Women's Prison

by James Nash

  “Be quiet ...!” the woman shouted angrily, amid murmurs of obvious approval from the magistrates, “... if I hear any more from you, you will be caned again ... severely! You will remain as you are until I say otherwise!”

  The naked girl lay, head bowed, crying bitterly, unaware that the room had now virtually emptied, just two of the magistrates having lingered to get their last view of her swollen bottom and the quite obviously aroused vagina. The girl’s nervous system was still in shock from the savage defilement of her milk white buttocks and the epicentres of pain continued to ebb and flow.

  Finally Jane realised only the armed policemen and the woman officer remained in the room. She felt hands unlocking the clasps on her legs and looked up as she felt the pulling on her hands. A policeman was busy releasing the handcuffs. He looked down at her face and smiled, a smile of total satisfaction in his pleasure at being a spectator to her debasement.

  “Get up!” the woman ordered “... and put this on!” Jane grimaced and slid painfully off the bench, trying to rub her sore bottom but the pain was too intense and she snatched her hands away quickly. She grimaced as a grey prison smock was thrust into her hands, but gratefully pulled it over her head and smoothed the skirt down to her knees, covering herself at last. She did up the buttons and looked over at a man who had entered the room while she was dressing, and who had collected up her pretty blue sun dress and the rags of her little pink panties, the panties so humiliatingly torn from her bottom before her punishment had commenced.

  The woman turned towards the door, beckoning for Jane to follow and she did so, meekly accompanied by one of the policemen.

  Eventually, having walked past the cells again where Jane was subjected to further catcalls and ridicule from the male prisoners, the procession arrived at the court room steps where a number of women prisoners were already waiting, obviously for Jane’s punishment to be completed, for the prison bus was already there with its engine running.

  The woman paused on the step. “This is where we part company ...” she said grimly “... but not for long. I am the senior officer at Licu prison for female offenders, which is where you will spend the next six months. You will be sorry you ever crossed my path if you ever incur my displeasure and during these coming months, you will learn to do exactly what I want you to do! Is that clear?”

  Jane, crying quietly, nodded her head in terrified acknowledgement.

  ***

  Jane rocked backwards and forwards as the prison bound minibus rattled along the uneven paving of the city streets, slowing suddenly as the driver alternately braked and accelerated. She was kneeling on the floor of the bus, not because of a lack of available seats but because she could not stand anything in contact with her tormented bottom. When she had boarded the bus or, to be more precise, thrown unceremoniously onto it, Jane had found herself with a gaggle of young local girls who, she supposed, were mostly prostitutes. They had smiled and motioned to a spare seat which Jane had blushingly declined, instead choosing to kneel on the floor of the vehicle as the doors closed and it accelerated away.

  The girls, who by their facial characteristics she took to be of Chinese extraction, tried to chatter to Jane in a language she could not understand, but she was conscious of their expressions of bewilderment that she should choose to kneel. She stayed, head bowed, close to tears once more, kneeling on the floor of the bus. Suddenly, before she realised what was happening, one of the girls lifted up Jane’s smock to the waist and the tears of shame began to flow as the girls, in unison, gasped at the painful purple weals across the beetroot red glow of her bottom.

  The girl who had raised the smock looked down at Jane with such obvious distress and concern that the embarrassed English girl smiled her appreciation; then the young local girl put her arm around the shoulders of the distressed Jane and murmured something softly, her cheek soft against Jane’s anguished face. All the emotions she had held in check, so close to the surface, finally broke through and she clung on to this young dark skinned stranger and cried like a baby. The girls all made a fuss of her, giving her pieces of concealed chocolate and candy and Jane smiled her gratitude. These young women would have been punished for secreting such sweetmeats about their persons and Jane knew what a sacrifice it was to give such prizes away. By the time the prison compound came into view, Jane had taken them all to her heart and they her in return, though their new found English friend could not speak a word of their language or be understood by them.

