Pentonbridge Pig

Chapter 27. 303 Redux

“Station 12.”

Emily looked up at the technician, the memory of the stations still fresh. She glanced at the small square of plastic spikes at the front of the room, dreading what was to come but knowing that station 12 was the least of her worries. The blunt spurs were uncomfortable but they would be as nothing to what the technician would do.

“Pig, infraction, disobedience. Station 12.”

Emily looked frantically back at the technician, eyes wide with panic. She was locked in a tiny cage, barely able to move. How had she been disobedient? How…

“Reach out, open the cage and get to station 12. I am not in the habit of indulging laziness.”

Fresh tears fell to the floor of her cage as Emily struggled to manoeuvre her arm out through the front of the cage. She had already spotted what she had thought was the lock, but what turned out to be a simple latch that kept the door closed. She banged her elbow on the hard bars but managed to get her arm through and her fingers around the latch. It was a simple motion to lift the latch and swing the barred door open.

The naked girl crawled out of the cage, muscles creaking painfully as she stretched after the tight confinement. Her mind whirled at the knowledge that she could have released herself from the cage at any time. She had thought she had been trapped, even so, just because she could, did not mean that she would. Now that she knew she could escape it would be harder to obey if she ever again found herself in the tiny cage.

She hurried to the front of the room, wincing as her feet found the plate of tiny spikes. Emily immediately stood at attention, gazing blankly at the bare wall in front. What would she have done if she had known she could open the cage? She had almost lost it, panicing like a little child. She trembled at the thought of what she may have done in that moment of weakness.

She had received an infraction for disobedience because she had not moved quickly enough, but how was she to know? She had assumed that she had been locked in, she hadn’t been disobeying she had just been… stupid. She knew there wasn’t any other word for her behaviour. She hadn’t taken notice of her surroundings. Maybe the technician had mentioned it earlier and she hadn’t been listening, lost in her melancholy self-pity.

“180.” She stiffened at the technicians command. The woman was directly behind her, the calculating voice sending a shiver down her spine. “Turn around pig, all the way. Honestly, Jesus!”

Emily cringed at the technician’s exasperation. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know what 180 meant. She needed to get some time in her cell and read her manual. She had barely skimmed a few pages and she was expected to know it all.

“Let’s see,” the technician mused, inspecting the young girl’s naked body with a critical eye. Emily tensed when the black-clad woman reached out and squeezed the bruised flesh of her inner thigh. She was still tender, though the dark marks had faded considerably. The technician walked around her, a finger gently tracing the straight red patterns that crossed her back.

“You have requested thirty strokes. The rapidity with which you have requested these corrections has placed a restriction upon this session. In accordance with 16B-R a remedial session will be scheduled to fall 72 hours after this session.

“Fifteen strokes this session, 25 in the remedial. From the bewildered glaze on your face I can see that you have not bothered to take the time to read the manual with which you were issued. I suggest you do so. As I said education is not part of my job.”

Emily tightened her face, removing any trace of emotion. She had been confused and she had been foolish enough to let it show. The technician had added another ten strokes to her total and she wasn’t even sure what a remedial session was. She knew she would have to devote a lot more time to her manual. How could she obey if she didn’t know the rules she needed to follow.

“Station 4.”

Emily’s eyes darted frantically around the room looking for the first piece of equipment on which she would be tortured. She could not afford to stand here like an idiot but nor could she simply run around the room randomly. Logic would not work as the technician had not set the stations out in any specific order. She had only the small number on each piece of equipment, and her memory, as a guide.

After what felt like an age, skin crawling under the scrutiny of the stern technician, she finally saw the small ‘4’ on a large wooden square. She hadn’t a second to lose and hurriedly made her way to the strange contraption. She didn’t really know what to do once she was there so simply stood at attention, the easy fallback for the stupid bitch.

“On, pig. You requested this correction, it is not for me to do all the work for you.”

Emily wanted to scream at the technician but she knew that even the thought of venting her frustration was dangerous. She hadn’t fucking requested anything. She hadn’t obeyed and so earned this punishment but that was not the same as requesting to be tortured. She would learn to behave, she didn’t need this. She didn’t need it and she didn’t want it.

