistent drain on her composure but with each successive punishment it had been heightened, until she had entered the field with her fellow inmates. Her nudity had now all but consumed her fragile psyche, every movement she made reminded her that her most private of sanctuaries was exposed to the world. Each sensation she felt on her bare skin emphasized her scandalous exposure: the hot sun beating down on her unprotected skin, the gentle breeze that wafted across her bare pussy, the dry, crumbling soil beneath her feet.


She was lost in a world of humiliation and confusion as the constant barrage of sensation beat down upon her, slowly eroding her dignity until she felt she could endure it no longer. But endure it she did, eventually filling her bucket. She struggled to lift it now, the thin metal handle cutting into the soft skin of her hands.


“Full, Ma’am,” Emily cried, her voice catching in her dry throat. She struggled to the side of the field, at times dragging her full bucket. She emptied it with relief, adding to the large pile of rubble. The young girl was almost spent and she had been working for less than an hour, though she knew her sense of time must be horribly inaccurate.


Emily trudged back to her place in line, not daring to look at Guard Lee, perched on her chair in the back of the tray. She knew she was being watched, her every movement analysed and judged. How could she make it through this day?


Chapter 13 Refreshment


“Bitches, break.”


Emily straightened up, her back aching, her thighs burning. As the day had worn on, the sun had beat mercilessly upon her naked body. Rivulets of sweat had run down her flanks and she had been dying to rub the tender flesh underneath her breasts for more than an hour. She was afraid that the hawkish Guard Lee would spot the movement and she would be accused of trying to pleasure herself, or some equally ridiculous offence.


As she turned around to the tray upon which the guard now stood, she noticed that the grey jumpsuits of the women around her were covered in dark sweat stains. Despite knowing it was no doubt hotter inside the thick material of the suit, she still longed to have her body covered. Not a moment had passed that she had not wished she could hide her body inside one of the ugly garments.


Emily followed the other prisoners as they filed back to the tray. There was obviously a routine to follow and she was keen to discover all its intricacies before she made a fool of herself and was punished for some ignorant transgression. The woman moved quickly to the far side of the tray, the side upon which the large water tank resided.


Emily began to walk a little faster, her desire to quench her maddening thirst overcoming her recent vow to watch and wait. She had been licking her lips for the past hour, attempting to draw what little moisture gathered there. Her sweat was not appetising but it had allowed her to moisten her tongue and lips.


“Pig, what the fuck are you doing? If you wish to spend your mornings being pleasured by animals that is your problem. When you complete a full work period then you will join the other bitches. Now stand still and shut the fuck up,” snapped Guard Lee.


Emily stopped in her tracks. She hadn’t even opened her mouth to speak, but the naked girl stood abashed before the ire of the guard. She watched as the remaining women formed four equal lines beside the tray. The first four stepped up, dropped to their knees and leaned forward. Emily’s eyes widened as she watched each woman close her mouth over a long black, rubber teat that projected from the side of the water tank. Each teat was five inches in length and an inch across. They had looked amazingly like a cow’s teat, though Emily had only ever seen one of those on TV.


Emily looked on in amazement as the four inmates began to suckle noisily at the rubber teats, drawing the precious liquid from the large tank. Four sets of cheeks hollowed and expanded as they greedily worked the teats. No matter how hard she tried Emily could not banish the sexual imagery from her mind. She had once looked at herself sideways in a mirror as she gave her boyfriend a BJ and this was just how she had looked. Of course she had not been kneeling in the dirt, and her hands had not been behind her back but the scene from her past would not leave her.


“Next.”


The first four women quickly stood up, leaving the saliva-covered teats glistening in the sun. Not a single drop of water fell to the ground, the small holes in the end of the teat effectively closing without the needed pressure of a suckling mouth. The next four women knelt to the teats and closed on them without hesitation.


Emily blushed with shame, knowing that she would soon be demeaning herself in this way, suckling a teat like a farmyard animal, but right now she would do anything for a drink of cool water. Her face was flushed with the exertion of the morning and she was grateful the evidence of her humiliation was hidden.


Over the next ten minutes all of the women drank their fill, or at least as much as they could in the small time allotted to them, and the teats stood empty. Emily looked longingly at the teats and the tank itself, silently pleading for a chance to drink. The rest of the D-wing prisoners milled around silently, enjoying their brief respite from the back-breaking work they had been assigned.


Many looked appraisingly at the naked girl who stood waiting for her chance to drink. Her body, despite being caked in the dirt of the field was extremely enticing. Her full, pert breasts stood high upon her chest tipped with delicate pink nipples. She was slim, though not overly so, her soft flesh, providing her petite form with some gentle curves.


“Back to work,” shouted Guard Lee, her voice retaining its sultry flavour even at such a volume. “Not you pig. Drink.”


Emily gratefully stepped towards the side of the tray, desperate to get her mouth around one of the teats. She dropped hurriedly to her knees and leaned in towards the waiting shaft of soft rubber.


“Attention pig.”


Emily groaned inwardly, careful not to let her frustration appear in any obvious ways. She quickly stood up, making sure her body was straight, not wanting to give the guard any excuse to deny her a chance to drink. She needed it desperately. She could not go back to work in the hot field without it.


“When a bitch drinks on my work detail there is a proper procedure to follow pig. You don’t just dive down there and begin sucking. Now, the bitch steps up to the tank,” instructed Guard Lee, Emily following each direction as it was given. “It descends to its knees being sure to keep them together. This is for decorum and for posture pig. It straightens its body as if it were at attention, hands behind your back pig. It tilts its head back and then takes the mammilla into its mouth. It then begins receiving sustenance.”


Emily did as she was instructed, suckling noisily at the rubber teat. As hard as she tried she could not seem to get the hang of the action. She would receive a tiny trickling squirt every now and then but she was doing something wrong she was sure.


“You are not to think that you are sucking on a cock, pig. The mind of a degenerate is an easy thing to predict.”


Emily blushed furiously as she immediately thought of what she had just been told not to. She could not have helped it, the simple act of being told not to think of something had guaranteed that she would. She tried to focus on getting some water out of the teat but her nudity, her position on her knees and the long shaft of malleable rubber penetrating into her mouth all conspired with the implanted thought and made her think dangerous things. What was wrong with her? After everything that had happened to her today she was so easily able to slide into sexual fantasies, amazingly detailed sexual fantasies.


“Attention pig,” commanded Guard Lee.


Emily relinquished the teat and stood up reluctantly. She had barely been able to coax anything from the teat, hardly enough to moisten her mouth. Tears flooded her still red eyes and her shoulders began to jerk with her silent sobs. She could not deal with this. She could not go back to work without a proper drink. She would get dehydrated and collapse of heat exhaustion. She had no doubt that if that happened she would be punished as it would somehow be her fault.

“Permission to speak Guard Lee Ma’am,” the sobbing girl croaked.

“Bear in mind pig, I do not want to hear any degenerate filth come out of that mouth. Permission granted.”

“Ma’am, please Ma’am, I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t get anything to drink. I didn’t… I couldn’t get anything out Guard Lee Ma’am,” Emily babbled.


“Every other bitch was able to understand the function of this most simple activity. If you spent less time seducing animals and wallowing in your perversions that feeble brain may have been given a chance to develop the ability to grasp such simple tasks. As I said pig, this is not a cock. You are not to think that it is a cock. Rolling your tongue over the mammilla or pumping your face on it will not somehow tease out the contents. Despite this warning your chose to do so. I should shock those stiff nipples to teach you a lesson.”


Emily hung her head in shame. She had to stay silent and accept the demeaning harangue if she wanted a second chance at the life-giving liquid inside the tank. Her fate at Pentonbridge had been set. She had been branded a low slut, a frenzied sex fiend that was turned on by the nastiest of acts. No amount of explaining or refutation would ever change the minds of the sadistic prison staff. Her reputation had snowballed out of control, small misunderstandings and unfortunate incidents had taken on a life of their own, tarnishing her as a pervert without equal.


Her body was only reinforcing these foul accusations. She was responding with arousal in situations where it should be the last possible reaction. She was so confused it was making her fail even simple tasks, lending weight to the guard’s assurances she was a stupid, filthy animal obsessed with sex. She was caught in a downward spiral from which she could see no escape.


“Ok pig. When a bitch drinks on work detail there is a simple procedure to follow. The bitch steps up to the tank. It descends to its knees being sure to keep them together. This is for decorum and for posture. It straightens its body as if it were at attention, hands behind its back. It tilts its head back and then takes the mammilla into its mouth. It then begins receiving sustenance. It applies pressure with its lips while simultaneously squeezing the mammilla with its tongue, pressing the shaft into the roof of its mouth.”


Emily tried to stifle her sobs and follow precisely the direction she was given. She hadn’t needed to be told right from the start and she had felt like a small child being directed how to go potty, but she tried to ignore the humiliation she felt and focus on the new instructions she had been given. The moment she depressed the shaft of the teat between her tongue and palate a long squirt of cool water jetted into her mouth. She almost cried anew at the success of the new action. She began a rhythmic sucking motion and was rewarded with water at each stroke.


“Remember pig, do not think about cock while you are drinking from my tank,” said Guard Lee, casually reiterating the command, overtly implanting the suggestion once again in the impressionable, confused young mind of the naked girl.


The same memory popped instantly into her head. The elation of her success and the sweet moisture filling her belly was dashed as she struggled to banish the scene from her mind. She was on her knees in her bedroom, Josh’s hard cock in her mouth, his hands entwined in her hair, gently easing her head back and forth. Her own hands gently caressing his thighs, cupping his smoothly shaved balls. She could almost smell the sweet scent of his arousal, that particular aroma that wafted from his toned body only during sex.


“Attention pig.”


Emily was ripped back to reality, ashamed of her thoughts. She looked down at her body, past her rigid nipples to her sex. She could not see her pussy but she knew the signs of her own desire and she knew that the silky discharge had begun to gather within the delicate folds of her sex. She cursed her lack of clothing. She hated that she could not hide her body from scrutiny but she felt a particular dread at the knowledge that she could not hide the signs of her arousal. She felt as if a dull dead weight had sunk to the very pit of her stomach and she stood stiffly, horrified at the thought that Guard Lee would comment on her obvious stimulation.


Without a word, Guard Lee stalked closer to the anxious girl. The rifle dipped from its standard position at her shoulder, the long black barrel slowly descending towards the naked girl’s body. It made its inexorable journey past Emily’s trembling belly and down towards the seat of her womanhood. Emily jerked as the tip of the barrel slid across the lips of her pussy and was flicked upwards, slightly penetrating her pussy. She gasped at the intrusion, her fear of the dangerous weapon equal to that of the depths of her desire being discovered.


The result was inevitable and both women knew what was to be revealed. The black barrel of the rifle rose to her face. Emily tried her best to ignore its presence but she could not resist glancing furtively at it. She immediately noticed the smear of sticky white cream that coated the end of the barrel. The naked girl flashed back to the scene in the showers where she had been forced to lick her sexual secretions from the end of Sergeant Mailer's baton.


Emily opened her mouth as the juice covered barrel hovered in front of her face. She had never been averse to tasting herself, knowing that her flavour was quite pleasant and had never failed to turn either her or her partners on, but to be forced to do it in this way made her cheeks burn in shame.


"Pig, the sooner you spend time with Doctor Robbins the better. A slut and a whore without a doubt. Did you honestly think you were going to be allowed to indulge your perversions? I had already guessed you were that depraved but to think you were also that stupid, well that's on a whole other level."


Emily quickly closed her mouth, eager to remove any evidence of her complicity in the filthy deed she had mistakenly been about to perform. How was she to know? The barrel had been shoved right in her face. She hadn't opened her mouth because she had wanted to, she only did it to prevent getting into trouble. She wanted to scream it to the world and the guard but instead bit her lip and waited anxiously for the fall out of her indiscretion.


Guard Lee stepped in towards the naked girl and grabbed a handful of her hair and roughly wrenched her head forward. Emily grunted as she was forced to bend at the waist. She had the presence of mind to keep her hands behind her back as the guard used her hair to clean the evidence of her arousal from the barrel of her gun.


A solitary tear rolled down Emily's cheek as her own body was once again used to humiliate her. Her once full, flowing locks were being used as a rag to clean her sexual juices from an object, a foreign object that had just penetrated the delicate, private folds of her sex. The fact that the gun had been inserted so rudely and so casually into her pussy as she had been forced to stand and accept the intrusion only deepened her degradation.


"You were told not to think of cock pig. As difficult as that may have been for you, I have no doubt whatsoever that you did not even try. The moment you had the chance your slutty mind conjured up images of cocks by the dozen. We have had a few whores come through here pig, but none of them could hold a candle to your level of depravity. Scum is what you are pig. The whores were paid for their disgusting lifestyle, you wallow in filth out of the sheer pleasure of it."


Emily could do nothing but listen as the guard harangued her. Every move she made seemed to be wrong. Everything she did only seemed to dig her hole deeper. She was close to resigning herself to her fate, all fight having gone out of her. But there was a spark, buried deep within her, that would not let herself be the victim. She had no control over her life or what was done to her, but she would not be a party to it.


"Get that creamy cunt back to work pig. I will be checking again and if I find that wet snatch in the same state you will not think it so funny. You are here to work. If you are daydreaming about cocks and god knows what other kinds of sick shit, then you are not working hard enough. Move it pig."


Emily sprinted back into the field, her awkward running gait made Lee chuckle. Fucking filthy cunt runs like a girl. Fucking creams like one too. There were no doubts in Lee's mind that all the reports about pig were true. She had seen the evidence with her own eyes. Bitch getting wet on her work detail, she would not tolerate that.


Emily ran as fast as she could back to her metal pail, instantly collecting the first stone she saw and dropping it inside. She was equally as amazed at her arousal, but for very different reasons. She had not had sex in six months, and had not pleasured herself in almost as long. Was this why her thoughts were constantly turning to sex? She was frantic to figure it out as it was not only getting her in trouble, providing fuel to the fire of the rumours about her but it was messing with her head.


She tried her best to focus on her work, but the monotony of the repetitive task left plenty of room for her mind to wander. As she picked up rocks and sticks and the odd scrap of metal, her thoughts turned constantly to her body. She had ample opportunity to take inventory of those parts of her body that would give her away.


Her nipples were hard, but that was not from desire. It was from physical exertion, she knew this was how her body responded from the rare sessions of exercise she had done. She knew how it would be perceived however and there was nothing she could do about that. Her nipples had become slightly itchy as she worked through the morning but she did her best to ignore the frustration of not being able to rub them. She was sure that Guard Lee was watching her and any effort to touch herself in such a way was sure to bring further punishment and ridicule.


It was her pussy that was her main source of concern. She had been told it would be inspected and if she was still wet the consequences would not be pleasant. She could only catch the barest glimpses of her sex as she bent over to her bucket. She had managed to squat down when she emptied her rocks onto the rubble pile and looked between her legs. Her pussy had parted slightly and she could just see inside her.


She was not aroused, and had not been for some time, but the remnants of her desire remained. The entrance to her pussy glistened and the streaks of the thicker white cream she had produced were evident. She had paniced then, knowing that though the evidence was old, she would still be held accountable.


