CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Prisoner 452AJ46B woke up five minutes before the morning buzzer and lay
on her bunk, unmoving. Her eyes opened, but all she could see was the blank
ceiling two meters above.
Her bunk consisted solely of a thin spongy wafer for a mattress with a
raised headrest built right in. She had no sheets, or blankets, as they were
unnecessary--the temperature throughout the prison was strictly controlled.
Two months before she'd had a name, and a job, and an apartment. Life
had been good, except for the occasional urges she suffered. When she was
caught shoplifting--for the second time--probation wasn't an option. The judge
had given her the mandatory two year sentence.
She'd had no idea what to expect when she got to Garshak; the trip alone
had been exciting, as it was the first time away from home for her. Originally
from a small, isolated settlement down south, she'd moved to Garshak and
obtained a job, her first, as a secretary. At first the city's mere size and
complexity had shocked her, but she'd grown used to that. What she couldn't get
used to was the shocking behavior of its denizens.
Raised in a very strict religious household, the lifestyles she saw her
coworkers and neighbors leading were beyond disgusting. Everywhere she went she
was bombarded with heinous imagery or behavior; she couldn't escape it. Every
day a new outrage was revealed to her, one after another, until her brain was
numb. She would have left in a second but for her father; returning home as a
failure was not an option.
At the office she became that strange quiet girl that rarely spoke and
no one ever saw outside of work. If only she wouldn't have had those urges she
could've survived the city; survived just long enough to find a good man and
marry him, let him take her out of this cesspool. Instead she was twenty-six
years old and sitting in prison, stuck for two years with women who made her
coworkers seem saintly by comparison.
She'd tried to find out what the prison would be like before she
arrived, with zero success. At city lockdown she'd had the cell to herself
during her trial, and while she could hear other prisoners she never got the
chance to speak to any of them before the noise shields were activated.
She'd arrived at the prison in a big lockdown floater bus with about
twenty other women. She seemed to the youngest person on board, and the only
one who didn't seem to know what was going on. If the other women were scared,
they knew better than to show it. Most just scowled at the world. She didn't
dare ask any questions.
At the prison they were marched into the processing center, where they
were stripped, scanned, and cavity searched by hugely muscled female guards.
One by one the new inmates were taken into a small room where they were rendered
completely, permanently hairless, the procedure only reversible by a medico.
Since just about every Monny female over the age of twenty-five had her body
depilated anyway, the technicians usually only had to concentrate on the new
convict's heads. Any entering female convict who hadn't already undergone the
procedure was sterilized as well. In addition to preventing in-house
impregnation, the treatment (the same undergone outside prison -- voluntarily --
by just about every female when she hit puberty) ended monthly menstruation,
which reduced the hygiene concerns of the prison administration. A guard then
spranded a Prisoner ID Number across the forehead of each inmate in
three-cem-high numerals. Lastly they injected a nanochip for ID and tracking
purposes.
At first the sight of herself in a mirror was shocking and
disheartening. For days she wept off and on, uncontrollably. Her smooth skull
felt alien under her fingertips. The other women looked just as strange as
first, but she soon grew accustomed to the sight.
Not only was everyone bald, but for many reasons, including security, no
clothing of any sort was allowed to be worn. Not a single inmate in the prison
had as much as a sock with which to cover their body. The warden kept his
prison warm so no inmate needed clothes to stay comfortable, but the lack of
clothes was something that took the new inmate a long time to get used to.
The prisoners mingled during mealtimes and the two mandatory exercise
periods each day. The sight of all those baldheaded bodies doing calisthenics,
shouting out cadence, was enough to startle even the most jaded viewer.
As startling as the nudity was the Prisoner ID Number across each
inmate's forehead. Truth be known, after three days inside the new inmate was
used to the nudity; it took her a lot longer than that to get used to the big
black numbers across every forehead. She knew she had one of her own, but since
she couldn't see it except in the lavatory mirror it didn't bother her as much
as she thought it would. It did, however, maker her feel like an object instead
of a person, which she supposed was the point.
