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Chapter 20 Execution
of the Terrorist Housewives
Jillian Victoria Crokett © all rights reserved
by
Jill Crokett ©
author’s note: All names used in this story are
fictitious, even the author’s nom de plume. Any names
used of real persons is purely coincidental. Readers may contact Ms.
Crokett at jcrokett@yahoo.com with
their comments. All comments and suggestions are welcomed and appreciated, but
Ms. Crokett regrets she is personally unable to respond to all e-mail.
Chapter 20
As she ordered the African warriors to begin 16-year-old
Tracey Howell's execution, Warden Anne Bowden had no idea that at that moment a
250-man assault-team had already disembarked from several dozen helicopters at
various points both inside and outside the Federal Women's Correction Facility
at Elk Flat,
"Is this some sort of military training
operation?" Canadian born Guard of the Watch Capt. Allison Peddie asked a
fellow guard as she stared at a half-dozen or so camouflaged
soldiers who were jogging straight toward the Main Gate station house.
Hair stood on the back of Captain Peddie's neck as she realized that each
approaching soldier carried a small flat-black-colored Uzi-type automatic
weapon. “Why are they
so heavily armed?” she muttered to herself.
Peddie was wholly unaware that at that same moment, right behind her
station, another squad of helmeted, camouflaged soldiers was closing on her
post from behind, having been quickly rappelled into a nearby interior prison
courtyard from a hovering helicopter.
"I said I need to talk to Warden Bowden right now,
goddamn it!" Peddie screamed into the guard house telephone as the
soldiers demanded through the guard house’s bullet-proof window that she open
the prison’s Main Gate, quickly adding "I don't care if she's in the
middle of it execution, we have a situation here and I don't know what in hell
is going on!"
Unable to reach Bowden immediately, Peddie quickly punched
another phone line and asked to speak with Bowden’s administrative assistant,
32-year-old redhead Sheila Qualis.
"What's going on here, Sheila?" the 37-year-old Peddie asked
frantically, "Is some sort of
training exercise scheduled for today that I haven’t been informed of?"
"Let me see here, Captain," Qualis replied in an
irritatingly calm voice as she fumbled through some papers on Anne Bowden’s
desk. Anxiously awaiting a reply, the
crisply uniformed female Guard of the Watch stared through her bulletproof
window in disbelief as a soldier began to use adhesive to attach a plastic
explosive charge to the bolted steel door of her guard station. Not getting a quick reply from administrative
assistant Qualis, Guard of the Watch Peddie clicked back to the other phone
line and screamed "I need Warden Bowden on the phone NOW GODDAMN IT!"
Still not aware that a squad of intruders had already
entered the prison yard behind her station, Capt. Peddie, still on the
telephone, ordered the other two guards in the station with her to exit and
surrender the post before the soldiers set off the charge. She had acted just
in time. Still on the telephone waiting to speak with Anne Bowden, Allison
Peddie watched in as the soldiers at gunpoint ordered her two male colleagues
to lay faced down in the sun baked
"Could someone PLEASE tell me what's going on
here?" Capt. Peddie frantically screamed into the receiver as soon as she
heard Anne Bowden’s voice. As she
listened to the warden angrily inquire as to why she had been interrupted in
the middle of a double execution, Peddie stared through the gate station window
and watched her two uniformed guards get thoroughly frisked by war-paint-faced
paramilitary troopers. While she attempted to appraise
her boss of the situation, two soldiers entered the guard station. Staring at
the barrel of an automatic weapon, Allison Peddie froze, dropped the telephone,
and raised her arms in surrender.
-- -- --
--- --
"STOP" Warden Bowden shouted at the African as the
technician handed her a telephone.
Embarrassed at the interruption of an execution in front of hundreds of
high-paying witnesses, the sharply dressed female warden took the call with
displayed frustration. The law required
her to take such calls and stop all proceedings in the event of a possible
reprieve, but it was extremely rare for such a call to come in the final
minutes. Before she could say a word she recognized the screaming voice of one
of her senior female guards. Immediately Anne Bowden knew was that something
was going terribly wrong within the facility, and she needed to find out what
it was.
"Ladies and gentlemen” Bowden announced, “I regret to
inform you that the executions of Mrs. Howell and Miss Howell must be postponed
for one hour. Please take this time to enjoy the refreshments we’ve provided
the witness reception area, and we will notify you
when we are ready to resume. I apologize for this unforeseen delay.” Bowden turned and quickly exited the
spotlight, taking several employees in tow.