The young girl looked forlornly at the solid wooden block, noticing the one set of semi-circular restraints at the far end. They were at the very edge of the top surface and open, as if waiting just for her. Emily scrambled onto the box, turning around once she realised that the restraints could not have been meant for her hands.

Her ankles were quickly manoeuvred next to the hinge of each metal crescent, her feet now hanging vulnerably over the far end of the box. There was no place for her hands to be secured so the bewildered girl remained kneeling, legs spread obscenely wide by the position. She knew she hadn’t done the right thing but she could not fathom this station at all.

Emily saw the technician coming and obediently opened her mouth as the device her superior held was brought to her face. This was not like the gag she had been forced to wear during her first visit to room 303. Instead of a flat panel of metal sliding into her mouth, a rubbery egg shaped mass was forced between her lips. two thick flanges flaring out to either side. Her mouth was forced ever wider until they slipped behind her lips, running along the line of her teeth, all the way to her molars.

Satisfied, the technician attached a rubber hose to the outside of the gag and pumped a small bulb. Emily’s eyes widened fearfully as the rubber egg inside her mouth began to expand. Her tongue was pushed against the bottom of her mouth and the flaps pressed tightly against her cheeks. She balked as the technician gave the bulb a final squeeze, the egg in her mouth now filling her entirely. More than once her hands had threatened to jump forward and interrupt the technicians work. She had done her best to keep them safely behind her, fingers intertwined, knuckles white with exertion. The technician tugged on the gag ensuring it was well seated before detaching the hose and disappearing from Emily’s view.

Again and again, the young girl tried to move her tongue, pushing feebly against the inflated invader but to no avail. The gag was not going anywhere, even if she was stupid enough to touch it with her hands she knew it could not be dislodged until the technician deflated the thick rubber egg. A moment later her left hand was pulled from her body and a thick leather cuff attached.

Emily loosened her body, allowing the technician to move her limbs without resistance. She hated having her body controlled in this way, as if she was some puppet with no mind of her own, no feelings to consider. She replaced her hand behind her the moment the cuff was secure, as if it was attached to the small of her back on a spring. Once her left hand was cuffed, the cold, metal restraints were closed over her ankles, locking her to the table. Emily heard a strange metallic creaking from behind and was startled to feel a bump on the back of her head.

“Forward pig. Infraction. Do not break posture. Now, forward.”

Tears of frustration pooled in the exasperated young girl’s eyes. She hadn’t meant to reach forward with her hands, it had been instinct. She had thought she was falling. How could she be blamed for such a response? Emily sniffed quietly and leaned forward as much as she could but how was she supposed to do this with her hands behind her. The insistent pressure on her head forced her down, the muscles in her belly and legs straining to keep her upright while her hands remained impotently behind her back.

She was relieved when finally her left hand was pulled painfully away from her body. Up and behind, the limb was stretched, until she heard a soft click and knew the cuff had been attached to something. Her right arm was soon stretched to match, both limbs now pulled apart as wide as they could go.

The weight of her body was supported by her cuffed hands and she felt herself edge forward  inch by inch until her upper body was suspended above the floor at an acute angle. Her breasts hung down, quivering gently as she trembled with the strain of the unusual position. Emily held her head as high as possible but every muscle in her body was already straining to take as much pressure as she could off her arms.

Her hair was wrenched viciously backwards and tied even more tightly than the small rubber band allowed. She would have no more trouble keeping her head up. The cord tied around her tight ponytail was fixed to the metal bar above, pulling her head back, her young throat stretched uncomfortably.

“The request for ten strokes for disobedience will now be discharged at station four. For this request a size 8 cane will be utilised. An inflatable C gag of standard size has been employed in accordance with the inmate’s record.”

Emily glanced frantically around the room not wanting to know what would come next. She couldn’t quite tell what kind of apparatus held her captive, but there was definitely a metal bar behind her. If she stretched she could just feel the smooth surface beneath her fingertips. If she could just reach back, just a little more, she might be able to grasp it, taking the pressure off her arms and her aching scalp. Her fingers scrabbled desperately at the links joining cuff to pole but her desperate effort was interrupted by the sudden burst of agony that shot through her left foot.

