Tabatha’s Prison

Chapter I

Nathan Baxter, who ran Greenville County Women’s Prison, was proud of his record.  In his thirties, he had risen to captain in the Imperial Guard and had been assigned this small single-block prison to run.  Under his tenure, almost every woman that had been released from Greenville Gaol had described it as the single worst experience of their lives, something that Baxter was proud of and the IG was impressed with.

Greenville County Women’s Prison was a building almost as old as Greenville.  Sometimes still known by its original name, Greenville Gaol, it was small with a theoretical capacity of around twenty or thirty.  Most of its inmate accommodation was subterranean and reminded one of an Earth medieval dungeon.

       Tabatha Constable was on her way to Greenville CWP.  Baxter’s good friend Judge Fair had convicted her of lese majesty charges after she had been overheard at a middle class dinner party in the town criticising the emperor for introducing more patriarchal legislation.  Everyone knew such words were never meant for public hearing or were necessarily very wrong, but these thoughts weren’t aired as Judge Fair went for her.  He had told her she was guilty of a very serious crime, and had ordered her branded a traitor on the spot.  So she had been stripped naked in the courtroom bent over a stool in front of the audience, and had had two ‘T’s branded on her behind by the executioner, all within five minutes of her verdict.  She was sentenced to seven years imprisonment. 

Baxter was excited by the level of control he knew he was going to have over her.  She had been sentenced to seven years imprisonment, but she was to be publicly whipped once a year, her last whipping being on the last day of her sentence.  It was up to Baxter to determine how many strokes she would get at each whipping based upon her behaviour and obedience in prison.  Also, in classic style, Fair had also decreed that if she was ever heard to be disrespecting anyone in a position of authority over her, she would be liable to be sentenced to slavery.

       Baxter watched her enter the rear entrance of the prison from his office window in her smart suit she had worn in court, and he appreciated how hot she was – he couldn’t wait for her to get under his discipline. 

       Less than an hour later, he was waiting in the induction room in the modern above-ground part of the prison.  Tabatha had been having her induction medical, which Baxter knew included her getting stripped naked, having an intimate examination by the doctor and an enema to make sure was not importing anything.  Baxter envied the doctor at times.  At that point, the doors opened and Tabatha was escorted in.  She was naked and wet from her induction, with no hair on her body due to the doctor’s penchant for depilation.  Baxter admired her body – she was a stunner, young, curvaceous with long raven brunette hair.  She looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.  Her wrists were shackled and the chains held by guards either side of her.  She was clearly nervous.

       “Tabatha Constable,” Nathan announced, “you are now prisoner 2859 of Greenville County Women’s Prison. You will obey everything my guards and I tell you. Understand?”

       “Yes,” she said meekly but defiantly.

       “You know that any disrespect you show in here will result in you being enslaved?”

       “Yes.”

       “You will refer to all prison staff as ‘sir’!”

       “Yes sir.”

       “Any misdemeanours will be harshly punished, especially in your public whipping. I have no sympathy for you. Do you understand?”

       “Yes sir,” she said reluctantly.

       Baxter signalled to one of the half dozen guards in the room.  He started taking full-frontal pictures of Tabatha for records, taking pictures at every forty-five degrees.  Baxter walked round to her rear.  Two ‘T’s for ‘Traitor’ were branded beautifully on each butt cheek. She was visibly shaking.  When the photographer finished, he signalled to the guards holding her.  They fastened her hands in front of her then fastened that bind to a chain which raised her hands above her head so her tip toes were only just on the ground.  She was now very frightened.

       “Just to make sure you know what will happen if you misbehave, you are now to receive ten lashes, which is part of the induction,” Baxter told her. “Commence,” he ordered the guard with the whip.

       She screamed out in pain and shock as the first lash landed on her pert backside, right on her raw branding.  The rest of the blows alternated between her back and rear.  She swung on the chain and wailed in pain.  By the tenth blow she was in tears.

