Katrina's Taming

KATRINA'S TAMING (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 14 – Katrina Is A Naughty Girl

What man's head would not be turned by the sight of two lovely girls, one brown-eyed bold-kissable-upper-lipped little Korean mini-skirted dark-brown-haired angel, and a taller English rose, in tight royal blue full-length velvet, who wiggled so sexily, with her naturally large and very firm obviously braless breasts, swaying and swinging within the tight material of her dress, and with such a wonderful swaying round hemisphered smackable bum as she mince-stepped head down as if in shame at her incredible attractiveness.

It seemed silly to many a man in the street who turned to look at us as we passed them by on our walk from Jackie's London apartment (to which we had just returned) to the M******* Department Store, but it appeared almost as if the lovely English girl was blushing from being so sexy. Indeed, she seemed to be blushing as if she had just had sex and her cunt was still filled with a cock that it was continuing to slowly savour.

We, I especially, turned the head of many a pretty London girl too. My cunt was so wet. I had never ever known my cunt to be as wet as it was as we wiggled the sidewalk pavement to the M******* store. I had now been pleasured for two continuous hours by the scissor dildo atop my boots. In my cunt, at every step I took, I worked one or the other half of the scissor back or forth within me, so that now my nectar was running in rivulets down the insides of my thighs and into my leg-long black leather boots, I was so turned on to my girlness, and being so divinely masturbated merely by the perfectly natural act of walking.

And my sexual arousal had filled-out my wonderful nipples as my breasts flowed in their natural full fully-free stupendous beauty, thereby betraying my arousal by poking out the front of my velvet dress with pleasure spikes, that were rubbed and chafed by the velvet of the tight figure-hugging ankle-length garment, to arouse me the more, and to charge my breasts like two stupendously beautiful batteries with a massive build-up of stored-up static-electricity that pleasure pained my aroused nipples all the more.

I was sex again. I was sex and I was girl. I was girl and I was sex. I was going to orgasm in the street if I had to walk much further. Being masturbated as I wiggled along was so divine. I was sex on legs. I was girl on legs. I was very nearly orgasm on legs.

Girls now giggled as they saw my nipples because they knew what my nipples were saying about the ecstatically high state of sexual arousal I was in. And at their musically lovely unintentionally mocking giggles I became even more aroused.

"Dirty cow!" came the call as I passed two lovely black-haired Asian-Indian Londoners, and I gasped at knowing these dusky stunningly wonderful maidens knew that my cunt must be dripping if my nipples could push out my dress front so pronouncedly, as indeed my cunt was dribbling between my pantiless thighs.

I shook my lovely head to avoid emitting the moans of high pleasure I was feeling from my ongoing masturbation as the scissor dildo went back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth in my cunt, as I girlilly wiggle-walked along.

My masturbation was secret and yet open. Few men seemed to realise the sexual state I was in; most girls did. My driven mind was on cunts and penises and my wetness, and I unavoidably gasped as I day-dreamed for a split-second of Mi Li's lovely cock and how easily this girl-boy could have slid her prick into my supreme wetness, so her superb nine-inches could have taken both her and me to high heaven.

Mi Li giggled at my gasp. "Oh Katterinna!" she scolded jokingly, and I blushed deep crimson at this reminder that the delectable Mi Li also of course knew that I was at the gates of girl heaven, as I obediently tight-dress-hemmed-little-steppy-wiggled along behind my mistress of the day, being endlessly masturbated by the scissor-dildo atop the rods running up from the tops of my individual leg-long walking boots.

At last we reached the entrance of the M******* Department Store. I tried to walk around to the steady slope of the wheelchair users' ramp, but was made by a tug on my arm from Mi Li, to take the steps with her. With the unyielding tightness of my dress' hem, it was all I could do to avoid taking a tumble as Mi Li knew. Her unspoken order that I must use the steps was therefore confirmation of her mistressy over me. I must obey: obey I did.

To prove we both had the required invitations to the all-girl discount shopping day, Mi Li handed over tickets at the door. She then turned to me and reminded me not to forget that I must not leave the store without nail varnish.

I lifted my dreamy-eyed rosy-cheeked divinely flushing beautiful face to Mi Li. "May I have money?" I innocently asked her.

"No", came Mi Li's direct and simple answer.

"Will you pay for the nail varnish for me then please?" I asked.

"No" said Mi Li.

"I promise I will pay you back" I countered.

"You must not leave this store without nail varnish", Mi Li repeated.

"Please will you pay for it till I pay you back, I have no money with me!" I begged.

"No" said Mi Li.

Then with the dawn of realisation of what was happening: "Please!" I begged again, "Please don't do this to me."

