Pentonbridge Pig

Chapter 25. Rehabilitation Program

The stiff morning breeze cooled the sweat from Emily's body, causing the young girl to shiver as she waited to be unleashed from the cart. She looked at 412, envious of the clothing the woman wore. Despite her vow to awaken early she had only just managed to collect her boots before Guard Ronson yelled at her for her tardiness. She had tossed and turned all night, unable to rid her mind of disturbing thoughts, long after the aroma of sex had diminished. She could still feel the remnant of her humiliation, the tacky skin of her nostrils and upper lip a constant reminder of the part she had played in her own degradation.

She had no way of knowing how long she had lain awake, unable to find a comfortable position, but when she had been startled into consciousness by the clanging of her cell door it had felt as if she had fallen asleep only moments before. Her body was stiff and painful and the fast-paced run, leashed to the cart that forced the speed, had done little to assuage the pain. The run had, however, warmed her, unused as she was to such physical exercise.

Ronson gathered their leashes and led the inmates into the shed. Emily was glad to be out of the cool breeze but knew she was trading one discomfort for another. The woman she knew as Boss was waiting for them, a cheery smile on her face. Emily almost scowled, the sight of another's pleasure only highlighting her own distress, but caught herself in time. She had learned, only yesterday, that she could be punished not only for her emotions but for her expressions too.

"Thanks Ronson. Morning 412, morning pig," Boss beamed.

"Good morning Boss," the inmates intoned, the resemblance to schoolgirls greeting a favoured teacher uncanny.

"To work then," Boss announced, the signal not only for Emily and her counterpart to begin the long day's toil, but for the guard, her presence now superfluous, to retire to the cart to gain some much welcomed time off-duty.

Over the next hour Emily was kept busy, milking the prison's dairy herd, becoming more proficient at the task with each new heifer that entered the shed. Boss was an almost constant companion for the young girl, hovering over her as she worked, resting a warm hand on flank or shoulder as she leaned in and corrected Emily's technique. The naked girl flushed with each touch, the casual intimacy deeply unnerving. She was treated as if her body was not her own, as if she had no say in what was to be done with, or to, it. The situation worsened as Emily realised that the jovial woman was actually under the impression that such intimacy was not only welcome but a desire to reciprocate existed.

As the final round of cows were released, a solid ball of tension formed deep in her belly, as 412 was ordered to begin cleaning, she had been called to the rear of the shed. Emily followed Boss into the storeroom, her heart beating so fast she thought it would burst through her chest. The moment she rounded the corner, the older woman rounded upon her, trapping her against the wall.

"I accept pig," Boss began breathlessly. "I know I am weak, but you're so adorable. I don't care what you are into. I don't care that you're not smart. All that matters is how we feel."

The young girl stood bewildered, her panic rising with each word spoken. She was pressed up against the rough wall, her nipples sliding against the slick plastic apron Boss wore. She felt the woman's hot breath upon her face, only inches separating them. Emily's eyes widened in fear as she watched, frozen, as the woman closed her eyes and leaned in, her lips parting, her desire evident in the soft pink flush of her cheeks. She shivered as they met, her soft, full lips parted gently by the insistent tongue of the older woman.

"Pig, what's wrong? blurted Boss, sensing unease in the young girl.

Emily's mind whirled, a maelstrom of emotions and fears spinning through her brain. What the fuck could she say? I'm not a lesbian, you sick bitch? Please don't rape me? She was unnerved by the liaison, not only by the suddenness but also by the tender nature of the approach. It was the first time she had been treated as anything but a filthy degenerate and she was momentarily taken aback, unable to sort through her emotions.

"Um, won't we get in trouble," she replied meekly, the only response her befuddled brain could conjure on such short notice.

"Pig, trouble is your middle name. Don't let that silliness come between what we feel. I know you want this as much as I do. Coming to me naked, a second time, the looks you give me. Those little nips are hard to miss," Boss said, gently stroking the hard nipples that tipped each of Emily's soft breasts.

She moaned softly at the touch, instantly angry at herself. She was naked because she had no fucking choice! Her nipples were hard because she was fucking freezing! Looks, Emily thought, her anger the catalyst she needed to collect her chaotic thoughts. Was she surrounded by completely demented people?

"I know we don't have much time, but Romeo and Juliet had to overcome such hurdles. But this," Boss said, her tone hardening as she tapped the hard plastic chastity belt that sat around Emily's waist, "you need to start behaving yourself. I don't want to see this again, ok?"

"Ok," Emily whispered, struggling to find her voice.

Her head was whipped to the right, pain slicing through her cheek at the unexpected slap. "Pig, don't be naughty with me. Don't take any liberties with my feelings. I won't have any slut of mine taking liberties, you got that?"

"Yes Boss," Emily squeaked, the pain of the slap still coursing through her cheek.

"Yes what?"

"Yes Boss I promise not to take any liberties, Boss," the naked girl replied demurely.

"That's better pig," the older woman said, softly caressing the young girl's burning cheek. "I knew the moment you walked in yesterday that you were a ripe slut. I know what you are, but you won't do that stuff anymore will you pig, not while you are my slut?"

"No Boss."

The words were barely out of Emily's mouth when it was covered once again by the warm, persistent lips of her tormentor. This time Emily responded, unwillingly parting her lips and accepting the hot, moist tongue inside her mouth. The woman was clearly crazy and she could not afford to anger her. She kissed the older woman, her own tongue responding in kind, flicking past the opened lips, her mouth opening as the passion of the embrace deepened. She felt the gentle caresses as Boss cupped her face and stroked the sensitive skin of her neck. Emily felt her body respond and almost broke the contact as the tell-tale tension in her sex betrayed her calm demeanour.

"Ahh, enough pig, you little minx. Fucking hell, my pussy is sopping wet. I know yours is too isn't it?"

"Yes Boss."

"Pig," said the now stern-faced woman, "I know you aren't smart and I am ok with that, in fact I think that's part of your charm, but don't play me for a fool. You can talk to me pig, don't be so cold, ok."

"Ok, Boss," Emily replied hesitantly, unsure of what she was being asked to do. What was she not understanding here? She had been accosted without warning, had love professed to her and had her own feelings taken for granted. What had she done wrong? Hadn't she obeyed? Hadn't she kept her own feelings, her true feelings about this crazy bitch to herself?

"Well then... you're pussy pig?"

"My pussy is wet Boss, very wet," Emily said, finally tweaking to what was expected of her. This was conversation was it? Degrading herself yet again.

"I knew it pig, a slut like you. But it's different isn't it pig? It's not like with other women, or with the men you fuck or even... other things?"

"Yes Boss it's different with you. It's like nothing I have ever felt before," Emily said sincerely, knowing that for once the misunderstanding of her words would work in her favour.

"Pig, you are so cheeky," chuckled Boss, her hand resting lightly upon the young girl’s quivering left breast. Without warning, Emily's nipple was seized in a vice-like grip, the tender nub pinched cruelly. "Behave yourself pig. You are mine now, that cunt is mine. I won't have it locked away from me like this. Understand?"

"Yes Boss, sorry," Emily grunted, the pain in her breast mounting.

"I want it gone pig. I am a patient lover, a generous lover but I won't stand for this shit,” Boss said, twisting Emily's nipple. "Get it off and make sure it doesn't come back or I will have to punish you."

Emily gasped as the pain intensified, she clenched her hands at her side, digging her nails painfully into her palms, trying desperately to withstand the pain in her breast without restraint.

"Oh pig, I can't stay mad at you," Boss said her tone softer as she relinquished the agonised nipple. "Come here and give me a kiss then hurry on out of here, 412 should be finished by now."

Emily leaned forward to kiss the older woman, the woman who had not only professed her love for her but had staked a claim upon her body and soul. As Emily pressed her mouth tenderly against the moist, waiting lips, she ran through the litany of her degradation in her head. So now she was owned by Pentonbridge, owned by a fellow prisoner and now owned by a woman who, crazy as she may be, had treated her with genuine tenderness, no matter how weird and misplaced it may have been. Her soft lips quivered as she hesitantly made contact with Boss's slightly parted mouth. The stocky woman was panting with anticipation as the naked girl's mouth closed over hers, their tongues sliding over each other, their breath mingling. The kiss was fleeting but held as much passion as Emily had ever known.

The instant their lips parted she fled the room, her cheeks blazing like a shy schoolgirl's. No matter how hard she wished to, she could not ignore the emotions coursing through her body. Her pussy was indeed moist, her nipples were achingly hard and her face was flushed with the hot fever of arousal. She could still feel the delicious warmth the kiss had left on her lips, the soft sensual touch lingering as she stepped back into the milking shed. 412 was just finishing the cleaning of the central aisle and Emily saw the look of disdain on her face, the curled lip, the disapproving leer. The inmate knew what she had been doing. Was it that obvious?