She had returned to the field and wracked her brain for a way out. If only she had a piece of clothing, anything would do. She was sure she could contrive some way to wipe her pussy. But she did not, she was completely naked. She looked around her at the clothed prisoners that worked the field beside her. She quickly looked away, the constant surreptitious glances her fellow inmates were darting her way making her feel more self-conscious by the minute.


There would be no help from that quarter. She was more alone than ever, lost in a world of humiliation and degradation, the presence of the other prisoners only highlighting her differences. In sheer desperation she came up with a plan and put it into motion at the first opportunity.


"Full Ma'am," the naked girl cried, lifting her heavy metal bucket and struggling to the side of the field. Emily made a show of stumbling and spilling her rocks just before the pile. She squatted down facing away from the field and proceeded to hurriedly collect the spilled debris. As she did so she hurriedly slid her hand between her legs and pushed two fingers inside her hot pussy. She quickly scraped the remnants of her arousal out of the soft, pink fold of her sex.


She had thought of two ways in which she could dispose of the evidence. If she consumed the small smear of cream there would be no way to anyone could tell. But it would look highly suspicious if she brought her hand to her mouth. She decided on the safer, though less foolproof, option. Without looking around, conscious to stay as innocent looking as she could, she pushed her hair back from her face, smearing the sticky moisture through her hair.


"Stand up pig."


Emily jumped to her feet, scared out of her wits by the sudden appearance of Guard Lee. Emily flushed red, sure her deception had been discovered. She stood at attention but kept her head bowed, desperate for the guard not to read her guilt in her face.


"What are you doing pig?"

"I spilled my bucket Guard Lee Ma'am."

"I did not ask you to explain your failures pig, I do not have all day. Answer the question you were asked pig."

"I was picking-"

"What is on your face pig?" asked the guard leaning in to inspect the trembling girl.

"I don't know Guard Lee Ma'am," Emily stammered, her anxiousness a heavy weight in her belly.

"Stop fucking around and get back to work," ordered Guard Lee, emphasising the command with a flick of the long leather whip.


Emily yelped as the tough tail of the whip flicked across her flank. She dumped the contents of her bucket on the pile, sustaining another lash of the whip across her back. A third stroke fell across her unprotected shoulders as she scurried back into the field.


Emily almost smiled at the success of her scheme. She felt strange however, something she assigned to the residual fear that her duplicity would be discovered. Her knees were still trembling as she joined the line of inmates, confident that the state of her pussy would not be causing her any further trouble.


She knew what she had done was wrong, and had been stupidly risky, but she simply could not have faced having her arousal be the cause of even further punishment. The indignity of having her own body used against her had been something too great to face.


Emily returned to her work, filling her bucket with the seemingly infinite detritus the field contained. She tried not to think of her sex or her hard nipples, or the itch that was almost driving her insane. She tried not to think of her nudity, her young body bared to the elements. Most of all she tried not to think of anything that would get her into trouble, though knowing what to avoid only made it more difficult in the observance.














Chapter 14 Field Meal


"End of the line pig. Lazy sluts are not afforded the same privileges as working bitches," growled Guard Lee.


Emily cringed but shuffled obediently to the end of the line of women. The break for the midday meal had been called and the prisoners had lined up at the rear of the wagon. They had each been issued a small metal bowl and tiny plastic spoon, little more than a shallow scoop with no real handle. Emily's thirst had grown as she worked in the field, but it had not been until the break had been called that she realised how ravenously hungry she was.


She watched curiously as the line began to shuffle slowly forward, each successive inmate moving off to the left and immediately setting to work on the bowl they clasped as if it was made of gold. Emily remained silent as she waited patiently for her fellow prisoners to be served. Her stomach grumbled furiously as she moved closer and the unmistakable aroma of food wafted on the gentle breeze towards her.


It did not take long for her to progress to the front of the line. As she stepped up to the tray, Emily offered her bowl up as she had seen the other women do. Guard Lee held a short length of hose and had squirted an equal measure of the soupy gruel into each inmate's bowl. Emily looked at Guard Lee expectantly, eager to eat her first substantial meal in almost 24 hours.


SPLAT. Emily almost cried out as the spurt of gruel hit the bowl with much greater force than any of the previous helpings she had seen administered. The grainy liquid hit the bottom of her bowl and splattered in all directions. Only a small amount of gruel landed in the metal container, the majority of her meal lay spattered across her chest and arms.


"Pig you silly bitch. This food has been provided for you by the magnanimous and hard-working staff in the Pentonbridge kitchens. I bet you would not have spilled it if it had been a big load of cum from some animal, hey pig?"


Emily simply hung her head and stood silently, not trusting herself to make even the smallest response. She could feel the dollops of lumpy gruel slide down her breasts and was unsure what she should do. She was desperate to eat, the sounds of the other women, hungrily emptying their bowls, filling her ears.


"Fuck off pig. Useless bitch. Don't think you are getting any more. If you decide to fuck around and waste what is provided for you then that's your problem."


Emily stepped to the side and moved forlornly to join the other inmates. All she wanted to do know was to eat whatever food she had left. She knelt down on the bare earth, not willing to rest her naked behind in the dirt, not having the luxury of clothing the other women wore. She wasted no time in scouring her bowl clean with the tiny spoon provided. She had managed only four mouthfuls of the tasteless goop and remained hungry.


Almost without conscious decision, Emily started to scoop the congealing gruel from her breasts. She knew it would be mixed with her sweat and the dust from the field but she needed the energy to make it through the day. She tried to clean herself as quickly as she could, not wanting to prolong the humiliation she felt at having to eat food from her own filthy body. She studiously avoided looking at the other prisoners, unwilling to have their disgust reinforce her degradation.


"Pig," bellowed Guard Lee, making Emily grit her teeth, wondering what she had done wrong now. "As you have finished, it's time to inspect that fat snatch to determine if you have been keeping your mind on your work. Get that ugly sack over here."


Emily scrambled to her feet and scurried over to the guard, her apprehension growing by the moment. No one had witnessed the previous inspection of her sex as they had already been dismissed. She knew this moment was coming but she had hoped it would once again occur when the other inmates were back in the field.


"Return your bowl and spoon. Attention pig, a slovenly posture is a show of disrespect to your betters. You should cherish the chance to stand up straight and show your social superiors that you respect them. Now bend over and touch your toes."


Emily hesitantly bent at the waist and reached for her toes, knowing as she did so that she would be exposing her body to the women still eating their meal. She had no choice but she felt like a slut, showing her sex and her tight pink asshole to these women. Yes, they were prisoners too, confined to D-wing as she was, but she still felt shame under their collective gaze, unable to stop worrying what they thought of her.


“Reach back and open, pig,” ordered Guard Lee.


Emily raised her arms slowly, not wanting to play an active part in the humiliating scene. She gingerly rested her hands on her buttocks, her fingers resting close to her exposed slit. The trembling, naked girl took a deep breath and pulled her asscheeks slightly apart, opening her pussy to the scrutiny of the guard and her fellow inmates.


The moment she was in position she felt a pressure between her legs. Her pussy, open and vulnerable was penetrated without preamble. Emily could feel the shaft of what she now knew to be the rifle barrel, inch inside her silky tunnel. She squirmed as the metal intruder was forced further inside her, the pointed sight scraping the delicate pink folds of flesh.


"Slut! The problem with a degenerate is that they wallow in their own filth any chance they get. We all saw that perverted display pig. Luckily for you it seems the gravity of your situation has been able to break through that fat layer of perversion. Stand up straight, these bitches don't want to see your ugly cunt."


Emily straightened up gratefully, her face flushed with embarrassment. Even though the inspection of her pussy had filled her with shame, she had been secretly elated and relieved that she had been able to remove the evidence of her earlier arousal. It had been a small victory for the naked girl, something that she knew she should forget as soon as possible. It would be dangerous to think she should practice deceit; a dangerous path indeed.

"Return bitches. Back to work. Pig, collect the bowls and spoons from the bitches, a low cunt like you needs to learn that everyone it meets, even these bitches are better than it. You know that don't you pig?"

"Yes Guard Lee Ma'am," Emily agreed dutifully.

"Pig, you sound very insincere to me. Bitches are to be truthful at all times. Dishonesty is a form of disrespect. Now think carefully pig and answer my question, my very simple and straightforward question."

"Guard Lee Ma'am I know that I am the lowest kind of person and that I am inferior to the other bitches on D-wing," Emily said resignedly, careful not to let her resentment show.

"Pig it is now your duty to collect all the tools used by the bitches on work detail. Start by gathering all bowls and spoons. They will be counted. If any tools are missing you will be held responsible pig."


Emily's lower lip trembled as she contemplated this latest indignity. She would now have to serve the other inmates from D-wing as if she was a slave. They were prisoners, as she was, and had no doubt done a lot worse to be sent here. It was ridiculously unfair for her to be persecuted like this. She had only misappropriated a few funds and now she was being treated like the worst possible kind of criminal.


"Move it pig, you already have time to be made up due to your tardiness. Bitches, back to work," called Guard Lee.


Emily dashed forward to collect the bowls from the other women, only to find them all now abandoned in the dirt as they rushed back to their work in the fields. She watched them go, dusting off the seats of their jumpsuits as they hurried back to the field. It made her own nudity once again jump to the forefront of her mind, not that it ever went far. Every movement she made highlighted her degrading vulnerability.


What she found hardest to deal with was the frustrating swinging of the tag between her legs. The hard sliver of metal was a constant reminder of her situation. She had been tagged like an animal and now she found herself toiling in the field like one, completely exposed to the elements. Emily knelt down to collect the bowls and spoons from the ground, making sure not to expose her sex or behind if she could help it.


It did not take long for the naked girl to collect all seventeen bowls and put them in one small pile with her own. Once finished she was unsure what she should do. Guard Lee had already moved back to her seat, observing the prisoners in the field. Was she to wait for an order to start working or was she just to hurry back to her fellow inmates. Her need to get back among the other women, to the feeble safety among numbers was too strong. Emily collected her bucket and hurried back into the field.


She was not called back and abused and Emily took that as a sign she had done the right thing. A flush of relief and happiness washed over her. How could she be so happy at making such a simple decision? She had been reduced to the simplest of emotions and her world now revolved around the guards, the rules and avoiding punishment. On the outside such decisions were inconsequential but in here, Emily thought, they are everything.


She had collected two small rocks from the dusty ground before her relative peace was interrupted. "Pig," called Guard Lee. Emily sighed forlornly, put her bucket down and ran back to the tray and the waiting guard. She arrived at the wagon, chest heaving as she fought for breath.


"Pig you do not abandon your tools in the middle of a job. As dumb as you are, this should really be self-evident."


Emily was crestfallen and she turned around and ran back to the field to collect her bucket. How was anyone supposed to know any of this stuff? It was not like people found themselves in these kinds of situations every day. She tried to keep the resentment and frustration she felt in check but it was difficult. She was at the complete mercy of her captors. The only way she was going to get through this was to acquiesce, she had to accept the demeaning treatment and work within the restrictions placed upon her.


The frustrated young girl placed her bucket on the ground next to her, and adopted the attention position in which she had been coached. She tried to justify what was happening to her. She had to embrace the strict rules of the institution and realise that her only option was to do as she was told, no matter what it was or how it made her feel. She had no idea how she could do that, but knowing it was necessary was surely a big step in the right direction.


"Pig, how many bowls did you collect at the end of the midday meal?"

"Eighteen Guard Lee Ma'am," Emily replied, a little worried, questioning if she had made a mistake.

"How many spoons did you collect at the end of the midday meal, pig?"

"Eighteen Guard Lee Ma'am."

"Pig, whenever an inmate are tasked with the collection of any equipment it reports to a superior. It does not just run away like a naughty child with something to hide. Do you know what you did wrong pig?"

"Yes Guard Lee Ma'am," Emily replied despondently, ashamed now of the joy she had felt in what she thought had been the right decision. The first chance she had to make a decision and she had failed.


"Pig, talking to you is like teaching a 2 year old swahili. Your lack of intelligence is painful to experience. When a bitch knows it did wrong it demonstrates that it knows what it did wrong. This is the only way a bitch's superiors know that the lesson can be learnt from. It is even more important with someone of such ill breeding. Bitches as dumb as you need to work harder, the dumber the bitch the harder it must work. Now are you going to answer properly?"

"Yes Guard Lee Ma'am," Emily squeaked, tears forming in her eyes. "I did not report to a superior that I had collected the bowls and spoons Guard Lee Ma'am. I am very sorry."


"No one cares about your apologies pig. No one has any interest in what a bitch thinks. A bitch works and does what it is told. A bitch speaks when spoken to. A bitch answers the questions it is asked. A bitch follows the rules. When a bitch does as it is told, its life is uncomplicated. Do you want your life to be easy pig?"

"Yes Guard Lee Ma'am," Emily replied, hoping she was not being set a trap.

"Pig, that is not a very admirable goal. That kind of bitch thinking is why you are here. Your destination was inevitable from the moment you were born. Bitches like you are nothing special. Unfortunately society is infested with filth like you."


Emily could no longer fight back the tears and began sobbing. Her bouncing shoulders caused her breasts to quiver and despite how she felt, Emily hoped that Guard Lee would not make comment.


"Disperse the bowls to where you found them. Collect them properly," ordered Guard Lee as she surveyed the women working in the field.


The constant haranguing of her character and the incessant demeaning comments about her behaviour had finally overwhelmed her. She could not fight it any longer. She tried to be strong but she had been beaten down, her fragile mental state had teetered on the brink since her induction but the speech of this soft spoken guard had pushed her over the edge.


Tears rolled freely down her dusty cheeks as she put each bowl back into the dirt beside the tray. Once all eighteen bowls lay in the dirt she collected the spoons and placed one in each bowl. The second the last spoon was in its bowl she began collecting them once again and placed them on the back of the tray.


"Guard Lee Ma'am, I have collected eighteen bowls and eighteen spoons."

"No pig. You are a bitch. A bitch has collected what it has been told. Try again."

"Guard Lee Ma'am, this bitch has collected eighteen bowls and eighteen spoons Ma'am."

"Back to work pig. This lesson will not be repeated," Lee said without even looking at her.


Emily picked up her bucket and ran back into the field, desperate to get away from the sadistic guard. She may not the harsh tones of the other guards but her speech and the treatment Emily had received since being given to her care had broken her spirit. She rejoined the line of prisoners and began filling her bucket with rocks and sticks. She needed to lose herself in this repetitive, mind-numbing task. She needed to find some respite from the humiliation and degradation that seemed to be an integral part of her existence now.

Chapter 15 A Hard Day's Work


"Bitches report," bellowed Guard Lee, her sultry voice carrying across the still afternoon air.


Emily followed the other women back to the tray. She struggled to carry her bucket, half-filled as it was with debris. It had been a long day and she had lost count of the number of times she had emptied her metal bucket at the side of the field.


