Pentonbridge Pig

Chapter 26. Diagnosis

“Shut the fuck up pig, you slovenly cunt.”

 

Emily closed her mouth obediently and trudged along behind the guard, the chain leash pulling annoyingly at her collar. Why ask a question if that was how you were going to react to the answer? She had almost made it to lunch today before Jennings had shown up. She had grit her teeth and silently cursed the arrival of the sadistic guard, knowing that her presence meant yet another day which would not count towards her sentence. This just wasn’t fair. She had no control over how often she was removed from her work party. She didn’t want to go, the memory of the last time Jennings had collected her caused a rush of emotions she quickly buried beneath a calm facade she did not feel.

 

She was attached to the back of the cart without comment and made to run back to the prison once more. She stared forlornly at the empty bench seat in front of her, wanting, just for a moment, to rest her weary body. It was ridiculous that she had to run behind the cart like some animal, not worthy of being treated to basic human courtesy. So much of what happened at Pentonbridge had no justification, designed simply to degrade or humiliate. All she wanted to do was work, keep to herself and finish her sentence. Why wouldn’t they just let her be?

 

She wanted to be good. She could deal with the fact that she was scum, clinging tenuously to the lowest rung on the inmate ladder, if only she could get on with her sentence. She was already working longer hours, which simply put her in even more dangerous situations. Boss had accosted her again that morning, pulling her into the room at the back of the shed and treating her like property. She shuddered at the memory of the woman’s slimy mouth suckling at her breast, cringing as she remembered too, how her nipples had stiffened in response and the joyous smile it had brought to the homely woman’s face. They had kissed and held each other tenderly though all Emily could think of was the tacky feel of the plastic apron as her breasts were mashed against it.

 

It would not be long before Boss progressed the relationship to levels she did not want to comprehend. Thankfully the last two days had seen her easily able to avoid the clutches of 42, her poor behaviour attracting the attention of the guards and keeping her separated during those pivotal moments of excess freedom. Emily almost balked at the thought but she couldn’t help but categorise her day this way. The brief periods they were permitted for cleansing were composed of such freedom that it truly separated them from the rest of her existence. They were still scrutinised intensely, but within the scope of the imperative to clean themselves, they were allowed to choose the order and the manner of their activities, freedoms unheard of during the rest of her day.

 

Even now, as she pranced while waiting for Jennings to lead her into the prison, she had no choice. Her behaviour, down to the way she stood, was set for her. All she had to do was obey, and at that she had been failing miserably. She marvelled once again at the difference a small layer of material could make. Slowly but surely she had managed to get all of her uniform into her nest and today, for the first day since her arrival, she was fully clothed. The panties she had been issued were tight and coarse but they protected her sensitive vulva from the rough crotch of her jumpsuit. The singlet was equally roughly made, but its tightness was welcomed. Any additional support for her breasts was to be cherished.

 

Jennings had given her no indication of their destination and Emily’s stomach churned with uncertainty. Every option that she could devise was something to be feared. Most prominent among her list of fears was room 303. She knew she was due for a return. She had 20 infractions and she was sure that was a level worthy enough for correction. Many of the marks from her last visit were fading, even the horridly coloured bruising on her inner thighs had faded to a sickly yellow. It was not until Jennings had her ascend a second set of stairs did she realise exactly where she was headed. No other part of the prison was carpeted in this manner. Even beneath her thickly-soled boots the soft surface felt luxurious. What she would give just to lie on the floor, letting the pile cushion her body, the wiry fibres prickly on her naked body…

 

Emily snapped herself back, not quite believing where her thoughts had taken her. Ever since her ‘evaluation’ with Doctor Robbins, her daydreams had been so vivid, so sensual. The monotonous work in the field allowed her mind to wander and she had been unable to stop her flights of fancy from turning inevitably to the erotic. The images she had been forced to watch were burned into her brain. She could not stop seeing the girl on all fours, leashed and awaiting the ultimate degradation. She couldn’t stop seeing her smiling face, eager for what was to come. She would always snap to with the same feelings of disgust and self-loathing and always with the same warm pulsing between her legs. Yet she could not stop herself from falling down the same dark hole once more.

 

Her heart hammered in her chest as she walked into the waiting room, the large wooden doors of the Warden’s office closed in front of her. She loved this room, yet loathed it at the same time. The colours, the artwork, the softness of the room in a world full of hard things, made her want to stay here forever. And yet it was exactly these things that made her hate it. That a place like this could exist, so close and never be hers to enjoy, to be used to reinforce the fact that she was a digusting, useless pig, made her want to weep every time she came here.

 

Jennings walked past her, knocked once on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer. Emily could hear the conversation in the room stop before she had the chance to recognise the speakers. She almost forgot to start prancing, her attention caught by the beautiful painting to her left.

 

“Ready for this ugly sow? I gotta warn you, she reeks like a dungheap. Sure you don’t want me to hose the bitch down first?”

“Thank you Jennings but no. Please ensure it removes both boots and overalls, I do not want half the field trudged in here.”

“Will do Ma’am. Right pig, you filthy shitsack, get out of those dirty rags,” Jennings snarled, turning back to her once more.

 

Emily grit her teeth, railing against the need to once again remove her uniform. At least she would not be completely naked. The hard work she had put in to getting her uniform was paying off. Without delay she bent down and hurriedly began to unlace her boots. In seconds they were undone and off, placed neatly by her side, sweat-soaked socks deposited methodically inside. She took a deep breath before unzipping the front of her jumpsuit and shrugging her shoulders out of the tight garment. She folded this too and placed it atop her boots then stood facing the guard, hesitating a moment, deciding whether she would be called forward straight away or whether she should begin prancing.

 

“Those stinky things too pig,” Jennings said poking her in the breast with her baton.

 

No, Emily pleaded, almost voicing her dissent aloud. The warden had just said her boots and overalls. She could keep these on, the warden had said so. Her rebellion was clear from her face and Jennings did not hesitate, pressing the baton once more into the soft flesh of the young girl’s bosom and letting forth the power the slim black stick contained. Emily fell backwards feeling as if she had been kicked by a mule. Her entire breast ached from the shock but she quickly scrambled to her feet when she saw the black shoes of the guard step forward.

 

“What is going on out there?”

