Santa Margarita Prison for Women

SANTA MARGARITA

WOMEN PRISON

  To A. – thanks for the initial inspiration and for a continuous, unflagging support.

PART 1

       Before the crack of dawn, prisoner Nadia Serna was awakened by the engines’ roar in the prison courtyard. She knew instantly what was going on and what to do. Without thinking, she dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed, just in time to hear the front door being broken down. Suddenly, the building was filled by excited shouts and thumping of boots on tiled floor. More doors were thrown open. There were intermittent gunshots and more screams, some quite close; but the dormitory door stayed shut, and that was a relief.

      As abruptly as it started, the commotion died down. The boots receded back toward the entrance. After a spell of silence, there was a fresh burst of gunfire outside, followed by a two or three methodical shots. The engines came to life again but quickly disappeared into a distance. At last, all was quiet.

     "You think it's over?" whispered Nadia to her friend and bunkmate Katia Jimenez.

     "Who knows?" mouthed Katia.

     With a loud thump, the dorm door flew open.

     "Yes, they are all here!" shouted a harsh, unfamiliar female voice, addressing someone invisible behind her. Then, to the prisoners, "Back to sleep, pigs!" The door slammed closed.

     Nadia sighed: changes were coming.

     Santa Margarita School for Girls (which was the official name of the secret prison) was an isolated place. It wasn’t always so. There was once a thriving village nearby, a favorite vacation spot for the elite; but the village was destroyed in a war, its residents either fled or were massacred, and the only structure that remained was the former school. Now the compound was surrounded on all sides by dense jungle, with only a single dirt road leading in or out. There were no phones anywhere in the building, and no televisions; only a single radio, kept under lock and key in the Commandant's office. The prisoners (who officially did not exist) received no visitors and no mail and knew nothing of the events in the outside world. Even the guards were thoroughly cut off – they too had no contact with outsiders, aside from the tightlipped drivers of weekly supply convoys. All the inmates, whether official or not, were forced to live in their own little self-contained universe, which is why the news of the recent coup d'etat reached them only when the new junta had sent the troops to take over the prison.

     The coups happened at more or less regular intervals, and Nadia Serna, herself a daughter of a state minister four or five governments back, had already seen a few of them. Every time it was the same. A convoy of Jeeps and lorries would arrive without a warning and disgorge a company of half-drunk soldiers, who would then proceed to storm the building, shooting at the real or imagined resistance. Invariably, they would take control in minutes but still continue to rampage and break things until subdued by their superiors. The old Commandant would be taken to the courtyard, put against the wall, and shot; and a new Commandant would be installed in his place. In the end, the soldiers would board the lorries and drive away, leaving behind the fresh Commandant and his chosen flunkies.

     The prisoners had no dog in these fights; none of them cared anymore who held the power in the capital. For them, a coup was always bad news – a new regime, any new regime, meant changes, and these were never for the better.

     The new administration’s first act was to order the prisoners to take a shower. After the end of the workday (which was shortened for the occasion) the women were to bathe themselves, then wait to be issued new, clean prison uniforms. The prison's population was relatively small, just over sixty souls; but there were only fifteen shower stalls, so the prisoners had to be divided into shifts. Nadia and Katia were both assigned to the last shift.

     Under the watchful eye of a guard, fifteen women were marched downstairs and ushered into the so-called locker room, which had no lockers. Nadia took off her ugly old uniform – good riddance! – and surrendered it to the guard, receiving in exchange a piece of soap and a towel. The guard, a young veteran named Gualtiero, leered at her and slapped her bare behind. Nadia prepared to endure more but Gualtiero already turned to the next victim, pinching her nipples. The sight of fifteen undressed women made him happy and playful; he enjoyed himself immensely, which was a good sign – he could be negotiated with.

     Together, they entered the shower room, and Gualtiero immediately planted himself into a folding chair. All girls, as one, turned their heads toward Isabela Aguirre. She pursed her lips but nodded: it was her turn to take one for the team.