She had been mercifully left to her work since the midday meal. A further mid-afternoon drink break had passed without incident, though she had once again been forced to wait until all the other women had drunk their fill from the tank. Emily had been surprised that she had blushed like a schoolgirl as she knelt down and took the plastic teat into her mouth. This time a reminder had not been necessary, she had instantly thought of sucking a cock despite her best efforts to clear her mind.


The morning break had brought her immense humiliation at the hands of the guard, which had been exacerbated by her own body working against her, her arousal only reinforcing the shameful claims that had been made against her. Even with those memories she had not been able to prevent her thoughts from wandering.


She had run back to the field, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling, awaiting the anticipated call from Guard Lee that would herald a further round of humiliation. She had thrown herself into her work when she realised it would not be coming. She had escaped further persecution and was determined not to provide any reasons to be singled out further.


Emily stopped daydreaming and joined the end of the long line of women, her bucket on the ground in front of her. Guard Lee had not moved from her perch as she watched her charges approach, their exhausted movements a silent testament to the fact they had been worked adequately. These bitches deserved to be worked hard, each and every day of their life. It was the only thing they understood, the only thing they would ever be suited for and the only thing that would keep them from offending further.


"Bitches, collect your harness and get in position. Pig, empty the buckets."


Emily looked at Guard Lee, hostility evident despite her best efforts to remain neutral. She had worked her ass off. Picking up stupid fucking rocks and sticks - demeaning, stupid work. She had worked just as hard as any of these bitches, harder even as she had been completely naked: her feet sore from the hard baked ground, her skin hot from the constant attention of the sun. Despite this inner tirade, Emily collected her bucket and dutifully hobbled to the side of the field.


Her obedience was important, it was the key to her survival in Pentonbridge. She had known it would not be easy when she had realised what was necessary for her to get through this ordeal but she was being tested at every turn and, she had to admit, she was found wanting more often than not.


Emily moved as fast as she could, dumping bucket after bucket onto the pile of debris at the edge of the field. She had been exhausted by the day's work, and this last task was becoming too much. She staggered back to the tray after emptying her tenth bucket and saw all her fellow inmates waiting at the front of the tray.


They each wore a thick leather band around their waists. On each woman it was cinched tightly, pulling their jumpsuits in around their narrowed waists. Their hands were cuffed to the band at their hips and the band itself was attached to the large metal shaft that projected from the front of the tray. In a flash of clarity Emily understood the workings of the cart. The women were to be the means of propulsion. It was not waiting for a truck to come and haul it away, the prisoners were to pull it back to the prison. They were harnessed like a team of horses and Emily could not imagine how hard this would be at the end of such a tiring day.


"Hurry up pig, I am waiting for those buckets. These bitches need to be back in 14 minutes. They are really going to have to work to make that."


Emily dropped the empty bucket and grabbed the next in line. The naked girl waddled frantically across the field, conscious that she was now responsible for any delays. Could she be punished if the other inmates were late? Even if this were not the case, the attitudes of the women would be turned against her if she was the architect of their punishment.


Each time she returned with an empty bucket she could sense the nervousness and impatience of the other women. It was late in the afternoon, the sky a brilliant orange as the sun set behind the distant mountains. Guard Lee remained inscrutable behind her mirrored sunglasses, the inferno in the sky creating two blazing disks on her face.


Emily shivered as she glanced at the statuesque guard. She looked completely alien and made the young girl fear her even more, knowing even as she felt it, how irrational it was. The temperature had dropped noticeably but Emily still burned as if she had a fever. She was sure she was a little sunburnt, but it was mainly due to the intense physical exertion. She almost fell to the ground in relief when she returned the last bucket to the tray.


"Guard Lee Ma'am, this bitch has collected eighteen buckets," Emily gasped obediently.

"Pig, Sergeant Mailer will be by to pick you up. Go and stand at attention and wait for her," ordered Guard Lee before swivelling her seat forward. "Bitches, move out."

Emily watched as the seventeen inmates from D-wing leaned forward and took up the strain. She heard the snap of the cuffs and chains as each woman pulled. The wagon barely moved. The whip cracked across the back of an unfortunate prisoner but the tray barely moved. Inexorably the large wagon inched forward, moving across the field, gaining speed with each passing moment.


Emily marvelled that such a heavy object had moved at all. She was left standing alone in the field and quickly realised this was not where she was supposed to be. She ran across the field to the dirt road and found the spot where Sergeant Mailer had dropped her off that morning. It felt like a year ago, but could not have been more than 8 hours.


The naked girl stood alone on the dirt road, looking uncertainly around her. She brushed her dirty hair back off her face and waited. She adopted the revealing 'attention' position she knew was expected of her. She could see the imposing skyline of the prison buildings in the distance but there was not a soul to be seen. She had been abandoned in the field.


Emily looked around her, at the empty pasture, the mountains to her left and the sparse forest to her right. Could she run? She was naked, exhausted and marked with a collar, bellychain and a tag on her pussy. Was running really an option? She abandoned the thought, knowing she would not get very far and severe punishment was sure to be her only reward. So instead she waited.


She stood alone, miles from the nearest sign of civilisation, her naked body making her feel more vulnerable than ever. The cool air of twilight caused a wave of gooseflesh to ripple down her body. The sheen of sweat from her exertions was slowly drying, making her feel even chillier than the temperature warranted.


Minutes passed and the sun went down. The fading orange glow was slowly replaced by the soft wan light of the moon and stars. She could see the harsh lights around Pentonbridge in the distance, the strong sharp lines of the massive building seemed less imposing at this distance. Emily looked up at the sky, the thick band of the milky way, its millions of stars creating a ribbon of light across the darkness, a sight she had never seen.


Even after such an exhausting day of toiling like a slave in the field, of being abused both, physically, verbally and mentally she was still able to see beauty in the world around her. Emily looked back at the prison and wondered how long she would be left here. She would be able to see the cart coming a mile off, even the near silent electric engine would be noticeable in the still evening air.


She was standing here, in the middle of nowhere, for nothing. If she sat down, just for a minute, no one would know. She just had to be ready to jump up at the first sign of Sergeant Mailer. Emily mentally prepared herself to break position, she had all but convinced herself that she would not get caught, that there would be no repercussions.


As she steeled herself to rest her aching body, just to squat down for a minute or two, she admitted that she could not do it. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she realised that she was unable to break her position, the fear of being caught was too much to bear. She stayed on her feet, at attention, her hands behind her back and her shoulders straight back. She shivered in the darkness, disgusted with herself.


There was no one here, no one to see her. She desperately wanted to sit down but she could not break the command she had been given. Her cheeks were aflame with the deep shame she felt at being controlled in this way, at being so weak of will that she was doing what she was told, even though she knew she could not get caught. Emily had vowed, not 24 hours ago, that they may be able to hurt and control her body but they would never get to her mind. And yet here she was, unsupervised and still following orders like a trained dog.


She had no idea how long she had stood in the cool night air, begging for release. The naked girl smiled in relief when she saw the two small twinkling lights of the cart come dancing along the road towards her. She stiffened her shoulders, thrusting her breasts out in a wanton welcome for the approaching guard.


"Attention pig," bellowed Sergeant Mailer as the cart came to a skidding halt in front of the trembling girl. Emily's naked body was illuminated by the stark white headlights. "You look like you had fun today pig, covered in filth as usual, fucking degenerate bitch."


Not expecting a response, and not getting one from the broken girl, Sergeant Mailer attached the leash at the back of the vehicle to Emily's collar and moved back to the driver's seat. Emily was astounded that she was going to be expected to run behind the cart all the way to the prison. It had been bad enough in the daylight but in the darkness, exhausted as she was, there was no way she could make it.


Without another word the cart moved off and Emily stumbled along behind. It was quickly evident that the cart was not moving as fast as during the hellish journey to the field that morning. She was moving at little more than a slow jog, but in her current state it almost got the best of her.


Numerous times along the run she stumbled and almost lost her footing, pulling the leash tight at her collar. The ground before her was illuminated by the muted red aura from the small stoplights of the cart, giving her immediate surroundings a decidedly hellish appearance. Yes, Emily thought in despair, this truly is hell.


For what seemed like an hour she ran behind Sergeant Mailer, the prison looming larger and larger before her. She reached the parking lot soon enough and manoeuvred herself to one side as Sergeant Mailer reversed the cart into the allotted space. Emily was a mere spectator, her presence seemingly forgotten by the guard.


"Pig you lazy turd, what the fuck are you doing?"


Emily immediately brought her right knee up to her waist, beginning the prancing that she was supposed to do when left to her own devices. She went pale as she realised that the entire time she had waited in the field, she had stood still. She had not high-stepped once. Of course no one had known that, but she had not been doing it when Sergeant Mailer arrived. The fear of doing wrong, that was her constant companion, made her shiver with something other than cold.


Sergeant Mailer detached the leash from the cart and pulled the anxious girl away from the lot. They retraced the route they had taken that morning, but on this return trip not another soul was to be seen. The sergeant set a blistering pace and Emily struggled to keep up, the sharp gravel digging in to the tender flesh of her feet.


Emily sighed with relief when she was led through the chain fence and into the fenced off yard through which she had first exited the prison building, what seemed like weeks ago. Each moment she stopped for the sergeant to unlock a door or gate Emily pranced, her knees coming noticeably lower than her previous efforts. She hoped that Sergeant Mailer would not notice, she just did not have the energy to lift her legs so high.


She was led to the wall of the prison, where Sergeant Mailer attached her leash to a metal ring set into the wall. Emily stood, facing away from the wall and pranced as best she could. She was bewildered by why they had not gone inside the prison, fearful of what fresh degradation could be enacted upon her. She had been so close to getting back inside the prison, something she had never thought she would see as a goal.


The instant Emily saw Sergeant Mailer walking towards her she realised what was to happen. Despair hit her like a physical force, she could not control the sobbing that wracked her body and her prancing faltered.


A long hose snaked away from the pistol grip attachment in Sergeant Mailer's right hand. She was going to be hosed down like some dirty piece of machinery. Emily screamed as the first blast of icy cold water hit her breasts. The water felt as if it had come straight from the Arctic and she gasped as the air was forced from her lungs by the shock. No respite was given as the harsh jet of water was played across her body.


"Arms out to the side pig. You were not sent to Pentronbridge to enjoy yourself. Wallowing in filth might be your forte but it won't be indulged on my watch. Spread your legs wider bitch, no doubt that fat cunt is just as dirty as the rest of you."


Emily stood spreadeagled as Sergeant Mailer washed the hardened dirt and grime from her body. She gagged and spluttered as the harsh jet moved around her face. The sergeant seemed to keep the water on her face for an inordinate amount of time, much longer than was necessary to wash the thin layer of dust from her.


Emily could do nothing but to submit to the humiliating cleansing. Each time she moved her arms to protect herself, or to close her legs when the spray was directed at her sex, Sergeant Mailer bellowed at her. The sobbing, naked young girl could not help herself. She felt like a disobedient little girl each time she was corrected but the insistent pressure of the cold water was not something she could stand for long.


She turned around when ordered and the dirt and sweat was washed from her back. When the water finally stopped, Emily was a shivering, blubbering mess. She was left facing the wall, her arms and legs spread but trembling uncontrollably.


"Dry off pig, don't think you are getting inside my prison like that. No doubt you thought that filthy carcass was going in before. Yes, I can see the truth written all over that cockpig face of yours. I have never seen a bitch earn her D-wing assignment more than you, pig."


Emily began to wipe the water from her body. She used her hands, the only tool available to her, to push the droplets of water down her arms and legs. She barely touched her breasts, and totally avoided her sex, not willing to give Sergeant Mailer more fuel for another tirade.


"Pig, jumping jacks. I told you to dry yourself, not play with yourself like a whore."


Emily's sobbing resumed as she began jumping on the spot, throwing her legs and arms out wide. Why did she even bother? No matter what she did or how hard she tried she still did the wrong thing. Were the guards right after all? Was she really as stupid as they were telling her? Why was she always in so much trouble? Why had she been singled out for so much special treatment?


"Any fucking chance eh pig? No fucking shame whatsoever. I really can't imagine any woman willing to just go ahead and play with herself in front of a stranger. You are in prison pig. Honestly, what the fuck do you think is happening here? I can't fucking wait until you start re-education. Until then I will just have to do my best to impress upon you that Pentonbridge is not some sort of sex resort for perverted cunts."


It seemed to Emily that she was destined to fail, to be in a constant state of shame and fear, to be crying almost every moment. The water had all but dried from her body and she was feeling much warmer. The rigourous, tiring exercise she had been ordered to perform had done its job, a testament to the fact that her guards knew what they were doing. Was this just more evidence that she should listen to what she was told and simply obey without thought or question?


"Enough. Did you work hard today pig?" Sergeant Mailer asked as she released the leash from the wall.

"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma'am," Emily gasped as she struggled to catch her breath.

"I expected a lie and your stupidity delivered. Dumb as a bag of hammers, pig. I have the report from Guard Lee. To add to the fact that you were late for work detail, you were lazy and exhibited a prediliction to shirk your labour in favour of fulfilling personal sexual desire. I thought that even someone as dumb as you would have been eager to make a good first impression,' lectured Sergeant Mailer as Emily could do nothing but hang her head in shame.


"I hope you enjoyed yourself because that is the only benefit this day will bring. You are the first inmate in quite a while who has failed to complete her first day of work. Unfortunately I have a feeling that you will be on D-wing for a very long time. However we must hold to the basic tenets of our system: an inmate's sentence is complete when the inmate is rehabilitated. We do not simply dole out arbitrary periods of time. Are you listening pig, this is important. Especially important for a dense cunt like you."


"Yes Sergeant Mailer Ma'am, I am listening," Emily replied despondently. She had toiled in the hot field all day. She had worked her ass off and it had all been for nothing? She was completely at the mercy of these clearly psychotic women. Her sentence would only be reduced if they deemed she had performed the appropriate activities. She had no recourse to an appeal, she had no voice. She had to accept her fate, obey and hope it would be enough.


Emily's anger at the unfairness of her treatment, at her wasted efforts of the day, was the only thing that prevented her from breaking down as she was finally led inside the prison. She would obey, but she would not like it. She would do what she had to do because she had to do it and not for any other reason.


She was in trouble, far more trouble than she had expected but all she could do was stay strong, retreat inside herself and try to get through this. So far she had been thwarted at almost every turn. What she needed right now was to talk to someone, have a proper conversation with another human being. Most of all she needed someone to say her name. If she could just hear someone say it once, outside of her own mind, she knew she could get through anything. She longed with all her heart to hear someone say it just once: Emily.


Chapter 16. 303


"Left pig. Fourth door on the right," ordered Sergeant Mailer.


Emily walked purposefully along the sterile corridor. Her spirits had plummeted when she realised she was not being taken back to her cell. In fact Sergeant Mailer had directed her away from D-wing entirely. The journey had been without event, the corridors completely empty. It was a little eerie, to be within the huge prison building and not see a soul. There was complete silence, broken only by the occasional squeak of Sergeant Mailer's boots.


She was no longer leashed, though the removal of the demeaning length of chain had done nothing to assuage her feelings of fear and the deep humiliation she felt. Her nudity was the biggest barrier she had yet to overcome. She was not used to being exposed and every moment she was in the presence of someone clothed she felt deeply vulnerable.