“Bitch getting uppity is all.”
“Well deal with it, we don’t have all day.”

“Pig, five infractions disobedience. Would you like to go for some more?”

 

Emily kept her mouth shut but quickly stripped the thin singlet from her body before sliding the rough, grey panties down her legs. She didn’t know why but she blushed at the first glimpse of her tag, shining in the bright lights of the room. Wearing panties she had almost forgotten about the small oval of metal that hung from her labia. She hated it, that small silver sliver that marked her like an animal. Emily tried to wipe the emotion away before she straightened up, not wanting her disgust to be interpreted as anger or some other damaging emotion. She had been fucking stupid for questioning an order. Obey, that’s all she needed to do. She wasn’t in a courtroom now, she couldn’t reason her way around things. Obey or pay the price, this was her life now.

 

She was just about to begin the demeaning high-stepping Jennings had invented for her, when she was slapped on the ass with the baton, sending her stumbling toward the opened door. Emily recovered and entered the room walking normally, though with her left buttock now joining her breast as a fresh source of discomfort. She paled as she saw Doctor Robbins seated next to the warden. They sat on comfortable, leather chairs in one corner of the room, a small coffee table between them. Emily could smell the coffee and cinnamon from her place by the door, the enticing aromas affecting her on a fundamental level. She breathed deeply, drawing the scents deep inside her, enjoying as much as she knew she ever could.

 

Behind the two seated women stood an inmate, dressed in the regulation grey, but the colour was where her uniform ceased to bear any resemblance to Emily’s. The girl wore a pleated skirt that came only halfway down her thighs. The top she wore, short-sleeved  and tight, looked to be made from the same coarse-woven material as the jumpsuits. The blouse hugged the girl’s body tightly, as if it had been tailor-made, compressing her bosom into a compact mound that could not be comfortable. There were no visible buttons or zipper on the garment and Emily wondered just how she could have wormed her way into it.

 

It was the  strange grey device on her head that drew Emily’s attention. It clung to her scalp, like some strange swimming cap. The tightly fitted device came down across her face and neck, leaving only a small oval of flesh around her eyes and nose visible. She could see a slight bulge where her mouth should be and knew instinctively that the girl was gagged. She was stood at strict attention and looked demurely down at the refreshment-strewn table. Emily followed her gaze and saw the tray of sweets: biscuits, small cakes and delicate looking pastries. She felt like a dog drooling over a bone but she couldn’t help her reaction. The gruel she had been fed for the past week was neither appetizing nor filling and the mere sight of this food brought tiny tears to her eyes.

 

“Pig, get in that corner until you’re called for,” Jennings spat, emphasizing her words with a violent shove with her baton. Emily winced as the rounded head of the club stabbed between her shoulders sending her stumbling towards an empty corner. “Get that fucking ugly mug into the corner pig. You think we want to look at that, or those floppy sacks or that smelly… Turn around pig. Fucking hell, the bitch is dripping. You better not get any of that on the carpet, pig. Didn’t I tell you to get that butt-ugly blob into the corner. I’d rather look at that fat ass than a face that looks like one.”

 

Emily turned back into the corner, face flushed with humiliation. She wasn’t dripping, that was just the guard’s usual exaggeration, but she was wet. Why, she just didn’t know. It was a worry for her, but she couldn’t say it was at the top of her list. The infractions she had just earned preyed upon her mind. She wasn’t even sure how many she had now, but she knew it was over 20. The possibility of a return to room 303 haunted her more than her arousal.

 

“Yes, thank you Jennings. You were saying Amelia?”

“Well, I wouldn’t like to use the word unique, because in my field that is rather dangerous nomenclature, but it is definitely extra-ordinary. To start at the start, as it were, pig displays a range of paraphilia that is remarkable: troilism, mysophilia, hypehilia, narratophilia, zoophilia, coprophilia, urophilia, klismaphilia and partialism. Now of course disorders such as coprophilia and urophilia are very often found in association, however it is the level and structure of comorbidity within the subject that is the phenomenon that bears further investigation. She is definitely set in the 95th percentile of all cases that I have ever come across or even read about.”

“I see, Jennings please get her here, I think she should be a part of this discussion.”

“Pig, get that weepy cunt over here. Put those flabby legs together, no one wants to smell that slimy snatch.”

 

Emily did as she was told, pressing her legs firmly together, glad of the meagre protrection, but knowing at the same time that the guard was not wrong. She could smell herself, a mixture of sweat and sexual musk, and she knew now that the other women in the room could too. She felt the heat radiate from her chest and cheeks and studiously avoided looking any of her superiors in the eye.

 

“The sexual manias that have manifested in pig border on the psychotic. At the root of her abnormalities is the complete lack of impulse control and the Narcissistic Autoreactive Psychosexual mania that is interwoven at a fundamental level with her consciousness. She appears to be under the delusion that all interpersonal relationships are sexual in nature with her as the locus. She is a sufferer just as much as those around her. She should not be blamed for her behaviour, no matter how offensive, disgusting or immoral we may find it.”
“Fuck that,” spat Jennings, unable to prevent herself from commenting on the one section of the conversation she had understood.

“Now, that is an antiquated paradigm,” Doctor Robbins said calmly. “She is an unwell individual in need of treatment. I have worked up a schedule of diagnosis, treatment and palliative care, but this I fear is a little out of the bounds of the normal programs. It is why I called this meeting. The strident possibility remains that the absence of psychosocial stressors makes this an almost unique case, there’s that word again. I truly am trying to be as objective as I can but the pathological etiology of the case really can only be classified as unique.”

 

Emily frowned, unable to follow the gobbledegook the doctor was spewing. She hadn’t even tried to follow all the medical jargon that had been thrown around, but she was having trouble understanding anything Doctor Robbins was saying.

 

“Now pig, I know that this may all be very confusing but-“

“The world isn’t designed to cater to dullards. If you wish her to understand you can adapt your programs to suit,” snapped the warden over her raised teacup.

“Quite right, and that does bring us to the next point of discussion. The defective mental development we can see in pig is a factor that has, I believe, exacerbated her hyperactive sexual desire and allowed such acute repressive sublimation to manifest. This is all too often the outcome, cases such as this are masked by the failings of the education system, churning out those clearly deficient for simple budgetary concerns.”