  Finally the bus stopped inside the intimidating compound, with its twenty foot high barbed wire fencing and control towers at each corner, manned by armed prison officers. The doors opened and a harsh male voice ordered the girls out of the bus. Jane got out first and looked around at the guards and the wire and shuddered in apprehension. She stared at the source of the voices and saw three male prison officers barking out their orders. Behind them stood the woman who had just supervised the greatest and most painful humiliation of Jane’s young life. She felt her face redden afresh at the memory, the tears forming in her eyes, but she held them back and stood silently as the other girls left the vehicle.

  They were all ushered across the compound and into a long reception hall which contained one woman at a desk. She handed out a card to each girl and stamped their arms with a unique stencilled number. Jane began to feel trapped and had to fight a mounting feeling of claustrophobic panic as the girls were ushered into another room which contained only three men in white coats, sitting behind desks containing various items of medical paraphernalia.

  The male guards left the room, to be replaced by one woman officer, younger and less ugly than Jane’s tormentor but equally grim faced and cold. She uttered one word which Jane did not comprehend but looking around she saw her fourteen companions pulling their smocks over their heads so Jane, choking back tears, reached down and pulled her smock up and over her head, dropping it on the floor in front of her. For the second time that day, in front of a group of men, she was naked. The men at the desks appeared totally disinterested in this mass display of female nudity and continued to write notes as the girls stood in a line, hopping from foot to foot, for the room was draughty. Jane began to move her hands slowly to cover herself but realised that the other girls, presumably as a consequence of their profession and familiarity with this procedure, showed no coyness and stood with their hands casually at their sides. Jane finally gave up her very English prudishness, remembering bitterly how much she had already shown to the watching audience that afternoon and stood with hands by her sides, conscious, to her embarrassment, of the smile on the face of the young female prison officer who was intently studying the stripes across Jane’s bottom.

  Finally one of the doctors looked up from his notes and beckoned to Jane to go over to his table and, flushed and ashamed, the naked girl did as she was told. The doctor looked her up and down then turned her round, exclaiming loudly with a whistle through his teeth at the sight of the cane weals on her glowing buttocks. He asked a question of the young prison officer as Jane stood, close to tears, the centre of attention and becoming more and more ashamed of her appearance. The doctor picked up his stethoscope and put it around his neck, ordering her by imitation to breathe in and out as he sounded her chest, the cold steel making her flinch. He sounded her ribs and her stomach then gestured for her to open her mouth, then shone a torch down her throat. The doctor checked her tonsils and the tissues in her throat then examined her teeth, pausing to write some notes on his sheet.

  Jane stood with lowered head, the tears welling up again as the doctor turned her round and motioned that she should bend low over the desk. The tears began to roll down her face as she raised her burning bottom up high and lay, arms outstretched, across his desk. The very posture brought back such awful memories the tears became a flood as the doctor patted the inside of her thighs and she obediently slid her legs apart.

  She heard the squ
eak of the rubber glove sliding onto his hand and her head sank onto the desk, her knuckles white, tears pouring down her face as she felt the shock of the cold lubricant as his finger slid into her tight vagina. She remained still, eyes closed as he inspected her vagina thoroughly, his finger just stroking the intact hymen. Eventually he withdrew and Jane began to rise but was stilled by a single gruff command. She lay down again across the desk and heard him walk away and wash his hands. When he returned she heard the slither of the glove again and braced herself, sobbing quietly as the insistent gloved finger thrust deep into her anus, the lubricant almost acting as a suppository in the bowels of the shocked and frightened girl who, for an awful moment, feared she would soil herself and earn more punishment.

  Thankfully she held herself together and, after some minutes, the torment was over. She was allowed to get up and don her prison smock, then instructed to walk to the end of the room which she did, her face red from crying.