       Baxter was pleased.  “Let her down,” he ordered.  Her hands were lowered and she collapsed to her knees physically and emotionally exhausted, still weeping.

       “Your uniform,” Baxter was again talking “is now to be issued. You receive only one uniform for your stay here, so look after it. Put it on.”

       The uniform was thrown to the floor.  Tabatha’s hands were released.  She made no attempt to resist – she now knew it was pointless.  Standing up, she shakily picked up and put on the first garment, a black bikini bottom which was a snug fit.  Next was a black bikini bra, which, like the bottom, was designed to be able to be removed if her legs and arms were bound.  Covering her body was a small plain grey dress.  It was sleeveless, was cut into a deep V so that her top was visible, and was cut high so that most of thighs were still visible.

       “Take her to her cell,” Baxter ordered.

Tabitha was escorted down to the cell block.  She couldn’t believe what she was experiencing – it was like entering another world.  She was taken along into this dungeon pass cells with hard-done-by women taking an interest in the new arrival passing their bars.

       The guards stopped outside a cell and one unlocked the door, and Tabitha was ushered in.  Once inside, she found her ankle being attached to an iron cuff, which she then saw to her horror was on a chain attached to a wall.  It was starting to hit her – she really was a prisoner.  With that, she found her hands being released and being left alone.

       The cell was small, nine feet by six, but what she didn’t know yet was that there would be up to four sharing these cells.  When it is said the Greenville Gaol had a theoretical capacity of thirty, it meant there were thirty beds – actual numbers were regularly double this.  There were two of these beds in Tabitha’s cell – two three-foot wide wooden planks that hinged away from the walls on chains in traditional prison style.  There was a tattered cloth pillow on each bed, and straw was strewn on the floor.  One side of the cell was entirely bars – there would be zero privacy for Tabitha for seven years.

       Tabatha sat on a bed and let a few tears escape.  She thought of her husband, who she wouldn’t see in seven years – she would be thirty-one when she next saw him.  She was just beginning to comprehend how her life had been ruined within twenty-four hours.

       At that moment, the door in the bars was opened.  Tabatha quickly dried her eyes.  Guards let in another prisoner, who waited patiently while her ankle was shackled like Tabatha’s, as if was a daily routine.  The new arrival was shorter than Tabatha, with scrawny straw blonde hair which once would have been luscious.  She was thin, with defined muscles in her limbs and a taut stomach.  She was wearing the prison uniform, minus the dress, and the underwear was showing signs of use.  Her face told a story of abuse, sorrow and fear.  As the guards left, Tabatha’s cellmate simply sat on the straw on the floor, brought her knees up to her chest and stared through the bars.  Tabatha wondered whether she had been noticed.

       “Erm, hello?” she ventured.  The cellmate turned her head.

       “Hi,” was all she simply offered in reply.

       “Er, I’m Tabatha – I’m new,” Tabatha said, holding out her hand.  She new it sounded pathetic as soon as it left her lips.

       Again the door was opened, and Tabatha turned to see what she thought was a titan of women entering.  She was taller than Tabatha, heavily built with huge breasts.  She was also only wearing the prison uniform underwear.  Her face betrayed that she was actually about Tabatha’s age, with boyish short blonde hair.  The new arrival waited until she was secure and the guards were left, then she turned to Tabatha and casually smacked her across the face so that Tabatha flew into the straw on the floor, near the other cellmate.  Tabatha clenched her burning cheek in pain and shock and started to sob.

       “That is my bed,” the aggressor said, without a pang of guilt or sympathy, and flung down onto the timber.  Tabatha was now lying near the first cellmate, who silently motioned for her to get comfortable and not retaliate, acknowledging Tabatha for the first time.  Tabatha tried to lie in the straw, but at that point the cell door opened again.

       This time a tall and athletic brunette entered, in full uniform, and was similarly restrained by the ankle.  She threw an unimpressed look at the two on the floor and settled into the other bed.  It was now that the first cellmate talked to Tabatha.