She lowered her head, unable to face her fellow prisoner, unable to deal with the judgment that she knew would only cement her status as a slut and a sexual deviant. She had been ordered to do what she did. Everyone would know that. But she had not been ordered to enjoy it. Shut the fuck up, she screamed silently. Just forget it. Think about the run back to the prison. Think about what is waiting for you there. Sadistic guards who could seemingly not protect her from the sadistic prisoners who had decided she was to be their latest conquest.

As she stood at attention by the door, waiting for Boss or Guard Ronson to attend to her, she tried to focus her thoughts on these realities, the terrible fate that awaited her, that would consume her. Try as she might, the evidence of her arousal, the earthy scent that reminded her of Boss mingling with the heady musk that rose from between her legs and the throb in her stiff nipples, kept her from forgetting her recent encounter.

Her first real experience of lesbianism. It was the first time she had kissed another woman, the first time her body had been touched sexually by a woman. She had led a slightly sheltered life, she knew. Her friends had told stories about their escapades at college or in high school. The playful dalliances, the experimentation. She had always had a steady boyfriend and had never felt the need or even the temptation. Yet the very first brush with the tender sex had left her breathless and moist, unable to focus on anything else. What did it mean? She was perturbed, her emotions whirling around inside her, churning her safe idea of who she into a chaos of confusion.

412 joined her a moment before Boss emerged from the back room. She had regained her composure, no hint of the pink flush of desire lingered in her cheeks. The only sign that anything had happened was a small, sly grin that twisted her full-lipped mouth as she caught sight of Emily, standing dutifully at attention by the door. Without a word, but with her eyes never leaving the exposed body of the young girl, Boss attached the leash of each prisoner and opened the door to call the waiting guard. Emily shivered as the rough-shirted arm brushed the tips of her nipples as she moved back into the milking shed, the brief touch anything but casual.

She was led outside and leashed to the cart without a word. Ronson started the engine and drove back to the prison in silence, not sparing a thought for her two charges. It was her job to transport the bitches to and from their work assignment, nothing in her job description said anything about her having to spare a thought for the scum she had to keep in line. Having the two panting women running behind her cart meant as much to her as if she was transporting two sacks of manure to the gardens. She had long since shed any thoughts of the inmates being actual people. Even when she had first started at Pentonbridge she had seen them as scum to be treated harshly but even those emotions had given way to a steadfast apathy. Her only concern now was that none of the dumb fuckers caused her any trouble.

Emily refused to glance even once at 412 as she ran back to the prison. She was still struggling with the physical exertion that was expected of her. She was not used to any kind of exercise and her body had ached nonstop for the past 48 hours. Not only from the forced labour and exhausting runs but from the punishment, the torture as she saw it, she had endured. Her mind drifted back to the night before: alone in her cell after evening ablutions she had taken stock of her body, of the litany of welts, marks and bruises that covered her body. Almost no part of her had been spared but the worst had been the delicate flesh of her inner thighs. The deep bruising left by the hose had turned the normally white flesh into a ugly mass of black and blue, the edges of each of the six marks already turning a sickly yellow.

It had been agony to scrub her thighs. The stiff bristles of her brush were painful enough but the slight pressure she had been forced to use to clean her body had been torture in itself. She had not dared to soften the force she used, being caught dirty would simply have sent her back to the room of torture. She would never again be able to hear the number 303 without shivering in fear.

Emily was gasping desperately, her chest heaving, when they finally reached the prison. She used the short respite while Guard Ronson parked the small cart as a chance to catch her breath. Her mouth was dry and rivulets of sweat dripped down her sides, despite the chilly breeze that blew. Her breasts were sore from the constant unfettered bouncing they were subjected to as she ran. More than once it had crossed her mind to run with her hands over her breasts but not only could she not afford to change her stride, she was barely keeping pace as it was, but she knew that to touch herself in such a way would earn her punishment and the ire of the guards.

She hated how her body was on display, every moment of every day. Before entering Pentonbridge she had been able to count the people who had seen her naked on one hand. Now she had been forced to remain exposed, her body bared for all to see, during every activity, even those that she deemed the most private. Emily cringed at the mere thought of going to the toilet in front of other people, her every move and bodily function open to view, to judgment and to criticism.

As Guard Ronson collected their leashes and led the women into the prison, Emily dared a glance at 412. The other woman knew everything that had occurred in the back of the shed, of that she was sure. Her body had driven away any doubts the other inmate may have had, the signs of arousal unmistakable on her nakedness. What would she do? Would it soon be known among all the prisoners? Would she be known as a lesbian? Or worse, would she be seen as trying to suck up to the guards to gain special treatment?

412 felt the scrutiny and looked at the naked girl, meeting her timid gaze with a strong, contemptuous look of her own, but there was a hint of something else: a twitch of the lips, a sly, secretive smile. But what did that mean? Did 412 approve? Did she know something Emily did not? Or was it simply that 412 knew her kind, knew her from her reputation to be an insatiable deviant, someone who would seize every opportunity to wallow in depravity?

She dearly wished she knew, but knowing the thoughts of others, when your own mind was a whirlwind of confusion, was a luxury that was well beyond her now. She would have to accept that she may never know, but it appeared, from that ghost of a smile, that she could take some solace in knowing her secret dalliance with Boss would remain just that.

Emily stumbled forward as her leash was jerked roughly, her daydream shattered as her situation was hammered home. Her status as a mere animal, a beast of burden to be used to work for Pentonbridge was never far from her thoughts but being led on a leash, unable to control her own movements, left little room for anything else. She was dismayed to see Sergeant Mailer waiting for them inside the gate. At least it wasn't Jennings, she thought. Mailer was a hard bitch but at least she was fair. She treated Emily like scum but that was her place. Jennings went out of her way to cause her harm, any punishments earned under Sergeant Mailer she knew were her own fault. In the short time she had been at Pentonbridge she had learned to stop blaming others for what happened to her. It was a hard lesson but one that she knew would save her a great deal of pain in the long run.

"Move it shitstain," snarled Mailer as she hung the now detached leashes in their cupboard. "Pig five strokes insubordination. I'm not sure if it's your laziness or your stupidity that knows no bounds."

Emily cringed as the sergeant prescribed her punishment into the mic lapel. Stupidity Sergeant Mailer Ma'am, she said to herself, as she realised too late that she had not been highstepping, a humiliating activity she was only to perform in the presence of Sergeant Mailer and Guard Jennings. She was tired from the exhausting run and the very early start but she had simply forgotten, there was no other excuse.

It was not until they reached the cell block that Emily realised what she had done. She had actually answered in her head. What was happening to her? Just what the fuck was happening to her? Was the demeaning discipline that now governed her waking life becoming instinct? She had only been here a few days! The bewildered prisoner walked into her cell in a daze, not realising where she was until the metal gate clanged shut behind her. She was in her cell. She had no way to keep track of time but they must have returned early. She turned frantically, checking the cells of the prisoners across the way. They had already begun to stir. Many of them already stood in their cells, waiting for release.

Emily scrambled to the back of her small barred space and made a desperate grab for her uniform. This was her chance, finally. A chance to spend the day clothed, just like every other prisoner on D-block. She would no longer stand out like some lurid slut. She could no longer be blamed for leading the other women into temptation. The naked girl heaved an audible sigh of relief as she waited for release, a booted foot placed on each of the yellow circles on the floor of her cell, her uniform cradled firmly in her arms. She had only moments to wait. The cell doors of the wing opened in unison, the harsh metallic sound reverberating around the empty block. As she stood facing the wall of her cell, waiting for the command that would release her, Emily felt a strange tension in her belly.

She was actually nervous. She was worried that she would be ordered to put her uniform back, punishment for some real or imagined offense. Her dream of being clothed was within her grasp, which would make its removal all the more cruel she knew.

"Out," bellowed Sergeant Mailer. "Another day for you D-wing deadshits. A chance for you to build some character, to show you are more than just a turd floating in the toilet bowl of society. Not much more, but low cunts must start somewhere."

Emily stepped out of her cell, and filed towards the shower block, her tension rising with each step. She tried to ignore the tirade that greeted their release and willed herself invisible. If she could make it to the showers and get her uniform in her nest, she would be sure to be allowed to put it on after the shower.

God, the shower. Emily realised what it would mean to enter the shower block. She was to be at the mercy of 47 once again. She had been told to meet the woman and her cronies at the back of the shower, where she would be forced to do something she knew was wrong. The butterflies in her stomach turned to lead weights and her sure step faltered.

First things first, she said calming herself with slow deep breaths. Get this jumpsuit into your nest, then you can think about what to do next. Emily filed past the guards on the door and hurriedly secreted her uniform in her nest, stuffing the rough garment into the small square space. Her boots were off and set beneath in seconds.

Hearing the other women request to pee reminded her of how much she needed to go, and the delay would cost her nothing. She was expected to be the last in everything, the lowest of the low. She would be forced to wait until every other inmate had fulfilled their needs anyway. Emily lamented her status, despairing at how far she had fallen. By the time she reached the guard and requested her chance to empty her bladder the need to pee had become maddening. It was all she could do not to wriggle and writhe on the spot. No matter her urgency, the very act of going to the toilet in front of other people gave her pause as she lowered herself onto the porcelain bowl and spread her legs.