"You will not leave this store without nail varnish", Mi Li repeated.

I hung my head in the deepest of deep shame at what I had been manoeuvred into.

"Please, please, I beg you, no", I whispered to Mi Li desperately.

"Katterinna, you will not leave this store without nail varnish", Mi Li repeated yet again, looking straight at the top of my head as I bowed before her, helplessly begging not to be made a thief.

"Come with me!", Mi Li ordered.

I obediently wiggled along, my sexual fire slightly doused by the knowledge of what I was going to be made to do. But my spirits lifted a little as I saw we were headed among the throng of lovely girls bargain-hunting that day, to the scent-counter, where the delightfully pretty red-haired eighteen-year-old Norna instantly recognised me.

I smiled nervously at Norna as we approached. I did not need to. This pretty freckle-faced eighteen-year-old schoolgirl was besotted with me. As soon as she spotted me walking along behind Mi Li, her face had flushed crimson and her eyes wildly flicked from side-to-side in quick motion, as if she dare not look at my beauty, or as if she just could not take all of my stupendous sexiness in, or as if she could not believe what her eyes were telling her.

I tried to catch the pretty schoolgirls eyes. With my gentle look and my body language I tried so hard to tell her that she could look at me, and that I was pleased that she so evidently found me beautiful, and that she need feel no shame.

"Nail varnish please Norna," said Mi Li

Norna led us to a stupendous and confusing range of brands and colours and bottles and brushes galore.

"It not for me. It for Katterinna", said Mi Li teasing the young girl.

"Show Norna how long you make nails finger grow Katterinna", said Mi Li.

I displayed my pretty bendy-back long-fingered right hand to Norna, who blushed and dare not even look at it.

"We buy that one," said Mi Li pointing to a very cheap mass-produced sub-teenage girl's brand, which the M****** Store of my younger years would have been ashamed to be associated with.

Norna handed the little bottle to me and dared to look at my face. I lowered my eyes so that she would not feel overpowered.

"You have lovely nails miss", Norna mumbled, head down and blushing deep beetroot red.

"Thank you Norna," I said quietly. "It's very nice of you to say so. Please call me 'Katrina'."

Delighted by my power over this very pretty young girl, and imagining what my sexy beauty must be doing to the state of her panties, to judge from her blushes, but truly not wanting to abuse my hold over her, I gave her a quick glance and reassuring smile to tell her that it was really okay for her to desire and lust for me in her schoolgirl's crush.

And yet I had to abuse that power. I had the cheap bottle of nail varnish unopened in my hand. My wonderfully long fingernails prevented me from closing my hand around it, so as to conceal it fully, but I had my orders and, as ever, I would obey, for fear of what might be ordered done to me if I failed.

"You're a very pretty girl Norna," I said, speaking truthfully but purposely deceptively.

As I had calculated, Norna hung her head in the deepest of deep crimson blushes, and I straight away began to wiggle-walk my sexy tight-dress-hemmed tiny-six-inch-heeled girly way to the shop door alone, without Mi Li, but with the prized nail varnish in my lovely hand, wishing to heaven I could walk more quickly, still having my sweaty wet cunt masturbated by the scissor dildo as I wiggled along alone, and fearing the almost inevitable.

I was not wrong to fear the almost inevitable; for the almost inevitable became actuality once I had both my six-inch heels over the store door threshold.

For, once I had both my six-inch-heeled leg-long boots beyond the entrance doorway of the store, one of two strong young women store detectives, tapped me on the shoulder.

"Excuse me miss. I think we have a little problem. Will you come to the manageress' office with us please?"

It was not a question allowing a negative answer, and in my state of dress and yet undress I was in no position to escape as they patiently let me wiggle-step to the lift that would whisk me, under their escort, up to the top floor and the manageress' office, where Mi Li was already waiting, with the incredibly beautiful Belinda, the store's boss.

"Shoplifter for you ma'am", said my two guards as they turned away from depositing me in the manageress' room, to leave and continue their duties.

There was no point in my trying to hide my crime. After I had entered the room I, unbid, put the bottle of nail varnish on a table and awaited my fate.

The wonderful tall slim green-eyed blonde, Belinda, now came deliberately slowly over to where I stood, my pretty head nervously lowered and, for the first time, as I dared eventually to look up, I saw her absolutely astonishingly beautiful pale face and those mesmerising green eyes at close quarters. And for the first time too, I saw from whence her beauty came. Belinda's beauty was undoubtedly the beauty of cruelty. One look from Belinda's wonderful flashing green eyes told of a razor sharp mind that obviously sneered at the puny efforts of Jackie to tame me, and an overwhelming desire to really teach me a lesson.

