Pentonbridge Pig

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.