Emily could feel the eyes of the sadistic sergeant on her body. She could feel the judgement of her superior like a tangible force. She had been forced to walk in front of Sergeant Mailer as if she was a prize on show. A prize pig, she thought, unable to prevent her own mind from being a party to her degradation. She began to berate herself silently but was stopped as she saw the door at which she was to stop.


A large, bold number was stencilled on the thick metal door: 303. Not only was her torment not at an end, it was about to take a turn for the worse. Emily went weak at the knees and almost crumpled to the floor. The presence of Sergeant Mailer, her silent disapproval ever evident to the young girl, was the only thing that prevented her from losing her composure entirely.


"Inside pig."


Emily reached for the door handle, wishing with all her being that she was only here to be shown the room, to have it used as a tool of fear. "Pig you fuckhead. Learn some fucking manners. When an inmate is to enter a room it knocks, you don’t just barge in, especially a piece of filth like you. You are fucking lucky you are even allowed indoors."


Emily withdrew her hand from the door as if it was red hot. She reached up instead and knocked obediently on the door. She was basically being told to ask to come inside the room in which she was to be tortured. There was no other word for it. The may call it punishment, and it was as she had broken the rules, but it was torture nonetheless.


"Well pig we don’t have all night, in you go. You requested this punishment so there is no shirking now. Hopefully you will learn something in here, but I won't hold my breath," said Sergeant Mailer as Emily opened the door and stepped hesitantly inside.


The room was large and filled with all manner of weird apparatus, the use of which Emily could not even begin to guess at. She had no time to take it all in as Sergeant Mailer prodded her in the small of the back with her shock baton. She stumbled into the room and was greeted by a guard dressed unlike any other.


This was the first guard she had seen wearing pants instead of a skirt. Instead of the starched white blouse, a tight white t-shirt with the Pentonbridge logo on the right breast was tucked neatly into the black pants. The guard was tall and toned, looking more like something to be found in a fitness video rather than a women's prison.


'Pig this is Technician Rosen. While in room 303 you are under her supervision. She's all yours, Jennings will collect her."


With that Sergeant Mailer left the room, leaving the frightened girl alone with the strange woman. She was a technician and not a guard. What did that mean? Emily was not sure but she had a definite feeling of foreboding.

"Pig, this is the spot to which you will report upon entering the room. You will return to this spot each time you are released from a station,” Technician Rosen said, pointing to a small patch of floor in front of her.


Emily scurried forward to stand on the indicated spot. The floor was a slightly different colour and it was only when she was about to step onto the small square that she realised why. Embedded into the concrete floor of the room was a small two foot square layer of plastic. It was a clear sheet that came flush with the surrounding floor level, except for the spikes.


The plastic square was covered in small spikes that protruded straight up from the floor. Emily hesitantly stepped onto the stippled surface and winced as the delicate flesh under her feet was indented by the hard plastic spikes. They may only have been raised a fraction of an inch but it was enough to be highly uncomfortable.


“Turn around pig, you are to face the front. This is the inmate's idle position in room 303,” Rosen instructed. “You do seem to be an unusual one. You have been sent to me for correction, nothing else outside these four walls has any consequence apart from the correction you have requested. Step over here to station 12. You are scheduled for 35 strokes but first you are to be fed and watered."

Emily had no idea where station 12 was and simply looked around the room in a daze. She was glad to be able to move from her ‘position’, as even after so short a time, the spikes had become a painful distraction. The walls were covered in straps and pieces of metal hanging from a multitude of hooks. "This way pig. I suggest you pay close attention during your time in this room. Your record shows a well below average intelligence but as I said, I have no interest in anything other than the correction which you have requested."


Emily's cheeks flushed furiously. Her record had been marked with these lies that would stay with her for however long she was here. No doubt it was also recorded that she had tried to eat shit and that she was into bestiality. Her life had been changed so dramatically in the last 24 hours and she had been irrevocably branded as a pervert and borderline retard.

The technician led her to a strange contraption that looked to Emily like nothing more than a thick block of wood with metal poles reaching upwards from each corner. "Kneel. Further forward. Head down on the floor, arms behind your back," ordered Rosen.


Emily did as she was told, her anxiety heightened by the professional, almost clinical, manner in which Tehcnician Rosen spoke. It was somehow scarier for the young girl to be spoken to in such a detached manner, she almost preferred the humiliation and abuse that she suffered at the hands of Sergent Mailer, almost.


The naked girl knelt on the hard wood as a thick metal cuff was attached to each ankle and wrist. Her arms were pulled roughly behind her and attached to the top of the poles. Her ankles were likewise secured to the base of the two rear poles. All her limbs were now tightly secured to the apparatus, allowing Emily barely any movement. She felt the strain in her shoulders almost immediately, the sharp angle of her arms upwards and behind her creating stress across not only her shoulders but her chest as well.


Emily lifted her head and body up as best she could, though the tiring day in the field had taken its toll on her young, untrained body. She was not able to keep her head up for long, as Technician Rosen slid a metal bar down the front two poles, pushing the back of Emily's neck down towards the floor. She was now secured so strictly as to be almost without movement. She could arch her back slightly and shuffle her knees an inch but that was the extent of her freedom.


Emily began to panic, the fear of the unknown and the inability to move having an overwhelming affect on her fragile psyche. She began gasping for breath, never able to fill her lungs with the precious air she needed. The naked girl wriggled and jerked in her bondage, the frantic action doing nothing but reassuring her there was no escape. She was brought back from the brink of what she felt was insanity by the dull clang of a metal bowl being dumped under her face.


"Eat. When you finish, you will drink.You don't make pig noises when you eat do you?"

"No Technician Rosen Ma'am," Emily gasped.

"Such behaviour will not be tolerated in this room. You are not here to speak. You will address me simply as technician. You will speak only the affirmative or negative. Indicate your understanding."

"Yes Technician," Emily squeaked.

"Good, now eat."


Emily lowered her head towards the bowl of gruel. She had finally been praised. It had been for something so very basic but it had been of great monument for her to simply hear the word 'good' in relation to anything she did. Her elation was short lived as she dipped her face into the bowl of gruel.


To be able to reach the lumpy solution, her nose and chin had to first break the cold surface. She quickly realised this would be a messy procedure and decided that consuming the meal was more important than making a mess, which she would not be able to avoid no matter how hard she tried.


“There is a notation here indicating the first day of labour is null and that the reason for this is…,” Rosen hesitated, finding the exact notation on the clipboard she held, “sexual perversion. The inmate manifested a persistent disregard for procedure due to uncontrolled sexual desire. Labour – eleven minutes deficient.”


Emily continued eating the tasteless slop as the technician read the report of her first day. It seemed to be all too brief, but contained the most distressing piece of information she had so far been supplied. Her entire day, the most exhausting and horrible day of her life would not count towards reducing her sentence because of eleven minutes! They had to be fucking kidding. She had almost snorted into the bowl of gruel when the technician had read that out. She could do nothing but finish her meal. Her restraints kept her painfully immobile and she had to remain ever conscious of her position or she could feel herself slide into panic.


“The session will not officially start until you are at station for your first correction, however I am not one to let such transgressions go unpenalised. This quarter-size whip has nine tails of braided leather. Your vulva shall receive a lash for each minute of labour you failed to supply. This is not strictly sanctioned pig, so this will be recorded as a chastisement and not a correction,” stated Rosen nonchalantly.


Emily’s eyes widened and she tried to turn her head to see what was going on behind her. She was unable to turn her head to see anything. Now she had a real reason to panic. The kneeling position she was in exposed her sex completely. She frantically pulled her arms and legs, rattling the thick metal poles to which they were firmly secured but having no other effect.


The air was forced out of her lungs as pain exploded in the delicate flesh between her legs. She lifted her head out of the bowl, pressing the back of her neck painfully into the metal bar. Emily’s mouth opened in a silent gasp as the pain of the first blow registered in her tired brain.


A high-pitched squeal echoed around the room as the naked girl finally found her voice. She could not believe the pain in the most sensitive and delicate part of her body. She tensed every muscle in her body, trying desperately to escape her bondage. She didn’t have the presence of mind to even attempt to calm down as she grunted with each ragged breath she took, trying forlornly to deal with the unexpected agony that radiated from her pussy.


“Pig, you were ordered to eat. You do not discontinue an activity until it is complete or you are ordered to stop. Each count of disobedience an inmate displays during correction incurs an additional three strokes. These additions are to be served at station 17. That is one count pig. Now finish your meal.”


Emily slowly lowered her head into the bowl, anxious to know when the remaining blows of this ‘unofficial’ punishment would occur. She hesitantly took another mouthful of the slimy gruel and swallowed just as the second blow landed. She was sure to be disfigured now. No way such pain could be inflicted without serious damage. Emily imagined she could feel the blood from her mangled pussy dripping down her taut thighs. She had not even reached the bowl when the third and fourth lashes flicked across her agonised flesh, turning the plump lips of her pussy a deep red.


Emily did her best to focus on the bowl of food beneath her face. She could barely see, her vision blurred by the constant stream of tears, but she thought she had almost finished. How she had kept going, between the screams and the sobs, was not something she had the time to contemplate. She was absorbed completely in the moment, her brain simply unable to process any higher thought. Emily was barely aware of the final seven blows landing. Her body strained as the braided tails of the cruel instrument whipped her plump vulva.


The final blow had wrenched her tag, yanking it viciously, causing her left pussylip to twist unnaturally. Emily erupted in a primal scream that ended in a hoarse, strangulated gurgle as her throat constricted. Her head jerked downwards flipping the bowl off the raised platform. The clamour as the metallic bowl bounced on the hard concrete floor was like a siren to the distressed girl. She focused on the harsh sound and was drawn back to reality.


“Oh God,” she whimpered as the intense pain pulsed through her.


Pain throbbed throughout her belly and chest, but the seat of her pain between her legs was indescribable. Even through this agony, through the body-wracking sobs, through the pain in her wrists and ankles caused by her frantic convulsions, she was aware of what she had done. Had she finished the meal? Would she be further punished for spilling any remaining food? She could not know so tried her best to deal with what she could.


“A second count for disobedience. You are not to speak unless spoken to pig. When you respond to a question you answer in either the affirmative or the negative. A lesson learnt slowly is one learnt deeply pig.”


Emily gently lowered her head until it was resting on the wooden surface beneath her. Her laboured breathing was only through her gasping mouth, as her nose was blocked by congealing strings of mucus over which she had no control. She blinked frantically, trying to regain her sight through the blur of tears that still flowed.


Emily tried to slow her breathing but found the task difficult. As she calmed down the pain in her pussy seemed to intensify, causing fresh sobs to jerk her body, her shoulders heaving and her breasts swaying enticingly as they hung pendant beneath her.


“Head up pig,” ordered Technician Rosen. Emily obeyed unthinkingly, wondering how the woman had managed to move to swiftly and so silently. A second bowl was placed under her, this one filled with cool, clear water. Emily did not feel like drinking anything right now but as she looked at the swirling water in the bowl she realised how sore her throat felt.


“Drink, pig.”


Emily lowered her face to the bowl and tentatively slurped the liquid. The cool water tasted like the most delicious drink she had ever had. The relief it brought as it washed down her scalded throat was exactly what she needed. As she slowly sucked up her second mouthful she began to calm down. She tried to relax into her restraints but found the way her body was unnaturally contorted made this next to impossible. The best she could do was to release the tension in her muscles and not pull against the hard metal cuffs.


Emily was unsure how much she was supposed to drink, but after her third mouthful her thirst suddenly left her. She noticed the thick strings of mucus, washed from her nose, floating on the surface of the water and pulled her head back. She did not want to drink from the bowl any longer. There was no way she was drinking her own snot.


“Pig, a second count for the same infraction. No allowances are made for stupidity pig. No allowances are made for those of above average intelligence so none will be made for those who are clearly below average,” instructed Rosen, her tone strictly professional as she coached Emily through her first correctional session.


Emily could feel the emotions rise within her and was determined not to surrender to a fresh round of blubbering. She would not cry anymore. She had to be stronger than this. But who could be strong in the face of the torment she was being subjected to? Her pussy was clearly damaged, no doubt it had been left a ragged, bleeding mess. How strong could someone truly be? If she did not do as she was told, she would simply be subjecting herself to further torture. She had to obey.


Slowly, trying to choose a time when the swirling strings of thick snot were not close to her mouth, Emily slurped up mouthful after mouthful. Soon she had truly sated her thirst but kept taking small mouthfuls. She had not been told to stop but she could take smaller and smaller mouthfuls. Despite her best efforts she could not avoid her additions to the bowl and she consumed what she had studiously tried to avoid. She almost gagged at the realisation but swiftly regained control, aghast at the thought of vomiting on the floor of this room.


After what felt like an eternity, her stomach bloating with the unwanted consumption, the technician removed the bowl, allowing Emily to rest her forehead on the platform. In moments she felt the cuffs at her ankles being unfastened, her wrists followed soon after. The naked girl all but collapsed onto the platform, her arms hung limply at her side for a few moments before she dragged them painfully behind her back. Emily was curled into a kneeling foetal position, too exhausted to move through the pain.


“A fourth count, pig,” stated Technician Rosen. She was halfway across the room, working with a chain hanging from the ceiling her back to the kneeling girl.


Emily looked up in bewilderment. What had she done wrong now? She lay there, fearful of what to do? She could not stay as she was, it was no doubt the reason for her third infraction. Then it hit her. She scrambled to her feet and walked gingerly towards her ‘position’. She had to move directly to her position. How could she have forgotten this direction she had been given only minutes ago? How could she have forgotten? She had just had her pussy whipped into pulp, that’s how, she admonished herself.


Emily reached the spiked floor and stepped reluctantly onto the raised surface. She tried to adjust her position a few times but it was a futile endeavour. She had been tasked with standing here and there was no way she could avoid the painful sensations in her feet. She debated with herself whether to look at her sex, afraid of what she would see. Her need to know finally won out and she snuck a peak between her legs.


She was stunned by what she saw there. The only evidence of her recent torture was a reddening of her plump lips and the odd darker line, evidence of an individual tail striking with a little extra force. She had not been disfigured, her sex was intact. The pain still throbbed, each pulse moving deep into her belly but the fear had subsided, only to be replaced by an even greater dread. If the pain she had felt had barely left her marked, how much worse could it get within the limits of damaging her permanently.


The temptation to touch her reddened lips, to gain real evidence of its undamaged status became an all consuming force. Numerous times as she waited to be called, her hands twitched as if they were about to feel her pussy without her permission. The poor girl audibly sighed with relief when the technician called her, though she immediately realised she was being called to endure further torment.


Chapter 17 Correction Commences


Emily timidly opened her mouth as the flattened metal bit was pushed inside. The thin metal projection slid deep inside her, depressing her tongue as Technician Rosen fastened the strap behind her head. The gagging girl's head pushed forward as her body tried unsuccessfully to eject the foreign invader.