       “Tabatha,” she whispered, “I’m Kimber and I would get some rest if I were you.”

Chapter II

The lights went out and Tabatha struggled to rest on the floor, anxiety and depression attacking her solitary thoughts as she tossed and turned in straw.  She doubted she got much sleep.  Lights came on at seven o’clock, although Tabatha didn’t know the time as she didn’t have a timepiece, but she knew she was tired.

       

The other cellmates awoke, and again largely ignored Tabatha.  Kimber whispered morning to her.  In a while guards came round and passed plates of food through a small hole in the bars.  Tabatha looked at her food – a bowl of grey gruel on a plate with a slice of cheap bread and a clunky metal spoon.  The other girls wolfed it down regardless of the distaste on their faces, so Tabatha attempted to do the same.

       

“You eating that?” the big girl with breasts enquired sharply.  Before Tabatha could stutter a reply, the big breasted girl pinned her against the plank bed with one arm and took the uneaten slice of bread of Tabatha’s plate.

       

“I’m working outside today, I need that food – not like you soft-skinned posh bitch,” she informed Tabatha as she released her.

       

“Watch it, Beaulah,” the raven-haired girl in full uniform warned the Amazon.

       

“You can have the rest of the gruel, Keila,” Beaulah offered in armistice.

       

“Okay.”  To Tabatha’s horror, the rest of her food was taken off her.  She sensed she should not resist.

***

After breakfast was taken away, Beaulah and Keila were taken away, along with a lot of other prisoners who passed the cell, glancing at the new arrival.  Curiously Kimber was still in the cell.  When they were left alone, they took the opportunity to sit on the bunks.

       

“Sorry about Beaulah and Keila,” Kimber said.

       

“It’s not your fault,” Tabatha replied.  She was still upset though.

       

“Do you mind if I ask why you ended up in this hell?” Kimber kindly asked.

       

“Lese majesty – rather not talk about it,” Tabatha muttered.

       

“That’s okay.”

       

“Why have they not taken you?” Tabatha asked Kimber.

       

“It’s my day off.”

       

“From what?”

       

“Work – they make you work for your keep,” Kimber explained.  “I’m breaking stones with Beaulah.”

       

“Does everybody just not have Sunday off?”

       

Kimber laughed.  “Everyday’s the same – you get your one day off a week randomly assigned. That’s your wash day as well.”

       

They sat in silence for a moment, Tabatha collected her thoughts.

       

“You do seem quite middle class, if you don’t mind me saying,” piped up Kimber.

       

“I am,” Tabatha admitted.  “I haven’t done a day’s work in my life.”

       

“Well, if the captain’s feeling like a bastard, he would put in you into heavy labour work, like what I’m doing – hopefully you get the kitchen or laundry.”  This did not cheer up Tabatha either.

       

“I would watch out for Beaulah and Keila if I was you, “Kimber continued, “they’re both bitches. Beaulah, as you know, is a big bastard, lezzo dyke to put.  She was put in here for running an illegal lesbian bordello in the shacks, and word is she physically bullied straight poor girls into joining her troupe. Keila on the other hand is a slimy fish – she’s having an affair with a least one guard, which is tolerated because I hear she’s a first rate grass. She’s allowed various liberties and I hear she also has some lesbian tendencies.”

       

Tabatha was listening eagerly to this advice, but they were disturbed by a guard opening the door.

       

“Constable,” he gruffly announced, “the captain would like a word.”  Another guard came in and fastened her wrists behind her back with a light chain whilst the first guard released her ankle.  It was now that Tabatha noticed that the guards wore a number of implements on their belts – what looked like a cattle prod, a leather strap and an extendable black rattan cane.  She felt a new pang of fear.

       

The guards nudged her to stand up, and then led her out the cell with her in between them.  Apparently the captain’s office was on the top floor, as they went up two flights of stairs.  The guards led her through the door what appeared a small office.  It was in fact the anteroom to Captain Baxter’s office.  It was a white room with a small desk situated near the door to Baxter’s office.  The guards placed her against a wall.