Between the low fat diet and the mandatory exercise periods for all
inmates not in solitary punishment cells there wasn't an overweight prisoner in
the population. A less than complete effort during exercise period would, if
noticed, be punished. After a few weeks inside everyone began to look alike.
But for a few brutes they were all slender and, depending on how long they'd
been inside, rippling with muscle.
At sentencing she'd been given a choice: two years in federal prison,
no early release, or volunteer to undergo an "Antisocial Personality
Adjustment". While her trial was going on she'd heard rumors about those
"personality adjustments", none of them good. Some of the women had said you'd
forget who you were, or become a totally different person, even though when the
Judge explained the procedure, and it's result, to her, it had sounded much less
extreme. It would only eliminate her desire to steal, the judge said, and get
rid of any other antisocial urges she might have. Still, the rumors had had a
strong impact, and she was leery of anyone poking around inside her head.
Perhaps if her family hadn't heard about her arrest, she might have chosen that
route, as her record would've been wiped completely clean, but someone in the
city had vidcalled her father, and he'd sat through her short trial without
saying a word to her. She chose prison, if only to get away from his accusing
stare.
After two months inside, however, she was beginning to regret her
decision. Living in a cage was bad enough; the same routine, day after day
after day, one inmate indistinguishable from the next. She had to check ID
numbers just to make sure she was talking to who she thought she was. All the
inmates were pale, lean, and bald. She'd lost ten kilos herself, and hadn't
been fat. For the first time in her life she could count her stomach muscles.
She could have handled prison life if that was all it was; it would have
been difficult, but survivable. Living in a cage is one thing; living with
animals was another. On Monsipur, convicted murderers were put to death. Third
time violent felons were put to death as well. Everyone else was thrown
together inside without regard to conviction.
"Hey, Strawberry."
Heart sinking, she propped herself up on one elbow and looked across the
small cell at the far bottom bunk. She had three cellmates, all veteran cons,
all with more time in than her. She'd quickly learned what that meant.
Inside the prison walls no inmate was allowed to use their name, but
everyone had, or earned, a nickname. The woman who'd spoken to her was called
Dee, and she was cell stud. Stud of the whole block, actually, five years into
her stretch, with thirteen more to go. It was her second time inside, and she
controlled the lives, completely, of the forty-eight women living in D Block.
"Dreaming about home again? I heard you up there whimpering."
While still slender, Dee was one of the most muscular cons in the
prison. Crude jailhouse tattoos, depicting her favorite sex acts -- none of
them loving or gentle -- adorned her arms, shoulders, and the tops of her slack
breasts. Tattoos, officially, were not permitted, and easily removable, but the
warden never raised the issue. There were many issues he never raised. The
tattoos made Dee easy to spot.
Dee had christened the new girl with the nickname Strawberry, in honor
of the birthmark behind her knee. The fact she still had it told the rest of
the cons she came from a dirt poor family, too poor to even get a birthmark
removed. It was a much better nickname than most.
"No."
In the bunk above Dee, Freebie was waking up. She was only a few years
older than Strawberry, caught selling sex without a license, third offense, five
years in prison. She only had a few months to go, and didn't seem all that
eager to leave.
Freebie rubbed her face and then ran her hands down her body. During
the strenuous workouts those large breasts of hers bounced around like crazy but
she never even seemed to notice. After four plus years of daily high impact
workouts she probably didn't. Even bald with a tattoo across her forehead she
was pretty.
"Sure, sure," Dee cackled. She was laying on her side, propped up on
one elbow. "Whyn't you come down here and suck on my knuckle some, you'll
forget your troubles."
After two months in prison, in the same cell as the Block Bull,
Strawberry knew all to well Dee's idle offer was anything but, and there'd be
hell to pay if she hesitated even half a second. With a grunt she sat up on her
bunk and let her legs dangle. Below her Mini was already awake and watching
events unfold eagerly.