     Under the prison regulation, the prisoners could spend in the shower room no more than four minutes. A guard was to make sure the allocated time was not exceeded; but most guards could be distracted… Wiggling her butt and jiggling her considerable breasts, Isabela walked up to Gualtiero, who pretended not to see her. She lowered herself in front of him, unzipped his fly, and retrieved his dick. Gualtiero's face wore a bored expression as though nothing was happening, but his assumed air of indifference was betrayed by his dick, which already started to swell. Isabela helped it along by licking the tip. In the meantime, the other fourteen girls promptly spread out into their shower stalls; they turned on the water and began scrubbing themselves and each other energetically. There was not a second to lose.

     After Nadia was done with washing she simply stood under the spout, letting the hot water melt the coldness inside her. She looked toward the guard's chair. It was partially obscured by the rising clouds of steam, but both Gualtiero and Isabela were clearly visible. The man was smiling blissfully; his mind in his dick, he had lost all sense of time. The girl was hard at work; her head hovered above his groin, sometimes bobbing up and down, sometimes stopping for a while in a fixed position. It was difficult to see what she was doing to him, thanks to her voluminous hair which covered Gualtiero’s lap and hid it from view. One could make good guesses though, just by listening to sucking and occasionally gagging noises she was making – noises loud enough to be heard over the sound of falling water. Nadia made a mental note to thank Isabela later, but presently she closed her eyes and relaxed, luxuriating under the warm flow.

     Too soon, Gualtiero grunted and started jerking his hips in rapid rhythmic movements. He was shooting his load into Isabela's mouth, which meant that it was time to hurry up with the bath. Even after Gualtiero emptied himself dry, Isabela, a real trooper, won another couple of minutes for her friends. She sucked his shrinking dick to the end, then opened her mouth and demonstrated him a white gob of his cum lying on her tongue. She made a big show of gathering wayward drops back into her mouth; she spit on her breasts and licked it back again. Gualtiero watched the performance, looking infinitely fascinated. Yet even Isabela couldn't keep it up forever. At last, after much swishing and gurgling, she had to swallow. Few seconds later, Gualtiero remembered his watch, and the bath time was over.

     The women were given a minute to towel themselves. They expected to be issued new uniforms, but instead Gualtiero herded everyone back into the corridor; just as they were, without any clothes, they filed out of the door.

     "Where are we going?" asked Katia without really hoping for an answer.

     Unexpectedly, Gualtiero deigned to reply; ejaculating into a girl's mouth must have really improved his mood. "I was told to take you to the canteen," he said quietly and gestured for everyone to move.

     Years ago, back when this area was full of wealthy vacationers, Santa Margarita was a boarding school for girls. Even now, despite the new additions like the iron bars on each window, the prison still resembled a small upscale school. Thanks to the legacy of the happier times, the prisoners had such luxuries as wooden beds, nearly civilized toilets, a real shower room with an unusually large number of showers, and the canteen, which was a former school cafeteria. The large open room was still used in the same manner. This was where the inmates ate their usual twice-a-day meals; and today, this was apparently to be the place where they would be given their shiny new uniforms, along with some sort of announcement.

     The procession stopped near the wide doors decorated with half-faded spoons, forks, and happy fat Chefs. Gualtiero counted his charges to make sure no one was lost on the way, then, after some fumbling with the keys, proceeded to unlock the doors. He let everyone in, locked the doors from inside, and joined the other guards near the entrance.

     The canteen was located in the new wing and therefore was designed in a contemporary style. The room would not seem out of place in a modern office building. The walls were covered with plastic imitating blond wood; the floor was beige linoleum; and the false ceiling was square grey tiles. One side was of the room was mostly large, wall-high windows that let in a lot of light; they were protected with steel wire mesh, so any attempt to break a window was doomed to fail.

     Today the place looked differently. The usual table arrangement – three long, side-by-side rows – was broken up. The tables were moved against the wall and the chairs stacked on top of each other. The girls from the earlier shifts sat on the floor in the empty middle space, waiting for something to start. They had been waiting for a long time, and many had bewildered look about them.

     Everyone was still naked.