       

“When you stand to attention your feet should be shoulder-width apart and your hands behind your back,” a guard instructed her, “shoulders straight, chest out, eyes cast down.”  Tabatha shuffled to get in this position, her back against a wall.  “Do not move until told to,” the guard said and left.

       

Tabatha was left alone in the anteroom for a few minutes.  She did as she was told and did not move from her position – she sensed that there would be some camera or device waiting to catch her out.  After a few minutes, a girl came blustering through the door.  What really caught her eye was that this girl was stark naked, with prominent bruising to her breasts and vagina, as well as red welts down her back.  She was small, petite with olive skin and short brown hair.  She glanced at Tabatha but did not acknowledge her.  It was clear she was flustered and stressed.  She went over to the desk and went back up to Tabatha.

       

“Listen, I shouldn’t be talking to you and I should already know this,” she whispered, “but are you Prisoner Constable?”  Tabatha nodded, bemused.  The naked girl went back over to the desk and pressed a button on it.  It was now that Tabatha realised that there was not a chair at the desk.

       

“Yes?” came a muffled reply through an intercom.

       

“Dominus,” the girl said while pressing the button, “2859 Constable is here.”

       

“Send her in.”

       

The girl politely knocked on the door and motioned frantically for Tabatha to come over.  She opened the door and announced Tabatha as she walked through the door.

       

“2859 Constable, my master.”

       

Tabatha took up position in front of Baxter’s desk, standing to attention as told.  The door shut behind her.  With her eyes cast down, she couldn’t take in much of the room, apart from Baxter sitting behind a large desk and… daylight!  Oh, how she had missed that.

       

“Now then, Constable,” Baxter began, “I think we should start this conversation by reminding you that I will consider a lie to a direct question as disrespect to me, and you know what the consequences of that would be.”

       

“Yes sir.”

       

“Now tell me, did my slave speak to you?”

       

“Slave, sir?”

       

“Yes, that girl out there is my personally-owned slave. She is under orders not to speak to prisoners so she should have memorised the schedule I showed her this morning.”

       

Now Tabatha understood.  But now she was in a conundrum – betray the poor girl and risk her own harsh punishment for lying or tell the truth.  Tabatha guessed that Baxter would probably know the answer and was trying to trick her.

       

“Yes sir.”

       

Baxter pressed on the buzzer and called the slave in.  She flustered through the door and sank to her knees next to where Tabatha was standing to attention.

       

“Slave, the prisoner here says you talked to her.”

       

“No, Dominus, it’s not true!”

       

“Well, one of you is lying,” said Baxter, cruelly amused.  “Slave, go outside and I’ll sort this out when I’ve finished interviewing Constable.”

       

“Y-yes Dominus,” the slave stammered – clearly she was under threat of a big punishment – and closed the door behind her.

       

Baxter now turned his attention fully to Tabatha.

       

“So, Constable, you are indeed clear of your terms of imprisonment?”

       

“Yes sir.”

       

“I just wanted to make sure that you know that disrespect of authority will include the Emperor, the state and the Imperial Cult.”

       

“Very well, sir.”

       

“So, I was wondering; what are your thoughts were on the Emperor’s wise new laws on women?”

       

She new she was trapped.  She couldn’t say what she felt, but she knew that captain would take silence as disrespect.  The bastard had only brought her up here to humiliate her!

       

“I th-think…” she stammered.

       

“Look at me when you talk to me!” Baxter barked with glee.

       

“I think the new laws are very wise and that women should indeed have more rights taken away from them,” she said, fixing Baxter with a stare.  She was seething at the blackmail.

       

“Why?”

       

“Because women should be subservient to men in every way and this should be reflected in law,” she said in a monotone.

       

“So you believe that the Imperial Cult is correct?”  The Imperial, or Illakian, Cult was the religious teaching that governed Illakia, which proclaimed the Emperor god of gods and women inferior to men.