She hadn’t even heard the soft hiss of the first stroke, so intent had she been on relieving the growing pain in her shoulders and chest. Emily’s entire body bucked within her bondage, the pain surging through her without resistance. The bottom of her foot stung and she tugged futilely at the hard metal cuff that secured her to the box. She was still flexing her left foot, trying whatever she could to ease the ache in the tender flesh, when her right foot was afflicted with the same pain.

Emily howled into her gag, the plaintive sound emerging as a muffled groan, all power removed by the gag. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, straining against her cuffs as she waited for the next blow to fall. She curled her feet back as best she could but there was barely any room to move. The tight cuffs prevented her from flexing properly, the hard metal crescent pressing mercilessly on the back of her ankle. A third and a fourth stroke bit into her feet in quick succession, the regular rhythm something she knew the technician would be proud of.

She tried to deal with the pain, think through it and put it aside as best she could. It was just pain, Emily thought, it would fade soon enough. She could barely remember the pain from her previous session, though the remnants were still with her. But such thoughts did little to help when a fresh agony blazed every few seconds. She would be crippled, she was sure of that after the sixth stroke. The technician had made a serious error in judgement this time. There was no way she would be able to walk after this. Tears ran down her cheeks to fall silently to the floor below. Her screams had not abated, though the inflated gag made her sound almost accommodating. Her breathing came in ragged gasps through her nose, each desperate breath blowing through the mess of transparent mucus that had begun to block her only airway. As the cane struck for a seventh time, she blew a wad of the blockage from her nose, only to have it ooze down over her lips and dangle from her chin.

Emily balked at the sensation of the slime slipping slowly across her lips. Even amidst the almost unbearable agony of her punishment, her delicate sensibilities threatened to cause her yet more trouble. She felt disgusting, like a tiny child unable to see to the needs of their own body. Her tears continued to fall, born now as much from degradation as they were from pain.

Many moments had passed before Emily realised that the cane had ceased to strike. Her feet ached, the pain throbbing through her entire body. Her world had been reduced to the rhythmic pulse of agony that began beneath each foot and flowed through her body, radiating to the very tips of her fingers. The young girl writhed in her bondage, seeking escape, or at the very least an easing of the pain. She still fought for breath, against the pressure the unnatural position put on her chest and the thick mire of mucus that oozed from her nostrils.

Emily looked pleadingly at the technician, communicating her distress as best she could. Her eyes were red, her vision blurred by the continued tears but she willed an end to this torture. She stared at the technician, baring her soul to the cold woman, hoping against hope for even the briefest glimmer of compassion. Her plaintive look was returned without emotion and she lowered her eyes in defeat, knowing that her punishment would end only once it was complete. Nothing would sway this woman.

“The request for five strokes for disobedience will now be discharged at station four. For this request a double strap will be utilised. Five strokes are to be discharged on the chest, sinister bearing. An inflatable C gag of standard continues to be employed in accordance with the inmate’s record.”

Emily blanched at the statement. If asked, she couldn’t say why she thought her breasts to be an area unable to be punished. The most intimate part of her body had been struck in her previous session but her breasts… It was wrong. She didn’t like the sound of that ‘sinister’ bit either.

When she saw the strap the technician intended to use, her entire body tensed in her bondage. It was three inches wide with a split down the middle almost all the way to the wooden handle. It was an even more wicked looking instrument than the cane or hose that had been used upon her previously. Its two-feet length made her more than confident that it would easily strike both breasts with each swing, something she was knew the technician would ensure.

Emily scrabbled frantically for the bar behind her back. She desperately needed something to hold, something she could use to help her deal with the pain. Her fluttering fingers brushed the bar for the hundredth time but the smooth pole continued to elude her. She sensed the technician step into place and knew it was now or never. With a final effort, Emily heaved her body backwards, flexing every muscle she had.

She nearly cried aloud when she felt her right hand close around the cool metal pole. She used the leverage to grasp again with her right hand, securing her place just moments before the strap struck. Emily screamed into her gag, clutching tightly to the bar as agony burst within the tender mounds that hung like ripe fruit from her chest.