-- -- --
--- --
Capt. Allison Peddie had never had a chance to explain to
Warden Bowden what was happening. With
the barrel of a machinegun to her head, Allison Peddie announced over the
intercom that all guards in the facility, including guards in the watchtowers
and all those inside the facility, were to report to the Parade Grounds, the
large courtyard used as an outdoor assembly area. Peddie repeated the message over the
facility’s mobile radio channel.
-- -- --
--- --
Accompanied three employees who included a guard, an
execution technician, and one of Dr. Wexler's nurses, Anne Bowden huffily made
her way to the main guard station to appraise herself
of the situation. Attempts to
communicate with the station by both phone and radio had failed. As her heels
hurriedly clicked down the institutional hallway, the warden wondered aloud
"What in God’s good fuck is going on here?”
-- -- --
--- --
Within the facility there were varying levels of confusion
as to what was actually happening outside with the guards. In the Warden’s office, as well as in the
guards’ personnel office and video monitoring station, there was panic. In most other areas of the prison business
continued to as usual, with the staff in those departments generally unaware
that a serious level of security had been breeched. In the Juvenile Offender Program Department on the third-floor, no one
had any clue that there had been a gross security disruption at the
facility. There it was a typical
Thursday, and a school student from another part of the country, convicted of a
serious misdemeanor by the courts, was about to be spanked in front of his
teacher and several of his classmates who had been selected as witnesses. One of the student’s parents was also in
attendance as required by the juvenile court. The boy had been selected for the
special program at the women's prison because of his repeat offenses.
Still totally unaware of the unrest which was going on in
other parts of the facility, the three matronly, 50-ish women who were in
charge of administering the Juvenile Offender's Program calmly walked the
schoolboy into what looked like a sparsely furnished home family room. In the middle of the room was a large square
upholstered foot stool. One of the women
sat on the stool while the other late middle-aged woman in a housedress stood
beside it. The boy was positioned in front of them and told to face a long floor-to-ceiling
curtain at the other end of the room. As soon as the boy nervously complied,
his arms at his side, the third older woman walked to
the end of the room and slowly drew the tall curtains open, revealing a the
other half of the room. There behind the
curtain stood a small gallery of witnesses facing the boy. They included his mother, his teacher Mrs.
Marlowe, and seven of his classmates - three boys and four girls – selected at
random and ordered to be in attendance.
All of the young students were neatly dressed.
As soon as the curtain was completely drawn open, the matron,
seated behind the schoolboy, quietly ordered him to raise his arms above his
head. Once he complied, she left him
there to stand in silence for a full minute as the witnesses stared at him,
contemplating his fate. Then, in a calm,
maternal voice, the woman instructed the boy to apologize to his teacher. The boy nervously mumbled an apology to each
woman, mentioning the attractive, thirty-something Mrs. Marlowe by name. The
graying woman then instructed him to apologize to his mother. As he spoke words of regret to his 34-year-old
mother, the matron calmly reached around his waist and unhurriedly unbuttoned
his trousers.
As she unzipped his trousers, in a calm but clear voice the
matron announced "Michael, because of your actions, Judge Katherine Blaine
Mitchell has ordered you to be brought here today, undressed completely, and
given a sound paddling over my lap in front of these witnesses.”
Michael remained facing the witnesses with his arms up high
as his pants were slipped down off his hips, revealing white briefs. As if to taunt him, the matron, as she
exposed his underwear to the witnesses, whispered “I’m going to bare you
completely young man” adding “and if you don't cooperate, or do as you’re told,
after the paddle you'll get a taste of my leather strap - right where a young
man doesn't want it." As she spoke the matron pulled Michael’s
pants all the way down to his ankles. As his pants came down several of the
young female classmate-witnesses snickered.
Hearing the matron whisper her harsh words, Michael began to
silently cry, not out of fear, but out of shame as his classmates watched tears
of humiliation streak his cheeks. The
matron slowly pulled his pants, shoes, and socks off each foot as one unit,
stripping the boy down to his white brief underwear as another graying matron
pulled his shirt straight up over his head.