     Before the prisoners sat a large woman dressed in military fatigues with the insignia of a Sergeant of the Internal Forces. Firmly planted into the chair, she sat with her legs crossed, staring coldly past the mass of unclothed bodies in front of her. It was hard to guess her age, but she could not have been younger than twenty-five or older than forty. She was tall, for a woman, and athletic, with wide shoulders and powerful arms; her face was rude and ruddy, almost a man's face. Thanks to that face, together with the muscles, the shapeless fatigues, and the short, military-style hair, she looked barely female.

     Behind the chair stood the assistants: a small, flint-faced woman of about forty-five and an unnaturally thin, unhealthy-looking girl not much older than eighteen. Both of them also wore fatigues, but theirs were lacking any insignia.

     The girl was fidgeting; occasionally, she would step from one foot to the other, lick her lips, run her fingers through her long dirty hair. "This one must be new at the prison business," thought Nadia. "That’s the most dangerous kind; I have to watch out for her. But the other one is a professional."

     The older woman stood impassively, looking relaxed and slightly bored. She was small but wiry and tough; her hands, now crossed on her chest, were large and veined; her hair was gathered into a tight bun on the back of her head. She looked like a former peasant; probably a pig-farmer. This made sense: dealing with animals prepared one well for the job of a jailer.

     The sitting woman glanced at Nadia and other newcomers. "Is that everyone?" she asked a guard. Nadia recognized the voice: this was the same woman that earlier this morning ordered the prisoners back to sleep. The guard saluted, "Yes, ma'am!" The woman considered the prisoners and nodded to herself. Then she spoke aloud.

     "All right, bitches, enough sitting around! Now get up and make me nice, straight formation. Four ranks, in alphabetical order, starting here. And hurry the fuck up!" To make the point, she reached for the closest girl and jerked her up by the hair. The assistants went to work at once, pushing, punching, kicking; trying to get at the most vulnerable parts of the prisoners' exposed bodies.

     Making the four-rank formation was a regular prison drill, so the girls knew what to do. Those few who appeared to have forgotten were reminded after a kick or two. Nadia's place was near the middle of the last row, between Evita Sanchez and Leonor Serrano. She found her place without delay, and waited, watching the assistants beat up the laggards, and trying not to worry. At moments like this, she wished she could be near Katia; but her friend's assigned spot was at the edge of the second row.

     The woman in charge watched the scene with exaggerated boredom, never budging from her chair. When the ranks were straight enough to her satisfaction, she dismissed her assistants with a hand gesture and spoke up once again.

     "Hey, bitches," she said cheerfully, turning her head from on end of the row to the other, "Listen up! The big boss is not here yet, so I'll make the first announcement. You must be wondering when you'll be issued your new clothes. Well, consider them issued!" She paused for effect and smirked, enjoying the confusion. "Your new uniform," she continued, "Is what you are wearing right now. Your birthday suits" The smirk had become an evil grin. "Yep, from now on, you will go butt-naked! Everywhere and around the clock. This includes eating, sleeping, working, walking in the yard, being punished for misbehavior: the whole nine yards. You will be allowed to keep your sandals though, and—"

     "Thank you, Sergeant Velez. I'll take it from here," boomed a deep male voice behind the prisoners. Everyone turned their heads toward the sound. The new Commandant – who had his own set of keys taken off the body of the old one – has let himself into the cafeteria without anyone noticing. All heads turned toward him, as he strode purposefully toward the front.

     "So this is our new boss," thought Nadia. The man was lean and very tall; and, unlike most tall and skinny people, he was straight as a rod: a natural officer. He had a narrow, pale face, a hooked nose, and a thin mustache, but his most striking feature were his eyes. They were sky-blue, cold as steel, and sharp as bayonet. Nadia felt goose bumps climb slowly up her back. She didn’t like this one bit.

     "Ooh, isn't he dreamy?" whispered Leonor Serrano. Evita Sanchez giggled. Nadia glared at them, turning to one and then the other. Idiots! Empty-headed cows!

     The sitting woman jumped out of the chair as soon as she saw her boss, her arrogance instantly replaced with servility. But the man did not intend to sit down; he moved the chair aside and stood next to it, towering above everyone.