The impact mashed her breasts against her body and sent the malleable flesh swaying beneath her. The sharp pain from the initial strike turned immediately into a throbbing ache that pulsed through her chest. She had barely accepted the pain from the first strike when she saw the technician move again. This time Emily was ready and watched the strap fly towards her, unable to close her eyes.

She watched as the technician wielded the thick strap underhand, sending the length of leather swinging towards her exposed breasts. Emily clenched her jaw, the only action she could take to prepare herself for the coming pain. The strap smashed into her breasts, the meaty slap echoing throughout the room.

The terrible sound was soon drowned by her pain-filled squeal, the primal scream tearing at her throat. This time she knew what to expect but it did not lessen the agony that battered her. She had tried to pull herself away from the strap but to no avail, her fading strength unable to lift her body at such an angle. She had presence of mind enough to note that the technician waited long enough between strikes to allow her breasts to settle, the wild swinging to which they were set with each terrible impact allowing her precious seconds to deal with the pain of each stroke.

Emily wasn’t sure how exactly she managed to make it through the final three strikes. She kept her hands firmly clasped around the pole to which she was secured, using it as a lifeline with which to anchor the agony that filled her. The pain from her tortured feet continued to radiate throughout her body, pulsing, with every beat of her heart, surging through her. The pain was as nothing to that which filled her chest, her abused breasts now a deep red, the individual strikes lost amid a sea of scarlet. All but one stroke had caught at least one nipple, the tiny pink buds now swollen and blazing with heat.

The technician moved immediately to release the inmate from her bondage, the requested punishment at an end. She enjoyed her job, ensuring that the filth sent to this institution was finally provided with an actual deterrent to the anti-social behaviour in which they seem to revel. Fourteen years she had worked in the prison system and it had not been until she had begun her tenancy at Pentonbridge that she felt her work was making any difference at all.

She had seen the figures for herself, Pentronbridge inmates were more than 80% less likely to reoffend and she knew her work contributed to that most gratifying of statistics. Most of the degenerate scum that filtered through the institution, and through her care, were ultimately forgettable but she still remembered the lawyer who, even after six months at Pentonbridge, still prattled on about human rights. The previous technician had not taken her duties seriously enough. One session under the new program she had implemented had put an end to such nonsense. The scum that entered these walls forfeited all rights earned as part of society when they turned their backs on the laws to which all true citizens adhered. A second session had cemented the pretentious little prig’s new paradigm. There would be no more talk of rights, only of obedience and reformation.

This one was different. Pig was markedly less intelligent than the majority of inmates. It wasn’t her job to assess each bitch, simply to discharge her duties and provide the corrections requested. Restrictions were something placed upon the inmates not upon the staff. The little bitch had requested such punishment knowing her previous session remained a factor. That was unacceptable. The technician looked on as Emily climbed uncertainly down from the box, rolling her shoulders to ease some of the strain. At least the dumb bitch had learnt something, the technician thought, watching Emily gingerly make her way to the front of the room. The young girl hissed as she stepped upon station twelve, the small spikes pressing upon her freshly tender soles. She would learn, they all did, some just took a little longer than others.

Emily struggled with the new pain the small plastic spikes had brought. Her feet felt as if they were swollen and on fire but she knew neither was true. She had snuck a glance as she walked to the front of the room. There was no real evidence of the punishment she had received. Her chest were a different matter.

The middle of each breast was a solid band of red flesh, the soft meat turning a darker red at the boundary of each strike. Her nipples ached, an agony that had not faded. The tiny buds were a darker red, darker than they ought to be and Emily worried that real damage had been done. She longed to touch them, gently and tenderly, just once, just to know they were still alright. She had always loved her breasts, their size and structure. They had stayed pert even as they grew and to have them treated in such a way caused tears to well in her eyes. Tears that had remained at bay during her punishment.

“Pig.”

Emily turned hesitantly, not wanting to face what she knew was to come. She padded silently to the technician, trying to focus on the woman herself and ignore the apparatus at her side. She stood in a daze as the station was explained, something she did not require, the memory of her first session still painfully fresh.

