Pentonbridge Pig

Chapter 21. Early Worm

The blast of early-morning air caused Emily to hunch her shoulders against  the cold. Her nipples hardened immediately and a wave of gooseflesh pimpled the young girl's bare skin. The sun had not yet arisen and the wan light of pre-dawn gave the fenced off yard an ethereal feel. A sharp tug on her leash caused her to continue forward, stumbling behind the immaculately uniformed guard.

Emily looked down at her own body with mixed feelings. She had managed to grab her boots before being ushered roughly out of her cell, but apart from the heavy black footwear she would once again be nude during her second day of work at Pentonbridge. Naked but for the infernal chastity belt that she wore of course. She felt as if weights had been attached to her feet, each step she took in the thick soled boots was felt in the muscles of her legs, muscles she did had never known existed.

As she followed her guard, feeling like an animal being taken for a walk, Emily thought back on the morning. She had been jerked awake by the sound of her cell door opening. The harsh grating sound echoed around the spartan cell block like thunder. She had all but dived out of bed to stand at attention, feet within the yellow circles on the floor of her cell. A woman she had never seen before, Guard Swanson as she discovered later, had ordered her out, informing her that her work day was about to begin.

The presence of mind she had shown, or as she thought now, the recklessness, to grab her boots as the guard stepped past her cell still amazed her. She thought back longingly on the rest of her uniform that still lay on the small shelf in her cell. She had mercifully been given the opportunity to hurriedly slip her socks and shoes on her feet as another woman was also released from her cell.

Emily looked across at her companion. She was taller than her, and much more solidly built. The shapeless prison overalls concealed much of her figure but the ample bosom and long, lithe legs were still evident. So that is what I look like, Emily thought, staring at the length of chain that was leashed to the woman's collar. Guard Swanson had attached both chains to a single leather hoop that she had looped about her right wrist.

412 noticed the scrutiny and twisted her head in challenge. Emily smiled hesitantly, blushing as she thought of her own appearance and what her fellow inmate would think of her. The scowl disappeared from the taller woman's face and she returned a small, wry smile. Emily's spirits soared, her heart beat faster and there was a new found spring in her step, despite the heavy boots. This was the first kindness she had encountered since stepping foot off the prison bus that had delivered her into this hellhole.

At a surreptitious nod  of the head Emily's gaze was directed behind the other woman's back. In a quick series of gestures that lasted only seconds, Emily was introduced to her first prisoner. She had frowned momentarily as first four fingers were held out in a fan, then one and then two, however the confusion had lasted  but a moment. This woman was to be known as 412. To be reduced to a number was demeaning, but, she thought, a number was preferable to the alternative. How was she going to communicate her own name? Did she have to? The amount of times she had been screamed at since arriving on D-wing could not leave any mystery to her identity.

Both prisoners stopped as Swanson attached the prisoner's leashes to a clip on her belt and opened the gate in the outer wall. Emily immediately began walking on the spot, raising each knee high into the air as she had been told. The young girl was determined for her second day in prison to go smoothly. Her body ached with the myriad pains from her punishments of the day before and she was seriously worried about how much more her body could take. If she ended up in the infirmary, she was sure the days spent in recuperation would not come off her sentence.

"Pig, cut that shit out," snapped Guard Swanson.  "I don't want any of your stupid crap on my detail. It's bad enough having you flop those tits about where I have to see them."

Emily lowered her leg and stood still. The familiar heat of humiliation rose across her chest and up into her face, mottling her pretty features with a delicate pink colouring. The mere presence of another inmate made Emily feel small enough to step on. She was not off to a good start, but how was she to know that what she did was wrong. It seemed that she was only to prance when in the custody of Sergeant Mailer, and of course Guard Jennings, the wicked bitch who had started the degrading practice.

A forceful tug on their leashes got the prisoners moving again and the clang of the gate closing behind her, held an ominous tone for the apprehensive young girl. Emily had no idea why she had been chosen to start work so early. What were these special duties that she was expected to perform, above and beyond her normal daily routine? She was relieved that she was not alone, despite the added pressure it created for her. She didn’t know quite why the impressions of her fellow inmates were important to her. They were criminals, true criminals. But if she had been sentenced to D-wing for embezzling a little money, maybe they were also unfairly sentenced. The uncertainty was yet another cause of concern for the worried girl.