       

“Yes sir,” she said.

       

Baxter was clearly pleased.  He now stood up to circle Tabatha like a wounded animal.

       

“So what you said at the dinner party was incorrect?”

       

“Yes sir.”

       

“So why did you plead not guilty?”

       

Tabatha froze and did not answer – she did not know what the correct response was.  The captain now turned vicious.  He tugged her hair from behind so that her head lolled backwards.

       

“Answer me!” he hissed into her ear.

       

“I, I don’t know, sir.”

       

That seemed to satisfy Baxter for now.

       

“I will report this confession to Judge Fair,” he sneered sitting down at his desk again.  “I’m sure he will find it very interesting.”  He now looked at Tabatha again.

       

“Now, there’s a few things we need to sort out,” he said.  “Number one, your prison job. We require all prisoners contribute to the prison as recompense for your keep in the prison.  Now I have here…”  He looked around his desk then banged it in frustration.

       

“Slave, in here now!”

       

The slave came rushing through the door and knelt beside Tabatha again.

       

“I told you I wanted the work matrix on my desk!” Baxter barked.

       

“Yes Dominus, of course,” the slave grovelled, and rushed back out again to get it.  Within seconds it was on his desk and the slave was back on her knees.  Baxter was clearly annoyed.

       

“Get in there for now, slave!” he ordered her, pointing to something Tabatha hadn’t seen before.  In the corner of the office, there was what appeared to be a glass shower cubicle with a ceiling.  The slave meekly opened the door of this, got in and turned around to face outwards.

       

“Now,” Baxter continued, “we have an opening for you in the kitchen. You will do that job for the rest of the month, depending, and then we will see if that is suitable.”

       

“Thank you sir,” she said, and she actually meant it – talk of stone breaking had had her worried.

       

“Okay, now the other matter,” he said, again shuffling papers on his desk to get to the relevant bit.  “Greenville is involved in a new pilot scheme for prisoners who have sentences of over five years,” he continued.  “Now, as you may know, prisoners are not entitled to receive visits, but may send and receive one letter a month. However, under the new scheme, long-term prisoners such as yourself can be given a choice – one visit from one person of your choice in return for not receiving any letters for a year, or to simply continue with the usual system.”

       

“Okay, sir.”

       

“Of course I think we’re being a bit soft, but apparently it is expedient in making sure a prisoner’s affairs are in order.”

       

“Yes sir,” Tabatha was saying dumbly.  She was thinking of seeing her husband!

       

“And I have to inform you security is quite stringent at the visit.”

       

“Yes sir.”

       

“So do we have a decision?”

       

“Oh yes sir!”

       

“Okay,” said Baxter swiftly.  He was now checking papers again.  “So you will be working in the kitchen, with a day off today, which is Tuesday,” he said consulting the matrix.  “Because of the need to prepare breakfast, you will be taken from your cell at five am and will finish once the kitchen is tidied from supper.”

       

“Okay sir.”

       

“Right, I want to sort out this disagreement between you and my slave.”

       

Tabatha had nearly forgotten about that.  Baxter now walked over to the glass cubicle and opened.  The slave looked surprised.

       

“Get in there and get your stories straight. I will give you two minutes.”  Tabatha, surprised at what was happening, walked over and tried to squeeze in the cubicle, which was clearly not meant to take two.  Baxter pushed her in and closed the door.

       

Tabatha and the slave tried to rearrange themselves but they were hopelessly squashed together and uncomfortable, with Tabatha’s hands still bound.  Tabatha was thankful one of them had clothes on.  It was now that she noticed that the cubicle was made of one-way mirrors.

       

“It’s called a Slave Booth,” the slave said, by way of explanation.

       

“Oh, okay,” Tabatha gaped.  “What’s your name, by the way?”

       

“I don’t have a name, I’m just slave meat,” the slave said duly.  Tabatha guessed that Baxter could listen to this conversation.