The sides of her mouth were pulled back by the supporting shaft and she was unable to close her mouth, causing drool to almost instantly appear on her lips. She stretched her neck, tilting her head back and shook her head from side to side. Nothing worked, she could not dislodge the gag that prevented her not only from closing her mouth but effectively stopped her from speaking.


She could not stop working her tongue against the flattened piece of metal as her wrists were cuffed behind her back. The metal bit almost touched the back of her throat and her battle to push it out was neverending. Her ankles were soon cuffed together and she shuffled and wriggled her legs to get her tag into a more comfortable position. It had been trapped between her thighs, twisted uncomfortably. It was not something she had experienced before as she had rarely been allowed to keep her legs closedr. Emily grunted as her elbows were brought together severely and fastened with a strap.


The next moment saw her arms lifted towards the ceiling via a chain attached to her wrists. Emily tried to accommodate the painful movement, arching her back and doing her best to adapt to the unnatural position. The chain kept rising, causing Emily to shuffle in ever more frantic desperation. Her feet were secured tightly together and she was soon standing on only her toes, which provided a very unstable point of balance. Her arms were now pulled horizontally behind her and it took all of her efforts to remain standing.


A long string of drool slid down the metal brank and fell to the floor beneath her. Emily mewled quietly at the strain of her position. She had been moved to station seven and Technician Rosen had prepared her for her first set of corrections in a quiet, efficient manner. Each movement she made was professional and correct. She spoke to Emily the entire time, describing the apparatus she was using and the effect that they would produce. This did nothing to assuage the young girl’s fears. Knowing exactly what was being done and then experiencing it firsthand was far from comforting.


“The request for fifteen strokes for disobedience will now be discharged at station seven. For this request a single-tail whip will be utilised. A brank of standard regulation has been employed to prevent the inmate from further disobedient outbursts. It has been judged by this technician that the inmate has insufficient mental capacity to govern her speech during correction. A permanent note has been made to this effect. A gag of some order will be employed for all future correction sessions.”


This official spiel now over, Technician Rosen stepped behind the trussed girl and flicked the chosen whip to gauge the range. A blow had not been landed and already Emily was crying. Her belly tightened in anticipation as she waited for the first strike to land. The fear that she felt was almost as bad as the pain she knew was to come. She knew that once it began she would beg for it to stop, but right now she just wanted to be out of this room. She wanted her punishment to be over and done with. She wanted to be back in her cell.


Emily could hear the frightening swish of the whip behind her. After two practice swings the first lash landed across the trembling girl's buttocks. She jerked forward in her bonds, tottering on her tiptoes as the pain lanced through the soft flesh of her behind. It felt like a great knife had lacerated her tender skin, though she knew now that this would not be the case. The amount of pain she felt bore no resemblance to the evidence left on her body. A thin red welt across both cheeks was all that marked her skin. It was almost unseen amongst the already healing bruises of the caning of the day before.


Emily gurgled into her gag, pushing a great string of ropey drool from her mouth. A second blow landed straight after the first, with a third a few seconds later. Technician Rosen had established her rhythm: landing a blow and drawing the whip back in one smooth motion.


The first correction session was over in a matter of minutes. Fifteen lashes had been applied to Emily’s buttocks and thighs, leaving the young girl a blubbering mess. She continued to twist and turn on her toes well after the last lash had landed. Her chest heaved with each fresh sob and she could not stop the unending wave of tears.


Her legs quivered as she felt the warm hand of Technician Rosen trace a number of the marks on her back. A competent spacing, mused the technician. She was not unhappy with her work, but she could do much better. She took her work seriously, seeing each correction as a chance to perfect the art of punishment. It was an art in great demand, and for someone like her, it was more a life-choice than a simple vocation. She had transformed room 303 from an almost bare room, containing the most meagre of equipment, to a well stocked chamber of correction.


Emily listened to the mused mumblings of her tormentor and could not believe what she heard. The placement of each stroke was important to this woman? Emily realised that to Technician Rosen, she was not a person. She was simply an object on which she could perfect her experiments in torture. She was not important, her welfare was not important. All that mattered to this woman was performing the corrections, inflicting pain and suffering in the most efficient and effective way. She suddenly felt more afraid than she had ever been in her life.


This woman had no interest in how Emily felt, she had no investment in her well-being. If she was badly injured during one of these sessions, the technician would view it as simply an experiment that needed to be refined. The wicked apparatus that dotted the room were designed with only one result: to facilitate the delivery of pain.


Emily’s eyes darted from device to device but she was completely unable to imagine what each would be for. She was totally unprepared for this experience, never having believed, even for a second, she would ever have found herself receiving pain of any kind, especially not this bizarrely formal setting.


Without warning her arms were slowly lowered and the chain detached from her wrist cuffs. The relief that flushed through her body was immediate. She was able to place her feet flat on the floor and had not realised how much strain had been placed on her calves and feet. She longed to stretch her arms, to roll her shoulders and ease the aching muscles that had been contorted so severely but it was all she could do to stay standing and not collapse into a dishevelled heap on the floor. Her knees still trembled as the cuffs at both wrist and ankle were removed.


As the technician moved away, Emily scurried to her position by the far wall. She stepped onto the spiked square and stood at attention facing the front wall. The annoying gag had not been removed and a constant stream of drool dripped down her chin, onto her breasts and belly. She had quickly learnt not to push the gag too much with her tongue. She could barely move the thin metal pad and all that was achieved was a fresh gagging sensation as the rounded end of the bit pushed at the back of her throat.


She was no longer restrained and she could easily reach up and remove the gag, a simple process of undoing the strap behind her head, but she dared not do so. Not only did she fear the repercussions but she knew it was wrong, she knew that her life now revolved around complete obedience.


‘Pig,” called Rosen, from a fresh station.


Emily turned and hurried to the next device that would be used to cause her pain. Technician Rosen stood beside a basic block of wood. It stood four feet off the ground on small stubby wooden legs. It was three feet long and two wide. She could see two half-cuffs of metal hinged open on the top of the box and two that hung from each side. Even as she approached, scrutinising every detail, she could not determine just how this was to be used and just how she would fit onto it.


“Up pig,” said Rosen, patting the top of the box. “Lie face down, your legs will rest along the top of the box.”


Emily stepped hesitantly forward and climbed awkwardly atop the box. She lowered her body down but was unable to fit her body along the top of the box without her legs extending way beyond the end of the wooden rectangle. She knew this was not right as the cuffs atop the box were clearly designed for her ankles. The bewildered girl flicked her head back to look at Technician Rosen when she felt a forceful tapping on the underside of her buttocks. Emily quickly caught on and realised she needed to scoot forward. She kept wriggling forward until her upper body was pushed entirely off the end of the box, her arms extended to the floor supporting her now inverted torso.


She felt her head rush with blood as she kept herself upright while the technician secured her ankles into the waiting cuffs. It was a simple process of flipping the cuff closed and turning a latch. Her legs were now pinned between the crescenst of immutable metal and the hard wooden surface of the box. Her feet dangled over the edge and her hips pushed uncomfortably into the hard wooden surface at the opposite end. Emily could feel the drool pooling on the roof of her mouth and tilted her head back, causing a long frothy string to slide over her nose and down over her eyes. There was nothing else she could do while the bit rested frustratingly inside her.


“This is station eleven pig,” Rosen explained as she took each of Emily’s arms and brought them back, restraining them in matching cuffs at the side of the box. ”This station will provide unobstructed access to the full length of both legs: the buttocks, upper thighs and calves. The feet are also a target of interest at this station but as we have only fifteen strokes we shall be utilising only the three aforementioned zones.”


Emily closed her eyes and steeled herself for the coming ordeal. She could just see, through the blur of drool and the ragged curtain of her hair, the technician’s booted feet move around the box. She had tried to wriggle into a slightly more comfortable position once all four limbs had been secured but all she had managed was to shake more drool down her already soaked face. The freightened girl blinked the bubbly saliva from her eyes and breathed as calmly as she could, feeling her body moving a little with each breath. Her breasts were mashed into the side of the wooden box and it prevented her from completely filling her lungs.


“The request for fifteen strokes for laziness will now be discharged at station eleven. For this request a cane of gauge 3 will be utilised. A brank of standard regulation has been applied to the inmate. The fifteen strokes requested will be apportioned equally between buttocks, thigh and calf,” Technician Rosen recited, as if providing explanation to some unseen audience.


Emily tensed her body in preparation for the first stroke to land. Her buttocks were already bruised from the previous day’s caning and numerous strikes of the whip in the session only just completed. Would the strokes on her abused mounds hurt more because of this patchwork of bruises and welts. Would the first blows land on her buttocks? Would they all land in the one spot before moving onto another or maybe one each until all had been completed. She had no idea why such thoughts were whirling around her head. Why was she wondering about the procedure of her punishment?


All she needed to know was that she would soon be screaming in pain and there was nothing she could do. She was completely at the mercy of the technician, her body exposed and unable to be moved. She could not prevent a single blow from landing, nor could she turn her body away from the full force of each stroke. All that was left was for her to endure the punishment and even in that she had no real choice.


The silently sobbing girl's senses had been heightened by the prolonged wait for the first blow to land. She had heard the practice swings performed by her tormentor, the harsh whistling sound of the thin wooden rod flying through the air caused goosebumps to raise along her side. Emily heard the first strike coming a split second before the stout cane impacted the soft flesh of her buttocks.


The young girl screamed as the pain sliced through her composure, the bit, seated deeply in her mouth, converting the bestial howl to a gurgling grunt. As the second blow landed on her buttocks, answering one question her curiosity had dredged up to distract her, the drool pooling in her mouth caused her to cough and splutter as she tried to draw a ragged pain-wracked breath.


“Inmate is experiencing difficulty breathing due to excessive salivation. Session suspended,” said Technician Rosen, resting the cane casually across the back of Emily’s knees.


The distressed girl felt her lank hair being gently gathered up into a ponytail behind her head. How the fuck was that supposed to allow her to breath, Emily fumed, the pain coursing through her abused flesh, firing her flagging spirits. Get this fucking metal out of my mouth and I will be fine she screamed silently to herself. Instead, her head was yanked roughly backwards until her face was now parallel with the floor. A fresh flood of ropey saliva instantly fell from her mouth and pooled on the floor below her.


“Inmate has been supplied with further restraint, elevating the head to facilitate gravitational expulsion of saliva. Session will recommence, fifteen strokes.”


No, no that’s wrong Emily pleaded. It’s only thirteen. No, please. Emily was so distraught at the first two strokes not being counted, at the complete unfairness of the situation, that she attempted to speak. She was rewarded with a mumbled, rasping lisp that was barely audible in the room. The severe angle of her neck created by having her hair tied to some point behind her, restricted her ability to create any sound. This was only reinforced as the first, or third, stroke of the cane slammed into the bruised flesh of her buttocks. A tiny squeak was all that came from the abused girl, despite every muscle in her body tensing to give voice to her suffering.


The next fourteen strokes sank Emily into a maelstrom of agony from which she felt she would never surface. Her entire body tensed for each imagined blow, exhausting her meagre reserves of energy. When she was sure no blow would land, she tentatively relaxed only to have her torment renewed as the slim cane flew with unerring skill to impact on her exposed, vulnerable flesh. Her delicate composure had been overwhelmed by the ordeal, leaving her a quivering mass of broken flesh.


Her face was a mess: eyes red and bloodshot from the constant strain of crying, nose oozing thick strings of mucus that reached to the ground where they joined the growing pool of frothy saliva, her cheeks burning with shame and the stress of her inverted position. Emily grunted as her right hand hit the hard floor, scraping the knuckles painfully on the rough surface.


Before she fully realised she was being released, her mind still whirling in the tumult of despair, her left hand hit the floor and she supported herself by instinct. She slowly forced herself back to the present, back from the amorphous plane of desperation and wretchedness into which she had sunk, and realised her legs were also being released.


Emily’s head almost swung to hit the side of the wooden box as the strain on her hair was suddenly removed. She was now free of the infernal box and knew she had to move. She knew she had to make it to her position before she incurred any further counts of disobedience. The exhausted girl slid her legs to one side and slowly crawled her body onto the wooden box. Technician Rosen had already moved to the next station, Emily’s plight no concern of hers now the correction had been completed.


Can I crawl to my position, Emily thought, her brain moving at the speed of cold molasses. No, she managed finally in silent reply, I will get in trouble for sure. The dejected girl struggled to her feet and hobbled slowly to her position. The instant she stepped onto the plastic spikes her demeanour changed. Her posture improved and she lifted her head higher, as if the small plastic protrusions had somehow injected her with renewed vigour.


Emily stared at the blank wall in front of her, trying her best to stand at attention and ignore the discomfort in her feet. It was as nothing to the pain that radiated in slow, throbbing waves from her legs and buttocks. The thin welts of the single-tail whip blazed with a focused intensity but they felt like fading bee-stings compared to the fresh strokes of the cane she had received. Emily could feel each individual cane stroke on her calves and thighs but those on her buttocks had melded with the ache of her previous punishment.


Each part of her body seemed to contribute its own share of pain: her mouth and lips ached from the constant pressure of the metal bit, her wrists and ankles were scraped from her attempts to escape the strict metal restraints, her hips hurt from impacting the hard wooden box edge as each stroke had landed and the muscles in her shoulder and neck still spasmed as they attempted to readjust after their painful stretching.


How much more of this could she stand? It was a question that Emily could not answer, though she knew there was really only one conclusion open to her. She would endure whatever her superiors deemed necessary. She no longer played a part in the direction her life was to take, she had but to obey and accept. Anything else was just fantasy on her part.


The forlorn girl resigned herself to her fate. She would do her best to please the guards and the warden. She did not think there was any pleasing Technician Rosen, she was like an automaton of torture, showing more feeling for her apparatus of abuse than she did for the subjects that inhabited them.

“Pig.”


Emily turned to find Technician Rosen on the far side of the room. She eagerly stepped away from her position, the sharp pain in her feet subsiding almost immediately. Each time she stood on the plastic square she had to fight the compulsion to constantly wriggle and shift her position, desperately seeking a more comfortable spot. No doubt such movement would be seen as disobedience and anyway there was nowhere on the small square that contained less spikes. She had resigned herself to accept the discomfort and pain, after all it paled in comparison to the agony that radiated from the rest of her body.


The last five strokes, Emily thought. Well then she had the punishments she had accrued during the session, but she was almost finished with the punishment that had landed her in the room in the first place. If she hadn’t been so stupid she would be on her way back to the safety of her cell after these. Why could she not just do as she was told? Emily’s jaw set as she approached her final station, she could not just do as she was told because she wasn’t told anything. She had been trapped and persecuted into the infractions. She really wasn’t like that and she didn’t deserve to be treated this way.


As she stepped in front of the waiting technician a little fire sparked in her belly. She was better than this, all this. She was better than all the women here, guards and prisoners alike. She could make it through this. Just make it through this last station and she would show these bitches, she would show everyone that she was someone who would not be broken. She would surprise them all.