Emily heard, and felt, the rough gravel crunch beneath her booted feet. The sense of relief she felt at having her feet protected from the rigours of the day caused a smile to edge across her face. The sensation of her unfettered breasts, bouncing and swaying as she walked, quickly wiped away her brief moment of joy. As she was lead along the path, the pale light of dawn crept over the landscape before her. The bright spotlights dotting the walls of the prison began to wink out and the crisp bite of the gentle morning breeze began to fade. Emily waited patiently for her nipples to soften, aware that their stiffened demeanour could be used to demean her at any moment.

Her sexuality had been used against her at every turn. Her near constant lack of clothing and the intense scrutiny of her body, by staff and inmates alike, had, instead of inuring her to the situation, only heightened the vulnerability and deepened the humiliation she felt. She had no control over her own body: over who saw it, who touched it or even what it was made to do. Never in her life had she been in a position where she was not in control and now she had found herself unable even to go to the toilet without some kind of outside intervention.

Emily’s shoulders slumped as she realised their destination. The fleet of small electric carts sat in two perfect rows. The two women were led to the first vehicle on the rank and their leashes attached to the rear supports, one on either side of the cart. Thank God for these boots thought Emily, though also wondering how she would perform while running in them. It felt like there were solid blocks of lead in each thick sole. Her feet would no longer feel like they were being torn to shreds but she knew her muscles would be burning in no time.

Guard Swanson was not a garrulous woman, and apart from the one admonishment she had directed at Emily, she had not spoken a word since escorting them out of D-wing. The cart hummed into life and sprang out of the lot, the two female prisoners running dutifully behind. Emily’s soft breasts bounced forcefully as she ran, no amount of pertness able to keep such voluptuousness subdued. Despite the cool stillness of the morning, she was soon sweating from the exertion of her run. It did not take long for her breathing to become ragged.

Emily risked a glance at the other woman and noticed she was jogging behind the swiftly moving vehicle with no problem, her neat ponytail bobbing in the air behind her. Emily’s own hair hung ragged, flowing around her face and shoulders. She would need to remember to tie her own hair, though when she would find the time she was not sure. The other woman, 412 Emily reminded herself, was obviously fit. She did not look that much older than her, maybe in her early thirties at the latest. The young girl wondered just how long she had been at Pentonbridge. How long would it take for Emily to reach the level of fitness where she was not gasping for breath after such minimal effort?

She had little time to devote to the landscape as she struggled along behind the cart, but it was quickly apparent that their destination was not the field in which she had worked the day before. They had headed East, the sun slowly rising behind a large barn shaped building. The sight of what must be their destination caused a jittery feeling in her belly. As they closed in on the building the earthy smell of a farm became stronger and stronger. Emily was not entirely sure what it was but she knew there were animals inside the low-set building. There were no windows and the one large sliding door, reaching to the very gables of the building was firmly closed.

The cart came to an abrupt halt at the side of the metal shed, allowing Emily to catch her breath. She gasped in great lungfuls of the crisp air as she struggled to stand at attention. 412 was breathing heavily, her chest moving visibly under her uniform, but she was already standing at strict attention, sucking the cold air through her nose and blowing it out slowly through her mouth. Emily tried to emulate the more experienced prisoner’s rhythm but her lack of fitness and need for air kept her mouth gaping like a stranded fish.

Their leashes were detached from the cart and the two women were led through a small door in the side of the shed. The smell of the interior made Emily screw up her nose in disgust. The mixture of aromas – wet cement, astringent chemicals and animal excrement – was overwhelming. She looked down the length of the long shed as her leash was attached to the ring on the wall. The shed consisted of a central aisle that ran the entire length of the building, bordered on either side by raised, gated platforms. Hoses hung from the ceiling and snaked around the gates at regular intervals, creating a hanging forest of sinuous black piping.

Emily looked at 412 but her fellow inmate was looking around the shed with disinterest. She tried her best to deduce what she was doing here, but she had no experience with farms or with animals, contrary to the filthy rumours that had been woven about her. It was not until she spotted the cluster of nozzle attachments at the end of one of the hoses closest to her that the purpose of the building dawned on her. It was a milking shed, the cows were to be led in the side and…

Her musings were interrupted by the return of the guard with the strangest figure Emily had yet encountered at Pentonbridge. The woman was dressed in the ubiquitous grey overalls that all prisoners wore, but a long black plastic apron covered the front of her body from neck to foot. Tall black galoshes rose to her knees. She stood in front of Emily and 412 and planted her hands on her hips.