The harness and gel were applied and her wrists cuffed above her, all without further comment. There wasn’t anything more for either woman to say. Emily had but to keep her hands upon the small pads and she would avoid sending the painful shocks of electricity through her breasts. She had screamed into her gag when the clamps were closed upon her painfully sensitive nipples. Her instinct had been to shake them off but her brain overrode her body, something for which she was eternally grateful.

She almost paniced as the hood was slid over her head, deadening her senses. Despite the plethora of opportunities she had not shaken her claustrophobic fears of such things. She managed to control herself, but her breath still came in shallow gasps, heart thumping against her ribcage, threatening to burst with each passing moment.

She knew that the extra punishment she had requested was to start soon. She would receive six strokes, less than before. She knew she could do it. She just had to ignore the pain of the switch, a wickedly thin cane that whipped back and forth through the air with a frightful buzz. She may have only requested six strokes, but her feet ached as she strove to keep herself on her toes, the only way she could remain in contact with the pressure pads above her.

Emily hadn’t known the punishment had begun, unable to hear the technician or the switch. The painful bite of the thin rod took her by surprise but she wasn’t wholly unprepared. She managed to keep her fingers pressed against the pad despite the agonised dance into which she had been thrown. The first strike had fallen across the front of her thighs, the soft flesh feeling as if she had been slashed with a knife.

She knew the loss of sight made her crazy and all she could do was bite down on the gag that filled her mouth, desperate for the torture to be over. Again and again the thin cane struck and again and again, Emily remained strong accepting the pain and staying in position, aching arms above her head, pressed frantically against the small down-facing domes.

Six fresh blazes of agony covered her body, front and back, from calf to chest, but she had not faltered. The realisation sent a surge of pride through the young girl, an emotion immediately questioned. Had her life really devolved to such a degree, where she now took pride in obeying an insane rule of law that saw her avoid further pain by playing a sadistic game her clearly unhinged captors had devised for her.

She knew it wasn’t right. She knew such an achievement was meaningless, in fact worse than that, it was dangerous. She knew all these things but, as she stood in position, still not released from the station, she could not shake the pride that she felt. Emily’s cheeks surged with heat beneath the hood and she knew it was not due to the stifling closeness of the infernal garment.

She was ashamed of herself. Ashamed of how easily she had accepted her fate, how readily she had learnt her position. The pride was real, no matter how much she did not want it to be so, lying to herself would bring her no more than would lying to a superior. No matter how much she wished for escape, she knew it would not come, and yet her reasoning could not lessen her disgust. No wonder she attracted the ire of every staff member with whom she interacted.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of waiting for release, Emily felt the hood begin to be unlaced. The moment it was removed she breathed deeply through her nose, doing her best to ignore the ropey mucus that gurgled in her nostrils. The moment the harness was removed, she hurried to the front of the room to take up her position at station twelve, breasts still tacky from the gel.

Wasn’t she a good bitch, Emily thought sarcastically, her body a litany of pain from her extended abuse. Well wasn’t she? She was trying, it was really all she could do. No other avenues were open to her, obey and accept. It would not be easy, she didn’t need any more evidence of that, but her choices were non-existent. She would obey. She would learn. She would be the bitch they all expected her to be.

“Typical,” the technician said exasperatedly. “Pig, cage one.”

Emily stepped thankfully from the spiked square and hobbled towards the barred cubes. Her stomach flipped nervously as she approached the small metal cages. She bent down to open the door of the cage, eyes narrowing as she thought of the reason for her return to the terrible confinement. Jennings was late in collecting her, that much was obvious. She knew here was no love lost between the sadistic guard and the technician and she wondered if her nemesis was using her to further annoy the technician.

She was to spend god knew how long in this fucking cage because that bitch was playing games. She knew it wasn’t fair but she didn’t wish to voice the sentiment, having already vowed to leave such considerations behind. They no longer applied to her. Such things had no place in Pentonbridge.  She was about to crawl into the cage when the technician recalled her.  Compassion at last, Emily thought, relieved that she would be able to avoid a second entry into the cage.

“Station twelve.”