She felt the heat rise in her face, her cheeks mottling a deep pink as the urine began to flow. The snug fitting chastity belt prevented the warm liquid from leaving her body quickly, instead forcing it to pool against her pussy, flushing the delicate lips before slowly draining through the small slits in the crotch of the infernal device. She was forced to sit much longer than any other inmate, waiting for the urine to drain thoroughly. She was not permitted toilet paper for the act of urination and she cringed as she slid forward and wiped the last droplets against the edge of the bowl. The hard plastic of the belt thunked against the bowl causing all eyes to focus on her, the room now silent as if she had walked through the swinging doors of a strange saloon in the old west. She wanted to curl up into a ball and hide behind the toilet but scurried into the showers instead, desperate to hide herself amongst the crowd of naked bodies. The showers, the one place she felt less vulnerable, though she still felt eyes watching her every move.

She lathered her hard bristled brush with soap and began to scrub the sweat and stink of the morning's work from her body. She had only progressed as far as her breasts before she noticed the dark form of 47 scowling at her from the corner. Emily froze in mid scrub, knowing she was in trouble. She had to make a quick decision. She could ignore the terrifying woman and finish her shower, but that would mean she would spend every waking moment attempting to avoid her from this point onwards. Or she could submit, she could accept her fate as the latest toy of the imperious inmate and subject herself to certain pain and humiliation.

Against her better judgement, her instincts screaming at her not to move, she slowly sidled towards the back of the room, trying to look as natural as she could. Each brush of glistening arm or shimmering breast caused a tiny shiver to wrack her petite frame. It felt like the journey of only a few feet took an hour or more to accomplish but she was soon standing before 47, flanked as always by her two leering offsiders.

"Corner," 47 hissed, not taking her eyes from the young girl.

Emily shuffled meekly into the corner, facing back into the room while the two nameless women closed ranks and hid her from view. Emily hung her head not wanting to face her tormentor, hoping to delay the inevitable as long as she could. Her tiny scrubbing brush clasped, forgotten, in her hanging left hand.

The breath was blasted out of Emily's lungs and she collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. She had not even seen the blow that hit her stomach with such force. She sat back on her heels, her arms floundering as she struggled to fill her lungs. As she sat there, her mouth gaping as she fought for air, she felt her hair yanked viciously backwards.

The pain in her scalp was intense but the only noise that came from the frantic girl was a strangled gurgle. Her eyes widened in horror as 47 stepped closer. All the young girl could see was the large brown pussy of the frightening woman as it descended upon her: the fat chocolate lips, the shrivelled inner labia, darker in colour, poking through the plump outer lips, becoming Emily’s entire world. Her mouth was still open as the glistening sex of another woman caressed her face.

Emily was horrified as 47 jerked her head back and forth, rubbing her pussy over the shocked girl's face. She gagged as she felt the soft lips of the pussy slide across her nose and back across her mouth. Despite not fully recovering from the punch to her belly, Emily closed her mouth, pursing her lips firmly, determined not to taste this woman. The ordeal was over as quickly as it began. Her hair was released and she sat back against the wall, cowering in the corner, trying her best to get the hard tiles to absorb her.

"Don't be late again pig," hissed 47 before turning on her heel and twisting through the crowd of busily scrubbing women.

Emily found herself abandoned, huddled in a corner of the shower block as the other inmates continued with their ablutions. They had ignored the incident and they continued to ignore the softly sobbing girl in their midst. It was never a good idea to get involved in the business of others, especially on D-wing and especially not for new meat.

The shock of the attack wore off slowly.  Emily snapped out of the daze that had descended upon her, desperate to rid herself of the smell of the vile woman. She scrambled under the nearest showerhead and let the hot water blast her full in the face. She had actually had another woman's pussy in her face. She had thought about it ever since she had known she would serve time, knowing the reputation that prison had, but her imagination had not prepared her for the reality.

No matter how much water cascaded over her face, she could not get the musky stink of the black woman out of her mind. It had not been like her own scent, it was deeper, earthier and much more potent. Emily was still under the shower, her cleaning routine forgotten, when an end was called to the showers.

She could not remember how long she had wasted standing under the soothing spray of water but the fear that she was not clean gripped her like an icy talon. She scrambled to collect her brush from the floor where it had lain discarded since her humiliating assault. She had failed to clean herself properly. That realisation was almost enough to eclipse the memory of her tormentor’s pussy. Failure to follow the correct personal sanitation routine was grounds for punishment.

The shame she felt shocked her to the core. What was happening to her? So she had not scrubbed her entire body with the frustratingly uncomfortable brush, so what. She was still clean. She knew she was. What the fuck is wrong with me, she cried desperately. It was just the fear of getting caught, the fear of punishment. Even as she tried to convince herself of that truth, she knew, deep down, it was not true.

She had never been adept at self-delusion. She knew the shame and anxiety she had felt when she realised she had failed to comply with the routine she had been set was because she had done something wrong. She bit her lip as she stepped out of the shower-block, frantically trying to banish the idea of running and confessing her failure to the nearest guard. Nothing frightened her as much, not even the thought of returning to room 303, as what was happening to her mind.

She was given little time to further ponder the situation. She was the last out of the shower block and she needed to make up some time if she wanted to get into her uniform. Nothing else mattered right now. She discarded all other thoughts and distractions. She needed that uniform. She had never needed anything so much in her life.

The rough towel scratched across her naked flesh, drying her body in record time. She scurried to her nest and snatched her jumpsuit from the small cube and hugged it to her body as if it was made of gold. Another inmate brushed past her, moving towards their own nest. Emily reacted instinctively, wrenching the small wadded garment away from her imagined attacker. She glanced wide-eyed at the inmate and was met with a look of puzzled disdain. The paniced girl blushed immediately, humiliated by her crazed behaviour. Fucking get a grip bitch, she silently admonished. Get that fat ass in uniform and get out of here. The sooner you are out, the sooner you can get to work.

The feeling as the roughly-made garment slid up her legs filled her with a deep sense of contentment. The stiff material felt like the most luxurious of silks as it quickly covered her body. She closed the zip, hiding her breasts for the first time in days. Emily beamed in triumph, the exultant smile making her pretty green eyes twinkle. Even the realisation that her suit was a little too small, riding up in the crotch and pulling a little tightly across her chest could not clear the smile entirely.

"What are you smiling at skidmark?" sneered Sergeant Mailer.

Emily's mouth drew into a hard line, any brief hint of joy replaced by grim determination. She should have known better, but the feeling of material against her skin, of knowing that her body would no longer be on display, had provided one brief ray of sunshine in her otherwise desperately dreary world.

"Nothing Sergeant Mailer Ma'am," she replied, barely managing to form the words at all.

"Nothing? So you are so fucking emptyheaded that you just go around smiling like a retard in a candy store for no reason at all. Is that what you are telling me pig?"

"No Sergeant Mailer Ma'am."

"Well?"

"I was smiling because I was glad to be wearing my uniform Sergeant Mailer Ma'am," Emily said timidly, realising that only the truth would get her out of this latest predicament.

"Pig five strokes, deception," Sergeant Mailer said into her mic lapel. "Get that repulsive sack of fat in line and get moving."

Breakfast passed without incident. Every movement on the long march to the commissary had rekindled the memory of the initial euphoria that had washed over her when she zipped up her jumpsuit. Stepping foot inside the large hall, being clothed in the same drab grey uniform worn by every other inmate caused brief tears of joy to pool in her eyes.

The eerily silent meal was followed by an equally sombre march to the garage in which was parked the large flat-trayed wagon that formed the basis of D-wing's work party. Emily collected the harnesses from the wall without a word, a quiet contentment lending her actions a muted dignity. She stood obediently, her arms outstretched, as the other inmates collected their harnesses and immediately began securing them tightly around their waists. A full belly and a clothed body gave the young girl the strength she needed to deal with the demeaning tasks she was forced to perform as the inmate with the lowest status.

She was the last to secure her harness around her waist, cinching it as tightly as the day before, gathering her jumpsuit into a series of tight ruffles. The dashing leather belt is the perfect accessory for the modern prisoner, providing stylish lines that accentuate the curves of the womanly figure, giving a Manhattan highlight to the gypsy flair of the subtle grey tones of the neo-classical jumpsuit. Emily smiled at her internal monologue, catching herself only moments before she performed a cheeky runway turn as she approached her position at the front of the cart.

A hard, soul-crushing day of labour lay ahead of her but her spirits were high. The other women still treated her with contempt, but her body was no longer food for their hungry thoughts. The soft curves of her breasts were hidden and would not provide an obscene show as they swayed wantonly as she walked and bounced lewdly as she ran. She had always been proud of her body, and especially her pert breasts, but being naked before her fellow inmates, unable to hide her body, each sensual sway or gentle bounce open for the world to see, to mock, to fantasise over, had made her ashamed of her body, embarrassed of her beauty.