“Yes well, that is neither here nor there, my dear doctor. We haven’t any control over such things and I do not believe in pandering to those who cannot apply themselves.”

“Oh quite right, quite right. I just wanted to stress that the pervasive developmental deficit that is so pronounced is a factor in my recommendations. The review that I wish to undertake as part of the treatment will not affect the timeframe nor the content of the program.”

 

The doctor paused to sip her coffee, as the warden flipped through a thick folder. Emily could just see the title on the cover ‘Structured Clinical Review – Pig’. Her heart sank, the despair she had been successfully avoiding since her evaluation, now gripped her in its tight, desolate grip. She wanted to grab the folder and rip it into tiny pieces. She had stood by, listening to these women discuss her as if she was nothing but a collection of almost unpronounceable problems, as if she wasn’t a person at all. None of this was even true. It was complete fucking bullshit. She had to calm down. Emily unclenched her jaw and tried to breathe slowly, in through her nose and out through her mouth. She could feel her body trembling with the desire to act but the training she had received in her short time at Pentonbridge held her in place.

 

“You will see from my report that I am loathe to prescribe Provera or Lupron and I feel the growing tendency towards the slew of serotonin uptake inhibitors to be a sign of sheer sloth on behalf of many practitioners. In short the pharmacological treatments do little to apprehend the root cause of the behaviour and simply seek to retard the manifestation of symptoms.”

 “Retard is right Doc,” Jennings interjected, sneering at the naked girl beside her.

“Jennings would you like to wait outside?”

“No Ma’am,” the guard replied, suddenly contrite.

 

Emily fought to keep her face blank, to remove any possible show of emotion. She could feel the guard’s scrutiny, just waiting for her to show some sign. She wanted so badly to smile, happy that she had finally seen the bitch put in her place. It was dangerous to think this way but right now, in this situation, she couldn’t help it and nor did she want to. Just this once she wanted to revel in someone else’s discomfort.

 

“The implementation of cognitive behavioural methods including relapse prevention strategies is the course that I am recommending. A case such as this requires a singular schedule for treatment and, as outlined in sections four through eleven, I believe that such a program will provide the best case scenario for rehabilitation. There is little to no chance of curing the subject, however the possibility does exist to redirect the predilictions into a positive avenue that can ultimately be structured in such a way as to enable the subject to provide a net benefit to, and ultimately be reintegrated into, society.”

“It all sounds very promising Doctor, but are you entirely sure you aren’t biting off a little more than you can chew, as it were.”

“Not at all. The program simply needs to be structured a little differently and as a matter of course, needs must that the subject be treated in isolation. It will mean an extra session twice per week but I shall treat it as simply an adjunct of my main duties.”
“Professional as always, Amelia. I assume that time is of the essence?”
“No time like the present indeed,” Doctor Robbins replied, smiling at the little game of matching proverbs they indulged in from time to time. “I should like to begin next week and schedule a session every three days to ensure coverage, at least in the initial stages.”

“We are at your disposal. After all, the rehabiliation of the inmates is our prime concern here at Pentonbridge.”

 

Emily almost burst out laughing at that last statement. The only thing anyone at Pentonbridge wanted was to degrade and humiliate the women placed into their care. This was less a prison than one large torture chamber full of sadistic perverts. Their goal wasn’t to rehabilitate, it was to destroy people, breaking them down piece by piece until there was nothing left but an empty shell that did what it was told and worked until it died. Well she wasn’t going to be one of those inmates. She would show this pretentious warden and this clearly insane doctor, that it was true, she wasn’t like the other inmates here. She would do what she needed to survive but she would not become what they wanted.

 

“What do you have to say about all this pig?”

 

Emily was a little stunned by the sudden question from the warden. What did she think? The question was so loaded with menace that she couldn’t believe it had even been asked. Everyone in the room, including the masked serving girl, knew there was only one answer that would not result in punishment. For the smallest of moments Emily thought of speaking her mind. The very idea was ludicrous and her rebellious thoughts had almost caused her trouble only seconds before. She knew she was stupid for thinking that she could somehow buck the system, that she was something special. Her delusion was short-lived, she would obey.

 

“I think it is good Ma’am.”

“I doubt you think very much at all pig and from what I have heard it seems your thoughts are decidedly one-dimensional. I am also quite confident you have no understanding of the vast majority of what was said but even someone of your base intelligence must understand that you are being given a chance to change, to become something of value. It is a novel sensation but for now you are simply being asked if you wish to undertake the program the doctor has spent so much time in devising. All of the programs at Pentonbridge are voluntary.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Yes what, pig,” Jennings bellowed in her ear.

“Yes, Ma’am, I would like to be in the program,” Emily said quickly, knowing, even as she spoke, that she was dooming herself to a world she could not begin to fathom.

“The forms to sign are at the front of this document. Jennings and the good Doctor can witness.”

 

Emily looked at the folder that was turned to face her. With trembling hands she picked up the pen and signed. She had almost written her real name, but hurriedly turned the first stroke into a shaky P. It wasn’t like anyone would notice anyway. She placed the pen carefully back onto the table, fighting the urge to hurl it against the wall in a childish display of anger. She hated having to shackle her emotions. It was bad enough having her speech restricted but to be unable to express herself in other ways was beginning to wear her down. The guard and the doctor signed, their signatures looking extravagant next to Emily’s abrupt scrawl.

 

“Jennings.”

“Right pig, get your stinky snatch out of here.”

 

Emily hurried out of the door, relieved that she was no longer under the scrutiny of the warden and the demented doctor. The warden scared her, the cold, detached disapproval was not something she knew how to combat. Even the sadistic abuse of Mailer and Jennings was at least relatable, they were born bitches. The warden seemed to truly observe her as something unworthy of interest, an object completely without value. It was difficult to reconcile such a stringent way of thinking with someone who held your fate in their hands.

 

“Cover that stanky body, clitlips,” Jennings snapped the moment they were in the waiting room. “I don’t give a fucking shit what the doc said, I saw you in there. I fucking saw you get all hot when they were talking about your cunt and the filthy things you want to do with it. Fucking not blame you! Damn shrinks, thinking they can make everyone better. You and I know though, don’t we pig. You’ll go in there, flash your vag around and love it. Sometimes a filthy slut is just a filthy slut and there’s nothing to be done but keep the bitch in line. Well?”