Emily’s inner pep talk was disrupted as Technician Rosen grabbed the ring at the front of her collar and dragged her forward. The naked girl stumbled toward a large metal pole that projected horizontally from the wall itself. It was set at the height of her neck, the end a padded hole into which her collar ring was slotted. The technician pulled her tight into the pole so her collar was flush with the padded end before slotting a peg through the top of the pole, fastening Emily securely. The trembling girl watched cross-eyed as the peg was clamped underneath the pole and locked into place.


“Right leg up pig,” Rosen instructed, tapping the back of Emily’s thigh.


Emily obediently raised her leg and placed her ankle in the waiting cuff that sat atop a small crossbar that protruded from the wall. When the cuff closed she was left standing on one leg, her right stretched in front of her and firmly fastened in place. The bottom of her foot actually rested against the smooth brick of the wall. Emily could feel the muscles in her thigh begin to strain. She didn’t dance nor do yoga or any other of the popular fitness fads, but she now wished that she had. She shuffled on her left foot trying to find a more comfortable position, knowing as she did so how futile an endeavour it was.


She could not lift herself up, as the tight restraint at her collar prevented her from moving either up or down or to the side. Her hands remained free, and she had opted to keep them behind her back until advised otherwise, but she was trapped, completely immobile. She could not free herself no matter how hard she tried.


“The request for five strokes for solicitation will now be discharged at station nine. For this request a grade 6 hose will be utilised. A brank of standard regulation has been fitted to the inmate,” intoned Technician Rosen in her near robotic voice.


Emily tried to twist her head and look at the woman, who stood to her side, but was only able to make out a blurry outline. What the fuck was this hose? The mention of the brank had reminded her of the intrusive metal shaft and a fresh wave of effort to expel the bit started involuntarily. Strings of drool dribbled slowly out of her mouth to land on her already glistening breasts.


“Now pig, this is not strictly by the book, but to have only five strokes at this station just does not sit right. What I shall do to rectify this is to trade one count of disobedience for an additional stroke at this station. This will allow three strokes on each thigh and will provide the necessary symmetry,” explained Technician Rosen, with obvious satisfaction.


Emily simply swallowed uncomfortably and tensed her muscles for the inevitable blow. She knew the technician had but one priority, to see the punishment earned be delivered correctly, but this cold, calculating assessment of the situation, an assessment that did not even factor in that there was a living, breathing, feeling human being involved, sent Emily spiralling down upon a fresh whirlpool of despair. She tried to steel herself for the coming punishment but she was too overwhelmed, her thoughts too scattered, to ready herself for the first blow.


Her hands flew to the pole at her neck and gripped it furiously as the tortured scream gurgled and died in the back of her throat. The pain that exploded in her right thigh left her pale of face and shivering. She foolishly tried to lift the leg off the ground, only to replace it instantly when she realised her other leg was unable to support her. Her fingers turned white as she grasped the thick metal pole at her neck with all her strength, willing the pain to flow out of her and into this inanimate object.


The next blow took her equally by surprise and this time her hands dropped urgently to her sides, trying feebly to protect her from any further punishment. The strict position in which she was restrained prevented her from providing any protection to the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Her arms waved manically as her panic at the coming blow rose. Each passing second brought her closer to the inevitable breakdown. She grunted with each breath, doing her best to push the pain away, but nothing worked.


The third blow left her wheezing, drool liberally flowing from her open mouth. Her nose had become blocked as the tears fell uncontrollably down her cheeks and she was struggling for each frantic breath. Without a word Technician Rosen uncuffed her right ankle and let her leg fall to the floor. Now that she could support herself in some other way, Emily tentatively folded her left leg up towards her body. She slowly lowered and raised the leg, unsure what she could do to ease the spasms in her thigh.


"Leg up pig," Technician Rosen instructed, the same dispassionate tone cutting through Emily's despair.


Anger blazed inside the anguished girl. Fucking bitch! Emily struggled in her bonds, her hands frantically trying to dislodge the pole from her neck. Her movements were frenzied and uncoordinated and she did nothing more than make herself look foolish. Exhausted after only a few moments, the naked girl rested her chin on the pole and sobbed noisily. She timidly lifted her still stinging left leg and placed her ankle in the open cuff by the wall.


She was an active participant in her own torture and there was nothing she could do. She felt ashamed of her childish outburst, it was just the cold way the technician treated her. Objective, as if she was not in acute and constant agony from the very actions she had just performed. How could anyone be that way? How could they so easily and dispassionately ignore the suffering of someone? How could they discount the pain and anguish of another woman? How could she not matter?


Emily looked down at her abused thigh and her breath caught. Three thick red welts were evenly spaced along the soft, delicate flesh of her inner thigh. The first was high, only an inch below her sex, an even two inch spacing separating each subsequent mark. She could already see the bruises begin to form and she knew that this pain would be with her for days to come. Her head began to shake from side to side. Emily pleaded with Technician Rosen not to punish her other leg in such a way. All that was heard, however, was a pained mumble that was patently ignored.


The final three blows of her punishment were supplied in quick order. Emily's throat was raw from screaming and her face was a mess, every inch of the once pretty visage blazed a deep red and glistened under its coating of tears, mucus and drool. Strands of hair, shaken loose from the severe ponytail, hung raggedly around her face, plastered to the coating of slime that covered her cheeks and her entire body trembled as it attempted to process all the sensations that had been forced upon it.


When her left leg was released, it dropped limply to the floor, as if the poor girl had no energy with which to control its descent. Emily stood still, her hands still clamped fiercely around the pole to which she was harnessed. She tried to lower herself to the ground but her body would not move. All she wanted to do was lie down, to curl up into a ball and rock herself to sleep.


She was startled when she felt the strap at the back of her head being released. She immediately pushed with her tongue and the long, flat metal bit came out of her mouth. For the first time in what she felt was many hours, Emily was able to close her mouth. She flexed and stretched her mouth and smacked her lips, trying to get some feeling back into the stinging sides of her mouth. The next moment saw a course towel rubbed across her face, wiping away the shameful secretions that covered her.


Emily tried to move away from the rough treatment but she was firmly attached to the pole by her collar. She had to stand there and endure the humiliation of having her face cleaned like a little child. She tried to calm down and gain some composure as the towel moved from her face to her breasts. Each quivering mount was wiped dry with a few swift, violent swipes. Her belly and sex remained coated in a thin sheen of ropey saliva. She felt dirty and ashamed of the way she looked. The slimy discharge felt awful as it slowly oozed down her body. Now that half of her was clean it only highlighted the filthy state of her lower body.


She was left unattended for a few seconds and wondered what was to happen now. She did not think she could take much more. She was exhausted and barely able to think. Her body was overloaded with so many different kinds of pain that she was amazed she had not already sunk into unconsciousness. Yeah, and then she would have been punished for laziness she joked bitterly to herself.


"The requested punishment has concluded pig. You will be moving straight to station seventeen, once ready. As discussed I was willing to allow one count to be expunged to facilitate a commensurate punishment at the previous station. This will see nine strokes to be administered. All counts earned during correction will be discharged at station seventeen. Seventeen is designed to allow the inmate a degree of control to emphasise the lesson. It is through the inmates ill discipline that it finds itself requiring such a lesson, and it is through the inmates finding of such discipline that will not only allow the current lesson to be brief but for further lessons to be unnecessary."


Emily had no idea what Technician Rosen was talking about. Instead she used the time to control her breathing, taking slow deep breaths to help her calm down. She breathed in through her nose and pushed each breath out silently through her pursed lips, constantly aware of the freedom the lack of the gag allowed her. She absently brushed the hair from her face, pushing the strands behind her ears.


"Hands behind your back pig," ordered Rosen from across the room.


Emily obeyed, glad that her lapse in concentration did not bring her further punishment. How her life had changed, she mused. She now felt happiness that a seemingly inconsequential act, an idle, everyday movement, did not bring her pain and degradation. She had fallen so far in so short a time and this realisation almost had her crying anew. She grit her teeth and bit back her anguish. Even this simple act gave her pause. She had been unable to do so with the bit in her mouth. So much could be taken away, normal people simply did not understand what freedom really was. Normal people she mused, among whom she could no longer be counted.


Chapter 18. Correction Concludes


"Right pig, station seventeen is a compound station. The inmate receives physical punishment applied by the technician and the inmate itself. The gel I am applying to your breasts allows conduction," Rosen explained as she stepped to the naked girl's side and began massaging her right breast.


Emily gasped not only at the coolness of the gel but at the intimacy of the assault. Her soft, malleable breast was being squeezed and caressed, as the sticky substance was applied across the entire surface of her sensual mound. Her nipples tightened and Emily's cheeks blazed with the humiliation. It was because the gel was so cold, but she knew this excuse would mean nothing. It wasn't an excuse if it was the truth, she continued on her internal monologue, but she failed to convince even herself.


Without a word Technician Rosen moved to her left breast and liberally covered it with the sticky substance. Emily wrung her hands desperately, though they obediently stayed in the small of her back. She had to remain in position and accept the attentions of the technician. She was dying to reach up and wipe the uncomfortable substance from her body and with each passing moment the compulsion became stronger, nearing the levels of mania when she was brought back to her situation by the technician's coldly clinical voice.


"Arms in front pig."


Emily did as she was told and caught a glimpse of the bizarre garment she was to wear as it was slid up her outstretched limbs. It was clearly a bra, the attention her breasts had received had made this evident without seeing it for herself. The was a small hole in the middle of each cup and arrayed around this, on the inside of the bra, were a series of concentric circles that seemed to be formed of copper wire. The straps that were fastened behind her were of a stiff leather and pulled each cup tightly in to her breast.


Emily squirmed as the bra was seated, the soft flesh of her breasts forced into contact with each cup. It was comfortable enough, though the straps had been fastened a little too tight, pinching her skin at each side. This didn't seem right. As painful as it was to admit, the previous corrections had been straightforward corporal punishment, even if the apparatus used to secure her was unconventional. Of course she was sure it was illegal but who would ever know? But this? She could say nothing but the nagging apprehension that was growing deep in her belly made her more and more anxious with each passing moment.


A sharp pain erupted in her right nipple. Emily glanced down as best she could in her strict restraint and saw what looked like a pair of scissors attached to the tip of her nipple. She quickly recognised the medical clamps she had seen on the plethora of TV shows set in hospitals, and marvelled at how the small plastic pads at the end of each prong viciously squeezed the delicate bud of her nipple.


Technician Rosen ignored the distressed girl's gasps and pulled the nipple through the small hole in the centre of the bra, ensuring the entire areola was drawn into sight. The process was repeated with her left nipple and Rosen quietly stepped out of her view once again. Just what the fuck was going on? Emily glanced down her body as best her bondage allowed, to see the lurid sight of each pink nipple protruding from the middle of each cup of the black leather bra. The nipples had swelled slightly as the hole through which they had been pulled was too small and they looked, to the mortified girl, like two alien growths sprouting from her chest.


Emily watched in despair as Technician Rosen slid a small metal cap over her right nipple. The cap consisted of a central circle from which radiated numerous small wire spokes that cut into the tumescent nipples. The cap was clipped to a metal eyelet on either side of the exposed circle of flesh. A long insulated cord ran from the centre of the cap and was left to trail into Emily's peripheral vision. As the second cap was seated over her left nipple the fear of what was to come began to creep in upon her.


Until her nipples had been manipulated she had stood immobile, dazed and unable to comprehend what was being done to her. Her brain had been shocked into motion by the casual way her nipples, a delicate sensitive part of all women, integral to their sensuality, had been so clinically handled. Now, the despondent prisoner of D-wing knew that something more than her sensibilities was about to be shocked.


Emily's lower lip trembled at the thought of what was to come. She had never been shocked with electricity in her life. Well she had received those tiny static shocks from the car door when it was windy and they were bad enough. She clenched her hands into tight balls, praying that whatever was to come would be over with quickly.


"A conductive brassiere has been fitted to your torso. Each cup contains sixteen separate wires, connected to each other creating a continuous conductive circuit. This circuit will be in contact with the entirety of your breast. The breast remains one of the best sectors for electrical stimuli. The current will enter your harness at six contact points: one at each nipple, and a further two at each breast, through which it will then be distributed through the circuit within which each breast is confined."


Emily's trembling intensified as her impending torture was explained to her in detail. She silently begged for the technician to stop, to just be quiet and let her crawl back to her cell. She didn't want to hear any more. Her body ached in more ways than she could have ever imagined but her mind was frozen in the moment. Her nipples felt strange, as if they had swollen three times their size. It felt a little like the end of her period only intensified. She wanted to reach up and snap off the cap that squashed her puffy nipples and relieve the painful pressure.


The exhausted girl clasped her hands firmly together as if this was the only way to prevent her from making such a cataclysmic mistake. She had no idea what would happen to her if she interfered with her correction in such a way and she was adamant that she did not want to find out.


"This way pig," said Technician Rosen casually, as she detached Emily's collar from the metal pole.


Emily trotted obediently behind her tormentor, feeling the dangling, insulated wire bump against her legs as she walked. Emily risked a glance at her body as she hurried across the room and was dismayed and humiliated by what she saw. Her chest looked like something from a science fiction movie, the cords dangling from each nipple undulating like some alien tentacle. Her belly glistened with the slime from her mouth and nose and the deep purple bruises on the inside of each thigh made her legs feel as if they were not her own.


"To the right pig. No step back to the left, small step, now one back. Good. At attention pig," said Technician Rosen, a slight hint of exasperation in her tone. Emily snapped to attention, scared by the first sign of emotion from the imposing woman. She looked up as the technician extended a metal pole down from the ceiling. At the end of the pole was a rounded plastic tube that tapered to a point. A matching pole hung from the ceiling on her other side.


Emily stood quietly, like a forgotten spectator, as the technician attached the cord from her left breast to a slot on the lowered cylinder. The small metal eyelet of the cord was slid over a matching metal pin and a small wingnut secured it in place. The tightness in Emily's belly continued to grow. Standing here, passively waiting for her torture to begin was starting to unravel the already frayed edges of her mind.


"Now," said Technician Rosen as she finished securing the other cord, "reach up and touch the bottom of each unit." Emily dutifully did as she was told and touched the bottom of each tapered cylinder. She found a small amount of give as her fingers pushed upwards, depressing the bottom of the unit a quarter of an inch. "As was discussed earlier, station seventeen is a compound station. The inmate will receive lashes with the 36 inch lace, this will satisfy the external component. The inmate is also required to keep both buttons depressed. If it fails to do so the contact is broken and the current will instead be sent into the harness. This station is designed to allow the inmate to feel a part of its correction. The station also allows the inmate to become an integral cog in the machine of its discipline."


Emily's eyes widened in fear as the technician continued her horrific explanation. "A stroke will only be landed once both buttons are depressed. To prevent the inmate from attempting deception a small light," indicated by Technician Rosen, "will illuminate when such a state occurs. Right now pig, I have no doubt that the majority of that has gone in one ear and out the other but do you understand your role? You depress the buttons, if you do not a current will be affected to your breasts. Indicate your understanding."


"Yes Technician," mumbled the dazed girl, still not quite able to fully comprehend the gravity of her situation.