“Well what have we here? 412 found herself a little fucktoy has she?” the new arrival bellowed, as if everyone about her were deaf. “Don’t worry pig, Swanson has let me know all about you. It’s not for me to comment if you want to come in here swinging your tits around but I will be watching both of you do you hear,” she said coming in closer and cuffing both women on the side of the head. “Besides, those udders of yours will be in good company today. 412, you will work the right, pig here will come with me on the left.”

Swanson unclipped their leashes from their collars and looped the chains back through the ring in the wall before unceremoniously leaving the shed without a backwards glance. Emily was left with this boisterous woman, whom she was not quite sure of. Was she a prisoner of some kind? Was she a guard dressed in the drab overalls because of the work she was doing? Was she a civilian who was employed as a farmhand or some kind of milking technician? Emily had not a clue and decided to treat her as any other superior. Had not the Warden told her that everyone she would meet at Pentonbridge was her superior?

A deafening noise began to reverberate around the large metal shed. Emily could see the cows entering at the far end of the platform, their low-pitched mooing combining with the clatter of their hooves on the metal grates to create a cacophony of noise that assaulted her ears. The cows seemed to know the drill, moving towards the end of the line where a second woman, dressed identically to the woman on her right, ushered them into position in front of each set of hoses dangling from the ceiling.

“Do you know what is happening here pig?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Emily replied, a little taken aback with the tone of the question.

“Good to know pig, good to know. Rumour has it that you are a some kind of congenital retard, like a Downer or something. It’s a relief to know that however stupid you are, at least you will be able to do this job. Oh and you may address me as Boss, pig.”

“Yes Boss,” Emily replied obediently, fighting the momentary urge to say ‘yes Boss Pig’. Was she fucking crazy? Emily thought. It was too early in the morning for this, she was not quite right yet, she needed a cup of coffee. She sobered up quickly at the thought. Coffee was not something that was likely to be in her future anytime soon. She was in prison and she had better smarten up and stop fucking around or she would find herself right back in the hands of Technician Rosen.

“Okay pig, the cows come in here, get milked and move out. It is your job to see they are satisfied. They want to be milked see. I am sure you can relate to that eh,” said Boss, tapping the underside of Emily’s right breast playfully. Emily blushed furiously as her breast bounced at the casual touch. “Now each cow has four teats, hence four cups. When the cow comes, in her tag is scanned automatically so we can know the individual yields. Pig, all you have to do is apply each cup to each teat. The machine does the rest. Once all your cows are cupped and milked all you have to do is watch for this light here to come on. This lets you know that the cow is finished being milked. You remove the teat-cups and wash each teat. Rinse and repeat,” Boss said, her face split by a wide smile, indicating the first cow and the weird apparatus that hung next to it.

Emily had listened to the explanation and decided it was relatively simple. She was shown the small pump pack of liquid she would use to clean the cow’s teats and little else remained but for her to get started. The cows were in position and she realised that 412 had already started applying the cups to the udders of the cows in the opposite row. Emily stepped forward and picked up the mass of teat-cups, that looked to the young girl like some wicked claw-like appendage from some weird science-fiction monster movie. She tentatively moved towards the first cow, fumbling the metal cylinders as she did so.

“Here pig,” Boss said, leaning in against the naked girl, “put the furthest teats in first, just reach in, pop it over and voila. Now you try.”

Emily had cringed when the stiff plastic apron had rested against her bare flesh as the woman leaned into her body, guiding her arms forward until the first cup was safely suctioned to the cow’s teat. Emily had felt smothered, violated, by the intense presence of the woman and was relieved when she stepped back. The way she joked with her and treated her as if they were best friends, and Emily wasn’t a nude prisoner destined to do as she was told, had put the young girl off balance.

She continued to fumble the cold metal cylinders onto the teats of the patiently waiting cow. As the fourth cup slid along the small teat, she stepped back relieved, only to realise it was only the first of what could be hundreds of cows. Boss showed her the button to press to begin milking and then pushed her towards the second station. Emily serviced cow after cow, slipping the cups over the teats and starting the milking process. After she had successfully serviced her fourth cow, she was given a gentle pat on the head and Boss left her to her own devices.