  Jane and the other girls stood waiting until the final batch of women had been examined, then the young wardress barked an order, turned on her heel and walked out of the room down a long, hollow sounding, passage way, the girls obediently following behind. Eventually, after navigating a maze of corridors, they reached their destination, which turned out to be the showers.

  Following the example of the girls around her, Jane took off her smock and hung it on a peg, then became part of the procession of naked bodies into the showers. The water was warm and welcoming, though she flinched as the stream touched her tender buttocks. She soaped her breasts and loins while carefully keeping her bottom out of direct contact with the spray. After a few minutes an order was issued and the girls obediently left the showers for the changing room where they found the smocks had disappeared and, in their place and neatly stacked, were a matching grey blue tunic and trousers, each with a stencilled number which matched the number on each girl’s arm.

  After dressing, the girls were led down more corridors until they reached the main security area where Jane could see rows of cells on three levels above their heads and could hear the hollow sound of guards tramping around the mesh floor and staircases. Jane’s claustrophobia returned as she thought of incarceration for six months and she had to take deep breaths to prevent an attack of nervous choking. Suddenly, women guards appeared from seemingly nowhere and the party of girls was chaperoned by one wardress for every four, the party being progressively reduced by two as each empty cell was reached. Eventually, after climbing two flights of metal stairs, Jane was pushed into a cell with, she was delighted to see, her young friend from the bus who had shown her so much sympathy. At least, she thought gratefully, I have a cell mate I can live with!

  Their wardress barked out a series of commands and instructions, totally incomprehensible to Jane, who raised her palms in a plea for clarification, but the woman only glared, slammed the cell door and left them alone. Jane smiled at her companion who smiled back, gripping Jane’s hand in a gesture of comradeship. The young English girl and the young prostitute faced each other from adjacent bunks, Jane trying to find some way of communicating with her new friend, trying also to find a way of understanding what the wardress had told them. Jane tried to get her young companion to explain by looking at the cell door, pointing in the direction in which the wardress had gone, putting a finger to her own mouth and shrugging her shoulders. The young Chinese girl got up from her bunk, walked to the cell door and peered through the grille, her eyes darting left and right. When she returned to the bemused Jane, she took hold of her hand, leaned forward gently and, to Jane’s complete astonishment, said

  “My name is Su-Kir. Woman want we not make noise or worse for us. She say light out seven clock. Sleep then. We get up six to work, please!”

  The delighted Jane hugged her in excitement.

  “Oh Su-Kir, that’s wonderful! I thought you spoke no English!”

  Su-Kir smiled and put a finger to Jane’s mouth.

  “Ssshh...!” she said, grinning “... I speak no English when guard about! Not when other girls about also. It not wise to tell. Loud mouths. I learn much this way. Officers here sometime speak English for secret keep. Think we all stupid street girl!”

  Jane kissed her cheek and Su-Kir blushed with pleasure. “But ... but who taught you?” Jane enquired, laughing for the first time in weeks.

  Su-Kir bowed her head, smiling. “American soldiers in war. They teach. One American he teach much. He teach English me, me teach him real fucking! First teach, then fuck, fuck!” she said happily with suitably graphic gestures to emphasise the point. Jane turned red with embarrassment but began to roar with laughter, a massive emotional release which led to the two girls hanging on to each other and laughing hysterically until the thump of a swagger stick on the cell door had a suitably dampening effect.

  At 7 p.m. precisely, the wardress could be heard outside the cell door, shouting loudly and banging her swagger stick against the grille. Jane, who was in the middle of a letter to her parents, looked across at the adjoining bunk and realised that Su-Kir had gone to sleep, so she hastily put down the writing utensils just before the light went out. She realised how chill the evening air had become and, with only one thin sheet on the bed, climbed into bed still wearing her prison uniform. Within minutes she had drifted off into a deep sleep, so exhausted had she become by the horrors of the day.