Mi Li intervened: "Katterinna Jackie's girl" she said, to remind Belinda who my ultimate mistress still was, and that Belinda had no rights of mistressy over me.

"Yes!" snapped Belinda, "I know!"

"Have you a receipt for that nail varnish?" Belinda demanded.

"No ma'am" I answered tremulously.

"Then we have been a naughty little girl haven't we?" Belinda snapped.

Belinda glided her stupendously wonderful model-girl's figure over to her desk, and pressed an intercom button. "Get Norna sent up to my office right away, and put me through to GirlControl: tell them we have a shoplifter."

"No!! I gasped, a pretty bendy-back fingered hand to my right face cheek, "Oh please, please no!!"

"By those very words, you clearly admit the theft, so to call GirlControl is entirely appropriate it seems to me", Belinda sneered.

There was a prolonged silence as we waited for Norna to arrive. A silence pregnant with tension for me, as I imagined the local GirlControl car being diverted from whatever it was presently attending, to take the familiar journey to the M******* Department Store to deal with yet another silly little girl shoplifter.

……………………

Indeed, that was just what was happening. A GirlControl car was making its slow way through the heavy London traffic, stopping and starting. For the two pink-uniformed girlwardens aboard, it was the end of a wearisome shift and they longed to get home to the loving arms of a wife and a girlfriend, respectively. Overtime pay had been stopped because of money shortages, and these young women were in overtime. Neither was in the best of moods even before they had got that last-second call to attend to me before they went off shift.

"Silly little bitches, shoplifters", one opined for her companion to hear for the umpteenth time in their patrolling together over the past year.

"Bet she's up to her fucking eyeballs in plastic card debt, and still she wants what she cannot really afford", the same girl moaned on, worldly careworn weariness in her droning tone.

"All the fucking paperwork it causes us too! Then you take them before the judge, and what do they get? An hour on just the top bit of the spike, that's all they get: and sometimes not even as long as that!"

"Naughty girls can be whipped now," her companion reminded her, as if her totally cynical companion had forgotten the recently enacted law.

"Yea" sneered the first girl, "Yea. Whipped. Yea. Yea; yea; yea; and which fucking judge has ever ordered a real whipping, eh?! It's been a fucking year since the law was changed for jeese sake!"

"You or me should shoot them dead then?" said the girl driving the bright-pink GirlControl car, and having to listen to the droning cynic all of her working hours.

"Yea!" said the cynic in a comic tone, and both weary young women laughed at a joke one or the other of them had made what seemed at least a thousand times before.

"Still, never mind, she might be very pretty!" said the listening girl.

"Yea" said the cynic cheering up a little, "There is at least that."

……………………

Back at the M******* Department Store, the lovely little schoolgirl Norna entered Belinda's office.

"Norna!" Belinda demanded, "This bitch stole a bottle of nail varnish, am I right?"

Norna, who had hardly entered the room before Belinda had challenged her, mumbled something none of us could hear.

"Speak up girl!", Belinda commanded.

"No miss," said Norna, her heart almost visibly thumping in her chest, and her nostrils flaring as she heaved for breath in her fear.

"What do you mean 'no' ?", Belinda scoffed: don't forget we have closed-circuit cameras."

"The lady didn't steal anything", Norna stumbled out, for her love of me.

I lowered my head in relief and in deep shame at what I had done to trick this lovely little girl who was, despite what I had done to deceive her, defending me because of her love for me.

"Damn you Norna!" Belinda snapped.

Belinda then slinked over to her desk: "Call off GirlControl," she snarled into the intercom….. No………. Scrub that……..Don't cancel GirlControl………."

Even Belinda's quick mind had not entirely decided what to do with me now Norna had lied.

"You're not going to get away with this", Belinda whispered ice-coldly, thinking out loud.

"There are other ways to deal with naughty girls who steal from shops. You, my lovely leggy lady, are going to get a damned good spanking. And Norna? Yeaaa. If Norna wants to keep her job, my pretty little Norna is going to have to spank you!" Belinda announced in her cold clear voice with no attempt to hide her pleasure.

And so I was bent over Belinda's desk, with the full-length zip at the back of my dress having been drawn up so as to reveal all my booted legs, and my wonderful bare firm side-dimpled bottom half-moons. And I was bracing myself for a spanking from the delectable Norna. And I was contemplating the humiliation of a grown woman of near twenty-seven, having to submit to being spanked on her bare bottom by a virgin schoolgirl nearly ten-years her junior, and my cunt, still filled with the scissor dildo, was moistening even more at the prospect of this further extreme of degradation………

……And then, two girlwardens came into the room, half followed by Belinda's secretary, who merely showed them in, before returning to her own side of the door, which she closed quietly behind her.