“Um,” Emily hesitated, buying herself some time as she struggled into her jumpsuit. “Yes Guard Jennings Ma’am. A filthy slut just needs to be kept in line.”
“I know pig, I just said that. At least they got one thing right, you’re dumb as a bag of hammers. Just look how bad you do when there’s no cock to tease to get your own way, fucking fish out of water alright. More like slut out of cocks,” Jennings said, smiling wickedly. “Y’know pig, bitches like you really piss me off. You know that pig?”

“Yes Guard Jenn-“

“Shut the fuck up, pig. Move it, you’re already late.”

 

Emily had just finished closing her jumpsuit when she saw the spectre of the guard’s black baton edge towards her. She all but jumped forward, twisting her shoulder out of the reach of the thick shaft that she knew held nothing but the promise of pain. She heard Jennings laugh, a wicked, indulgent sound that made her wince as if from a physical blow. How long had it been since she had laughed? How long would it be? The only laughter she heard now was at her expense and the sadistic chuckle from the guard reinforced how truly vulnerable she was.

 

Emily left the plush carpets and luxurious furniture behind. The colours and textures quickly faded, replaced by the dull greys and whites of the prison corridors. Her heavy boots resounded noisily along the hard, empty hallways. She tried to hold on to the vision of the warden’s apartments but they slipped away like a cherished dream upon waking. She wanted to trudge, to slide and stomp her feet like a petulant child, expressing her melancholy mood in a physical way, but the fear of the guard only a few steps behind her kept her feet high and light. She tried to step crisply and quietly but the heavy boots slapped against the hard floor despite her best efforts.

 

They made their way through the monotonous corridors, Emily wondering yet again exactly how the staff knew their way around so well. Each corridor looked almost the same. She could be heading almost anywhere: to the doctor’s, back to her cell on D wing, or even to… A shudder ran through her body as she realised she wasn’t entirely lost. With the last turn she knew where she was and she knew her destination. The door lay before her, the number bold, mocking.

 

“Pig!”

 

Emily jumped at the harsh bellow, her thoughts frozen with fear. She couldn’t stop running the number over and over in her head, like a mantra. She reached out and hesitantly knocked on the door as she had been taught. Not waiting for an answer she twisted the metal lever, her hand slick with sweat. The moment the door was cracked, a scream escaped, echoing down the empty corridor as if fleeing the horrors of room 303. If only she could do the same, the young girl wished. Jennings pushed her inside, the hard baton grinding painfully against her spine.

 

Emily didn’t want to find the source of the scream, not wanting to feel a part of the pain of any other inmate, but she could not stop her eyes from darting around the room until they found the tortured woman who had made such a plaintive sound. She was a stranger, not from D-wing, naked and clearly still in pain, though the room was now all but silent. Her hair was pulled back severely and gathered at the back of her head, the rope holding her blonde tresses secure, wrapped tightly around a pole some feet to her rear. Her face was twisted in a grimace of agony, an expression with which Emily was all too familiar.

 

The poor woman’s arms were pulled behind her, as were her legs, a thick metal bar in the small of her back keeping her body forward, stretched in a most agonised posture. The position itself would have been difficult enough, Emily could see her thighs quivering with the strain, but her belly and breasts were crisscrossed with sharp red lines, varying in shade from a light pink to a deep vermillion. The technician stood before her with a long, thin whip trailing from her right hand, her expression, as she looked back at the interruption, made Emily’s blood run cold.

 

“I am in session Jennings,” the technician snapped venomously.

“Yeah, well I have something to drop off. Pig is-“

“Yes, due 9 minutes ago. If you don’t want to wait use a cage.”

 

Emily could not take her eyes from the naked woman, the front of her body crisscrossed with dreadful red marks. She could see the pain on her face, a pain she knew all too well. There was no way of knowing what she had done to be sent here, but in a way it didn’t matter. It made no difference if she had actually done something wrong or if she had been sentenced to this punishment for imagined transgressions, she was a sister, a comrade. Emily smiled at her fellow prisoner, timid and fleeting. She wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. The woman looked away without showing any emotion, her eyes quickly flicking back to the long whip that hung dormant in the technician’s hand. It was a terrible thing to think, but seeing another inmate receiving the attention of the technician made Emily feel a little better. She wasn’t the only one to be sent to room 303, it wasn’t all some horrid system organised just for her.

 

“Enjoying the scenery pig? No fucking surprise a deviant like you gets off on this kind of shit. Get your uniform off now.”

 

Emily cringed but remained in position. Jennings had screamed the command, her mouth so close she could feel the heat of her breath and the ejected spittle on her ear. She was a frenzy of motion, scrambling to remove her uniform, lamenting the loss of clothing once again. The garments were uncomfortable but she needed them now. In such a short time they had become everything to her. They protected her not only from the physical environment but, more importantly, they gave her a layer of protection from the leers and predatory looks of her fellow inmates. Every time she was ordered to remove her uniform she felt a terrible sinking feeling deep in her belly and had to fight back the tears. She could feel her nose tingling now and she grit her teeth, determined not to show any weakness before the guard. She hated feeling so weak.

 

“Punishment interrupted. To ensure coverage, punishment will recommence at zero count. Prisoner 23219, 12 strokes of the Single Tail GS.”

“No, no,” the inmate stammered pleadingly. “It was nine, please it was nine.”

“Infraction for disobedience.”

 

The tears came despite her best efforts. The plaintive cries of the tortured woman cut to her very soul. Those extra lashes were because of her. Emily sniffed, trying to fight the tears but knowing it was a lost cause, she could already feel the wetness on her cheeks. This was her fault. She was almost naked now, only the small grey panties remained to her. She slid them down her legs and quickly folded them, being careful to hide the slightly dampened crotch from Jennings. She had been unable to control her arousal in the field, the monotonous physical activity allowing her mind to delve unobstructed into fantasy. She placed her small pile of clothing next to those of the other inmate. She could see that 23219 had only been wearing her jumpsuit and boots, no undergarments could be seen. Emily wondered again just why so many of the prisoners seemed to prefer that.

 

“Left, pig.”