Mini was Dee's main Tongue, although there were many others on the
block. That meant she was Dee's property, but Dee let just about anyone use
her. Mini had a libido no one could tame, although most every stud dahlia in
the prison had tried at one time or another. Born female, during her early
twenties Mini had taken Genuflex so many times, switched from female to male and
back again so many times, her genetic code had become fuzzy. A Mergender.
Strawberry had learned the term while in prison, just another piece of her
ongoing education. Although less androgynous than most of her counterparts --
she definitely leaned toward the female -- the genderhopping bumped up Mini's
sex drive to an impressive level. It was an advertised side effect of Genuflex,
not that any of the users cared.
Mini had small breasts, a clitoris not quite ten centimeters long when
erect, and labia so fat and puffy they looked like a scrotum unless her legs
were spread wide. She would do anything, anytime, eagerly. Strawberry was
repulsed by her genitalia, but her mistake was in letting Dee find out. Dee
took great delight in forcing her, almost daily, to orally service Mini, who
didn't mind the attention one bit.
Sexual relations between inmates were, surprisingly, allowed, or at
least not prohibited. There seemed to be an unwritten rule that all sex had to
take place in a cell, the showers, or out of sight, but otherwise the guards
paid it no mind. In fact, Strawberry noticed that the guards seemed to consider
any sex taking place inside a cell to be consensual. They sure hadn't responded
to her cries for help her first night in. The second night they came, but only
to watch. She quickly learned the score. The cons didn't mind the guards
watching; in fact, some of them liked it, liked to show off.
Strawberry jumped down and her bunk retracted into the wall. It would
be cleaned automatically, and even if she wanted to get back up on it she'd have
to wait five minutes for the cycle to finish. But for the four bunks, the plain
cell's only feature was the QuiClean toilet on the back wall.
Dee grinned wickedly and spread her legs as the new girl approached. In
prison, everyone is a lesbian -- that was the first lesson Strawberry learned.
New fish ate furt, and whatever else was put in front of them. Those were the
rules. Strawberry had resisted longer that most, taking two severe beatings,
but finally she'd knuckled under.
"Don't make me wait now," Dee scolded her, as Strawberry was slow to
kneel next to her bunk. There was an edge to her voice.
Strawberry bent over and eagerly began licking and sucking. She was
still learning how to please a woman, but Dee seemed satisfied with her
progress. Inwardly Strawberry wanted to throw up. Dee's sex was clean, they
all took showers twice daily, but having to do that, to another woman, was
almost too much to bear. She'd resisted Dee and the rest of them for as long as
she was able, but there'd been more than just beatings. The things they'd done
to her . . . . and the guards had just laughed.
Freebie slid down off her bunk and squatted on the toilet. Prisons used
the QuiClean system for its convenience but it had yet to catch on in civilian
society. The toilet was little more than a narrow curving trough that had
cushioned edges. When sat upon, the trough curled up and its malleable edges
formed an airtight seal against the user's flesh, very similar to the technology
used in P-pods. When the user had completed his or her bodily functions they
pressed a button on the front of the toilet, which in mere seconds quickly and
efficiently water-scrubbed and air-dried their flesh. It eliminated the need
for toilet paper, but most people in Monny society who tried them found the
toilets a little rough and abrupt. Unless you were in prison or the army, you
probably haven't seen one.
"You finally starting to like that furt?" Dee laughed and Strawberry
stiffened and looked up at her. "Come on, suck it bitch, don't stop. No, you
open your eyes and look at me when you eat my furt. That's the new rule. You
like it?"
Strawberry, tongue waggling over Dee's clitoris, nodded fractionally.
"I can't hear you, tell me you like it." A big smile crept across the
stud's face. She glanced at the tattoo covering most of her left breast, a
detailed primer on fisting.
Strawberry lifted her head. "I -- I like it." Dee was always finding
new ways to humiliate her, but she didn't have the stomach anymore to resist.
She just couldn't handle any more pain.
"Tell me what you like." Dee was still smiling.
"I -- I like licking your furt."