"GirlControl ma'am", announced one of the young girlwardens to the obviously in-charge Belinda, getting out her pen and notebook the while. "You have a suspected shoplifter, is it this one here?" she continued, half-looking at, and then nodding towards Norna, as she licked her thumb and then used it to flick through her notebook to find the always elusive blank pages.

"No" said Belinda, "It's the older girl"

I had risen from my bent-over position, but the girlwardens had already noted how I had been posed before I had turned to look at them.

As I turned my face toward them, the two girlwardens looked at each other, and the one with the notebook, the recent in-car cynic and passenger, raised a single eyebrow to her companion, whose face signalled agreement. They clearly appreciated girl and were signalling that this girl was absolutely stunningly attractive.

"And name?"

"She's Katrina *****" said Belinda, answering for me as if I were unable to speak for myself.

"Why was you bent over the desk just then luv?" the girl without notebook, the GirlControl car driver, asked me, aware of the sensitivity of the law toward the rights of individuals. Even girls still had some rights.

"Have you been assaulted? You can press charges."

"If there is a witness to a theft, there is a now a legal right to spank a girl, as long as it's only a hand spanking…..but…..", the patrol car passenger began before being interrupted…..

"……But it can only be done by another girl with a gloved hand or with a bare hand through at least one item of clothing worn by the naughty girl, with no contact with the naughty girl's sexual parts", recited the girlwarden with the notebook, who was studying for her sergeants examination.

I instantly thought of the lovely Norna. I did not want to get her involved. I had already abused her love for me, and I was not going to do that again.

"No charges", I said, "Nobody has touched me". "I did steal: there are no witnesses, but I did steal. I stole some nail varnish. It's on that table", I confessed.

The girl with the notebook made another unspoken signal to her companion, who then came over to me and re-zipped my dress down to its hem, before gently taking my wrists and, with a series of well-ordered mechanically-metallic clicks from the girlacles she had taken from her belt, handcuffed my wrists together behind me.

"Not too tight are they luv?" she whispered.

"No…..Thank you", I answered, flattered by her caring gentle attentiveness to me, when she must be arresting naughty girls all day long every day.

"We need you as witnesses to the Katrina girl's confession", said the notebook girlwarden, who then finished off her entries by taking the names, addresses and employment positions of Belinda and Norna.

"If I were you luv, I'd take the spanking", whispered the girl who had handcuffed me. "If you go to court, even if they don't punish you too hard for a first offence, you'll still have a criminal record".

"No" I answered, "I did it, and I don't want the young girl involved"

"Have it your own way then luv", said the kindly girlwarden, sighing resignedly.

Notebook and pen back in pocket the first girlwarden, touched me on my shoulder to make it absolutely clear whom she was addressing, as she wearily and all but incoherently gabbled out: "Katrina ***** you are under arrest for theft. Under sub-section 2 of the Societal Behaviour - Correctional Guidance of Wayward Girls Act 2020, as amended by the Societal Behaviour - Correctional Guidance of Wayward Girls (Whipping) Act 2023, theft defines you as a very naughty girl. You are therefore to be taken before an all-girl judge's court and subjected to the punishment of their deciding. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say, including anything you may already have said before witnesses, will be used in evidence against you. Under the Societal Behaviour - Correctional Guidance of Wayward Girls Act 2020, as amended by the Societal Behaviour - Correctional Guidance of Wayward Girls (Whipping) Act 2023, you do not, repeat, you do not , have the right to a defence attorney, and you are unquestionably guilty of being a very naughty girl, unless you can prove yourself innocent, for which latter purpose you require a minimum of five adult witnesses. Do you wish to say anything?"

"No thank you", I whispered, with the tears welling in my eyes.

The two young girlwardens were gentleness itself as they took me on my girl-wiggle six-inch-heels-atop, scissor dildo cunt masturbating, and tight-hemmed-dressed tiny-steppy, handcuffed walk to the lift, a back entrance to the store, and then to their waiting GirlControl car. Once behind their bright pink car, they opened the boot (the trunk) and helped me in, before slamming it shut to leave me, foetally curled-up in the total darkness: their prisoner.

For an hour the car struggled through traffic to the local GirlControl headquarters that was, in fact, only a mile or so from where I had been arrested, albeit that there was no direct route because of the one-way-roads systems.

Why was I jammed into their car's boot?

It now seemed as if Mary ******** ruled England. This right-wing shock-jock had only to sound-off about some pet hate, and the law seemed to be changed within the very same week.