Emily slid her hands through the open cuffs and waited patiently for Guard Lee to secure her to the cart. She was still astonished at the speed with which the sultry guard worked the restraints. It was a matter of moments before all eighteen inmates were fastened in position, their hands secured tightly in cuffs attached to the belt at their waists, and the belt locked to the bar in front. It was humiliating to be used as a beast of burden, forced to pull the cart when a motor would have performed the task in half the time, and yet Emily found herself resigned to her fate, simply one beast among many, anonymous in the grey crowd.

"Bitches, move out," yelled Guard Lee, a single crack of her whip accompanying her smoky-voiced cry.

Emily cringed at the command, wondering why such dehumanising speech was necessary, surely a simple 'go' would have sufficed. Nevertheless she leaned into the metal bar in front of her, pushing with all the strength her girlish muscles could muster. As with the day before, the cart was slow to move but once momentum had been gained, the large rubber tyres of the wagon crunched along at a considerable speed. By the time they reached the dirt road that led to their field, they were running at a speed that Emily knew she could maintain until they reached their destination, but only just. It was much warmer in the uniform and she could feel the sweat trickle between her breasts and slide down her sides.

The course material of the jumpsuit rubbed uncomfortably across her nipples as she ran. Her breasts bounced no less for being covered but now her sensitive flesh began to ache. She had felt them stiffen the moment their speed had increased past a walk and the rough-spun material played havoc with the hardened buds. By the time they reached their destination she had no doubt they would be rubbed red and raw. It seemed that every cloud had a painful lining at Pentonbridge, but still, she would endure the discomfort. She could not bear to be naked again.

It was with great relief that Emily spied the familiar field that the women of D-wing had been working. The tell-tale debris pile at its Western edge provided the only real meaningful landmark. Guard Lee had kept up a steady stream of whipcracks, each one punctuated by a girlish squeal or muted grunt. Another benefit Emily thought as the thin leather whip lashed across her shoulders. The stroke hurt to be sure, her yelp of pain testament more to the strength of the blow than its suddenness, and yet it was nothing compared to the blows that had seared her bare flesh.

After only two trips she had already become adept at reading the cues the harness team used when tricky maneuvers were necessary. Running a straight line was easy enough, though tiring, but turning and reversing the wagon so the flat tray faced the field required more finesse. As speech was denied them, the women of D-wing had evolved an unspoken language to enable them to perform the tasks expected and Emily had been remarkably receptive, learning her place amongst the team with ease.

They were called to a halt and unharnessed, Emily dutifully collecting the belts from all the other prisoners before removing her own. She still found it difficult, serving the other prisoners, the true criminals, but she knew it was her place. Whether she agreed with it or not, there was nothing she could do about it.

"This bitch has collected eighteen harnesses, Guard Lee Ma'am," Emily timidly declared once she had placed her thick leather belt on the tray of the wagon.

"Dispense the buckets pig, the bitches are eager to be put to work. A bitch waiting to work is a bitch wasting time."

"Yes Guard Lee Ma'am," Emily replied meekly.

She hurriedly handed out the metal containers, handing one to each inmate as they stepped forward in line. Every woman knew the drill: collect the bucket, fan out to the designated place in line across the field, await the command to begin the demeaning menial work of clearing away the rocks and sticks. The monotonous routine was able to be performed without thought. As the last prisoner to receive a bucket Emily took up her position in the middle of the line, aware of Guard Lee's dagger-like gaze upon her back. She felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as she waited for the command to begin.

"Bitches, work."

Emily took three steps forward and bent down to collect her first small, egg shaped rock. It was a beautiful day, the clear cerulean sky marred by only the barest wisps of cloud on the horizon. A soft breeze blew across the open field, drying the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead and neck. She licked the salty moisture on her upper lip and tried not to think of the thirst that she knew would begin to grow.

"Pig, come," snapped Guard Lee.

Emily straightened apprehensively. What could she have done wrong now? She had been good. She had been obedient. A nauseous tension gripped her belly as she turned to attend the guard.

"Lucky it's not raining Lee, otherwise this cunt would be rolling around in the mud, snuffling for shit."

Jennings! What the hell was she doing here? Any hint of happiness the morning had brought evaporated at the sight of the guard Emily hated with her entire being. She carefully masked her emotions and hurried towards the wagon. She knew she would find out soon enough what her presence heralded, but she could not help fearing the worst.

"Pig you are released into the custody of Guard Jennings. Hurry up and empty your bucket. Move it pig."

Emily ran to the edge of the field and emptied the three rocks she had collected. Small, barely formed tears glistened in the sun as her mind tormented her with thoughts of what it would mean for her to go with Jennings, to leave her work party after only barely beginning the day's work. What had she done wrong?

"This bitch has collected one bucket Gaurd Lee Ma'am," Emily said, meekly replacing the empty metal container on the wagon.

The moment she stood at attention Jennings clipped a leash to her collar and lead her toward the road and the waiting cart. She was not sure how the cart had arrived without her hearing it but she hoped it was because she had been so focused on her work. Even though she was able to keep pace with the guard, every few steps her head was jerked forward by a vicious tug on her leash. Jennings knew how to make sure these bitches knew their place.

The usually gregarious guard secured her to the cart and started back toward the prison in silence. Emily ran at full speed behind the swiftly moving vehicle, quickly realising she had never before travelled at the top speed of the cart. The day had barely begun and she was already becoming tired from the constant exercise.

She looked forward to the day her fitness reached a level where each activity forced upon her did not leave her gasping and breathless. It was evident from the showers, and from observing the other women of her wing in action, that all the inmates of D-wing were incredibly fit. The toned, lithe bodies of the other prisoners had surprised her at first, but after only a few days she realised now that the gruelling schedule expected of them would quickly mould even the most doughy of individuals into a strong, svelte specimen.

Each bounding step took her closer to the prison and brought her mind closer to the edge of madness. Each time her foot hit the hard ground she grimaced, her stiff, already raw, nipples scraped mercilessly across the rough material that covered them. Her sensitive buds felt as if they were on fire and she could provide no relief. She did not want to admit it, but she could now see one small benefit to her enforced nudity of the previous days. Emily prayed for the long run to come to an end, willing the prison buildings closer.

Twin tracks of sparkling tears covered her cheeks by the time Jennings pulled into the parking lot. As the cart was parked, Emily moved immediately into her high-stepping routine, knowing it was expected of her in the presence of the sadistic guard. Her mouth was painfully dry and her lungs ached as she panted desperately. Inside her jumpsuit her young body was moist and sticky, the material under her arms and around her crotch chafed her soft skin but still Emily was grateful for her uniform.

"Come on pig, you have an appointment."

Emily stumbled after guard Jennings, her neck yanked forward mid-prance. An appointment? If she had a damn appointment why had she been allowed to go all the way out into the field only to be brought straight back? Was this some sick joke of Jennings's or simply standard procedure? After all, the prisoners at Pentonbridge meant nothing to the staff, they were treated like animals, their only consideration the work they could provide.

Work! Emily shouted silently as she trudged along behind the guard. She would not be able to achieve her ten hour work quota, it would be yet another day that would not count towards the reduction of her sentence. Emily choked back a sob realising that no matter how obedient she was, no matter how hard she tried to follow the rules she still had no control over how long she would be stuck in this torturous place.

"Like the leash pig?" Jennings asked as they stepped through the outer door of the prison and into the inner cage. The question startled the young girl, lost as she was in her own small world of self-pity.

"Yes Guard Jennings Ma'am," she replied obsequiously, she knew the game by now.

"Really pig? Why?"

"Um," Emily stalled for time, honestly not expecting the follow-up question. "I like the leash because I deserve it, Guard Jennings Ma'am."

The moment the words were out of her mouth she knew how lame they sounded. She had been flustered and completely unprepared. She knew that the sadistic guard expected her to demean herself and she had disappointed her greatly. Emily bit her lip as she worried about the guard's reaction. She needed to keep all the staff  happy, but some more so than others. These women had complete control over her and pleasing them needed to be an integral part of her daily life.

"Now pig..." began Jennings, a disappointed frown furrowing her brow.

"I am sorry Guard Jennings Ma'am, I like having a leash because it reminds me that I am like an animal that needs to be kept under control," Emily blurted eager to redress her mistake.

"Pig, five strokes insubordination. An inmate never interrupts the speech of a superior and especially not a shit-smear like you. And pig, you are not like an animal, you are an animal - a particularly dirty one at that. You like being led on a leash because it makes you feel at home doesn't it pig? It makes you realise that you are a stupid bitch that needs to be shown where to go and what to do."

"Yes Guard Jennings Ma'am, I am a stupid bitch th-"

"Shut the fuck up pig. I just told you what you are, I don't need you to parrot it back, fucking little brown-noser. Well pig, my ass is one that will not be getting near. How the fuck could you possibly think that buttering me up will get you anywhere? You disgust me."