     "My name Captain Andres De La Peña," he said evenly. He did not seem to make any effort to speak loudly but his voice carried to the furthest corner of the room. "I have been assigned the command of this installation by the Provisional Junta and personally by General Vilareal. The General expressed a desire to make this facility an important part of war apparatus."

     General Vilareal. Nadia whispered the name. So that was the name of the new President – or Chairman, or Secretary, or whatever other title the new dictator chose to call himself. Nadia had never heard of him and didn't care. Andres De La Peña – that was the name that mattered to her and to all of them, now.

     "Let me introduce my associates," continued the Captain. "This is my second in command, Sergeant Tatiana Velez, and these are Warden Blanca Vea--" he pointed at the young militia girl, who, hearing her name, immediately straightened military-like, "--and Warden Ines Santana." The older woman continued to stare ahead, as impassive as ever.

     "Now that we are finished with introductions, the first thing I want to tell you is that I am tightening the discipline in this outfit. Your good times are over."  His voice became steely. "The old administration let the things slide. What you have here was more a summer camp rather than a proper prison," he said with ringing disdain.

     This was true. Early attempts to convert classrooms into cells proved unsuccessful, so the prisoners slept together in the dormitory and ate together in the canteen. It was impossible to separate them. The evenings after meals were fun times: the girls exchanged stories, gossiped about male guards, made jokes and laughed. Something it did feel like summer camp – except that homecoming was unlikely any time soon.

     "If necessary, discipline and order will be imposed by force," the Captain was saying. "Any infraction will be punished most severely."

     "They all promise that," murmured someone near Nadia. That was also true: every new Commandant tried to implement his own version of the reign of terror, but after a month or two things would invariably return to their natural course. The last Commandant forbade the guards from fucking the prisoners, and the men started to leave, because no one wants to do this thankless job unless there are some rewards. The prohibition had to be reversed after only two weeks.

     Nadia had a feeling, though, that this time might be different.

     "I will change the attitudes," intoned De La Peña, "And the first step in this process is the new uniform policy, effective immediately. Our country is blessed with warm climate, which means that there are no reasons for prisoners to wear clothes – other than so called 'modesty'. Prisoners have no right to modesty! The lack of clothes will make it impossible for you to hide anything on you body; it will eliminate the possibility of escape. It will save precious resources for those who need them more: soldiers in the trenches, workers in the factories. Wool and cotton cost too much to waste them on useless dregs. Most importantly, it will prepare you for your own contribution to the common good. As General Vilareal said in his first speech on assuming the power—"

     And so he went on, praising the war effort and promising quick progress; talking about the need to fight the enemies, both internal and external; extolling the prisoners to dedicate their worthless selves to the final victory. Nadia had heard it all before. She looked at the Captain and shook her head: De La Peña looked as if he actually believed this junk. Didn't he realize that all the previous Commandants said exactly the same things? Didn't he know what happened to them? She really thought the man to be smarter than that; but apparently, her first impression of him was false. He was just like everyone else. What was the matter with these daft careerists who were jostling for a command position on Titanic? Nadia sighed: her own father was one of such careerists, and she was still paying the price for his myopia.

     The girls in the last row were paying scant attention to the talking man. Their initial apprehension gone, they whispered among each other, gossiping about the sexy Captain and joking about the real reasons for his no-clothes policy. Antonietta Ruiz wondered about the size of the thing in his pants, and Leonor Serrano, grinning, vowed to be the first to find out.

     Dinnertime was approaching, but De La Peña made no sign of slowing down. He went on and on about the just war and the eventual peace, about supporting the troops and contributing their fair share. Every minute or so he quoted General Vilareal, until everyone was sick of the very name. The girls grew restless, then furious; they hadn't eaten since the morning; and if this endless talk didn't stop very soon, they would have to go to bed hungry. Even the guards were getting unhappy, but the Captain carried on, apparently oblivious.

     "Fuck the General," said a voice from the last row. "Fuck the war and fuck you. We want to eat."

     Whoever spoke up took care to disguise her identity: the voice was so high and screechy that it could crack glass. Nadia hadn't had a faintest idea whom it came from; she looked right and left, and saw everyone else doing the same.