The increasing prevalence of naughty girls was one of her abiding themes. It seemed less than a month since her tirade about shoplifters and how, even after they had been arrested, they would, according to her, get a luxury ride, snug and cosy on the rear seat of the cop car, being chauffeuse driven to where they could make a phone call, paid for by the state, to an attorney, also paid for by the state, who would then get them off, before suing GirlControl for wrongful arrest.

Radio was not the only outlet for her and her kind. The "Correctional Guidance of Wayward Girls" laws had effectively been their legislation. The government had enacted it after the women-voters-only referenda of course, but it was if the government were merely doing as the right-wing zealots told them.

Naughty girls were ruining society, or so the radio broadcasts and the TV chat shows, and the column inches in the tabloid newspapers would have us all believe. Whipping had even been made to sound like an act of kindness.

If not ruled directly by the shock-jocks, the government was certainly ruled by the opinion polls. And I was going to taste the correctional procedures that had been introduced piecemeal over the previous four-years, before being swept up into the two major Acts of the Assembly that had just been quoted to me, as was required, at my arrest.

Putting me in the car boot, rather than on the rear seat of the car was not strictly in the legal requirements; not yet at least. But it just showed how much government cowered and complied when these dreadful women spoke their and, allegedly, the great British public's mind over the airwaves.

Last week, the Ministeress of Interior Affairs had issued an instruction to GirlControl about naughty girls under arrest not being allowed to sit in police cars, and so I was bundled into the boot of the GirlControl car that was taking me to the local precinct stationhouse: that was by how much the shock-jocks all but ruled our country now.

These were admittedly strange thoughts to be having, as I lay curled in the dark of a GirlControl car being slowly driven to the local GirlControl headquarters, but I so wanted to understand why all this was happening to me, and there was some consolation in knowing that we women had, after all, voted for the changes slowly being made to the old hitherto familiar society. At least the great majority of us had, even if I myself had voted against.

……………………

"Your too late for the tonight's court session", said the desk sergeant as the two young girlwardens took me before her desk at the precinct station, "It's full up and we've only got the one cell to keep this one till same time tomorrow night…."

"Name?" she demanded, and I answered her on that, my address, my occupation, place of birth, etc, and a series of totally shaming questions, including my sexual orientation, whether I was an intact virgin, and when my menstrual period was next due.

Even as I was being registered, my two escorts, who were long since due off duty, had removed my cuffs, and were helping me undress, until I finally stood totally naked before all the girlwardens and all the members of the public who wandered in around and out of the station.

One of my original captors then held up and read a number off, what looked to me like a folded potato sack.

"Er, yeh, it's 'three; six; er….D for Delta; two; four; three, seven; hyphen; double-nought; one' sarge", she said.

"Prisoner number 36D2437-001", the sergeant noted in her register, before turning the register on the counter and proffering the still naked me, her pen.

"You must sign if you can write, or else you can mark the register with a fingerprint. She said in a bored matter-of-fact tone.

As I signed with her pen, she gave me the required standard resume for very naughty girls guilty of theft.

"Tomorrow night in court, you'll be asked to plead either 'guilty' or 'very-guilty'. If you just plead 'guilty', the court will decide if you have made the right plea. If they consider you have made the wrong plea, they are entitled to order that you be persuaded to change your mind", the sergeant told me, looking me straight in the eyes with obvious sadistic enjoyment.

"So", she went on, "as you might guess, it'd probably be wisest to plead 'very-guilty' even though 'very-guilty' means extreme punishment. Or then again, you can plead just 'guilty' and hope that you can withstand the persuasion they might use on you, if they decide that 'guilty' was the wrong answer."

"If you are found very-guilty, your name, a photograph of your face and of your cunt, together with your prints will go on national record forever, and you will have the status of 'girl-second-class', meaning that you can never again have paid employment, have no right to vote, may not own property, may not have a passport or a driver's licence, and must hand to the state all the savings investments and property you presently own, including any pension scheme, so that they can be transferred to a more worthy girl."

"The only exception to this is debt, for the repayment of which, as a girl-second-class, it is permissible for those you are in debt to, to apply to the courts to have you legally made a slave, i.e. for them to own you, in which case you become a 'girl-third-class' and lose your right to any residue of citizenship, including the right to a name," she went on. She was all too familiar with that which she had told many a very naughty girl by now.

"For a second criminal offence, whether you are found very-guilty or merely guilty, you will become 'girl-fourth-class' and therefore a slave owned by the state, which can then use you entirely as it pleases, or sell you, or even export you, subject of course, to judges' approval," she concluded.

"English girls are fetching a very high price in the export market right now", she added as a bye-the-bye.