"You like eating my cunt? You like sticking your tongue deep inside my
sloppy hole, sucking it clean?" Dee's wicked grin grew wider.
"Yes, I like eating your sloppy furt. The sloppier the better."
"Well, don't stop then." Dee laughed loudly, and shoved the girl's head
back down between her thighs. With most of her adult life spent in prison, it
took a lot more than the gentle licking Strawberry was administering to get Dee
off, but the point of the exercise was to teach the new fish. Licking furt was
what she hated most, which meant she'd be doing a lot of it until she was
completely broken. And she wasn't there, not yet. She still thought she had a
will of her own. Dee could've traded her out, to one of the other Block Studs,
but she wanted to break this fish herself, get her to the point where eating
furt made her happy.
"Teaching the young fish old tricks?"
Dee looked over her shoulder. Mancino was standing at the front of the
cell, studying the action with a smile on her face. The guard was big, her
upper body a wide V of muscle. The front of the cell was open to the catwalk,
which retracted at night, but all the inmates wore mag collars -- they didn't
have as much freedom as it first appeared.
"Trying."
Mancino stepped into the cell. She feared no violence; she and Dee had
a business arrangement. After a quick glance over her shoulder she pulled an
object out of her pocket and handed it to Dee. "Try not to break this one."
Dee smiled widely and hefted it, then frowned.
"I wanted one with balls," she complained. The penis in her hand looked
totally authentic, if a bit large. The lack of a scrotum and the metal jack at
its base made it easy to identify as a plug-in.
"I can take it back if you want." The guard held out her hand. Dee
gave her an ugly look.
"So I can wait forever for a new one again? No thanks."
With a smirk Mancino turned on her heel and disappeared. Mini sat up on
her bunk, eyeing the phallus hungrily. Dee turned it around and around in her
hands, a small smile just touching her lips. Strawberry stared at the plug-in,
never having seen one this close before. So that was what they looked like.
"Why'd it take her so long?" Mini whined. She hadn't been corked
properly in weeks, since Dee had lent her out to one of the other studs, and was
itching for Dee to sink her new acquisition deep into her.
Dee trailed the tip of the faux organ across Strawberry's forehead and
down her nose to where it was pressed against the bull's folds. The new fish
couldn't help but stare at it.
"I've got something for you," Dee said tauntingly. Strawberry stopped
sucking and pulled back, suddenly realizing the situation.
"No," she said. "I'm not-- I don't have a . . . You're not . . . ?"
Tears began to roll down her cheeks. "Please, I'm still a virgin. Don't. I
want to save myself for when I'm married." Dee and some of the other cons had
roughly fingered her a few times early on, but she'd spent most of her time in
oral worship of them.
Dee's eyes went wide, and her mouth formed a surprised O.
"Ooooh, that was the wrong thing to say," Freebie observed. The toilet
uncurled from her groin and she stood up, revealing flesh that was just slightly
redder than before she'd sat down.
"A virgin, you say?" Dee could hardly believe it. Not just that the
new fish was uncorked, but that she was dumb enough to admit it, now, here. Her
cunt flooded with her excitement. "Oh girlie, am I gonna train you right." She
nodded at Freebie and Mini, who'd come up behind the new fish, and the two cons
each grabbed one of Strawberry's arms and yanked her back.
"No, wait--!" Strawberry fought, but was no match for the two seasoned
cons and found herself being forced to the floor in the middle of the cell.
Ignoring the commotion, Dee reached down and removed her socket plug, inspected
her socket for any lint or dirt, then pressed the plug-in home.
"Oh yeah," Dee purred, running her fingers up and down the shaft.
Complete feeling, no dead spots, which meant a good connection. It had been too
long since she'd had a working unit. Not as big as she would have liked, but
then what was?
"Oh God, no, please, you can't! Please! Dee, I'll do anything you
want, please don't use that on me. Stop. Stop! Guards! Guards!"