     The Captain stopped abruptly.

     "Who said that?" he asked quietly.

     No one answered.

     "Who said that?" he asked again, raising his voice. Once more, he got no reply. "Very well," he growled, "If that's the way you want to play it... I give the perpetrator ten seconds to come forward."

     No one moved.

     De La Peña straightened and took a step forward.

     Walking slowly, deliberately, he made a circle around the ranks of prisoners. There was not a sound in the room, except the scrape of his boots on the floor. At last he approached the rightmost prisoner in the last row and stopped in front of her.

     The girl flinched. The Commandant studied her face for a moment, then moved in front of her neighbor to the left. He repeated this procedure with each prisoner in turn, working down the line along the last row. Eventually, he reached Nadia.

     He lingered with her longer with anyone else. His heavy stare was both measuring and uninterested, and Nadia's gut turned to ice. Unable to bear this, she lowered her eyes. He snapped, "Look at me!" She instantly looked up, eyes wide. He gazed at her for few more seconds, then made a small dismissive gesture and took a step to the left, planting himself before Leonor Serrano.

      De La Peña threw only the shortest of glances at Leonor. She returned his glance with an insolent stare. The Captain nodded to himself; and, gripping the girl’s shoulder, yanked her forward.

     "You! You are coming with me." Without waiting for her reaction, he dragged her to the front.

     Leonor was the first girl to be raped by the previous Commandant. Apparently, she was about to repeat her achievement; and Nadia noticed a look of envy on some of the girls’ faces. However, to everyone’s surprise, the Captain did not leave the room with the girl but instead, threw her into the hands of the women-wardens.

     "Santana," he addressed the older warden, "tie the prisoner's hands behind her back. And you, Velez," he looked at his second in command, "You know what to do."

     Tatiana Velez grinned widely, then remembered herself and saluted. She turned on her heels and marched toward the pile of furniture in one of the corners. She selected a table, carried it back to the center of the room, and carefully put it down. She looked at the ceiling and shifted the table a few inches. She picked up the same chair she sat on earlier and placed it on top of the table.

     The prisoners, greatly puzzled, were observing the unusual preparations. Tatiana jumped onto the table and hesitantly stepped on the seat of the chair. For a time, she crouched on top of this precarious pyramid. After making sure that the whole thing was not about to topple, she stood up on the half-bent knees. She lifted her hands to the ceiling and removed a tile, revealing the pipework hidden behind it. She threw the tile to the floor, took out something from her pocket, and stretched to her full height. Her head and the top of her shoulders disappeared in the square hole above.

     By this time, Leonor's hands were firmly tied at the wrists. The Captain pushed the bewildered girl forward, so that every prisoner should see her.

     "One of you had committed a grave offense," he intoned, "And, in response, one of you will be punished. The vile words uttered in this room are not only offensive and disrespectful; they amount to treason against the Nation and its Head. The punishment will be accordingly severe."

     Sergeant Velez banged her head on something and swore loudly. The Captain lifted his face.

     "Are you done?" he asked her.

     "In a moment," replied the woman, who was still busy doing something invisible to the pipes. She stood with her back to everyone, her large square body effectively shielding her work.

     "All right, now I'm done," she declared at last. She stepped down from the chair but remained standing on the table.

     Now the prisoners could see what was hidden behind the Sergeant. There was a collective intake of breath followed by gasps of shock and horror. Leonor Serrano took a glance upward and shrieked.

     Tied securely to a stout pipe, a piece of hemp rope was hanging down from the ceiling. It ended in a noose.

     "No-o!!!" wailed Leonor.

     De La Peña made a step forward and raised his voice. "I hereby sentence prisoner—" he checked his notes "—Leonor Serrano to death by hanging. The sentence is to be carried out immediately."

     Bianca Vea, the younger warden, pushed Leonor toward the table and into the hands of Tatiana Velez, who got down to her knees, grabbed the stunned, unresisting girl, and pulled. Working together, they lifted her to the top of the table, where she was made to stand straight. Tatiana placed herself in front of Leonor, the noose hanging freely between them. The girl was starting at the rope, as though it were a snake that was about to bite her. Tatiana grinned and pushed the noose closer to Leonor until the rope brushed against her breasts. The girl made a feeble attempt to get away.