Technician Rosen immediately spun on her heel before swiftly returning with a strange contraption, sprouting all manner of black straps. She placed the leather hood on Emily's shoulder and reached for the unit to her left. "Depress the button, good. Now keep it so," instructed Rosen as she slowly raised the unit, sliding the metal pole back towards the ceiling. Emily slowly rose until she was standing on her toes. "Good, other side."


Emily was soon stretched out as if crucified, her arms extended, creating a Y shape with her body as if she was exalting the heavens. Technician Rosen made a few small adjustments on either side before twisting both poles and securing them at the desired height. Tiny tears formed in Emily's already puffy eyes. It had been all she could do to keep the buttons depressed but she was also going to be whipped. There was no way she could avoid having her breasts shocked, a goal she had formed as the station had been explained. She knew it had been a ludicrously faint hope, but she was ready to grasp at any straw.


The black leather harness was taken from her shoulder and opened in front of her, allowing Emily full view of the infernal hood. She could see it was a solid piece that would cover her entire head, removing any chance for her to see or hear anything while it was worn. A piece of plastic that looked for all the world like a football player's mouthguard protruded from the inside. Emily demurely and obediently, opened her mouth as the hood was raised. She was allowed to lower her arms while the hood was fitted, a concession provided more for the technician’s benefit than hers.


The plastic mouthguard was forced inside her mouth filling the moist cavity with its foul plastic taste. The flared lip fit between Emily's teeth and lips, allowing her to close her mouth and seat her teeth firmly into either side of the moulded guard. A thick, flat projection crossed her mouth, pushing her tongue down forcefully. She could barely flex her tongue and as the hood was drawn over her face and underneath her chin, she realised she would not be able to open her mouth at all.


In barely a second the frightened girl was plunged into darkness, soft pads pushing into each eye socket, preventing her from even batting her lids. The hood slid down over the crown of her head and was roughly secured by the series of laces at the back. As the hood tightened over her head, cutting out all light and sound, she began to panic. Her breathing became short and laboured. She could only breath through her nose and the air allowed through the two small holes situated beneath each nostril was not enough. She could feel the pressure across her entire skull and tried to open her mouth to scream. Even to the hooded girl her scream sounded like nothing more than a muffled moan.


Just as Emily was about to begin tearing the horrid hood from her head, her left hand was guided upwards. Her fingertips brushed the smooth plastic button and she immediately pressed upwards. She felt the small button move a fraction of an inch and stop. Her right hand followed a few moments later.


Emily stood on trembling tiptoes, her arms stretched above her head. She sensed a touch on her head and felt, rather than heard, the chain that had hung above her head, attach to the metal ring on the crown of the hood. She had wondered what the chain had been for.


The realisation of just how dire a position she was in hit her like a physical force. She was completely blind. If she lost her contact with the button how would she ever find it again? She could flail blindly for an age before she found it again, all the while her tender breasts would be blasted with electricity.


The attachment of the chain, obviously to help her stay in position, though not necessarily helping her to stay upright, had been the catalyst for the revelation. Her chest heaved with the paniced breathing she could not slow, only causing her to feel the restriction of the conductive bra more acutely.


Emily had not stopped shifting her weight on her painfully stretched toes. The strain in her already tired calves was draining her final reserves of energy. In mid shuffle the lace, that had been mentioned but not shown, whipped across her belly.


A barely heard moan came from the naked, hooded girl, followed by a sharper more intense exhortation. Emily’s left hand had dropped marginally at the surprise of the first blow, allowing the current to flow into her left breast. The lace had stung like a million bee stings but the pain of the electricity coursing through the tender mound on her chest was unbearable.


Nothing would stop the pain except for her fingers back on that button. She fought the surging agony and pressed her fingers upwards. Her hand had mercifully only moved an inch and she was able to stop the flow of electricity after one short burst. Emily huffed through the small breathing holes in the nose of the mask, desperately seeking air, each breath hard fought.


She had to focus on her breathing, if she got out of control she would be left dancing a deadly jig, unable to find the buttons to turn off the current. She had eight more lashes to go, she tensed her jaw around the thick plastic gag and waited for the continuation of her torment.


Technician Rosen glanced at the light above Emily's head. The small red bulb was lit, indicating Emily had successfully recovered and depressed both buttons but it was a good policy to wait a few moments to be sure the inmate could maintain their composure. It was the only way they would learn. Her right hand swung slowly back, the small wooden handle, gripped loosely in her hand. The looping lace that extended 36 inches from handle, looked like a skipping rope fed back to the one handle.


Rosen inspected the first lash mark on Emily's belly as she prepared for her second stroke. A thin line a few inches long showed across her flank, opening into an oval shaped loop that sat almost perfectly around the inmate's dainty bellybutton. The technician made a decision for the next stroke and swept her arm forward in a powerful arc.


Emily squealed into the hood as the second blow flicked across her hip, the looped end impacting painfully on her bared mons. As the stroke landed, Emily forcefully pushed the buttons upwards, desperate to keep them depressed. She poured all the pain and anguish she felt into those buttons and was rewarded by a welcome absence of agony.


Her plan worked for the next 6 strikes before a particularly viciously aimed blow wrapped around her inner thigh. The already abused flesh multiplied the pain to a level she could not absorb. Both hands flew to the damaged area. Her arms instantly flailed back into the air as the dreadful electricity blazed in her breasts.


Emily felt as if a thousand tiny blades were stabbing the soft flesh of her breasts. After two seconds of frantic flailing she lost control and her hands scrabbled at the delivery system of the pain. Her hands fumbled with the bra, attempting to pull the infernal garment from her body through sheer force alone.


Her efforts were for nothing and she knew she needed to find those buttons. The pain had become a constant but had not lessened. Each breath became harder to draw as the mucus now running freely from her nose began to congeal around the small breathing holes. She had only moments to find those buttons or she was truly doomed.


She waved her arms blindly through the air above her head and by sheer luck her right arm hit the unit. She grabbed the plastic cylinder as if her life depended on it, quickly finding the base and pressing the button. The loss of current to her right breast clarified her mind and she soon found the unit on the left and depressed its button bringing a surcease to the painful current.


Emily's legs trembled uncontrollably as she struggled to hold the position. She could barely breath now and she knew this would be the end. She had no idea how many strokes remained but she knew she could stand here at this fucking station for a minute and no more. She was at her wits end as she felt the final, unbeknownst to her, lash land across her midriff, just below the leather bra.


The distraught girl felt a hand attempt to draw her left arm down and she fought with all her remaining strength to keep her fingers in contact with her lifeline. She must keep that button down. It was a losing battle as even at her most prepared, her strength would have been no match for the technician's.


Emily almost collapsed in relief when no pain arrived. She lowered her right arm and stood quivering, waiting for the hood and bra to be removed. Her arms hung limply at her side as she focused on drawing each ragged breath through the partially obstructed holes.


Something hard flicked the knuckles of her right hand and her numbed mind acted to the implied command, slowly pushing her aching arms into the small of her back. The chain was detached from the hood and the exhausted girl almost collapsed. Emily had not realised how much support the chain had provided her during the final, soul-shattering punishment.


The desolate girl stood obediently as the hood was unlaced and removed. The first clean gasp of air she managed once the gag had been removed from her mouth was like manna from heaven. She blinked away the tears that had pooled in her eyes, the harsh light of the room blinding her almost as efficiently as the darkness of the hood. A soft radiant heat burned in her face. The hood had been unbelievably hot and her entire head felt as if it was on fire. When she could finally see, Emily looked up straight into the face of Guard Jennings. The blood drained from her and her legs quivered with something other than exhaustion.


"Hello cuntface," the grinning Jennings greeted the dishevelled girl. "I see you have been your usual retarded self, unable to keep yourself out of trouble."

"Jennings," interjected Technician Rosen, "I allowed you to stay but keep out of my way until the inmate is signed out."


Jennings flicked her hair in mock disdain and stepped back to allow Rosen access to Emily's body. In her usual clinical manner the dreadful bra was removed in short order. Emily shrugged as the loops were finally slipped down her arms. She was afraid to look at her breasts but the curiosity was too much, she needed to know the extent of the damage. She had beautiful breasts, they were something she had always been proud of and she feared they had been burnt or marked for life.


She lowered her head and looked hesitantly at her chest. The beautiful smooth curves of her breasts remained intact and unblemished. Emily could not quite believe the complete lack of marking on the tender mounds. They remained covered in the sticky gel and her nipples were red and swollen but her breasts were still her own. Fresh tears rolled slowly down her cheeks as the relief flowed over her.


"Pig, come and sign out," ordered Technician Rosen, holding out a clipboard. Emily obediently trotted over and reached for the clipboard and pen, only to have it snatched away. "Pig do you understand why you were sent to this room for correction?"


"Yes Technician," the young girl replied with complete sincerity.


"Do you accept the punishments administered were accurate to those requested?"


"Yes Technician," Emily whispered, humiliated at having to answer these questions. She had not requested to be tortured. She had not deserved it. None of it was her fault. It wasn't fair but she could not let her frustration or despair show. It would only be used against her and she had vowed to no longer supply fuel for the rampant sadism that was directed towards her.


"Sign."


Emily dutifully signed the paper and handed it back to Technician Rosen. The board had barely left her hands when Guard Jennings prodded her in the back with her long black shock baton, urging her towards the door.


"Move it pig, playtime is over," hissed Jennings as she ushered Emily out of room 303, a room she would not soon forget.

Chapter 19. A Fitting


"A dog? Fucking hell pig, you are one revolting slut," said Jennings conversationally as Emily stood in the centre of the doctor's office. The walk from room 303 to her current location had been conducted in complete silence though Emily could had been able to feel the scrutiny of the guard upon her naked back.


Her nudity had not been of great concern during her stay in room 303, but now that she was back in the general prison she felt the colour rise and deepen in her cheeks with each passing step. Her body was now a patchwork of welts and bruises, a testament to her misbehaviour. Her breasts were coated in the tacky gel and the drying remnants of her drool was still visible on her belly and sex. With the one simple comment, Guard Jennings had turned her shame into a deep chasm of humiliation. She knew that the incident that morning would haunt her but she had not realised how deeply affected she would be at its mere mention.


"Doctor Monetti will join us soon. A C17 pig, well if anything will stop that vile snatch from causing trouble that would be it. Bend over pig, keep your hands behind your back you dopey bitch. You keep those hands in plain sight until we get you fitted. Spread your legs, wider. Wider pig."


Emily did her best to accommodate the urgings of the guard and ended up bent at the waist with her legs spread obscenely wide. Her pussy and ass would be clearly on display for anyone standing behind her.


The sudden snapping sound from across the room caused Emily to jump. It was a sound she knew and dreaded. Guard Jennings had put protective surgical gloves on each hand, which could only mean one thing. Her vagina was again to be manipulated without her consent. Having no control over access to her body was one of the hardest things for the poor young girl to accept since her indoctrination at Pentonbridge.


"You should be ashamed of yourself pig, dribbling all over your own cunt. You have no pride at all do you? No modesty, no pride, no morals and no standards. About the only thing you do have is an abhorrent compulsion for deviant sex. Why did you steal that money pig? Hmmm, trying to start up your own fuckranch where you would be free to fuck every horse, dog or goat that happened by? Haha, then collect all their manure and dine like a scat queen."


Jennings chuckled to herself while Emily sobbed silently. She waited patiently for the next indignity to occur, knowing she had no power whatsoever to prevent it. She tensed as a towel of some kind was wiped roughly across her gaping sex. Her mons and plump lips were vigorously cleaned and the young girl had to admit, that it was something she could not deny she wanted. The mere casual touch of the towel against her deeply bruised thighs brought a gasp from the exhausted girl.


"Cleanliness is important. Inside and out pig, something I think I can safely say you know little about. And no pig, having a fat cock spurt cum into your cunt is not the same as a proper douching," Jennings said, as she forced the thin towel inside the girl's vagina.


Emily grunted as the rough material was forced inside her dry sex. Jennings pushed two fingers inside her and began rotating and curling them, twisting the coarse material against the delicate pink folds of her pussy. Emily moaned as the towel shifted uncomfortably inside her. She almost fell forward in an attempt to move away from the penetrating fingers and in adjusting her balance she inadvertently pushed back onto the intruders.


"How dare you pig. How fucking dare you try and use me to fuck yourself. Pig five strokes solicitation, five strokes assaulting a superior. Try to draw me into your grubby world will you," snarled Jennings as she grabbed her baton and pressed it against Emily's naked pussy.


She pressed the button frenziedly, sending a burst of pure pain deep into the distressed girl's most delicate flesh. Emily collapsed on the floor, her hands reflexively cupping her abused sex. Jennings kicked her buttocks viciously, yelling at Emily to stand up.


Emily stood, head lowered and thoroughly cowed. She had finally been beaten. She did not even bemoan the unfair portrayal of her movement. Nothing she said now would change anything. She shifted her head away as the irate guard leaned in close to her face.


"You ever violate me like that again pig and I will see you as a permanent fixture in the punishment yard," hissed Jennings, small droplets of spittle flecking Emily's face in her vehemence. "Do you fucking understand me pig?"

"Yes Guard Jennings Ma'am," Emily croaked meekly.

"No bend the fuck over so I can finish cleaning that sloppy slit," Jennings ordered, slapping Emily's face for emphasis.


The chastised girl hurriedly bent over and assumed her previous position, spreading her legs widely and making sure her hands were behind her back where the guard could see them. Her cheek stung and she knew there would be a clearly visible handprint left behind as a mark of her disobedience.


Almost immediately the towel was pushed back against her denuded pussy and the guard continued to rub the exposed area between her legs. Emily was at a complete loss as to what the clearly insane guard was doing. The insistent pressure on her pussy was beginning to have an effect on Emily, but she tried to fight back the unwanted sensation that she could feel mounting.


After all she had been through that day she was becoming aroused at the attentions of the person she hated most in all the world. Emily grit her teeth and vowed not to move, confident that Guard Jennings was setting a trap for her, a trap which would see further humiliation and punishment heaped upon her.


When she felt sure she could not stay silent any longer, the hand and towel were mercifully withdrawn. The damage, however, had been done. As she straightened up at the guards harsh command, she knew her hardened nipples would be evident. The telltale white cream that she produced would be hidden from view as long as she was allowed to remain standing and as long as she was saved further intimate treatment.


As if on cue the door to the office opened and the pair were joined by Doctor Monetti. The mere sight of the doctor caused Emily to blush, remembering the humiliation she had suffered at her hands. She was dressed as before in her long white coat, something Emily felt terribly cliche. A large cardboard box was snugly tucked under her left arm.


"Ah Jennings, very good. I am glad you managed to get it here on time. My shift ended 20 minutes ago and Pierce is going to be late so let's get this fitted shall we."

"Hey Doc, no trouble. It's going to be a relief for everyone to have this dirty cunt out of the way," replied Jennings.

"When was the last time it urinsted?" the doctor enquired, setting the box on a table.

"This morning."

"It's going to need to be drained," replied the doctor as she opened the box and lifted out its contents.

"Pig, piss," ordered Jennings, indicating a metal bucket in the corner of the room.