Michael now stood facing his witnesses only in white briefs,
his arms raised overhead. The matron left him to stand there for another full
minute as she walked across the room to fetch her paddle. As she returned,
Michael caught a glimpse of the smooth, slim wooden paddle. His lower lip
quivered to his tears, but he remained silent.
His teacher and the four female classmates breathed heavy,
and some cleared their throats, as the matron reseated herself behind Michael.
Slipping her fingers under the elastic waistband of his underwear, the matron
pulled the boy’s final scrap of modesty down to his ankles and ordered him to
step out of them. When the shorts came
down, the three schoolboy witnesses, being the only other males in the large
room, blushed with him, palpably feeling Michael’s shame.
Now standing completely stripped, Mrs. Marlowe and the four girl
witnesses got a clear glimpse of Michael’s circumcised penis and smooth sack
before the matron turned him and placed him squarely across her lap, tugging
his shoulders to bring his creamy buttocks cheeks to an apex. Totally humiliated, tears ran down Michael’s
cheeks even before the first swat of the wooden paddle landed.
Michael was crying aloud by the time his twin-scooped white
cheeks were about to receive the seventh stinging swat of the paddle from the
buxom, heavyset matron, when the gallery suddenly looked up in surprise and
confusion as four armed and helmeted soldiers, their faces panted with
camouflage, burst into the room, ordering “FREEZE AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP!”
An officer amongst the intruders briskly ordered the five
adult women in the room to line up against a wall. The eight classmates,
still-naked Michael included, were ordered to do the same at the other end of
the room, facing the women.
The combat-attired officer turned and asked the women “Who
is in charge here?”
The attractive teacher and the graying fifty-ish matron both
began to speak at once. Mrs. Marlowe,
clearly shaken by the intrusion and concerned for their safety, began to
explain that she was in charge of the students. Interrupting her, the woman who
had been spanking Michael spoke up in a haughty voice, and said “I am in charge
here and I’ll have you know I was in the middle of administering a boy’s
correction. I demand to know what is going…”
Cutting her off in mid-sentence, the officer slapped the
woman across the face so hard she fell to her knees crying. As she clasped her
face with both hands, the officer grabbed her by her salt-and-pepper hair and
dragged her by her knees into the center of the room, then pulled straight up
on her hair, forcing the woman to stand.
Returning to the line up, the officer grabbed the
attractive, business-suited Mrs. Marlowe similarly by the hair and walked the
teacher forward and stood her next to the weeping matron, ordering both women
to raise their arms.
-- -- --
--- --
Just before she exited the building onto the Parade Grounds,
a squad of soldiers waiting in a side room, sprang upon Warden Bowden and her
party, weapons drawn, as they made their way down the hallway. Wexler’s nurse shrieked at the sight of the
leveled machineguns. Slowly raising her
arms, Anne Bowden softly pleaded “Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot!” Through the
corner of her eye she could see out the exit door at the end of the hallway
onto the Parade Grounds, where she got a glimpse of her guards lined up and
being strip-searched at gunpoint. “Something has gone terribly wrong” she
thought as a soldier patted her down for concealed weapons.
-- -- --
--- --
Unaware of any disruption, Dr. Wexler and two female assistants
were down in the Autopsy / Organ Harvest Room about to begin autopsies on several
cadavers. Four unconscious women hung by
their ankles in front of him, each positioned with her legs open as her hair
and arms dangled lifelessly toward the floor.
Wexler wanted to get this backlog out of the way to make room for Diane
and Tracey Howell, soon to be his star cadavers, and he expected them both shortly.
Each of the four women in front of him had had her pussy shaved
bare before her execution. A technician had
aligned each of the lifeless bodies with a corresponding large steel drain in
the white tile floor below them. All
four showed signs of having had her buttocks, and in two cares her breasts also,
strapped or whipped severely. Two of
the women looked to be in their late twenties, both with dark hair and medium
build with small breasts. A third woman, a redhead, was heavyset with big boobs
which now dangled toward the floor. She looked to be in her mid to late
thirties. Her white butt was repeatedly
marked with the long lines of a bullwhip. Unaware that soldiers were frisking
his boss at that very moment, Wexler decided to gut the redhead first.
“It’s a shame” he thought as he sliced the heavyset redhead
from her chest to her pubis with a single long stoke of the laser knife, “She
had such a nice pussy.” It would be Dr Wexler’s last pleasant thought for a
long time.
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