 

The young girl followed the directions, moving swiftly to the far side of the room to the accompaniment of the screams as each fresh lash landed on the naked woman’s flesh. Emily couldn’t help but think about her own punishments and what would be in store for her this time around. Some of the marks from her last visit were still visible and the ache in her thighs had not entirely gone away. She could usually forget about her punishment while she was working, especially now she was covered, but the showers brought the memories back with full force. She could see each and every mark and feel the pain once more, the stiff-bristled brush highlighting each and every hurt she had sustained.

 

Such thoughts were quickly dashed once she saw her destination. Against the far wall, next to the small desk the technician worked upon, were a series of small cages. There were six cages, arranged in two tiers. They were small, bars of a thick, dark metal, and seemed far more suited to a small dog than a human being. Emily shivered at the thought of being confined in such a tiny space but she couldn’t stop thinking about the number of cages. Why would they need so many? Was there often such a backlog of inmates awaiting punishment? The thought made her blood run cold. She didn’t want to contemplate what went on in this room. Her own experience was enough. She cringed, her shoulders jumping, each time she heard the lash strike and the grunted scream that followed.

 

Jennings pushed her to one side, the tip of her baton digging painfully into her ribs, and stepped past to open the first cage. There didn’t seem to be any locking mechanism on the cage, the door at the front simply swinging open at the guard’s touch. Emily stood, frozen to the spot, trembling as she thought of what was to happen next. She forgot her training and crossed her arms across her chest, the sight of the tiny cage making her feel more vulnerable than ever. Her eyes were wide and wild as she stared at the small space she would soon be occupying.

 

“In pig,” Jennings snapped, tapping the side of the cage with her baton. The sound rang out, mixing with a fresh scream of pain as another stroke slashed at the bare flesh of the bound woman. An extra stroke, Emily could not but add. An extra stroke because of her.

 

She quickly thrust the maudlin thought aside and stepped hesitantly forward. She saw the guard’s brow furrow and she quickened her pace before she had a chance to vent her anger. Four steps and she was at the row of cages. Without stopping she fell to her knees and crawled inside, her belly tightening as she tentatively placed her head within. She pushed on, edging forward slowly, her mind constricting with the space around her. The floor of the cage was a solid metal sheet with a small lip an inch high forming a tray from which the thick bars protruded. It was cool under her hands and a wave of gooseflesh rippled down her body.

 

Emily grunted and almost fell forward into the cage at the sudden blow on her buttocks. She had been on her hands and knees, half in and half out of the cage, obviously Jennings felt that she wasn’t being quick enough. She scrambled forward, not wanting to feel the slap of a second strike, or worse, the sting of a shock. She hated the baton’s ability to dispense an electric charge. A strange nervous sensation flickered through her body each time she remembered the pain imparted with each brief touch. She crawled into the cage with sharp, scurrying movements. The cage door was slammed shut, sending vibrations coursing through the metal frame. All six cages rattled and Emily cringed, the sound containing a sense of dreadful finality.

 

“Turn to the front pig. Who do you think could possibly want to see that slimy slit? Well?”

“Um, no one Guard Jennings Ma’am,” Emily replied meekly, doing her best to turn her body around.

 

The cage felt even smaller than it looked and she didn’t even know if it was possible to turn around. It wasn’t even high enough for her to be on her hands and knees properly. Her arms were bent and her knees were well forward and still her back and neck pressed against the solid flooring of the cage above. She tried, and failed, to twist her body sideways, the cage simply wasn’t wide enough for her legs to slide. The more she squirmed, the more frustrated she became. The bars of the cage were smooth but unyielding and seemed to block her at every turn.

 

“Fuck, you’re a dumb cunt. Stop pissing about.”

 

Emily cringed at Jennings’ harsh words, the frustration in  the guard’s voice created a deep sense of unease in the young girl. A moment later her body bucked and convulsed within the strict confines of the cage. The grunted squeal that erupted from her rivalled that of the woman still being whipped on the other side of the room. The current from the guard’s baton coursed through the metal cage, sending the panicked girl into a frenzy of motion. She hit her head against the roof of the cage, her mouth filling with a bitter tang as she realised she had bitten her tongue. She swallowed the blood, took a deep breath and pressed her back painfully against the bars of the cage. Her knees were pulled back and wide, neck bent so far forward her chin was resting on her chest. She knew how lewd the position must look, her body twisted sideways, pussy thrust out, but she finally managed to squeeze around to the front.

 

“Never miss a chance do you pig?”

 

Emily’s cheeks reddened at the degrading observation but she had succeeded in obeying the command. She was facing the front of the cage, her shins pressed against the floor and her body hunched over, protecting her nudity as best she could. Her buttocks were pushed against the thick bars at the rear, the wall an inch behind, sheltering her sex from view. Her breasts were flattened against her knees and she knew that much of the bulging mounds could be seen from the side but there was not a lot she could do. Her breathing was fast and ragged and a thin sheen of sweat had formed on her body despite the coolness of the cage creeping into her flesh through every inch that rested against the cold metal.

 

“Next time pig, crawl in backwards for fuck’s sake. I swear I’ve seen dog turds smarter than you.”

 

Emily closed her eyes and rested her head against the bars. She hadn’t been told to crawl in backwards, she hadn’t known you could, but the words that struck her like a blow were the first: next time. The idea of another visit to this room caused her heart to pound against her ribs but the prospect of being confined in this tiny cage sent her into a panic. Her chest felt incredibly tight, she couldn’t breathe, mouth gaping like a stranded fish. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly at her collar as strange gurgling sounds filled her tiny cage. The metal band was somehow tighter, it was strangling her. She was going to die here, she knew it. She could feel her face radiating heat as she fought so desperately for breath.

 

“Stop fucking about pig,” Jennings snapped, touching her baton to the cage once more. She casually depressed the small button with her thumb, sending a surge of electricity through the row of cages.

 

Emily flopped around the cage, her body twitching in a grotesque dance over which she had no control. The current was brief but it shocked her from the panic that had so very quickly overwhelmed her. Her elbow had cracked into the bars and a painful tingling shot up her arm. She wanted to cradle it, to massage the strange sensation away but she could do nothing but crouch and wait, huddling timidly in her tiny cage. She would be good. Her breathing remained strained and she fought for control, the lack of air making her a little dizzy. She didn’t want to draw any more attention. Once the technician had acknowledged her, anything she did wrong would cause her far more pain than the fleeting bursts of electricity that Jennings had used. The guard may be a sadistic bitch, but the technician was a clinical machine of torture.