       

“Look, you’ve got to tell the truth,” Tabatha said.

       

“Oh, the prisoners,” the slave sighed, “think they’ve got it so bad – you should spend a day in my shoes.”

       

“Look, that’s the point!” Tabatha cried.  “If he thinks I’m lying, he has power to enslave me!”

       

“Really?”

       

“Yes!”

       

“Right, that’s it!”  Baxter had opened the door on them.  “Time’s up!”

       

“Sir, I was telling the truth…” Tabatha began.

       

“I know you were, Constable, and my slave will be punished for lying. Get out.”

       

Tabatha got out and the door was shut on the slave.  She looked back at the booth – the slave girl was crying.

***

Beaulah and Keila were taking a break from breaking stones in the prison yard.  It was only half an hour to eat their lunch of bread and cheese, but it was the only break they got in a 12-hour day and they only time the prisoners were allowed to speak to each other.

       

“What do you think of the new meat in our cell?” Beaulah whispered to Keila.

       

“If you mean that soft little girl we’ve acquired, I can imagine her being quite wet and irritating.”

       

“I’ve spent all morning thinking of her.”

       

“I thought you might do,” sighed Keila.

       

“Imagine being in-between those soft white fleshy thighs,” said Beaulah wistfully.  Keila munched on a hard bit of cheese and said nothing.

       

“Can you work something for me, Keila?”

       

“I knew it was coming.”

       

“I’m desperate to have that one as my bitch.”

       

“I’d guessed.”

       

“Can you work it with Jonny to legalise a bit of time for me to get to know her?”  Jonny was the guard Keila was having an affair with.

       

“I’ll see what I can do, but he’ll want something in return,” Keila said.

***

Tabatha was taken back to the cell, had her wrists released and thrown unceremoniously back in.  Kimber was lazing on a bed.

       

“How’d it go?” she asked Tabatha.

       “Don’t ask,” Tabatha growled, stroking her free wrists.  Kimber stroked Tabatha’s face in sympathy and understanding.

       Tabatha was not back in the cell two minutes when guards were again unlocking the cage doors and releasing the two girls.

       “Shower time,” one said.

       The two prisoners were again chained at the wrist and escorted upstairs.  They were taken to the shower block.  Tabatha learned a bit on the way up.  Prison procedure said that prisoners were entitled to one shower per week, given on their day off.  Girls should normally be showered in groups of four, but it happened that Tabatha and Kimber’s cell was at the end of the row so they would be showered as a two.

       They arrived at the shower block.  The room was split into three areas in a row - changing room, toilets and shower.  The changing area was an area defined by a large alcove.  Against one wall was a table with two boxes on it.  The girls had their wrists released.

       “Put your clothes in the box,” Kimber whispered to Tabatha.

       Tabatha looked at over to the four guards, who stood in the entrance to the changing area looking at the girls intently.

       “Don’t they go?” she whispered back to Kimber.

       “No chance.”

       Reluctantly, Tabatha followed Kimber’s lead and took of her dress, followed by her bra and panties – her breasts and sex were quickly covered by her hands and she instinctively turned her back to the guards, who started chuckling.  She remembered her branded buttocks and quickly turned back to face them.  A now-naked Kimber looked away embarrassed.  One guard came over and planted a lecherous hand on her branded ass.

       “Treacherous little shite,” he hissed into her ear, “traitors don’t deserve privacy.”  He forcibly snapped her hands back behind her back, turning her full frontal to the other guards, who cheered.  She felt a tear splash on her cheek.

       “We don’t like gobby posh shits like you not being loyal, ‘cos you’ve got no right to be – expect no sympathy of us you soppy bitch,” he again hissed behind her, “understand?”

       “Yes,” she sobbed quietly.

       A guard quickly pounced to the other side of the room and swung at her rump with his rattan and the same moment her tormentor stung her left nipple with his cattle prod.  She fell to the floor wailing in pain.  Kimber was moved into the next area before she could react.