Emily grit her teeth as a single tear spilled from her right eye. The leash was detached from her collar and stowed in the small cupboard as she highstepped dutifully while waiting for Jennings to finish. At least with her uniform on her sex was not visible during this humiliating procedure, not that it had been once she was fitted with the chastity belt, but wearing that stiff plastic contraption was somehow worse. With a snap of her fingers, Jennings called the prancing prisoner to heel and moved off down the corridor. Even without the leash she was still being treated like a dog.

Emily was soon lost, the dull grey corridors providing little in the way of visual references. She was too busy worrying what her nipples would look like once they were released from the uniform. The strenuous run to the prison had turned an uncomfortable situation into a painful one. With each long stride the tender flesh brushed the course fabric and sent small spikes of pain shooting into her chest.

"In pig," snapped Jennings as they reached an open doorway.

Emily stepped tentatively through the opening. A terrible leaden weight formed in her belly and her lower lip quivered gently as the thought of what had occurred in this room haunted her anew. The doctor was not in evidence but the stainless steel trolley stood on the far side of the room, drawing Emily's gaze like a moth to a flame. As if to tease and frustrate the young girl, the top level of the trolley was covered with dimpled white paper.

"Centre pig. Fucking hell you know where that smelly cunt should be."

Emily strode to the centre of the room, turned to face the guard and continued prancing, demeaning herself to keep this perverse woman happy. She remembered back to the first time she had been placed in this room, made to stand on one leg and bark like a dog. Well at least things can get worse, she mused sarcastically.

"Ah Rose, not been waiting long I hope?" Emily almost turned at the new voice but caught herself in time.

"Not long Doc," Jennings replied, all sweetness and light.

"I was just getting reacquainted with Doctor Robbins. Her work is truly fascinating. I am just glad to be able to have some very small involvement in any way I can. So Rose how did your recent application go?"

"Still waiting Doc. Not sure if I will hear this week or not, but fingers crossed."

Emily's frustration grew as the two women exchanged pleasantries. It was all so much noise to the young girl. Being ignored as if she was no different from the chair or the covered trolley made her feel terribly insignificant. It was amazing how little it took now to make her feel small and useless. The casual conversation only highlighted her status as something less than a human being, something incapable of understanding the words or following the conversation and was therefore not worthy of notice.

Conversation was something she was desperate to be a part of. Josh had always said she talked too much and no longer having control over even that small aspect of her life made her despair. The only time anyone talked to her was for abuse and the only time she was allowed to speak was to answer a question, to ask permission for something demeaning or to degrade herself for the amusement of the guards. She continued prancing on the spot, trying to ignore the chatter but afraid that if she did, a command would be missed.

"Of course Doc, it’s common knowledge but still..."

"Well Rose, these things are always political, perserverance is key," said Doctor Monetti.

The cheerful tone present as the two women chatted almost brought a tear to Emily's eye. She was still stepping on the spot like some demented exercise freak when all she wanted was to be normal, to be allowed to stand at attention like the other inmates.

"Undress pig," ordered the doctor in the same nonchalant tone in which the rest of the conversation had been conducted.

Emily almost missed the command but  breathed a sigh of relief at finally being recognised and was immediately bewildered by the feeling. How could she feel better being degraded, for that is what any attention from the prison staff meant. Was she that bad? Was she truly so insecure and shallow that any attention was better than none?

Her hands reached tentatively to her throat, clutching gingerly at the zipper of her jumpsuit. She had been clothed for such a short time, but in that time her uniform, as meagre and uncomfortable as it was, had come to mean as much to her as the food she consumed and the air she breathed. She needed her uniform and now it was being taken away from her. As much as she wanted to delay she knew that immediate and complete obedience was not only expected but required, anything less would only mean added suffering. She unzipped her uniform, the muted snick of the metal teeth as they parted filling her with sadness. She unhappily shrugged the jumpsuit past her shoulders and slid her arms from the course sleeves. Her breasts were now bared and she felt the all too familiar heat colour her cheeks.

"Pig you fucking stupid... God, cunt, a pile of dogvomit has more intelligence than you. You can tell the ugly sow ain't used to people clothes Doc. Pig," Jennings sneered as she advanced upon the trembling girl, "normal people take off their footwear first. How the hell did you think you were going to get your uniform over those boots? Hmmm?"

"I'm sorry Guard Jennings Ma'am, I didn't think, I-"

"Too right cunt, you didn't think. Too early in the year for you? They could have devoted an entire episode of Ripley's to you pig. So fucking unbelievably stupid."

"I am sorry Guard Jennings Ma'am, I am so stupid that I don't really know what to do with people clothes," Emily replied, her voice catching in her throat at the forced degradation.

"It's all in your manual pig, though that is small consolation to a dense shiteater like you. Living on a diet of cum and shit can't be good for the brain right doc?"

"Oh Rose, it's bad enough that it's here, you really shouldn't be encouraging it," Doctor Monetti chided halfheartedly, knowing that Jennings was incorrigible.

"You heard the woman pig, stop fucking around. One minute or I shall consider it a request for punishment."

Emily burst into action, becoming, in seconds, a whirling dervish of nervous energy. Her laces were untied and her boots kicked off in record time. She slid the still open jumpsuit past her hips and down her legs stepping out of each leg and removing her socks in the one motion. Each sock was hurriedly placed in a boot and her roughly folded uniform placed on top. She hoped and prayed, as she stood to attention, that she had been fast enough.

"Hands behind your head pig. LEFT over right you poor excuse for a halfwit," bellowed Jennings.

Emily heard the trolley being wheeled towards her but held her position obediently. Without warning or explanation Doctor Monetti leaned towards Emily's belly and slipped the star-shaped key into the locking mechanism of the chastity belt. The young girl's spirits soared as the hard plastic belt clicked open and the thin vertical section popped free of the waistband. A few seconds later and the panel was lifted away, allowing the cool air to waft across her sex. The refreshing air felt like heaven on the moist, sticky skin of her vulva. A smile crept across her face as hope built inside her. Was the infernal belt being removed for good?

As quickly as it appeared, the sly smile vanished. Any sign of happiness would be interpreted as some kind of perverse thought and she had to be ever vigilant not to supply her captors with any fuel for further humiliation. It was tiring, having to have a constant watch on her emotions, making sure that no joy or anger or any other countless combination of emotions were ever evident to her tormentors.

Seconds later she heard the click and felt the waistband of the belt lifted away from her skin. The area covered by the belt, small as it was, felt clammy and strange but it was a blessed relief. Her anus was finally allowed to sit naturally and the unnatural heat she felt across her pussy was slowly dissipating. Until the belt had been removed she had not realised how tight it had been. She could see the red band indented into her flesh where the stiff, unforgiving plastic had pressed into her skin.

"Bend. Forward. At the waist, pig. Holy fuck, how could someone even as stupid as you not know what 'bend' meant. We all know you're as thick as shit, but orders can't get more simple," sneered Jennings, her patience with the frustrating girl reaching snapping point.

Emily cringed as she bent forward at the waist, her hands kept obediently behind her head. She shuffled her feet wide at the insistence of Jennings's steel-capped boots on her delicate ankles. She knew what was coming next. She could feel the lips of her sex parting with the spread of her legs.

"I will take a swab though the evidence is quite indisputable. The secretions are clearly those of arousal," Doctor Monetti commented.

Emily grit her teeth at the clinical evaluation of her body. She didn't want to be aroused. It wasn't her fault. She didn't even understand why she was, why her thoughts had turned so often to those of a sexual nature. She hadn't orgasmed for a long time, she was sure that played a large part but even so, the ease with which her desire could be initiated, the speed at which her lust could be whipped to near frenzy, was a disturbing concept for the young girl to face.

She stayed bent, drawing in upon herself as her vagina was penetrated by a small swab, removing the evidence of her humiliating desire. That her body was so easily manipulated, her lack of control absolute, her submission so conclusive, caused her eyes to well with tears. The fact that she was so categorically owned, her objectification so complete, only deepened her despair. How could anyone treat a person as if they were nothing, as if their feelings did not exist. She was a person. She wanted to scream it in the faces of the two women. Instead Emily submitted to the degradingly impersonal sampling, internalising her anguish.

"Dress pig. We are finished here Rose. There's nothing more I can do. I will submit these samples for testing, though I have no doubt the results will be sent to correction. Doctor Robbins is waiting."

"Thanks Doc. Come on cuntlips," Jennings said, heading for the door, the speed with which her voice had turned from calm to venomous, startling the frightened prisoner.

Emily didn't know what to think of this new doctor. Her name had been bandied about as if she was some kind of genius, like Freud or something. If that was the case, what was she doing in this out of the way institution? The fact that she was here only fuelled Emily's fears. No one would come to Pentonbridge without knowing what it was like. Everyone had their motives. All but the inmates, they had no choice.