Tears welled in my eyes at this confirmation of what I had already known, in outline at least, to be the inevitable consequence of my being arrested for theft. The calls in the popular press for a clampdown on the growing misbehaviour of girls had been heeded, and the resulting legislation was truly draconian. I was of course subject to the law, even though I had been among the few who had voted against it in the referenda.

An A3 sized sheet of white paper was now pinned at each of its four corners, on a flat board, thereafter rested, for the moment, on the GirlControl station's counter. On the paper at present, there were just two printed words: "left" and "right".

Then suddenly, completely without emotion, the kinder of my two junior girlwarden captors had donned a stained right-hand glove, dabbed a sponge in some black substance and, to my truly absolute amazement, had begun carefully daubing my bare nipples with what could surely only be ink: black ink.

It was just my nipples she was covering with ink. She cupped each of my breasts in turn, gently in her warm and soft ungloved left hand, as she applied what absolutely surely must be ink, with the sponge in her gloved right hand, with her tongue held gently between her teeth, as if in aid of concentration and carefulness in what she was doing.

"You alright with that Lynda?" asked the sergeant.

"Yea," came the distracted answer from the gentle girl, "I need the practice. I've got this one right though. Made a right mess of the last one last night. Still, she did need her arms holding back while I did it. Put up quite a fight; not like this one. Julie does this in a trice. Never quite got the knack myself".

They talked to each other almost as if I, a fellow human being, was not even there. My nipples were being painted black without any consideration of me whatsoever.

I had yet to make one-and-one make two over what was being done to me here. What was going on? It seemed totally crazy to be putting black ink on my nipples.

Then the girl slipped with the ink-impregnated sponge and put a daub of black on my left breast

"Sorry luv", she said to me, "I'll have to wipe that bit off" she told me. With a quick flash of a reassuring smile, and another look of focused concentration and care, on and about what she was doing rather than at or for me as such, she took a cloth with some spirits on it and wiped the splatter of ink where she had slipped with the sponge, off my exquisitely lovely soft firm left breast.

The girl painting my nipples was clearly being very careful to put ink only on my nipples themselves. She had spoken to me as if I must know what was going on: as if I must have realised it was to happen: as if I must know why it was being done: almost as if I had wanted it to happen which, in an odd way I did, because I was so curious about what was going on and why.

At last, as if seeing my total puzzlement, the sergeant showed a touch of what could almost pass for humanity by her standards: "We have to take your nipple-prints. Same as a fingerprint but unique to each girl of course. Sorts the girls from the boys, eh!?".

She then chuckled at her own joke. She must have been telling the same joke to all the girls arrested for being very naughty over the last four years and more.

"They are as unique as fingerprints" she went on. "But everybody is fingerprinted at age fifteen now. They'll be connected with your fingerprints already on file of course, but it's quicker to double-check if there's an existing criminal record on an arrested girl, by simply making her rest her nipples on the special computer scanner. Gets results in milliseconds. Great idea. Girl who thought of it is a millionairess now they say…….."

"Could have checked you on the computer of course, but the damned system's down again at the minute, and you look like a first timer. Your nipple-prints will be crosschecked anyway of course," she concluded.

Strangely, I listened with total fascination at this completely novel idea. It was perverted science. Strangely erotically sexy, and yet at the same time such a brilliantly practical idea that I almost found myself forgetting why it was being used on me, forgetting that I was a prisoner having a criminal file compiled on her, and wishing I had thought of the idea of nipple-prints myself.

"You will bend over the table, hands behind your back, and press both your tits hard onto the paper, before standing up again" the sergeant instructed. "You're a very firm girl, so your tits won't need any holding", she mused.

Moments later I was having the ink wiped off my breasts and two perfect black circular imprints were on that A3 sheet: the ink prints of my lovely nipples, left and right.

Is it too strange to relate that, after my nipple-prints had been taken, an intelligent girl like me was straining to see the outcome of this procedure, completely novel to me as it was at the time? I did just that. It gave me ease from my dreadful fear at undergoing the due processes of arrest. I was completely alone. To take an interest in, and think about nipple-printing, gave my mind just one precious moment of distraction from my fear.

I was soon brought back into the horrible reality.

I now had the shame of getting on my back on a table, whilst a digital camera was used to photograph my face and both my head profiles, before I must lift and part my raised legs at a 60-degree angle, and hold them thus as my cunt was also photographed for my criminal file.

Then strands of my pubic hair were cut and adhesive-taped to the A3 sheet, along with a cut snippet of my head hair, both being thereafter labelled respectively. Finally, my face and cunt photographs were being printed. The digital camera had already labelled them with my name and: "36D2437-001". My face and cunt pictures were then mounted in turn on the A3 sheet.