Emily winced, it was better than the cage. She almost ran to the front of the room in her eagerness to please, thankful to have avoided a fate she dreaded. The technician soon joined her, rewarding her even further with the removal of the gag. The moment it slipped from her mouth, painfully distending her lips, the young girl worked her jaw to ease the ache that had grown deeper over time. Her chin was instantly covered in saliva, the frothy drool quickly falling to her chest to join the remnants of the gel that had been smeared across her breasts.

“Cage one.”

Tears spilled onto Emily’s cheeks with the realisation that she was not to escape the cage after all. She was such a stupid cunt. Jennings was right. Mailer was right. The crazy doctor was right. She had only just strengthened her conviction that fairness, compassion and basic human kindness were alien concepts within the walls of the prison, and here she had been, completely prepared to believe in them yet again.

This time she did run, hurrying to the cage as quickly as she could. She hated the confirmation of her stupidity and despised the weakness she showed by crying. She had vowed never to cry again, just as she had promised to never talk of fairness. She had better follow the rules of Pentonbridge better than she did those she set for herself. Obedience was her only option but the way she was going failure would join the shortlist soon enough.

The door to the cage was still open and Emily fell quickly to her knees and backed into the cage, following the advice she had been given what felt like an age ago. It was something she had to learn to do more of. She was quickly in the cage, her buttocks pressed against the rear bars and she was even able to close the door with a sharp tug. The cage resounded with a strident clang, the latch falling into place and locking her inside.

“Pig, out.”

For fucks sake, Emily spat vehemently, reaching out in frustration to lift the latch once more. The door swung open noiselessly and she emerged obediently from the metal confines. She didn’t need to be told to go to station twelve but the glimpse she had of the technician and the long cane that bobbed in her right hand sent a shiver of uncertainty up her spine.

She stood at attention for mere seconds before the felt the sting of the cane, a split-second after hearing the devilish whirr as the thin strip of wood flew towards her. Emily squealed in pain, hurriedly stifling the sound , desperate not to have the gag replaced. The cane struck a second time and then a third, the last sending her a step forward on the spikes, a motion she quickly rectified.

“A bitch moves silently so as not to disturb her betters. Fail to do so again will see a doubling of consequence. Cage one.”

Emily’s tears fell freely now, shoulder wracking sobs making it difficult to enter the cage with the same ease as her previous attempt. She soon shuffled inside, heat-stroked buttocks resting against the cool bars. This time the young girl grasped the bars tenderly, pulling the metal door closed with a gentleness that produced only the softest of sounds.

Emily bowed her head and tried to will herself invisible. She had failed again. She hadn’t known, how could she have known? Were such things in the manual she had not had a chance to read. She hadn’t heard that about bitches before either but she guessed it made sense. The less she made herself known, by sight or sound or deed, the easier her life would be. To know that it was a rule of the institution, not just common sense, made it sound more acceptable. It should not be something she should find difficult to follow. It was in her best interest to do so.

Emily lost track of time, her tears drying slowly but leaving her with puffy, red eyes. They were painfully swollen but all that meant was that they matched the rest of her body, the young girl thought morosely. She was so adrift on the sea of self-pity that she failed to hear the arrival of Jennings.

“Seventeen minutes,” the technician said accusingly, startling Emily from her sadness.

“Not like it matters, I don’t see any other bitches around,” sneered Jennings.

“And you wonder why your application has not been accepted. You lack professionalism, Jennings.”

The accusation stung, rendering the guard speechless. Emily sensed the hate seething from her nemesis like a physical wave. The young girl cringed, knowing such a state could not be good for her. She was not to blame, but that did not matter. She was a bitch, a low bitch and easily accessible.

“Get the fuck out of that cage, pig you lazy cocksucker,” snapped Jennings, as if noticing Emily for the first time. “Move it, you cunt.”

The guard had leaned in close to her cage, the venom in her voice making the trapped girl cringe at the thought of the terrors that awaited her at the hands of this woman. Her hand had already snuck through the bars at the front of the cage, edging towards the latch that would set her free. The instant it was lifted and the door slid open, Emily crawled from the cage and sprang to her feet. She hadn’t been given any further instruction so she simply stood at attention.