The journey to a part of the prison Emily had yet to see took only a few minutes. She plodded along behind the silent guard, the sense of dread growing with every step. Her belly felt as if it was clenched in the fist of a giant, twisting and turning with anxious anticipation at what was to come. The programs in which she was to be enrolled were not something that should have applied to her. It was all a colossal mistake, but there was nothing she could do. Endure - that was her only option.

Emily began prancing the moment Jennings stopped outside the closed door, hating that she should degrade herself because of the whim of this one cruel woman. At least she had been allowed her uniform. She had been afraid that once it had been removed in the doctor's office she would be forced to leave it behind. She had been so relieved when she covered her body once more in the drab grey uniform that the brimming tears spilled down across her cheeks.

As she pranced she felt the thick seam in the crotch of the jumpsuit rub against her bare pussy. Even though the feeling was uncomfortable, and one she knew would turn painful if her current demeaning activity was continued for too long, she exulted in the fact that her pussy was free to feel such discomfort. It meant that the chastity belt was something she could relegate to her past, forget about as a nightmare she would never experience again.

"Get inside pig," Jennings spat, opening the door at a mumbled command from within.

Emily cringed at the evil sneer on the guard's face as she slinked past her and into the room. Jennings slammed the door behind her, leaving the tense young girl to face her new ordeal. She looked quickly around the room before snapping her body to attention as she saw the figures to her right.

"Ah, and you are... pig. Ah yes. Well, come in pig. We have much to do. Miss Beecham, if you would be so kind."

"Yes Doctor. Pig, undress and put your uniform on the chair by the door."

Emily looked the two women who now controlled her fate. For some reason she had expected them to be wearing white lab coats and carrying clipboards. Instead they looked like two normal women, dressed for the office: Doctor Robbins in a smart beige dress and Miss Beecham in a sharp pants suit of an attractively deep maroon.

Colours! Emily almost forgot herself at the vision of such colours. She had forgotten clothing could be so wonderfully vibrant. She had only been incarcerated in this hellhole for a few days and already the outside world, her old world, felt like a fading dream to the young girl.

She caught herself before too much time elapsed. Daydreaming was dangerous in Pentonbridge. She had to get her fucking act together. She was acting like some lost little girl seeing a light blinking through the trees of a dark forest, but this light was no saviour. These women were not here to aid her, they would not help her get out of this purgatory where she found herself trapped.

She stripped, folding her jumpsuit neatly and placing it on the chair beside her. The brief glimpse of normality had unbalanced her. She could not afford to slip again. She had no idea what these women were like, but they were inside Pentonbridge and nothing more than players in perdition.

"Sit here," Miss Beecham said sweetly, indicating a sturdy wooden chair.

Emily eyed the solid structure warily but obeyed the command without hesitation, her trembling legs leading her forward. She shivered as her bare buttocks rested against the smooth wood of the seat, the cool surface like a soothing balm on her abused flesh.

"Hands on the rests. Head back."

Emily obeyed, her pulse quickening as the homely woman closed leather straps around her wrists, securing her to the chair. Miss Beecham walked out of her line of sight and moments later she felt a thick band of stiff leather close around her neck, tightening around the delicate flesh of her throat, forcing the thin circle of metal she always wore to the base of her neck.

Emily fought hard against her rising panic. There was nothing she could do, but telling herself that, over and over, had almost no effect. Her heart beat in her chest as if at any moment it would burst against her ribcage, her delicate body no longer able to contain the frantic, pounding motion. Her palms were slick with sweat as her ankles were pulled back and strapped to the front legs of the chair. The final touch was a thick leather belt that cinched her waist painfully tight, pulling her towards the high wooden back of the chair, securing her in a most strict posture.

The frightened girl’s eyes flickered around the room manically, looking for any form of solace, no matter how tiny. They rested on the smiling face of Doctor Robbins. The smile was not particularly reassuring but neither did it seem to have any malicious intent. It was simply a bemused expression, patient and expectant.

"Pig, you are here for an initial evaluation pending enrolment in the rehabilitation programs offered by this institution. World-class programs, if I may be so bold. Your file is extensive, but really only begins with your induction into Pentonbridge. To make an accurate assessment we need to delve a little deeper, push a little further back. Miss Beecham will be fitting you with some apparatus that will allow us to monitor certain physiological responses."

Emily felt a clip being passed over a finger of her left hand  and small sticky pads being stuck to her temples, inside each elbow and one above and below each breast. Miss Beecham conducted her work professionally, treating Emily as if she was nothing more than a mannequin. Even when she brushed the soft meat of her breast as she placed the pads on her chest, she made no sign the contact had meant anything. It was still strange to be treated in such a casual, almost detached way. She was naked, completely exposed, strapped down and helpless. She wanted to shrink away from the intrusive touch but her restraints did not allow her any real movement.

"No time like the present, Miss Beecham."
"Heartrate elevated Doctor. Subject has yet to achieve an acceptable base reading."

"Very good Miss Beecham. Continue monitoring. Pig, we shall not begin until you have calmed yourself to an acceptable level. I know your current predicament may feel strange, even a little intimidating. You must understand that Pentonbridge is a maximum security prison. When any inmate has contact with civilians they must be restrained. You understand this. Miss Beecham and I are here simply to observe. We have your best interests at heart, believe me. Rehabilitation is the goal, nothing more, nothing less."

Emily listened to the woman's speech, trying to accept it, wanting desperately to accept it. She knew she shouldn't be here but could she convince this Doctor of that reality? The rest of the women she had encountered had been staff, with a vested interest in her subjugation. Was it possible that this Doctor really could help her? If she was as good as they all said, she would be able to see that she was no filthy deviant. All she had to do was tell the truth, work with them.

"Base," the cold, clinical voice came from somewhere behind Emily. She hated having people behind her, but being secured like this made it even more unnerving.

"Pig, at what age did you lose your virginity?"

"What?" she blurted, the sudden shock of the personal question startling her. She blanched as she realised what she had done.

"Pig, there will be no infractions assigned in this room, but a basic level of decorum is expected. Now shall we try again, hmmm? At what age did you lose your virginity?"
"Sixteen, Doctor Robbins Ma'am," Emily replied, her voice quivering timidly.

"Doctor will suffice. How many sexual partners have you had?"
"Uh," Emily began, pausing to count, wanting to be as accurate as she could, knowing honesty was her only hope. "Four, Doctor."

"Now, how many sexual partners have you had including those where sexual practices did not result in coitus?"

"Um," Emily hesitated. That was a bigger list. How the hell was she supposed to know? She hadn't been crazy in college but she had indulged, like any girl. "Maybe, um 25."

Emily saw Doctor Robbins look over her shoulder before she proceeded with a barrage of intimate questions all with a common theme. Had she performed anal sex? Had she been involved in group sex? Had she performed sex in a public venue? Did she consume the semen of her partners after oral sex? Had she been the recipient of cunnilingus?

The dizzying array of enquiries left her mind spinning. She was blushing furiously, her face blazing with impossible heat as she was subjected to the degrading interrogation. Her answers were as monotonous as the questions were varied. She had wanted things to be different but every time Doctor Robbins probed, Emily answered with one tiny word, an incriminating word, of that she had no doubt.

"Have you performed cunnilingus on another female?"

"No," Emily replied, her voice catching as she remembered the plump cunt of 47 as it slid across her face.

"Deceit."

Emily's eyes widened at the sterile voice from her rear. She looked at Doctor Robbins pleadingly. She saw the muscles of the tall woman's face harden and she knew she had erred. But what had happened wasn't sexual, she hadn't really done anything at all. She had just knelt there, frozen as the large negress had debased her, used her for own gratification. And it had only lasted a few seconds.

"How often do you masturbate?"

"I haven't, not since... not since my trial."

"How often do you masturbate?" Doctor Robbins repeated, her tone steady.

"About once a day," Emily replied resignedly, knowing this would continue until she provided the answer required.

"What is the maximum number of individuals with which you have engaged in sexual activity in a concurrent session?"

"Three," Emily said. No wait, did she mean including her? She didn't really understand the question.

"Have you engaged in sexual activity with individuals outside your race?"
"Yes." What the fuck did that have to do with anything?

"Have you engaged in sexual activity outside of your species?"

"No."

"Deceit."

Fuck off, Emily screamed silently, tears forming in her eyes as she looked at the ceiling, not able to face the doctor any longer. She hadn't! That wasn't her fault. She hadn't done anything at all. She had just stood there. That wasn't fair. She tried to speak but all that came out was a strangled gurgle, muted to the point of inaudibility.

"Miss Beecham, if you please," said the Doctor casually, ignoring the anguished girl's distress.

Emily watched the Doctor's aide appear before her. Fucking deceit! She hadn't read the machine right. She... Emily's eyes widened as she felt the seat below her move. A moment later she felt the smooth wood slide across the soft flesh of her bare buttocks. Miss Beecham took the large panel and set it to one side, returning to a small table beside the inmate's chair.