Once she had moved down the line, hooking up 20 cows in total, Emily stood back and scanned her row of animals, eager to detect the first light that would indicate her task would begin again. She knew she had to move fast when a light flashed on. If she missed it there was no doubt in the young girl’s mind that punishment would swiftly follow. The momentary lull in activity gave her a chance to think. The clatter of the milking machines and the contented munching of the cows as they fed provided the counterpoint to her whirling thoughts.

Was this to be one of her duties from now on? Would she be getting up hours earlier to come out here and milk cows? Would she ever be able to wear her uniform? It had been a minor victory that she had managed to snatch her boots that morning. She was still cold, her nipples still painfully stiff, but the boots kept her feet off the freezing cement floor. The annoying bastard of a belt that cupped her sex did nothing to keep her warm. Standing at attention now, in the cold shed, not only allowed her a chance to think but to also feel the frustrating pressure at her anus with full force.

As she swivelled her head from side to side, desperate not to miss the instant a light blinked on, she tensed the muscles of her ass and sphincter, testing for the thousandth time to see if she could somehow move the stiff plastic ring. She knew it was futile, she knew that as long as she wore the belt she was cursed with this maddening sensation. She was constantly on edge, worrying that if she relaxed, her sphincter would open and something would escape. She had yet to have a bowel movement and she knew that when she returned to D-wing she would not be able to avoid it any longer.

A light was on! Emily scurried to the second cow in her line and looked at the metal cylinders hanging from the udders of the cow. Startled, the young girl jumped as Boss was at her side. She leaned in close to Emily’s ear, her warm breath causing a wave of gooseflesh to erupt down the entire right side of her body.

“Watch pig, this is how you remove the cups.”

Emily watched closely as she was taught another step in the process. When I get out of this fucking place, at least I’ll be able to get a job on a farm, she mused disconsolately. Her mind was not entirely on the job at hand. The discomfort in her tight nipples had become painful. She wanted desperately to cup her breasts and gently roll her nipples between her warm fingers. Instead her hands had to remain behind her back, where a dutiful inmate was to keep them at all times. She was trying to be a dutiful inmate, she really was. She knew it was the only way she could stay out of trouble. She was trying but she knew that she was falling well short.

Her lack of focus did not go unnoticed. Emily yelped as her right buttock stung painfully. A second blow followed quickly afterwards, Boss’s hard, calloused hand immediately causing the area to redden deeply. “When I teach, you listen pig. Dumbfucks like you don’t have the luxury of being able to daydream. You wondering about being in there, having those pretty titties milked hey?”

Emily stood frozen, still shocked by the suddenness of the spanking. The last three cups were released from the cow and Emily was spun around roughly. Before she knew what was happening, one of the milking cups had been pressed to her left breast and the suction turned on. Emily gasped as her hard nipple was sucked into the shaft, the flexible plastic inner sheath cupping the delicate bud and squeezing rhythmically.

“Hey, 412. Look at this,” Boss bellowed in Emily’s ear. Emily squirmed against the solid woman, but her hands were trapped behind her back by one of the large, rough hands of the older woman.

The pain in her breast and nipple caused tears to spring into her eyes and she tried once again to free her hands. Unable to remove the suctioned cup from her breast she tried to fold her body in two and shake it loose, but the hips of the much stronger woman pushed harshly against her buttocks preventing her from doing anything but standing straight. Emily looked across the room at 412, pleading through tear-filled eyes for some kind of help.

“Bitch getting milked,” yelled the coarse woman. “Enough of your joking around pig,” she laughed, “back to work.”

The powerful woman ripped the cup unceremoniously from Emily’s breast, leaving the young girl moaning in distress. Her nipple was swollen and red, the usual hard pink nub puffed into a tender scarlet dome. A deep indentation surrounded the nipple where the suction of the cup had dug into her tender flesh. Her left nipple throbbed painfully and it was all she could do not to reach up and gently massage the abused bud. Her hands were released and she was pushed roughly against the edge of the platform.