Her nudity became a problem for her once more, the scrutiny of Jennings unsettling her as the technician did not. The fresh marks on her body seemed only to reinforce the guard’s impression of her. The fact that she stood exposed, in a way that normal people would find demeaning, made her feel all the more the slut that she had been labelled since entering Pentonbridge. Emily breathed a huge sigh of relief when she was ordered to dress.

She had folded her uniform neatly as she had been taught and it lay there still, on the floor by the door. As with everything she did, there was a proper way dress and undress, her life now governed by rules over which she had no control. At least these rules were common sense, the inner layers of clothing were added before the outer, after all she was no superhero.

Emily reached for the small pile of clothing, eager to cover her body and dampen, just a little, the feeling of vulnerability that haunted her. Her singlet was on the top of the pile but she was sure her panties were the last item to be removed. It had been so long ago though, and so much had happened since then. She snatched up the small singlet and slipped it on over her head, the scratchy material causing her to hiss as it brushed across her aching nipples.

Panties next, and yet there were no panties. She lifted her jumpsuit but the only thing revealed was the cold floor beneath. Emily began to panic, clumsily unfolding the jumpsuit but the small grey garment she had fought so hard to wear was missing.

“Pig, if I have to look at that ugly carcass for one minute more, I’ll guarantee you’re back here tomorrow.”

“Permission to…”

“Shut the fuck up, cunt. I’m fucking sick to death of your shit you filthy slut.”

Emily closed her mouth and turned back to her uniform as the black spectre of the guard’s baton was raised. Someone, no not someone, 23219 had stolen her panties. They were hers and it wasn’t right. Well they weren’t hers but she was responsible for them. They belonged to Pentonbridge, like everything else here, and if they were damaged or went missing she would be held accountable. But she needed someone to know they had been stolen and when. It was the only way she could avoid the punishment.

She needed to tell Jennings, right now. If she left it until later, it could only get worse. But the guard was already seething, the hate in her voice undisguised. She had specifically been told to be quiet, if she spoke again she would be punished. Maybe it would be better if she broached the issue with someone else. Even Sergeant Mailer would be better.

Emily swallowed her desperation and stepped into the jumpsuit, pulling the roughspun garment up her legs. She blushed as the prickly seam pulled tight against her pussy when she shrugged her shoulders into the ill-fitting garment. She quickly closed the suit, wincing as it pulled tight across her chest, mashing her breasts together.

Her shoes and boots quickly followed and she was soon fully clothed. Not fully, Emily reminded herself, lamenting the loss of the small panties. She could never have believed it was possible to cherish a piece of clothing as she did her uniform. When she had finally felt the panties snug against her mound she felt just a little bit like the girl she had been before. Even though they had been so cheaply made, a little too small, the material rough and prickly, they had made her feel some small semblance of normality.

“Pig, five strokes insubordination, Class B,” Jennings bellowed in Emily’s ear, following her manic scream with a solid blow of her baton across the young girl’s ass.

Emily squealed in pain, instantly starting to prance. She swore at herself, a steady stream of invective as she lifted each knee high in the degrading performance that had become part of her life. She was so goddamn stupid. How could she have been so dumb, forgetting such a simple thing. She deserved those strokes just for being such a fucking dense cunt.

Emily was shocked by her own thinking. She didn’t deserve them. She didn’t deserve any of them. And why did it have to be five for every one thing she did wrong? That was unfair. Fucking unfair. It was true and there was no point in trying to hide behind some silly promise to ignore such things. It wasn’t fair and she was stupid, two truths that were beginning to cause her a great deal of heartache.

Jennings moved in front of the prancing girl and opened the door. She didn’t even look back at Emily, simply waving her baton through the open doorway  to indicate her order. Emily hurried through, fearing the thick black baton would find her once again. She braced for the pain but it never came, its absence letting her focus on the throb in her feet that grew with each step.

How long would this latest round of punishment take to subside? She still had the remedial session, whatever that was, but her immediate thoughts could not get past the melody of hurts that assaulted her with every movement. Even her uniform was turning against her, the tight bodice putting pressure on her breasts and the crotch pulling against her pussy, reminding her of her loss. In a way though that was good. She couldn’t afford to forget such a thing. The first chance she had, she needed to confess. It could be her only redemption.

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