Emily's face flushed, the heat of her humiliation threatening to overwhelm the burning sensation from the recent slap. She stepped submissively to the bucket, her nudity causing a momentary hesitation. Emily hung her head in shame, unable to meet the eyes of the two women and squatted over the bucket as she had been instructed.


The apprehensive girl was deeply thankful that she had read at least one small part of her manual. Performing incorrectly now could see her sent back to room 303, or worse. She had no idea what the punishment yard was but for Jennings to use it as a threat, after she had just been punished so viciously in room 303, made her shiver.


With a deep breath Emily lifted her head and focused on a vague point on the far wall. She had to keep her head up, but she studiously avoided looking at the two women, preferring to see them only as blurs in her periphery. She squatted there, her legs spread widely, her pussy centred over the bucket and waited.


The mere presence of the two women, whom she could sense were watching her intently, played havoc with the young girl's nerves. As the seconds ticked by and nothing happened Emily became more and more agitated. She had been told to piss. What would happen if she could not? If they would just leave the room she would be able to go. She hadn't realised how badly she needed to go until it had been mentioned. Had it really been so long ago that she had last peed?


"Pig come here."


This was the doctor, a definite note of enquiry in her voice. Emily rose and hesitantly stepped towards the white-coated doctor. She was frightened of this petite woman. She was no taller than her, in fact she was much shorter than Sergeant Mailer or Guard Jennings, or any other staff she had so far encountered. But Emily held a special, irrational fear of medical professionals, especially one who chose to work in such a wicked place as Pentonbridge.


"Turn around and bend over," the doctor instructed.


The blush drained from Emily's face as she obeyed the order, knowing what was to come. Squatting over the bucket had opened her pussy, exposing the thick white secretion that had collected at the entrance to her vagina. Her secret arousal had been discovered. Again the disturbing snap of surgical gloves caused the naked girl to tense her shoulders.


"Hmmm," mused the doctor as she gently pulled Emily's labia apart, opening her pussy. "It's aroused Jennings. Robbins cannot come too soon. I fear that the belt will not curb any of these tendencies. In fact it has been observed in certain deviants that such devices can heighten sexual desire."

"Doesn't matter Doc, it's not for her. It's too difficult to watch the slut every second of the day. Every chance she gets she's forcing her snatch on someone, or something," she added with a perverse emphasis," or jabbing any object she can get in there."


Emily almost opened her mouth to protest, but caught herself in time. She had not, and had not even attempted, to put anything inside her vagina. She had not even masturbated since her trial began and she had been remanded in custody. It was yet another nail in the coffin of her reputation but each indignity, each unfair lie that was told about her was a fresh pain for the young girl.


"Well this will have to be cleaned before the belt is fitted," said Doctor Monetti. The next moment Emily felt a soft, dry instrument enter her open pussy. The muscles inside her contracted involuntarily, her anus tightened and it looked to all the world as if her pussy attempted to close around the instrument.


"See, see Doc. That's what I'm talking about. Fucking cunt's like a rabid animal, anything gets close and it tries to eat it," Jennings babbled excitedly.

"Yes Jennings, quite droll. It is however clear evidence of its insatiable appetites. It would take an inveterate degenerate to not only become aroused in the current surroundings but for it to display the arousal so overtly indicates a manifest disregard for propriety and for any degree of self-control."

"Yeah that's what I meant," added Jennings feebly.


Emily's shoulders shook with the first subdued sob as small tears formed in her puffy red eyes. She was being talked about as if she could not understand. That wasn't quite right she thought. The two women were talking about her as if she didn't matter. The despondent girl didn't know if it was this or what was being said that caused her more misery.


Doctor Monetti had continued to poke and scrape the delicate walls of Emily's sex as she spoke, soaking up the moisture she had produced. The oversized cotton swab was discarded for a fresh replacement twice before the doctor was satisfied her subject's vagina was clear of discharge.


"Well I fear the effort is for naught but I can only do so much. Pig, piss now."


Emily straightened up and hurried over to the bucket. No sooner was she in position than a thick stream of urine blasted into the bucket. She knew she had to be quick and the attentions of the swab inside her may have cleaned up her current moistness but it had only stimulated her more. She needed to get out of this room and away from these brutes before her body got her in more trouble.


As she emptied her bladder into the bucket, she made the mistake of looking at her tormentors. Both Guard Jennings and Doctor Moretti were watching her intently. Emily hurriedly looked away, fearful their intense scrutiny would prevent her from completing the demeaning act. She knew from her run in with Guard Coteaz that an inmate was not to rise without emptying her bladder.


The thick flow of deep yellow piss diminished eventually to a trickle and then stopped completely. Emil shuffled back and wiped her pussy on the cold metal rim of the bucket before closing her legs and standing up, moving back to the centre of the room without stopping.


Doctor Monetti stepped to the naked young girl and slid her gloved hand between her legs. A small sanitary wipe brushed liberally across her pussy and asshole, leaving the entire area cool and tingling.


"Restraints?" Doctor Monetti asked.

"No need. You won't give us any trouble will you pig?"

"No Guard Jennings Ma'am," Emily squeaked demurely.

"She's dumb as a bag of hammers but even pig is beginning to know her place. Besides, you stray one inch from attention and you will learn what's it like to be restrained. Got it?"

"Yes Guard Jennings Ma'am."

"There you go Doc, you just need to know how to talk to these dense bitches."

"Right pig, I feel as if I am wasting my time but I am required by regulations to explain it to you anyway. You are being fitted with a C17. A chastity belt with a class 3 design. This will allow urination and defecation but prevent access to the clitoris, vulva and vagina. It is made of a non-cracking orthopedic-grade polymer that has been form fitted to allow a full range of movement."


Doctor Monetti's voice faded as Emily stared at the device that was presented to her. It looked like the strangest, most uncomfortable pair of panties she had ever seen. A pair of panties made from a stiff, cream coloured plastic. A thick strip ran vertically down from a thin, curved waist strap. The vertical section flared into a wide cup contrivance that would cover her pussy. An inch behind the wider section, the stiff plastic formed a wide circle almost two inches in diameter before returning to an inch wide strip that terminated at the waist strap.


"... and it is advisable for this particular design. Now, hands up. No pig, move them further up your back, we're not robbing you," Doctor Monetti ended with a chuckle.

"Ha, pig you are a funny fuckwit," chimed in Jennings, clutching her sides as she laughed manically.


Emily lowered her arms quickly, pushing them once again behind her and slid her hands further up her back, flaring her elbows out beside her. Two small tears sparkled in the harsh white light as they rolled down her scarlet cheeks. She felt so stupid, so fucking stupid, but they weren't right. She was just tired and confused, how was she to know. Nothing she could say could help her feel any better. She felt like the idiot she had been made out to be.


Doctor Monetti deftly unclipped the U shaped section, that would fit between her legs, from the waistband, which she also proceeded to break into two pieces that clipped at the front and back. Without further explanation, the two halves of the band were placed around her slim waist and clipped together. The sharp snap as the stiff plastic band became a solid constriction at her waist made the poor, naked girl shudder.


The stiff device was a little tight, constricting her waist slightly, but it was curved to allow it to sit above the hipbone but lower in the front and back. Doctor Monetti had to step in close to Emily, her white coat brushing the naked skin of the trembling girl. The sweet, flowery perfume that wafted from the petite doctor was the last straw.


Emily began to blubber like a little girl. Would she ever wear perfume again? Would she ever wear a dress? Would she ever sleep on satin sheets in a proper bed? The downward spiral her life had taken ever since the money she had taken had been traced to her had finally caught up with the young girl. The reality of her situation, past the immediate heart-wrenching misery she was experiencing, crashed in upon her. This was what she had to look forward to for years. She wasn’t even sure how long she was to be trapped here. The term of her incarceration was constantly shifting, reliant on her obedience and her ability to work to the schedule her superiors set.


“Shut the fuck up pig. No one cares, really. It’s fucking pitiful, carrying on like that because you won’t be able to play with your fat cunt,” spat Jennings.

“It is not to be unexpected Jennings. The desire for the deviant to satisfy its yearnings is often the driving force of their existence. If it is removed, or even diminished, it will affect the psyche in profound ways. I am no psychologist but it is reasonable to assume that the mental deficiencies exhibited would seem to stress that an even greater importance is assigned to the baser instincts,” mused Doctor Monetti.

“So, what you are saying Doc is that the stupider the bitch, the bigger the slut?”

“Well, yes I suppose so. The primal urges that we all have would not only be heightened but as these primitive appetites are the only processes able to be understood by the subject then it stands to reason that they become the prime source of motivation. Don’t get me wrong Jennings, no one is proposing that arousal in and of itself is wrong. It is the elevation of such stimuli to the position of pre-eminence that is aberrant and causes the degeneracy we see in pig.”


Emily had been left to her own devices during the exchange. She stood as if she was a store mannequin, forgotten half-way through being dressed. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she could not stop listening. She may have been forgotten, treated as nothing more important than the table or the bucket containing her piss, but the fact that she was the subject of this incredulous dialogue made her want to scream at the women to acknowledge her. She was standing right there. The fact that what was being said about her was ludicrous and disgusting was less important than simply being recognised as being present. She wanted someone to treat her like a human being, with feelings that mattered.


“I had never really thought of it like that Doc.”

“Well, it’s not something that most people have a need to think about. In our line of work, where we deal with the scum of society, where all the worst that the genetic strain of homo sapiens is on display, it behooves us all to become aware of the motivations that drive them. It is all well and good to provide discipline and punishment, but these principles only supply the foundation for rehabilitation, the bedrock if you will, on which to build a successful program through which each inmate has the possibility to return to society in a form that will be a benefit to the community construct.”

“So…” replied a clearly bemused Jennings.

“Well, that is why Doctor Robbins has been such an asset. She is a singular genius in her field. The programs she has designed are truly remarkable. You haven’t been here long enough to know, but before Doctor Robbins joined the staff, the usual sentence for a deviant was close to three times as long as that suggested by the court. But enough, I have a dinner date tonight. Let’s finish this up.”


Three times as long! Emily was stunned, she could not last in this place for six years. She didn’t even think she could do two. She had been enrolled in one of these programs. Even in her current predicament, naked and in the process of being fitted with a chastity belt, Emily was apprehensive about what would happen to her in the program. She was not a sex offender. It should be easy for her to pass the course, she thought, doing her best to lay her fears to rest, knowing deep insider her, however, that this was unlikely to be the case. Nothing at Pentonbridge was easy and it was this way by design.


“Squat pig. Enough, come back up a little, back straight,” ordered Doctor Monetti until Emily had lowered her body a little closer to the floor. Her new position stressed her already tired thighs but it also opened her legs a little wider, allowing the doctor to slide the U-shaped section of the chastity device between her legs. It was brought up until it rested snugly against her bare flesh. The cold material made Emily jump causing two tiny tears to drop onto her breasts.


Doctor Monetti pushed upwards forcing the two sections of the belt together, seating the stiff, plastic brace tight against the trembling prisoner’s pussy. The loud snap as the two plastic pieces came together, securing themselves into one apparently seamless section, sounded bleakly foreboding. Emily found that the stiff plastic belt was actually quite comfortable. It was marginally too small, pressing into her soft flesh a little too tightly. She could feel the pressure at the sides of her pussylips, the slight mounded section of the crotch creating a cavity into which her vulva sat without allowing any great application of pressure to be felt.


It was the ring that was now seated at her anus that was causing the young girl some distress. It allowed her the ability to go to the toilet and for this she was thankful but the belt had been fitted so tightly that the plastic ring pushed her buttocks apart and put a strange pressure on her tight sphincter. It was as if someone was perpetually pulling her buttocks apart. She felt as if she was in a constant battle to keep her ass closed. Emily instinctively tried to tighten her sphincter, gasping as the skin around her tight pink bud pinched itself against the unyielding plastic. She would not be able to get used to this. The belt had been fitted for less than 20 seconds and she was already desperate to get it off.


“Squat pig. All the way to the floor. Again. Walk to the wall and back. Bend over. Back to attention. Now lean to the left, hands above your head, now to the right,” directed Doctor Monetti pushing Emily into a seemingly endless array of demeaning positions. “Well that all seems to be in order. A full range of movement, no pinching or displacement. Very satisfactory.”


Wait, screamed Emily. No pinching! There was pinching, a fucking lot of pinching. It was very far from satisfactory. How could you fit something like this, something that was to be worn 24 hours a day and that didn’t have even the slightest give in it without asking the person who was wearing it how it felt? Emily silently pleaded with Doctor Monetti to ask her a question. Her eyes sparkled with the promise of fresh tears as she stared plaintively at the white-coated woman.


“Now pig, the crotch of this device contains six thin apertures that provide airflow across the vulva and vaginal opening as well as to allow urine to pass through. Your period is not due until well after the belt is scheduled to be removed so there is no need for concern for any vaginal access. It is now your responsibility to keep the C17 clean and in good working order.


"If, during an inspection, the device is found to be marked in any way, the cost of the device will be converted into punitive damages and added to your sentence. You will be provided with three sanitary wipes per 24 hour period the device is in your custody. These will be located in your cell. The belt will be removed at the commencement of your enrolment in the sex offender program. It can only be removed with this key, which will be carried by the duty officer.”


Emily looked at the strange piece of plastic that was handed to Guard Jennings. It was two inches long in the shape of an X. She looked down at her belly and saw two small X shaped slots set into the front of the device. So this was it, the poor girl thought. I am trapped in this thing until someone else decides it can come off. The fact that her pussy was now covered and she was, in essence, wearing some kind of clothing, was little comfort. Emily fought back the tears, resolutely vowing not to show any further weakness to these two women. She was strong. She was smart and strong. She would get through this.


“Sign here and we are finished.”


Emily stepped to the table and signed the document making her responsible for the care of the chastity belt. Her eyes flashed across a phrase that caused her already subdued spirit to shrink even further into darkness, ‘hereby furnish consent’. It made her a little angry as well, though it was tempered by the helplessness that all but consumed her. She did not consent to this. She did not consent to any of this. She had been tricked into the situation and forced to wear this ridiculous thing. It wasn’t her fault but she was cognisant of how it would look to a third party. Her signature was all over the place, seemingly giving her permission to be tortured and to agree to the farcical rules of the place and now to wearing something she was sure would drive her mad.


As she stood at attention while Doctor Monetti collected her things and chatted to Jennings about mundane topics Emily refused to find an interest in, she was constantly fighting the urge to wriggle her body to find a more comfortable position for the damn belt. Her hands rested in the small of her back and she could feel the stiff plastic under her fingers.


She tried her best to surreptitiously manoeuvre the belt into a better position, to push the strip away from her body and stop the maddening pressure on her anus. The position was not the best and she could get no purchase with her fingers twisted the way they were, but she knew in her heart that she would not be able to move the belt. It had been fitted perfectly and it would stay this way until someone took it off.


“Come on cunt,” snapped Guard Jennings. “You have to wash that dirty fatsack before you are allowed in your cell. Then you can dream to your heart’s content about dogs licking your puss and sticking their stinky cocks inside you, because I guarantee that dreaming is all you are ever going to do.”

Back to M Collection :::::|::::: Back to main page