       Tabatha was curled up on the tiled floor with her hands massaging her punished nipple and rump, weeping.  Her tormentor stood over her.

       “We’ve been briefed, you cunt, and you should know that you should address every guard as ‘sir’ at the end of every sentence, otherwise its disrespect.”

       “Sorry, sir,” she sobbed.

       “Be sure that this will be reported back to Captain Baxter.”

       Tabatha now sobbing uncontrollably, she was dragged to her feet and taken to the next section.  Through her tear-drenched eyes, to her horror, she could see that the next section consisted of nothing but four toilets set against the wall; no cubicles, no walls, no doors.  Kimber had apparently already finished and was being restrained by the other two guards while they waited.

       Tabatha was dragged to the nearest toilet and plonked on it.  The two guards now stood back to watch her, along with Kimber’s guards.  Kimber looked kindly at her and at least had the decency to look away.

       “You ain’t moving till you’ve pissed and shit,” the gobby guard said.

       Tabatha was blubbing beyond control now.  She just could not cope with this much humiliation in one go, added to her shear fear as to whether Baxter will enslave her.

       She realised that she had not visited the toilet since her arrival at the Gaol and was now desperate for a piss.  But she was naked, she was sat on a toilet in an open space and four men were leering at her.

       “You have two minutes.”

       She had never defecated in front of someone.  Never.  She needed to piss but she couldn’t.  She cleared her teary eyes and strained but she couldn’t.  And she didn’t need a shit.  Still, she didn’t want to argue about it with these men.

       “Time’s up,” the guard said, almost laughing, “not waiting around of this one to have her airs and graces. Note that, Earl; two black marks for not pissing and shitting.”

       “But…!”

       “Shut the fuck up; or we’ll report you for disobeying a direct order, which you have done by not pissing and shitting when we told you to.”

       Tabatha’s lips clamped shut.  She sobbed at the gauntlet she was running with enslavement.

       “Now, let’s get these two showered.”

       Tabatha and Kimber were taken into the next section.  It was the same size as the other two sections, but had nothing in apart from four shower nozzles mounted to the far wall.  Underneath each nozzle was a small metal tray with toiletries on, and above that a cracked and dirty mirror mounted on the wall at head height.  The two girls were thrown against the wall and one of the guards flicked a switch.  All four showers came on.  Tabatha wasn’t surprised to find it freezing cold but she jumped out anyway.

       “Get in!”

       A guard shoved her back under the freezing torrent, almost causing her to slip on the tiles.  Kimber guided her arm under the shower next to her.

       “Wash yourself if you don’t want to cause trouble.”

       Tabatha picked up a soap and lathered her body, shivering all the while.  The four guards looked on dispassionately.  Rinsing off the lather, which to her shame she new would be exciting the guards, she went next for a small dispenser of shampoo, which again caused a few nudges.  That water was cold.  She started to feel goose pimples forming on her skin.  She noticed Kimber shaving her crotch with the razor provided.  She looked at her own body; it was still bald from her shave yesterday and she knew her hair grew very slowly, so she didn’t bother with that.

       All of a sudden the shower was turned off.

       “Time’s up.”

       The two girls were taken by the arms and marched soaking wet down back to the changing area.  Two towels had been laid on the table.  The girls were released.  Tabatha frowned at the towel; it was closer to being a flannel, and didn’t soak up water very well.  It seemed barely a minute before the gobby guard announced time up again and the towel was snatched off her.

       “Well, put your clothes on,” the guard sneered, “we haven’t got all day.”

       Reluctantly, Tabatha reached into her box and put her underwear on, as Kimber had done.  Her body was still wet.  Good grief, how much humiliation did they want?  She tried sliding on the grey cotton dress over her wet body, but it stuck and she had to pull down over her panties.  Dark patches appeared where it was in contact with skin and soon it was clinging revealingly to her body.  She lifted her chin up but it seemed an anachronistic gesture.

       “Let’s go.”

       Surely they had won their game of humiliation?