Dee remained sitting on her bunk, admiring the tool sprouting from her
mound. She spit several times into her palm and then smeared it over the head
and down the plug-in's veiny shaft. Mini and Freebie had the newbie down on her
back, legs cranked back and wide apart. Dee liked her fish on their backs so
they could see everything that was happening to them. Strawberry's arms and
legs were gripped tightly -- she could struggle all she wanted, wiggle and
squirm, but she couldn't get up.
"Give her a hit of Jack," Dee ordered Freebie. Mini contained the
struggling fish while Freebie retrieved a KwikTab of X-Cite-R from her bunk,
then the two women forced it into Strawberry's mouth and held her jaws closed
until the concentrated pill dissolved. "Are you really a virgin?" Dee said from
the bunk, a fist working up and down her new shaft. It seemed too good to be
true. "Do you know how much money I could make selling you in here? No wonder
you're so vanilla." She stood up, and let go of the plug-in. The phallus
bobbed heavily in front of Strawberry's horrified eyes.
She yelled for them to stop, screamed, begged, blubbered and sobbed, but
her protests only seemed to encourage Dee. As she suffered the rape, the
thought came to Strawberry that nothing could be worse than this. But then, she
thought, how did she know that? Dee was sure to know malignant tricks she could
never even imagine. Why oh why hadn't she opted for the Personality Adjustment?
It had seemed the right decision at the time, but if she had to suffer through
this again it would kill her. Prisoners could request a PA at any time during
their incarceration -- did she dare?
As Dee began thrusting into her even more violently, Strawberry's knees
pulled back to her shoulders by her excited cellmates, the devilish tool hurting
her in ways she didn't know she could be hurt, she found herself beginning to
respond. Her response horrified her even though it wasn't her but the Jack
they'd forced down her throat. Five minutes later she had her legs wrapped
around Dee and was urging her to go faster even while tears streamed down her
cheeks. Her cellmates looked down at her and laughed at her vicious
deflowering. Deep inside her head, beyond the physical, the new fish vowed not
to spend another night behind these walls. She was not a number. She had a
name. Frilla Chapakraswahr. She would get out of there, and begin a fresh new
life.
As the FeelReal program ended and the world around him came back into
focus Garvin Espering stretched and sighed. There just wasn't anything better
than a good prison chip. He shut off the terminal and withdrew the chip
cartridge. He turned it over in his fingers, thinking fond thoughts. He'd
always loved lesbian chips, but there was just something about prison chips that
got his motor humming. He didn't know if it was the bald heads and tattoos, or
the cells and coercion -- in prison, no one was ever nice, and the sex, even
when consensual, was never gentle.
Perhaps three dozen studs throughout the Monsipur penal system recorded
chips which they traded with the guards. The black market bartering would have
been easy to stop, if he'd been so inclined -- all he'd need to do is stop
permitting inmates feelie recording units. But what fun would that be?
The stud who called herself Dee put out a good chip, but not very often.
His favorite prison chips came from the massive con nicknamed Animal that for
all intents and purposes ran the SouthTown Federal Women's Prison. She wore a
plug-in all the time - big ones -- and had prison tattoos all over her body.
The other cons obeyed her like she was royalty, but then it was well known what
would happen if they didn't. She had ten enforcers who kept everyone in line, a
dozen full-time tongues (including one guard), and could get just about anything
she wanted smuggled into the prison. To date all she'd been interested in was
food, euphorics, LoL, and plug-ins, plug-ins, plug-ins, but if she ever moved on
to more serious items, like weapons, Espering knew he'd have to step in.
There were over a thousand cons in SouthTown, with new ones arriving
every day. Animal looked them over first and selected the choicest meat, as she
liked to say, preferring fish who weren't just young and pretty and naive but
also . . . impressionable. And Animal was quite a teacher -- Prison Protocol
and Etiquette, she liked to call it. Espering was especially impressed with the
way Animal used X-Cite-R and LoL to condition the new fish to her brutal ways.