"DNA too" said the sergeant, suddenly for no reason, "It don't matter none if you dye your hair. And all cunts are different too. That's why we took the photo. Cunt pictures are used as a double-check when nipple-prints match. DNA's expensive and slow to get an answer on see!"

The sergeant, my two captors and finally, I signed the sheet.

I now had a criminal record. A digital photograph of the assembled sheet was taken, and the sergeant said that she would feed it into the national databank when it was up and running again, before sending the original sheet for DNA to be taken from my hair and fed into the record also.

This record would become permanent if I admitted to the court that I was 'very-guilty' or if, despite my only wishing to plead 'guilty', the court persuaded me to plead 'very-guilty'.

If I could get the court to accept that I was only 'guilty', the record would be deleted after only one year on file.

If I were found 'very-guilty', the photographs of my face and my cunt, and my nipple prints, would also be filed on another computer, which was accessible to girls who get turned on by looking at police records on naughty girls, and whose payment for access was used to help defray the costs of computer upkeep.

For extra payment, these same girls would also be able to watch a video stream of my trial and punishment. I had heard that it would have become the most visited website in the world, had it not been that the government had lately decided to allow punishments to be shown on free-to-view national television.

My ponytail making ribbon was removed from my hair and I was passed my prisoners uniform.

It was a sack. It was the sack the girlwarden had read the numbers from. It was nothing other than, or more or less than, a potato sack. It was made of jute, rough hairy tickling scratching and itch-causing jute. It was a sack. A recycled potato sack, but it was still only a sack.

My fellow girls were clearly enjoying the look on my face as I puzzled over what they had handed me. Then I noticed that the bottom of the sack, or what had been the bottom of the sack, had had its corners cut off and a hole cut in its centre.

I felt the horrible roughness as I eased my slender pretty arms through the holes at the corners of what had been the base of this sack when it had been a sack, and pushed my head through the middle hole, before using my slender lovely long-nailed naturally bendy-back fingers to ease out my hair.

This was prison dress. This was my prison dress. My prison dress was nothing other than, or more or less than a very old very recycled potato sack: jute, a horrible rough hairy scratching itch-making jute potato sack.

It was prison dress, cheap and simple. It only just covered my bare bottom as I stood wearing it and nothing else. And, even as I just breathed naturally, I could already feel its horrible roughness chafing my bare nipples.

I could also smell it. It was filthy. It smelt of stale sweat and dried urine. I had heard that money was saved by never laundering the prison clothing in the girl-prisons, and now knew at first-hand that this was true.

I looked down at my chest, divinely poking out this crude cruel prison dress, and read upside down from my chest to my belly emblazoned in horizontal, red, six or eight-inch high lettering, attached by metal staples, the bent-over ends of which also scratched my soft girl's skin:

"Very Naughty Girl

36D2437-001"

"Lovely bum!" the sergeant shouted shamingly after me, as she watched my femininely undulating rear, as I was being walked bare foot to the cells.

"May I use the bathroom please?" I asked the kinder of my two GirlControl captors.

"You can go in your cell", she told me with a hint of upset in her voice as her companion snickered.

"Yea", mocked her very tired patrol mate, "She can go in her cell".

The shock-jocks had sneered that the cells for naughty girls were like homes-from home: the lap of luxury. The prisons for naughty girls were like summer holiday camps. There was too much liberal softness. Prison needed to be taught a lesson a naughty girl would never forget.

We had walked to the rear of the GirlControl precinct to a row of some twenty to twenty-five steel doors with a keyhole in each individual door and with a thick cover over each individual keyhole. Obviously, these were the cells, and I noticed that the solid steel doors had no window or sliding trap or spy-hole in them, such as you see in TV programmes and movies.

I was walked barefoot in the stinking ex-potato sack that was my prison dress, labelled with my prison number front and back, to cell five.

The kindly girlwarden pulled the cover off the keyhole, swung the cover up so that it stood vertically above the keyhole, put in the key, turned it, and began to swing back my cell door. And my heart sank to the deepest of deep depths that I had come to this. I was a criminal: a convicted criminal about, for the first time in my life, to be incarcerated in a police cell to await my trial: a trial that would only decide the level of my guilt, the fact that I was guilty having already been decided by the way the law now worked.

My nose was instantly repelled by the stench of stale human sweat, urine and faeces that hit me as the door of the cell I was to be put in was opened. I tried to pull back, but my arms were grabbed.

"It's alright luv, it's alright", said the kindly girlwarden.

"Once your in there you won't smell it no more!!", mocked her companion.

"Don't be so cruel. It's the poor kid's first time damn it!" rejoined my gentle escort.