Emily looked at her tormentor with barely concealed anger. She still did not know if this woman was a prisoner or not. Could she say or do anything? Emily screamed as a calloused hand flashed out and slapped her left breast, though thankfully the painfully swollen nipple was spared direct contact.

“Two cows need servicing bitch. Don’t fucking stand there like a stupid cunt. Now you can put all your attention into your work, no more fantasising about being milked eh,” Boss said with a sneer.

Emily spent the next hour scurrying back and forth, attaching and detaching the teat-cups from the udders of what seemed an endless stream of cows ready to be milked. She had quickly become expert in seating the cups comfortably around each teat. The work was monotonous and boring, but the cleaning of the teats was something which affected the young girl each time she was called upon to do it.

Sliding her hands down the slimy teats, her fingers coated in the sterile cleaning solution, caused her mind to wander down tangents of thought she dearly wished she could ignore. Each soft, warm teat slid smoothly through her moist fingers. The malleable flesh felt strange under her touch and she could not help but think of something else, long and cylindrical with which she had some experience. Emily had blushed the first time her fingers had stroked a teat. She knew the thoughts that rushed into her head did her no credit. They were the thoughts of a slut, but she could not help herself. She had quickly finished the task and kept her head down as she moved to attend to the next animal, but the thoughts had arisen each time she gripped on of the long teats.

She was ashamed of herself, though it was more than that. She had remained despondent as she continued to think of sexual acts as she went about her work. This was the exact thing she had been denounced for, the exact type of thinking that had marked her as a deviant and the very behaviour that she had fought so hard to deny. How could she now be feeling this way? Emily worked in a state of confusion, desperate that her shameful thoughts not come to light. They were only thoughts, though, of that she reassured herself. It was still quite cool in the shed and her nipples had remained hard, though they had softened somewhat from the exertion. Her pussy was unable to be seen but she was adamant that there would be no evidence there, they were just harmless thoughts, she didn’t let them go too far and her arousal stayed muted.

It was not until the last round of animals were being milked that the relative peace she had experienced during the milking was shattered. She had been walking down the aisle, on her way to release an animal from its machine, when she had been splattered with filth. She had seen a number of cows void their bowels as they were being milked but she had always, thankfully, been far away. This time however, she had not been looking and had missed the cues that would have warned her of the lifting of the tail. The sloppy excrement fell onto the side of the platform and splattered all over the naked girl. Blobs of the green-flecked brown sludge landed on her breasts, belly and arms.

Emily stood back and gasped as the revolting ooze began to drip down her body. She had flung her arms to the side in utter amazement and stood frozen as the realisation of what happened sunk in. The disgusted girl spun around at the sound of laughter. 412, had braced herself against a pole and was laughing uncontrollably. Emily flushed a deep red, humiliated not only by being covered in the excrement of an animal, but that a fellow prisoner, one of the very women from D-wing, was laughing at her predicament.

“Pig, you filthy bitch, stop fucking around. I catch you doing that again and you will receive a correction.”

Emily stared at the stocky woman incredulously. So now it was going to get around that she walked behind the cow on purpose. Her brain was beginning to grasp the situation she was in and the pitfalls everyday activities held for her while she was imprisoned here. Her reputation had been set, each small misunderstanding, every unfortunate incident would now be used against her, used to reinforce her persona as a sexual deviant of the most disgusting kind. All she could do was to be ever vigilant, though she had not been particularly successful so far.

There was nothing she could do but continue to service the remaining cows, ensuring they were milked and released. She blinked away the tears and went back to her task. She worked diligently and tried her best to ignore the filth that speckled the front of her body. The smell was not as bad as she had expected, though it was far from pleasant. She had washed her hands in the sterile solution before touching anything else, but she had not dared to clean her body. She had not been given permission and she could see Boss hovering at the end of the shed, no doubt waiting with baited breath for her to make a mistake.

“Ok pig, 412. That’s the last of them. Stow the machines, pig watch 412, then this place needs to be cleaned. 412 you will be on the hose, pig you’re on the broom. Chop chop bitches, you had better hurry if you want to be back in time for breakfast, though it looks like pig might have already tried to have hers, eh,” Boss laughed, jabbing 412 in the ribs.