Emily's face paled as her eyes followed the woman's movements. She saw her pick up a clear plastic glove, the empty casing looking like some discarded skin from a strange-limbed reptile grown too large. She could feel the cool air waft across her now exposed vulva and the reality of her situation slammed into her as the glove was slid onto Miss Beecham's left hand, her right soon similarly encased.

Emily longed to look down her body as much as the tight belt around her throat would allow, to see how exposed she truly was. She could feel the remaining edges of the seat on which her legs rested, but the small ledges barely came halfway across her thighs. It would have been uncomfortable at the best of times, but here, right now, she knew it could only mean further degradation. Nothing these women did would be any different to the guards, any hope she had of finding sympathy here had been dashed long ago.

She watched in nervous fascination as Miss Beecham picked up a strange oval of cream-coloured plastic and peeled away a thin coating of white paper from one side. Underneath, the surface of the oval was covered in small ridges, forming concentric patterns that looked almost like a fingerprint. The edge of the pad was bordered with a thin layer of white, to which the paper had been stuck. Emily held her breath, body tense, as the pad and hand dipped below her line of sight. She whimpered softly as the device was seated across her sex, Miss Beecham’s expert eye situating the pad perfectly on the first attempt.

Emily could not help cringing as she felt the deft fingers of the doctor’s aide press the pad to her sensitive skin, sliding around the rim of the oval, firmly fixing it in place. Two small, white wires were added to the device and Miss Beecham stepped away. A moment later the lights dimmed and Emily’s eyes darted around the room.

“You will be shown a series of images. Your natural response will be documented. The glasses Miss Beecham is now situating will not affect your vision. They are simply to record eye movement. If you close your eyes or look away, the program will stop. It is entirely up to you how long it will take. Do bear in mind that your evaluation has an allotted period, any time over that will be policed by the administration,” the doctor finished in an overly ingratiating tone.

So much for not accruing any punishment while in this room, Emily thought sourly. Even though she had not been physically abused in any way since the evaluation began, she knew the effects of the doctor’s questioning would have more deeply lasting consequences than any bruise she may have earned in room 303. Why would she ever look away…

Emily’s thought trailed off as the flickering light began to light up the blank white wall in front of her. A sinking feeling started to form, deep in the pit of her stomach as the image came into focus. It was innocent enough, an exceptionally pretty girl in lingerie brushing her hair. She couldn’t forget for a second why she was here though. This was all to do with proving she was a deviant and nothing to do with the truth, of that she was now sure.

She tried to look at the edges of the image but movement caught her eye. A naked man had entered the frame, his erect penis impossible to ignore. Emily’s eyes were glued to the screen as the girl put down her pretty silver-inlaid brush and opened her mouth to accept the hard cock. She closed her eyes, unwilling to let this continue. She knew what was happening and she knew what the result would be. She could already feel the familiar fluttering in her belly.

The small room was plunged into silence. The sound had been low and subtle, after all nothing had really happened, but Emily realised now that there would be a soundtrack to accompany the images, deepening her degradation. She opened her eyes a fraction and could see the image frozen on the screen, the large cock thrust deeply into the young girl’s mouth, the first string of drool already escaping her full, red lips.

There was nothing she could do. If she attempted to deny the doctor and her aide the results they wanted all she would do was earn yet more punishment. Maybe they had no authority to dispense infractions but the guards most certainly did and if she was late to work she knew without a doubt what the result would be.

Emily reluctantly opened her eyes and allowed the film to play. No scene stayed on the screen for too long, no one story playing to its natural conclusion. The initial scenario was succeeded by a series of vignettes, each more debauched than the last. Two men fucking one girl was quickly replaced by spurt after spurt of thick white cum being deposited onto the face of a young girl, four men and one woman, double penetration, lesbians with large dildos strapped around their waists doing their best to approximate the action of a real cock.

Emily wanted to close her eyes but she could not. The idea of a return to room 303 and the calculated detachment of the technician kept her eyes open and focused on the action before her. She tried her best to fight the infernal design of the test but it had been too long, her frustration too great. She felt her nipples harden during a particularly intense scene of three young women lustily eating each other’s pussy in turn.

She tried to think of boring things, but her fortitude had simply been whittled down too far. She could feel the throb between her legs build. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the arms of the chair, teeth grinding, body tensed against her bondage. When she could take no more, when she was about to scream at the perverted women tormenting her, the images stopped.

Her whole body relaxed and she closed her eyes gratefully. Had she passed? Was it over now? Finally she could be released from this fucking chair and be given her uniform back. She tried to find her dull grey overalls in the gloom of the darkened room but the straps prevented her from seeing little else but what was directly in front of her. She wanted desperately to be clothed once more, seeing her ugly uniform as her only real defence. Her naked body was her greatest weakness, it had let her down and it could no longer be trusted. At least her time here was done. 

Emily twitched in her restraints, shivering as the first gentle pulse of vibration rippled through her pussy. Her entire body pulled against her restraining straps as the pad that covered her sex continued to vibrate. She gripped the arms of the chair and moaned softly as the first pulsating wave of pleasure resonated throughout her body. No this was not right, they weren’t allowed to do this. Emily watched as the images returned, the room filled once more with the flickering glow.

A hard cock disappeared into a pretty girl’s mouth. She screamed inwardly, a string of invective aimed at the two women in the room with her, but she could not look away. Emily begged her body not to respond, forcing herself to think of the most unappetising scenarios, the most boring topics she could, but to no avail. The insistent tremors between her legs could not be denied. She grunted with the effort to remain still, to fight her body’s reaction. She moaned low, the ‘no’ so drawn out and mournful that it barely sounded like a word at all.

She had wanted this for so long, a release from the near-constant torment of sexual frustration, but not like this. She didn’t want it to be like this. The scene changed, images morphing into increasingly obscene tableaus of decadent behaviour. She couldn’t fight it any longer, it was a futile effort. Her body ached with the need she was denying herself. She couldn’t come now, she couldn’t allow her body to be used against her. She couldn’t let… She couldn’t fight it any longer. All the pent-up sexual energy of the past six months was released in a primal explosion, her small frame arched and bucked within the strict restraints as her first orgasm burst upon her. It felt like the first orgasm she had ever experienced, an overwhelming sensation that she was unable to control. Her body thrashed in the chair as the pad, pressed snugly against her pussy, continued to impart its pleasurable resonance. She lost sight of the lewd movies playing on the wall, her vision narrowing until all she could see was a tiny, blurred pinpoint of light. It was a slow, gradual emergence from the haze of ecstasy that left the bound girl panting and exhausted.  

Tears ran unbidden down Emily’s cheeks as the drowsy realisation of what had just occurred finally penetrated the swirl of confusion caused by her unwanted climax. It wasn’t just unwanted, it had been ripped from her, stolen. She noticed that the background buzz was no longer audible and realised the infernal pad stuck to her plump vulva had paused in its delivery of pleasure. Her chest heaved and she realised, much to her chagrin, that she was still moaning softly as the aftermath of her orgasm swept through her body. Her skin tingled with static electricity and she closed her eyes, willing the fog to clear.

Just as she was about to turn to the woman seated next to her, the images projected onto the wall flickered once more into life. Emily groaned, her whole body tensing, as the pad covering her sex began to buzz once more. She grasped the arms of the chair in a knuckle-whitening grip as she felt the ecstasy, that had ebbed only a moment before, rise to torment her once more. The first image she saw was one of a pretty girl kneeling naked on the floor of a bathroom. As the vibrations on her pussy brought her close to climax she watched, mesmerised, yet disgusted, as multiple streams of yellow liquid splashed upon her face. The girl opened her mouth and it was soon filled with the light-yellow urine. She swallowed and smiled, showing her empty mouth, as the flow continued to fall upon her upturned face.

Emily’s breath came in ragged rasps as she tried to fight the soaring pleasure that pulsed throughout her body. She was not going to come while watching this kind of filth. She was determined to deny her captors the satisfaction. What kind of insane science was this anyway? As she mused on the nature of her torment, the scene changed. A woman was led on a leash, crawling on all fours into the middle of an empty room. Before anything else had happened a second orgasm crashed like a tidal wave on Emily’s already battered senses. She bucked violently in her bonds, her body convulsing as if she had been hit with a series of electric shocks. The chair rattled under her burst of lust-fueled energy but it did not move. She was firmly fixed in place, the inability to move only adding to the intensity of the climax that left her breathless and exhausted. She wanted to reach down and rip the pad from her pussy. She wanted to scream at these women that this was wrong, perverted. They weren’t scientists, they were simple sadists like every other bitch that worked in this fucking hellhole. All that the young girl could manage was a weak groan and a feeble glance at Miss Beecham.