Her friend was duly silenced, though radiating sulky anger.

"I'm sorry luv, but it's the law…." said my gentle escort.

She opened the cell door fully. The screech of my horror could be heard back at the sergeant's desk!

As its door was opened, I stood immovably frozen and simply gawped open-mouthed as I looked into that cell.

It was six-feet high with a three-feet square floor and ceiling, all sides being of cold bare concrete.

There was no bed, no seat, no toilet, no washbasin, no warmth, no food, no water, and no window. It was the standard "hell-hole" for naughty girls laid down by the Correctional Guidance of Wayward Girls Act 2020, an Act of the Assembly.

There was a lip to step over in order to enter. The floor sloped gently from the back of the cell toward that lip. And in the floor, at the front near the lip, was a two-inch diameter hole – a drain hole, and on the edge of the drain hole, and half hanging into it was, what was, quite clearly, human faeces.

In the roof was a pipe with holes. "The shower goes automatically at three in the morning and three in the afternoon", said the gentle girl. It runs for exactly two minutes."

I felt almost sorry for the girlwarden who was telling me these things.

"I'm afraid prisoners only get cold showers", she told me kindly once more.

"And…. and…. look…….. I'm sorry luv, but the shower….. well: it's er,….. it's,…. well,…… they don't waste fresh water on naughty girls see. Again it's the law. It's an economy to store up all the girl-pee and recycle it……….", she tailed off in her genuine upset at this.

"Look luv, if you can hold yourself, you know, I mean try not to go to the bathroom for the other thing. You know, the other bit, the bit that you'd want the shower to wash away. You know what I mean, sorry to be crude. I mean a shit. I mean…. I mean, you know…….. try to hold your shit till the shower is on see……so it washes it away……. you know……..".

I was not entirely listening because I was just so horrified, not at what she was telling me and I was half hearing, though that was horrendously cruel, but at what I was just simply staring and staring at: that which had caused my scream, the shocked raising of a pretty bendy-back long-slim-fingered long fingernailed hand to lovely agape mouth, and my trying to pull back when she had opened the cell door.

For the floor, all three walls, the door that formed the fourth wall, and even the ceiling of this hell hole were lined with six-inch long, half-inch-diameter-base-tapering-up-to-point-ended, steel spikes, rusty steel spikes, arranged in alternating rows, so that there was no more than one-inch between the bases of any given pair of spikes.

The whole cell was lined with spikes walls floor ceiling and even the door!

"You must go in luv. Stand in the middle and I'll give you time to turn toward the door before we shut it. None of the spikes will touch you if you stand exactly in the middle and keep standing very still on tiptoe luv. Of course, you can't sit down and you have to stand on tiptoe all the time because of the spikes in the floor. It's to keep you always stood to attention see, and to stop you ever sleeping I'm afraid. That's what the law lays down see. Naughty girls have to be made to stand always to rigid attention so as to show respect for the law. But look luv: if you get stood in there as comfy as you can, and you make sure you can hold some of the spikes on the side walls so as to keep yourself standing till we come to take you to the court this time tomorrow night, I won't say anything, and neither will my mate, and that's a promise luv, okay?"

"You must go in now luv," she coaxingly repeated, "It's the law see…."

I gingerly tiptoed my sexy-legged way over the doorway lip, and between the spikes coming up from the floor, and turned very slowly and very carefully, to face the door, enforcedly having to stand on the very tips of my big toes, because there was no space between the spikes to put my feet flat to the ground.

Indeed as I stood tiptoed rigidly to absolute upright soldierly attention, I could only do so, with spikes coming up between each of my big and second toes.

As advised by the kind girlwarden, I gripped a spike in each of the sidewalls with my pretty hands, and I sobbed in abject misery, tears coursing down my lovely soft cheeks.

"Stand back from the door luv", said the kind girl.

I did, and it was slammed shut, the vicious spikes with which it too was totally covered thrusting toward me in the instant total pitch darkness, and leaving me surrounded with spikes millimetres from every single part of my body, meaning I could not move without being scratched or, ultimately, cut or stabbed.

I was left in absolute total and utter darkness as the key was turned and the cover put back over the keyhole; darkness to which my eyes could never adjust to compensate, because it was total darkness: absolute and total darkness.

I sobbed as I smelt more of the faeces of the girl who had been in this cell before me, faeces I now realised that I was standing in.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god please!" I wailed helplessly, totally alone and totally unheard beyond the savage embrace of the spikes millimetres from me all around above and below, forcing me to forever stand to attention, enforcedly permanently unsleepingly never-endingly at constant rigidly upright tiptoed attention, to show my respect for the law in my completely soundproofed naughty girl's cell…