 

Her breathing now under control, she began to notice how incredibly uncomfortable these cages really were. Every surface was hard, her soft body unable to find a position that would ease her growing pain. Her knees were already sore and shuffling them an inch to one side did nothing. Emily settled in to wait, trying to ignore the aches, hoping that her time would come soon. She almost laughed at the thought. She was actually wishing for her punishment. She may as well though, she thought. It couldn’t be changed and the longer I wait the worse it will be. The sounds coming from the prisoner in session only deepened her apprehension. She twisted her head sideways to see the last lash from the single-tail whip strike the woman’s stretched body.

 

There was no scream this time, simply a strained gurgle that sounded even more pitiful. Emily looked at her face and met her eyes, puffy and red and filled with recrimination. She wanted to comfort her, wanted to apologise for the interruption but she could do nothing but stare, the sight becoming blurred as tears filled her own eyes. She didn’t know what the woman had done to be sent to Pentonbridge and at that moment she did not care. Her only thought was to run to this woman, to cradle her in her arms and ease her pain, to let her know she wasn’t alone, she wasn’t just some piece of meat to be abused, she wasn’t a number. She was a person.

 

The technician moved to release the inmate and the contact was broken. Emily lowered her head, resting against the bars of her cage and watched her tears patter against the metal flooring. The reek of iron filled her nostrils and she sniffled, her nose suddenly running from her unbidden tears. She had always hated the smell of metal, the sharp tang that seemed to bite the air. Josh had wanted to fill their apartment with modern furniture, filled with metal and plastic. She smiled at the argument that had caused, and the tender reconciliation afterwards.

 

He was a tender lover and he had truly enjoyed her body for what it was. She owed him a great deal. He had brought her out of her shell once more, the sensual education he had begun had shown her that her body was a thing of beauty. He would spend hours caressing her breasts, his touch so gentle and tender. He had been able to make her wet with a kiss and her need had quickly become as great as his. Her wistful smile twisted with a hint of wickedness when she remembered the first time he had gone down on her. She had no idea how many times she had come, she could remember only that her clit had been sore the next day. It had been the first time, of many, and even though he teased her she knew of his infatuation with the little pink button, well maybe not so little. He had loved nothing more than…

 

The thought went unfinished, her cage ringing with a deafening clatter. Jennings was running her baton along the bars. Emily couldn’t help but think of a small child running beside a fence, a stick held against the palings to produce the rhythmic racket that children seemed to love so much. Jennings was very much like a child, she thought, only she took her pleasure in torment instead of more innocent pursuits. Jennings was a child, but one who could hurt.

 

“Jennings,” snapped the technician. “I have signed for the prisoner. She will remain in my custody until her session is complete. You can collect her on the hour.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Do you have an authority?”

“No, but come on, I-“

“You know better.”

“Whatever,” Jennings said petulantly. She gave the cage a final hit and moved sullenly to the door.

 

Emily wanted to thank the technician but she knew that she could not, even a smile would have simply caused her more trouble. Somehow it would be twisted and turned against her. She knew the technician had not come to her rescue. The only consideration the woman had was being allowed to torture the prisoners in peace. She knew it was the truth, but Emily couldn’t help but be grateful for the expulsion of her nemesis. She watched the black-clad woman walk away, to begin the preparation of the next station.

 

23219 was standing at the front of the room, in position on the small square of spikes. Emily remembered the feel of those small blunt skewers and knew that she would soon be feeling them once again. The naked woman was standing at attention, facing the front wall, chest heaving as she fought to control the sobs that wracked her body. Even from this angle she could see where the thin red marks from the whip had wrapped around to lick at the soft flesh of her hip and side. There would be 21 such marks crisscrossing the woman’s belly, nine too many. Emily could not bury the sight of the stripe she had seen appear across the smooth, white skin of the inmates mons. The whip had landed almost on her slit and the pain must have been excruciating, but it was simply one lash among many.

 

She turned her attention back to the technician, gaining her first glimpse of what happened between stations. Her first visit to room 303 had been spent on station or staring at the wall. The young girl watched the technician, her curiosity overcoming any misgivings she had about delving into the technician’s tortuous world. She watched the woman work, her movements crisp and confident. She set up the next station with an efficiency born of practice and Emily shuddered as she thought of the countless times the process must have occurred and what that meant in the human equation.

 

“23219.”

 

The naked inmate sniffed one final time and hurried over to the station the technician had prepared. Emily could see the fear in her movements as she neared the readied apparatus. She couldn’t quite make out the device to which the woman had been strapped, the space between blocked by the other equipment that filled the room. She didn’t want to watch what was about to happen but she found herself drawn to the unfolding tableau. She had to shift her body just a little, and squint to try and see around a strange metal tripod. She could only see one of the woman’s legs, but the image was clear, she could even see the little metal tag shine between the inmate’s legs.

 

Emily swallowed nervously, knowing what was about to happen. She couldn’t watch, she wouldn’t be a party to this prisoner’s torture, not when she knew, so intimately, of the pain to come. The technician began to speak but the caged girl tried her best to block out the words, not wanting to know. She huddled fearfully in her confinement, wishing she were anywhere but here. She would even prefer to be back in the field, picking up rock after rock after rock. She had emptied 29 buckets before she had been collected by Jennings. The midday meal was about to be served. The thought of food made her stomach grumble and she knew that she would have to wait until evening to fill her empty belly, even then it would only be the same old slop that tasted…

 

Emily cringed as the deep whump of the first blow filled the room. She knew that sound. She knew what had been used. She could almost feel the impact of the thick rubber hose against her own thighs. She wouldn’t receive that punishment. The technician wouldn’t choose that for her again, her bruises had only just begun to fade. Emily tried not to listen yet she had no choice but to hear each blow and the squeal of pain that inevitably followed. It was only as the third blow fell, her own body tensing at the dull thud of hose on flesh, that she realised 23219 wasn’t wearing a gag.

 

That wasn’t fair, Emily thought, immediately chastising herself for such pettiness. How could she think such a thing when a woman was being beaten, a fate which she would soon share. She was glad that 23219 didn’t have to wear a gag, she really was, it was just that she couldn’t help feeling as if she was being persecuted, even by the technician that claimed such detachment. This inmate had even spoken out of turn and she still hadn’t been gagged. It just wasn’t fair.