The moment she had calmed, the film continued, as did the infernal vibration fed directly to her sex. Emily watched, unable to draw her eyes from the scene unfolding, and gasped in horror as a large German Shepherd came bounding into the frame. The pretty girl reacted happily, wiggling her bottom in imitation of the dog’s own wagging tail. The camera swung around to the side, in one smooth tracking shot, as the dog mounted the naked girl, shaggy hips thrusting frantically at her upturned pussy. Emily closed her eyes as her body collapsed in upon itself, the third orgasm ripping through her, tearing away her identity in a surge of pleasure the likes of which she had never known. Her mind ceased to work, lost on an ocean of ecstasy. She shuddered mindlessly, the meagre movements her restraints would allow ensuring all her energy was focused on the rapturous pulse that radiated from the scalding depths between her legs.

“I don’t think we will obtain any meaningful results from this point forward. See to the equipment.”

Emily heard the voice as a muted mumble, the meaning failing to truly penetrate the haze in which she now floated. Her head lolled to the side as deft hands removed the sticky pads from her body. She watched through the narrow sliver of vision, her eyelids almost too heavy to lift, as the last to be removed was that covering her sex. Her heart tightened in her chest when she saw the state of the thin pad that had tormented her into the most powerful orgasms she had ever experienced.

The slim oval was smaller than she had remembered, its rippled surface coated in the sticky white cream of her arousal. Miss Beecham’s gloved hands were careful not to touch the surface of the pad itself and this obvious distaste snapped the young girl back to reality. She didn’t need to see this woman’s disgust, she was disgusted with herself. The copious amount of cream she had produced during her ordeal was finally released. She cringed as she felt the long strings of sticky white liquid drip from her pussy and fall to the floor beneath her. A small puddle was soon created and she knew that like everything else that seemed to happen to her, it would no doubt be used to torment and torture her further.

“Doctor I think you should see this.”

Emily looked up fearfully at the tone of the assistant’s voice. She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as she saw her looking down between her legs. What could it be now? Yes she was wet, so what! She wanted to challenge these women to be subjected to the same degrading process and see if they were any different. She could still feel her pussy throbbing in the aftermath of the momentous orgasms that had rocked her body. She hadn’t felt anything like them, ever. She had been completely disarmed by their power. She hadn’t known she was capable of feeling such things. She had always enjoyed sex but this had been something else, which made it all the more disturbing that it had happened here and in this way. The revelation made her feel nauseous and now there was something else to deal with. There was always something else.

“Ah, I see. This is interesting but physiognomic factors rarely have too much bearing on such cases. Document it though. It is not often that an external clitoral protrusion reaches such proportions.”

“Yes Doctor.”

Emily cringed as she heard the doctor’s assessment. Yes, her clit was a little larger than normal. Josh had loved it. Though he had teased her rather mercilessly about it, she hadn’t minded because she knew how much he enjoyed it, how much time he spent pleasuring her via that little pink button. All her adolescent fears came rushing back with full force from whatever dark recesses she had banished them to. She had been sixteen before she had realised she was different. No one knew of course, it wasn’t like she walked around flashing her clit at everyone, but she knew. She had desperately wanted to be like everyone else. She had even stopped masturbating for a while, unable to play with the oversized bud without thinking of her difference. She had slowly come to terms with her body, become comfortable in her sexuality, and her carefully built fa?ade had been dashed by one offhand remark. Tears ran down her cheeks as she saw the bright flash of a camera through her lidded eyes.

“Very good. Now pig, there is one last component to the evaluation. A standard intelligence quotient test is to be completed and then you may return to your duties. We don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary.”

As the Doctor spoke, slowly and clearly as if to a slow child, Miss Beecham was unstrapping her left hand and attaching a small wooden platform to the left armrest. An old laptop computer was placed on the platform in front of her, already powered up and open to the beginning of the test she was to take.

What the fuck was this? Which one of these shapes is the next in the sequence? How was she supposed to focus on this after what had just happened. She had done these before, one at college and the other as part of her job interview. She had done well but this wasn’t fair. After everything else that had happened this was just too much. Tears flowed freely as she stared forlornly at the screen, knowing her fate was sealed.

“You only have ten minutes to complete the test pig. This time has already begun.”

Emily tried to blink away her tears, knowing that she couldn’t just submit to this. She had to fight. This was her only real chance to affect the outcome of this farce of an evaluation. She had to collect her thoughts. The soft tremors that continued inside her vagina were a distraction she would have to overcome.

With sudden determination, Emily focused her full attention on the screen and began to answer to the best of her ability. The first question did not seem that hard but once it was done she noticed the small icon in the bottom right of the screen that had changed to 1/60. There was no way she could answer all the questions. Despair washed over her and it was all she could do to continue. If only she had her uniform back. If only she wasn’t still strapped into this fucking chair, her pussy hanging in space, the sticky discharge of her arousal drying slowly in the cool air. If only…

“Very well, pig. Miss Beecham if you will.”

No, Emily groaned as the computer was taken out of her reach. She wasn’t even halfway through. How could these women be so cruel? She was suddenly angry, furious at the injustice of what she had hoped would be a serious, clinical evaluation. It had been her last hope of avoiding the ridicule and torment that her first moments at Pentonbridge had doomed her to, and it had only turned into yet another… 

“Spring a leak did you pig?”

Emily’s head snapped to the side, all tiredness suddenly gone. Jennings! When did that bitch turn up? The exhausted girl didn’t have the energy to fight the cruel guard’s sadism, but she sat straighter in her chair, alert now as she had not been when alone with the doctor and her assistant. Every sense was strained, the young girl trying desperately to keep herself out of trouble. She sat perfectly still as Miss Beecham released her from the tight restraints. Every instinct was yelling at her to rest. She wanted nothing more than to slide from the chair and curl up in a corner and sleep but the presence of her nemesis kept her tension high and she could not relax for a moment.

“Done with this fucktard Doc?”

“Yes thank you guard.”

“Hurry up and get dressed pig. I think everyone’s seen enough of your disgusting blob to last a lifetime. Move it,” Jennings bellowed stepping towards the seated girl, black baton raised menacingly.

Emily jumped from the chair and scurried to collect her clothing. The sticky mess between her legs making her cringe as she pulled the overalls up her legs and seated the roughly woven seam against her crotch. She hurriedly slipped into her socks and boots and then stood at attention in front of the waiting guard, eager to leave the room that held such terrible memories for her. The coarse material of her jumpsuit sent a shudder through her tired body as it rubbed against her tacky vulva, still puffy and sensitive from the recent orgasms she had been forced to experience.

“This one Doc, loves to flash those big tits and that fat cunt at everyone, doesn’t miss a chance. Not trying to influence your work or anything, just thought it would be good to know.”

“Yes well, thank you guard. The evaluation has been completed, rest assured all necessary data was collected. Hearsay and conjecture have no place in science but I appreciate your candour.”

“Just trying to help Doc. Pig, you lumpy-headed cock-hound, dressed yet?”

“Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am,” Emily croaked.

“You’re not going to leave that mess there are you pig? Fucking typical degenerate, slopping cuntjuice all over the place and expecting someone else to deal with it. Well?”

Emily jumped into action at the guard’s harsh bellow, falling to her hands and knees and crawling beneath the chair. “Pig! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Jesus H Christ Doc, do you see this fucking bitch. I hope you’ve got some tricks to stop this cunt from acting like a fucking sex lunatic. Pig, get up and collect some tissues and you’d better keep your mouth closed damn tight.”

Emily couldn’t stop the flow of tears that ran down her cheeks. She wasn’t going to clean it with her mouth. She was going to use her sleeve, that’s all. Jennings hadn’t given her any indication she was allowed to use the tissues. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her, but, she knew it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. If she had moved to take some tissues of her own volition she would just have been yelled at for using Pentonbridge property without permission. She couldn’t win.

The tired girl resignedly pulled a handful of tissues from the box on the tray and crawled under the chair to clean the evidence of her arousal from the floor. The tiny puddle of pearlescent liquid had already started to congeal and it took her a number of wipes to completely remove the moist stain. Emily kept her mouth closed, her lips pursed tightly, not willing to give the sadistic guard any further fuel for the fires of her cruelty. If it could have just been anyone other than Jennings, she would have been happier. Not by much but still…

“Don’t you even think about it pig. In the bin. Now get moving, you’ve wasted enough of the day already,” snapped Jennings as she stepped out of the doorway, hefting her baton suggestively. “See ya Doc.”

Emily hurried from the room, shrinking past the imposing figure of the guard. She cringed, expecting at any moment to feel the sting of the baton but she was in the corridor and moving, the guard’s heavy footsteps resounding a few feet behind her and still she had not been touched. The viscous slime smeared along her sensitive lips felt terrible as she marched down the hall. She could feel the frayed edges of the thick seam rubbing against her sex, absorbing the creamy ooze with each step.

She hadn’t wanted this, any of it. She had been desperate to come, especially these last few days, the torment of her growing need adding but one more frustration to the torture that was her life at Pentonbridge. But this? She felt as if she truly was the filthy sex fiend that they had labelled her. She had come while watching things she would do best to forget and yet she could not. They were burned into her brain, the images of sexual debauchery rolling round and round her mind. This wasn’t who she was. She wasn’t like that. She wasn’t.