Emily watched, humiliated, as 412 smiled uncomfortably. Maybe she wasn’t all that bad, Emily thought. It must have been quite funny to see her splattered by the cow. If they only knew what it meant for her. She was desperately trying to break the mythology that was quickly forming around her. Her list of vile fetishes was growing by the day, what would be next? Would they contrive to somehow make out that she was attracted to overweight middle-Eastern octogenarians with webbed feet?

Emily and 412 scurried down the aisle, raising the claws of teats back into their holsters. Once finished both women hurried back and collected their cleaning equipment. The broom which Emily was to use was an implement of mammoth proportions. The handle was five feet in length and the head of the broom, from which long, extremely stiff bristles protruded, was a good three feet in length. Emily looked at 412 and silently begged her to spray the hose over her naked body. It sounded sexy when you said it like that, Emily thought. One woman spraying another nude girl with a hose, but they were not at a carwash now.

412 began spraying down every surface of the shed. She worked systematically wetting a surface thoroughly before moving on. Emily soon caught on that she was supposed to sweep the wet areas, forcing all the clods of mud and dirt and, of course, the scattered cow-shit, towards the central drains. Emily leaned into the broom, pushing with all her might to get the gargantuan object to move across the rough cement. If she did not lean all her body into each push, the broom simply skidded across the surface. She sighed in resignation, once again an easy task had turned out to be a nightmarish hell. Why could she not have been on the hose?

Emily squealed and jumped forward almost dropping the broom handle. She spun around furiously, ready to confront her tormentor, though all anger evaporated as she saw Boss, hose in hand giggling to herself. The power from the hose had been astounding, much greater than that with which she had been cleaned the night before. The short blast had hit her buttocks like jet from a firehose and had stung her tender globes almost as much as the painful slaps she had received from the calloused hands of the cruel woman.

From that moment on Emily had to scramble to keep ahead of the following jet. The farmhand in charge of the milking shed was moving behind Emily, hosing down the swept areas for a final time. The young girl had to suffer the indignity of an occasional burst of water on her buttocks or legs, unable to do anything but continue working. The excrement spattered across her chest had solidified and continued to stick to her bare skin like glue. If only some of the spray would reach her chest, she would be free of the filth and hopefully be able to move past the shame of being covered in animal shit. Even the pain of the powerful hose the cruel woman wielded would have been worth the relief of finally being cleansed of the humiliating matter.

Emily’s arms ached by the time a halt was called to the cleaning. She happily returned her broom to the wall at the end of the shed and stood at attention near the doorway.

“Competent,” Boss announced. “If you put more attention into your work you would do better pig. I am not going to award any corrections, but I am making a note that you have a tendency to daydream which has a potential to affect your performance. Keep your mind off these and this,” she said, tapping Emily’s breasts and the front of her chastity belt, “and your work will improve. Ok bitches, off you go.”

Emily blushed, though she noted, through her humiliation, that the specks of filth dotting her body had been carefully avoided as her breasts had been set swaying. The leashes were soon reattached to the collars of each inmate and they were led through the small door out into the bright sunshine. The day had barely started, though the air had warmed and the mild haze that had lingered from the dawn had been swept away. The sky was crisp and clear, the delicate cerulean of early morning fading to the palest of blues as it reached toward the horizon.

She contemplated the beauty of the vista before her for a moment before the pressure at the front of her collar wrenched her back to reality. Guard Swanson was sitting comfortably in the driver’s seat, her arm draped across the back of the seat. She turned casually at the approach of the three women and inclined her head to the rear of the cart. Emily and 412 were coupled to the back of the cart without a word spoken. Their menial work completed, they were now to be sent back into the prison to begin another day filled with back-breaking labour. They weren’t prisoners at all Emily thought. She didn’t want to think it but once started she could not stop.

Slaves. The word filled her with dread but it was more accurate than any other word she could think of to describe her life. She was held against her will, forced to work, humiliated without any hope of retaliation or any avenue of escape. Was there really any difference in being owned by a person or by an institution. For the length of her sentence, Pentonbridge owned her.

Emily jumped as a sharp pain stung her aching left buttock. A split second before the cart pulled away, she was able to turn her head and glimpse the stocky woman she knew only as Boss, walk jauntily back towards the shed. She had pinched her ass, of that Emily was sure. But what did it mean? The possibilities whirled around inside her mind as she ran back to the prison buildings, back towards her second day of a sentence she suddenly felt would never end.