 

Emily kept her head down and her mind on other things as the prisoner’s punishment was concluded. She had shuddered with each fresh hit, the plaintive moans from the woman filling her with dread. She couldn’t help but wonder how long 23219 had been here. She was older, mid 30s, but she was very fit. Her breasts were small but suited her slim frame. She hadn’t been pretty exactly, her hair without lustre, her eyes a little too close together, brow a little too high, but she had a sensuality about the way she moved, even while in pain, that had stirred something inside the young girl.  She had ignored the sensation then and she did so now, burying it beneath a string of banalities, musings on how many buckets the other bitches had managed without her, who would collect the harnesses in her absence, anything to occupy her mind.

 

When the time came for the victim of the moment to receive the additional punishments, those she had earned during the session, Emily squeezed herself into an even tighter ball and began humming softly. She tried to will herself away from this terrifying room, desperate not to face what was about to happen. She would not think about the hood being laced up, plunging 23219 into darkness. She would not think about the cold slimy gel to be smeared on her breasts. She would not think about the two pressure pads to which she would try to remain in contact with, so very desperately. She would not think about the terrible anxiousness that would flood her body, sending each nerve-ending into a screaming, screeching nightmare of anticipation. She would not think about…

 

Emily jumped as the first pained scream pierced the muted drone of her humming, the feeble defence shattered at the first moment of testing. She could tell 23219 had tried to hold the pain in, doing her best to focus on keeping her hands high, the tiny pads pressed firmly against their contacts. She was on the other side of the room, safe in her tiny cage, and yet she felt as if she was the one being punished. The terror flowed through her and she kept her eyes open, fixed firmly on the polished metal floor of her cage. She had begun to shiver, though she could not tell if it was from the cold slowly seeping into her body through the surface of her container or the fear at her coming punishment.

 

Emily remained silent for the remainder of the inmate’s session. Her jaw was clenched painfully tight, her entire body tense. The wait was interminable. Every second she was cramped into this small cage, she could feel the panic rising, swelling up through her chest and into her throat. She knew it was there, waiting to burst forth in a primal scream of anguish. With each passing moment her fear grew. The inability to move or get comfortable was wearing on her already frayed nerves. Tiny adjustments only heightened her frustration as, at every turn, she met the harsh resistance of the cage. She didn’t know how much longer she could stay silent. She could feel the urge to scream like a manic compulsion that was soon all she could think about. She needed to. She had to. She would die if she didn’t release this pressure that had built inside her.

 

The young girl’s heart almost burst from her chest when the door to her right opened unexpectedly. Would this be the first time she would be happy to see Jennings? Had she come to say she was needed elsewhere and her punishment could be postponed for another day? She would take extra if she could just get out of this cage, this room, right now. It was a guard, but it was not hers. She hadn’t seen this woman before. She was dressed in the same drab, blue uniform, short-cropped hair, baton dangling from her hip. The guard ran her eyes over the rows of cages, barely registering Emily’s presence. She turned to the technician and the prisoner, clearly here to retrieve her charge.

 

Emily could do nothing but watch as the harness and hood were removed from 23219, the inmate quickly making her way to the small square at the front of the room the moment she was free. The guard went to the naked woman and spoke to her quietly. Sound echoed about the large room and yet none came from this new guard. Emily could see her mouth moving but she must have been almost whispering for her voice not to carry to her. Her mouth almost dropped open in disbelief when she saw the guard place a hand gently on the inmate’s bare shoulder and gave her what could only be a reassuring pat. 23219 nodded but did not break position, not even to look at the guard who had treated her so tenderly.

 

Tears returned unnoticed, to fall once more to the polished metal below. One tiny gesture, a touch that did not bring pain. A touch that held comfort, compassion. The need for such a thing filled her. The yearn for such a touch made her heart ache with a physical pain she did not recognise. Why had this woman received such a gift? How had she deserved such treatment? She hadn’t been good, her presence in this room was evidence enough of that. Emily’s mind whirled as she tried to comprehend what she had seen. She began to question if she had witnessed anything at all. What if she was mad? What if she had finally snapped and gone insane? If it was going to happen, why not here, in room 303, cooped up in a cage with barely enough room for a dog.

 

She could not take her eyes from the naked woman as she made her way to the doorway under the careful supervision of the guard. She could hear the technician to her left, the soft whisper of shuffling papers heralding the end of the session. She needed to see it again. She needed to know, the desire for validation as overwhelming as her recent panic. She heard the command to dress. Had the order been given in a soft tone? Had it sounded more like a friend making a suggestion than a superior instructing a filthy degenerate piece of scum?

 

“What the fuck are you looking at cunt?” bellowed the guard as she noticed Emily’s interest. “Get those fucking eyes down.”

 

Emily lowered her head immediately. She pulled herself into an even tighter ball of quivering flesh, cowering at the sudden venom in the guard’s voice. That was what she was used to. The guards weren’t so very different after all. So what had it all meant? There was no time to ponder the anomaly, she could hear the guard approaching, each step an ominous thud as hard sole met harder floor.

 

Emily squealed in fright as something brushed across her bottom. She hadn’t meant to make a noise, but nor had she expected something to enter her cage. She tried, instinctively, to shuffle forward but her head was already pressed against the bars in front. She had nowhere to go. There was nothing she could do but accept the pain and indignity that was to come. She felt a warmth against her cool flesh that sent every muscle in her body into a dense knot of tension. She was still struggling to move forward, away from the intrusive touch, when a sharp spike of agony shot through her sex.

 

She wanted to move away, to reach back and stop the pain, but her body was folded upon itself and she was as securely restrained as if each limb were encased in steel. She knew what was happening, the ability to visualise her predicament made the pain all the more intense. Her tag had been seized and dragged away from her body for inspection. Her labia stretched, the sharp sting turning quickly into a deep throbbing hurt as the guard twisted the small sliver of metal to provide a better view. Emily moaned piteously, the sudden agony settling in her belly, worming its way deep inside her. She was helpless in the face of such an assault, her only outlet the mournful lament that could only bring her more trouble.