     "Velez, enough of your cat-and-mouse games," demanded the Captain. "Get on with it."

     "Right, Boss!" answered Tatiana. Still grinning, she let go of the rope.

     At this moment Leonor found her voice.

     "Please don't kill me," she whimpered, "I didn't do it! I said nothing, I swear. Please! I don't want to die..."

     Tatiana smiled openly and reached into her pocket. She retrieved a simple black plastic bag, the kind used to pack groceries.

     "Regulations require us to use hoods for hangings," she said. "What a pity."

     She put the bag over Leonor's head, covering it completely. She pulled on the handles, stretching the plastic, and gathered the loose ends in one hand. She took the rope with the other hand and in one neat move noosed the girl. Finally, she tightened the loop on Leonor’s neck, securing the hood in place. The whole operation took only a few seconds – obviously, Tatiana was a pro at such things.

       "All's ready!" Tatiana beamed at her handiwork, then turned around and jumped to the floor. Leonor remained alone on the table, crying wordlessly under her hood, the sobs muffled by the black plastic. She made a movement as though to shrug off the noose but only managed to make it tighter.

     Tatiana walked to the Captain, stopped in front of him, and clicked her heels.

     "Sir! Requesting permission to send this bird to Hell," she sung cheerfully.

     De La Peña frowned. "You are enjoying it a bit too much, Sergeant. Fine, go ahead."

     Tatiana returned to the table. Despite the Captain's displeasure she could not resist one more indulgence. "Prepare to fly, dear!" she cackled, stroking the girl's naked thighs. At last, she let go of Leonor and grabbed the edge of the table to push it away from under the doomed girl's feet.

     "Wait! Wait!" cried someone.

     Tatiana stopped and turned toward the sound. So did everyone else.

     One of the prisoners in last row made a step forward. It was Ramona Portillo, the red-haired, sharp-tongued beauty, who laughed often and was always in good mood. However, she wasn't laughing this time.

     "Wait!" repeated Ramona, looking straight at the Captain.

     "You are interfering with the administration of justice," said De La Peña in a warning tone. "Do you have something to say?"

     "Yes, I do! You shouldn’t kill Leonor, because it wasn’t her who said these things. It was I who did it! Punish me, instead."

     The Captain allowed himself a little smile. "I thought I’d flush someone out... So, I understand that you want to be hanged?"

     Ramona swallowed but answered firmly. "Yes. I don't want to see my friend die for my actions."

     "Very well." De La Peña beckoned to the wardens. "Vea, Santana! Bring me this prisoner!"

     The wardens attempted to seize Ramona, but she shook them off and marched to the front on her own accord, her face set in a grim determination. With her chin up and her back straight, she stood defiantly, while Santana tied her hands.

     "I am ready!" said Ramona loudly and turned to look at Leonor, who, although she could not see what just transpired, understood that she wasn't going to die after all and sagged with quiet relief.

     "You will be dealt with shortly," the Captain told Ramona. "But first, we need to attend to the business at hand. Justice cannot be kept waiting." Addressing Tatiana, he spoke in a clear, calm voice, "Sergeant, proceed with the execution."

     Leonor screamed. Tatiana Velez sprung to the table and, this time without stopping to tease or chat, kicked it out from under Leonor's feet. The scream stopped abruptly.

     The hanged girl's body swung wildly from side to side, turning around and around, until Tatiana caught it in mid-swing. With few light touches Tatiana checked Leonor's wild gyrations and left her to hang in a motionless, strictly vertical position. She even turned the body to face the ranks of prisoners. The first several seconds the girl did not move at all, her limbs tense with the effort of strangulation. Then, as the fresh air in her lungs was getting exhausted, Leonor began to squirm. She strained against the bond that held her arms; then she lifted her legs a little, bending them at the knees and curling her toes. Her chest expanded and contracted in a rapid succession.

     "Don't you like flying, dear?" jeered Tatiana. A look from her commanding officer cut her off.