From day one she kept their systems loaded with LoL 146 and X-Cite-R. No matter
how rough she was with them (and he'd never seen anyone rougher with a plug-in),
the drugs made even the most timid fish beg for more. Psychologically speaking,
her conditioning program was nearly perfect. The LoL, the new so-called
"miracle drug" designed for women in labor, tricked the user's brain into
interpreting pain signals as pleasure. It was so effective Animal hardly needed
to use Jack on the new cons; one harsh slap across the face was all it took to
get them bubbly.
LoL 146, nicknamed by some in the media Labor Of Love, was intended for
women in labor, which meant using it once a year at most. No one had done any
studies of what long-term exposure to it would do to a person. No one, that is,
but Espering's private medical foundation. Their findings were mirrored by what
he saw on Animal's tapes: namely, that after a few short weeks of constant use
the LoL effectively retrained the brain, so even when the drug bled out of the
body the brain still followed its commands. LoL was very specific, though, in
this post-training - for example, if a fish had never been pinched while under
the influence, pinches caused pain. If, however, she'd been no stranger to
pinches while under the drug's influence, once the LoL in her system was gone
pinches would still give her pleasure. Animal had discovered this long before
his own people and began tailoring her conquests' psyches to her own twisted
designs. By the time Animal passed the new fish to one of the lower studs, if
they weren't being cursed, slapped, spit on, or otherwise physically or
emotionally abused during sex they couldn't enjoy it. They were very popular in
the general population. Animal held onto the fish who were most responsive to
her techniques; they became her full-time tongues. By the time they got out,
all semblance of normal sexual response was erased from these women; after only
a year or two with Animal, they could only receive pleasure by being abused or
by servicing others. Even though LoL didn't affect the reception of true
pleasure signals, pain is the most intense of all sensations. Currently,
Animal's favorite tongue was a young petty thief whose talented mouth had become
her primary sexual organ. This woman experienced actual physical pleasure when
orally servicing another, even if it was just a lick or two, all without
touching herself. Gagging while deep-throating one of Animal's many plug-ins
always made her come, and it'd been two years since there'd been any LoL in her
system. On this tongue's most recent birthday Animal, in one of her rare good
moods, had ordered the woman restrained and spent half an hour viciously
slapping her breasts until they were bright red and swollen and the tongue had
passed out from the pleasure. It was a gift that kept on giving - the bruises
and soreness lasted close to two weeks, and every day the tongue would have to
do her strenuous, high-impact exercises in the yard with the other cons. In an
hour she would climax six or eight times. All Animal had to do those first few
days was gently squeeze one of the tongue's teats and she'd come.
Animal had another ten years to go in her sentence for -- ironically
enough -- rape. It was funny; what she'd done to get into prison was nothing
compared to what she'd been doing since she got in. Espering leaned back and
smiled. Whether the convicted women chose prison or a PA, society won. The
Personality Adjustments, that his father had had to fight so hard to implement
thirty-five years before, were now an accepted part of the corrections system.
Of course, just like his father had planned, the adjustments being made now were
not what they used to be. If those narrowminded people who'd been opposed to
the programs initially knew how they'd been subtly altered over the years they'd
be aghast, but then, what they considered 'anti-social', and what he considered
'anti-social', were two very different things. And he was in charge. Of
everything.
Espering, remembering the tattoo he'd seen through Dee's eyes, used his
notepad to search the government database for Prisoner #452AJ46B. Up popped her
given name and personal history. He noted she'd opted for Personality
Adjustment not quite eight months previously, successfully undergone treatment,
and been declared cured of all antisocial tendencies by the Corrections
Department medico. Presumably then her tattoo had been removed and hair growth
reactivated prior to her release back into society. Bald, however, was coming
back into fashion for women, so he didn't want to make too many assumptions.
Espering tracked her life since release. The young woman had returned
to her previous job, which she left after less than one month when her pulatrita
application was approved and her license issued. Her license listed her
specialty as oral sex(female) and stated she was a submissive. Currently she
was employed by the Buzz Club. His notepad also indicated she was living with
two men in a downtown apartment. By choice, apparently, as she was making more
than enough money at the club to live alone.