 

“Pig, hey. D-wing, well that explains everything. I catch you looking at one of my girls again, you’ll find yourself in the yard.”

 

With a final vicious tug, the guard let go of Emily’s tag. The relief was immediate and immense but the pain still radiated from her sex. Even though it had been localised to one plump lip, her entire pussy felt as if it had been abused. She hadn’t been able to do anything. She had no protection, no avenue of escape, no refuge into which she could crawl and hide. She could barely see, her vision obscured by the flush of tears that wet face and floor alike. The pain was quickly receding but the humiliation lingered. She knew she had no rights here, no choices, no chance against the insistent degradation. She was trapped and she knew it, and yet the casual way in which her tag had been inspected had struck a chord deep within her. She knew the guard had not meant to cause her pain, her only intention had been to check her ID. The pain she had caused had been incidental and irrelevant. What she felt meant nothing to these people, she was nothing. The message had been drilled into her since she arrived but this was the first time it had broken through her defences.

 

The sound of the door to room 303 closing had long since faded before Emily lifted her head to survey the room. Her eyes were puffy and red, wet with the lingering salty moisture that covered her cheeks. She felt foolish, her weakness a hateful thing she was determined to bury. She never wanted to cry again. She never wanted the guards to see her like this, fragile and feeble as a small child. She sniffed, suctioning back a long string of bubbly mucus that dangled from her nose. She gagged as her nostrils filled with the slimy liquid, immediately snorting the clear string out to spiral wildly from the tip of her nose. It was almost enough to send her into the depths of another bout of sobbing. She dug her fingernails into her knees, the sharp pain helping her to fight back the coming tears. She had cried enough. Her eyes were already painfully red, she would cry no more.

 

Emily froze at the sound of the door opening. She dared not look this time, her eyes open but unfocused. She stared at the floor of her cage, tracing the line where polished sheet met circular bar. She counted the ripples in each weld, the tiny metal clusters like lava-cooled mounds at the base of each bar. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision, needing the focus. The compulsion to see the room’s new occupant was almost overwhelming and she was desperate for distraction. She studied the bars of her cage, the thick steel unpolished and dull. The base of the cage was raised almost an inch before the bars began, making the bottom more a solid metal tray than a flat base. The bars were welded to the inch wide shelf, spaced far enough apart for her to easily reach through, or for someone else to reach in. The whole thing must be incredibly heavy, she thought, instantly wondering why she should care.

 

“Coffee?”

“Sure. I’ve got a few minutes before the next session.”

 

Emily sighed in despair as the technician joined the unseen guard at the door. A muted click plunged her into darkness, the soft muttering of the two women disappearing as the door closed noiselessly. Emily strained her senses, desperate for some kind of contact. She could see nothing, not even the bars only inches from her face. Even when she turned to where she thought the door would be, nowhere could she see even the tiniest sliver of light. How had the door been able to close so completely? She could hear nothing in the darkness, not even the soft hum of electricity that was a constant, even in her cell. The desire to make a noise, any sound to fill the void, grew as each second ticked past.

 

The darkness closed in upon her like a tangible force. It was pressing upon her with a weight that should not exist. She could feel it touching her, crawling inside her. She could feel the panic tightening its icy grip, squeezing her chest until her breath came in a ragged flutter. A noise. She had been completely still, body tense, muscles knotted painfully. She knew it had not come from her. A noise, a soft sussuration. Close.  Someone was in here with her. Was it just a trick? Had the technician really left? Maybe she was being tested?

 

It didn’t fit. The technician was cold and clinical, Emily was sure she wasn’t the kind to play tricks. What if it wasn’t someone? What if it was some thing? Pentonbridge had always seemed incredibly clean, the benefits of slave labour, she thought wryly. Her heart thumped in her chest, each beat sounding as loud as a drum to her own ears. How would she able to hear anything over that noise? She let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding, hands trembling, waiting for the unknown to happen.

 

She couldn’t take this any longer. She had to get out of this cage. She couldn’t sit here and wait for whatever was coming for her. Once it had occurred, the thought of some huge rat slipping inside her cage, clung tenaciously in her brain. She couldn’t shake the images of its black-furred body rustling against the metal bars and the frightful imagining caused her eyes to moisten in fear. The thought was as vivid as if she was watching the terrifying scenario unfold on a screen: the small, clawed feet clicking on the polished metal floor as it crept behind her, attracted by the musky odour from her sex. She saw the long whiskers twitching as it caught the scent, jaws opening, sharp teeth shining with verminous slaver.

 

Emily thrust her body forward at another imagined sound. She had wound herself like a coiled spring, each passing moment of darkness fuelling her imagination. Her head bumped painfully against the hard bars and she cried out, more in shock than any real hurt. She was lucky the cage was so small. She had almost no room to move, the sudden jolt only sending her an inch forward.

 

There was nothing there, nothing. She was being a fuckwit again. The longer she stayed in this prison, the more Jenning’s opinion of her seemed to be coming true. She needed to get a fucking grip. The technician was a brutal bitch but took her work very seriously. She would never let anything in this room that she wasn’t going to use to inflict pain upon the unfortunate women sent here.

 

Despite earning their visit to room 303, Emily still thought of any woman, no matter what the reason for her presence in Pentronbridge, as unfortunate. She thought about what lay in store for her when the technician returned and the prospect sent a shiver down her spine. She needed to obey. She made a solemn vow to herself, here caged in the darkness waiting to be tortured, that she would obey. Anything and everything she was told, she would do. No matter what they said or what they did, she needed to submit, completely.

 

But to whom? All staff of course, including Boss, though she really didn’t know exactly what she was. The Doctor and whatever twisted program she had devised for her, definitely. 42? The thought of the burly prisoner made her shudder. Submitting to her meant breaking the rules of Pentonbridge, rules she must obey. How could she avoid the other inmate’s attention? It was a dilemma for another time.

 

The door clicked open, flooding the room with blazing white light. Emily was startled by the sudden reappearance of the technician. The room really must be completely soundproof, she thought. The black-clad woman walked past the caged girl without speaking, the sound of her hard boots reverberating throughout the room. The footsteps passed so close that Emily cringed, fearing, foolishly, that she could be their target. She knew that now was her time, her turn to be the focus of the technician’s attention and now that it was here, she wanted nothing more than to be lost once more in the darkness.