     The hood made Leonor's head appear as nearly featureless black ball, attached to the rest of the body in a weird off-center manner. The body twisted and jerked but the ball remained at rest. A small part of the hood's edge had escaped the noose, and Nadia was horrified to see clear liquid drip from under the loose end. Was that tears, mucus, saliva, or sweat – or perhaps a mixture of all of these? Nadia did not want to know. She was only grateful that she couldn't see the hanged girl's face.

     Soon, Leonor ceased moving. Her limbs straightened and relaxed, as her body gradually lost its tension. The liquid stopped dripping from under the hood.

     "Bianca," called Tatiana her younger assistant. "Check if the bitch is dead."

     Bianca stood on her toes and put an ear against the hanging girl's breast.

     "The heart’s still beating, sort of," she reported.

     "I can break her neck," offered Inez Santana. This was the first time in the whole evening that the older Warden had said anything aloud.

     "Nah." responded Tatiana. "Just let her hang. I am sure she enjoys it."

     The Captain lifted his hand. "Why don't you prepare the next one? We don't have all day, you know."

     Ramona Portillo reacted to the news of her impending demise with profound indifference. After she realized that her brave self-sacrifice was in vain, the fighting spirit left her, and she stood with dejected air, staring gloomily into the ground, while her friend strangled in the noose. Now it was her turn. Without much prompting, she stepped onto the table and meekly allowed herself to be hooded and noosed.

     "Ladies and Gentlemen," announced Tatiana in a sneeringly cheerful voice, "I have a special treat for you. I give you – table dance!"

     She took hold of the table, but instead of pushing it, she lifted one edge. Ramona started to slide off the tilted surface. Her feet fought for purchase – that was the table dance Tatiana promised – but the Sergeant lifted the edge ever higher, and the girl’s struggles were getting ever more desperate.

     "Ladies and Gentlemen," called Tatiana, "I give you – sexy samba!" She lifted the table one last time and Ramona slid off completely.

     Just as Tatiana promised, the hanged girl was dancing like mad. The trick with the table ensured that the victim got no drop, and so the girl was suffering. She made jumping and kicking moves; scissored her legs; and wrapped one around the other. She bent her torso in all directions; she shook her hips and ass as though she was truly doing samba. Even her bound arms participated in the dance: she punctuated her moves by slapping her butt, loudly and repeatedly.

     At times, Nadia could almost believe that Ramona really danced, so genuinely exuberant were the girl’s movements. Nadia had to remind herself that what she was seeing was not dance but painful agony. As much as Leonor's end was quiet and peaceful, Ramona's was vicious and violent. She would stop moving for a second, but then begin anew with even wilder energy. Her muscle rippled; her body glistened with sweat; there was so much vitality in that girl that it began to look as though she would never stop.

     De La Peña drummed his finger on the back of the chair. "I think I've had just about enough of this. Vea! Santana! Finish her off."

     The older Warden went behind the hanged girl and embraced her by the waist; while the younger one kneeled in front, hugging Ramona's legs. "One, two, three!" Both women pulled down on the body, adding as much of their weight as they could. Ramona bucked and tried, unconsciously, to shake them off; the women had to hold on to the body with all their strength. Ramona fought fiercely, as the raped woman fights her rapist; but she could not free herself from this deadly embrace. The wardens’ efforts were bearing fruit: Ramona's neck was becoming longer and narrower; her head jutted out at an even more unnatural angle; and her struggles were getting progressively weaker. She wriggled feebly once more and then stopped altogether.

     A second later, the younger Warden – Bianca – shrieked and jumped to her feet. "Bitch!" She slapped the dead girl and tried to kick her with a knee. The cause of her ire became apparent as she turned toward the prisoners: Bianca’s face was drenched, and a big wet spot was spreading down the front of her shirt. She wiped her face with a sleeve, spit, and cursed once more, looking miserable.

     "Good job, Ramona," whispered Nadia, looking at the inert body that hung behind the Warden. "You pissed into her mouth!"

     Thus, an executed girl unknowingly managed to take a small revenge on her executioner.

(to be continued)