  Dreams of home, of her holiday, of the boys in her hotel room, of her Mom and Dad ... all these images flashed through her mind as she dreamed. Finally she was home in her bed with Mom standing there, cup of tea in hand, shaking her awake. Soon Mom began to shake her vigorously and shout, pummelling her arm ... what was happening? ... why was Mom so angry? Jane shot bolt upright in her bunk and gasped with fright as she realised the shaking was for real, the lights were on in the cell and a young man in prison officer’s uniform was shaking her arm. He glared at her coldly, his eyes exploring her face and he looked down at her body, at the prison tunic as she rose up, half dazed. The boy, for he was no older than nineteen or twenty, turned and exclaimed something in his native tongue and Jane cowered against the wall, suddenly fearful as she realised that the young warder was talking to someone who stood at the door of the cell, someone Jane knew only too well. She cried out in fear as the woman who had organised her humiliation walked into the cell.

  Su-Kir was also awake and sat up in bed, her eyes wide and frightened, panting with fear. She wore no clothes and the boy turned towards her bunk and allowed his eyes to feast on her firm, full bare breasts before barking out an order, then Su-Kir obediently faced the wall and pulled the sheet back over her body.

  The boy returned to Jane, glaring at her fiercely and shouting at her. She froze in incomprehension, her eyes wide with fright and she shouted in panic

  “Oh please, what do you want with me? I don’t understand!”

  For the first time the woman spoke and Jane quailed as she heard that cold, evil voice again.

  “Well, well, it’s the little English drug smuggler ...!” she said smiling without mirth and Jane began to weep “... and this is a cell inspection! They happen often here because we like to catch you miserable wretches out - and we seem to have caught you out, don’t we?”

  Jane wailed and crept nearer the wall but the boy pulled at her arm and spoke quickly, angrily.

  “Oh what have I done?” Jane cried in panic and the woman grinned again.

  “You better learn some of the native language ... and fast ...!” the woman said curtly “... or your life here will be very unpleasant! He is telling you to get out of bed ... now do it!”

  Jane whimpered, pulled back the sheet and clambered out of bed, standing shivering in the thin prison uniform. The boy looked her up and down and leered at the trembling girl who stood baffled and frightened. The boy spoke to his superior who nodded and the boy, with ill-concealed delight on his face, barked out a series of c
ommands.

  Her eyes wide with fright, Jane looked imploringly at the Senior Officer who fixed the girl with an icy expression which brought back such dreadful memories.

  “He is telling you that it is not allowed to wear your prison uniform in bed ...” the woman replied acidly and Jane gasped as she understood the boy’s eager expression “ ... and he has instructed you to take it off. Now take it off!”

  Jane gulped and cried, but with trembling fingers she undid the buttons of her tunic and, head bowed, she took it off and let it fall onto the bed, immediately putting her arms protectively across her bared breasts. The woman glared at her as she stood trembling.

  “Have you learnt nothing from your experience yesterday?” the woman shouted angrily. “You will soon make us both very angry! What is the point of standing there with your arms folded? You have been told to take off your uniform ... all of it! If you refuse, then I will go and fetch a cane. When I return, my officer will pull your trousers down and you will be turned over on your bunk and you will get twelve strokes of the cane across your bottom. The choice, my delicate English flower, is yours! I’m sure your bottom is in no need of further adornment at present, but that’s what you will get if you do not do as you’re told!”

  Crying loudly, Jane unbuttoned her pants and let them fall, stepping out of them. She stood naked, one hand over the tangle of hair between her legs, the other across her breasts. She was not allowed to get away with that.

  “Hands on your head!” the woman ordered and, red faced, Jane did as she was told. She could see the back of Su-Kir’s head in her bunk as the frightened girl tried to feign sleep though aware of her cellmate’s plight. She saw, too, the expression on the boy’s face as he stared, licking his lips at the sight of Jane’s pale breasts, the light pink nipples stiff and pointed, then he looked down her pale belly at the blonde triangle between her legs.