Prison Transfer

Marcie Hamilton was not happy to be where she was. She was a forty five year old divorcee, decent looking, not especially pretty, but not overweight. She felt her ex-boyfriend had betrayed her, her lawyer had let her down, that she was unfairly treated by the judge. She had a lot of company. In fact, more company than there should have been. She found herself in the Women's' Correctional Unit serving a one year sentence for check fraud. She spent her time complaining about why she was there, why she detested the place, but most of all, the governmental bureaucracy which, she felt, frustrated her every move with delays, mishandlings, lost files, and procedures she simply could never fathom. There were entirely too many inmates, it seemed, and to reduce to the legal capacity, a number were being moved to a new facility several hundred miles away. She was, she had been told, to be one of those.

In midmorning, a guard approached the cell Marcie shared with three other women. Her name was called. "Marcie- that you? Yeah, your number checks. Look, Marcie, the time has come for your transfer. It'll probably be later today. I need to get you ready."

"Ready to leave this stinking place? Gladly! What do I do?"

"I want all your personal belongings in a plastic bag, here, this one. I'll be back for it in twenty minutes. Everything goes in it except the uniform you're wearing. Everything - you are not allowed to carry anything with you. You wearing your own underclothes?"

"Yes, I am. What of it?" Marcie replied, a bit of antagonism showing. "Take 'em off. They go in the bag. Or else you won't have them when you get there. The bag with your stuff goes to your new home separately - you'll get it back when you arrive. I'll seal it and you sign the seal, so no one touches it. But anything not in the bag stays here - got that? That means hairpins, shoes, everything. Until you leave, you go barefoot and braless - understand?" The female guard was clear and firm. Marcie understood. She put all of the things she had in the bag, including her underwear and shoes. As instructed, she had it ready for pickup when the guard returned.

Having disposed of her rather simple belongings, Marcie was left in prison uniform - pants and a jacket, lettered with the institutional name. Her feet were bare, and under the prison suit she wore nothing. She waited. And waited.

At lunch, she received the usual prison fare. It was summer, and warm. The trip would be long, four or five hours was the guess, as the prison vans were known to travel back roads and at unpredictable times to frustrate attempts at interceptions and possible escapes. She fortified herself with extra glasses of fluid, anticipating a hot trip.

Afternoon came and went. Evening approached. Marcie waited. No one came for her, there was no message, nothing. "Figures", she reasoned aloud, "everything they do is screwed up. No one knows what they're doing around here. Probably took the wrong person!"

Dinner time. Another guard came for Marcie, to tell her the van for that day had been filled. They couldn't take another inmate. She would go the next day. "What about my stuff?" Marcie fumed, Ï don't even have a toothbrush!"

"Your stuff went without you. You'll get it back when you arrive. You'll make do with what you have for the night. Tomorrow you're going anyway." "When tomorrow?" Marcie inquired. "You should know the procedures - you'll get fifteen minutes notice. We don't announce departure times in advance." "Great!" Marcie answered, then thought a bit, "I don't even need fifteen minutes - I haven't even got a hairpin to pack."

The next day, Marcie went to breakfast in anticipation. She really looked forward to a new location, and while the ride wouldn't be any luxury trip, at least it would be several hours on the outside. That would be a relief in itself.

At ten thirty Marcie received the summons, and ten minutes later a guard arrived to escort her to the transfer station. First she was taken to a room, where she was told to strip before two female guards. It didn't take long, she had nothing on but the prison jacket and pants. She was quickly inspected, and pronounced ready to go. She assumed that meant no contraband had been found. Her escort inquired, somewhat kindly, if she would like a drink, pointing out that the ride would be long and hot. "This is your last chance, Marcie. I can't promise you will even get lunch." She was taken briefly by the lunch room. It was not meal time, but an assortment of fruit juices were available, along with a pitcher of tea. Warned that she might have to skip lunch, Marcie appreciated the offer, and drank several glasses of what was offered. "At least", she commented, "if I don't eat, I won't have an empty stomach."

She waited a few minutes, and was taken to a room from which an outside door could be seen, well locked. Two uniformed male officers were waiting in chairs. A stern-faced female clerk sat behind a counter. Marcie was told to stand while paperwork formalities were handled.

The two men, she perceived, were those who operated the prison system van. They had come from the new institution (dubbed Unit #4) to pick her up. The clerk yawned as she plodded through a pile of paperwork. Errors were found. Phone calls were necessary. Time dragged on. The clock on the wall showed twelve thirty.

The clerk was impatient. "It's almost my lunch hour - I want to get her out of here and you guys on your way. All right, I think we've got everything cleared up. Now let's see the uniform you brought for her!"

"Uniform?" the first officer inquired. "They didn't give us any uniform."

The second officer intervened. "She was supposed to go on the van yesterday. That crew had the uniform for her. Didn't they leave it?"

"I got no uniform for her" the clerk insisted. "Rules are, when you pick up a prisoner, you bring a uniform for them."

"Well", the first officer replied, "we don't have one. If the crew yesterday didn't leave one, then I guess she has to go in what she's wearing".

"Oh, no, she doesn't!" the clerk stated emphatically. "That uniform she's got on is marked for Unit #1, which is us. That uniform is ours, it's charged to us! We've got no uniforms to give away - we're overcrowded and short of everything, including uniforms. When we transfer a prisoner, the new institution has to provide the uniform, and she puts it on here. What you bring for her has to be a prison uniform, marked for your place. That uniform she's wearing doesn't leave here!"

They argued back and forth. Phone calls were again made. Voices rose. Marcie waited, still standing. The clock showed well past one. The clerk was increasingly irritated as this was going into her lunch time. The two officers were anxious to get going. Marcie was tired standing, and now, after all the liquid she had drunk, was feeling a need to relieve herself. She interrupted, "Please, it's getting late. May I please use the bathroom? I need to, before we go!"

The clerk looked at her without sympathy. "Look, sister, legally, you have left here. You've been turned over to unit #4, which is these two officers here. You cannot go back through that door. As far as I am concerned, you are gone already. All we are discussing is that uniform you have on!"

She turned back to the two men, leaving Marcie standing. "Well, what do you propose to do? She's yours to take, but the uniform stays here!"

The men looked at each other. "I guess she has to go in her underwear. We've got nothing to give her, and she has to leave the uniform here. Look, we've got to get going!"

The Clerk interrupted. "In case you unobservent types can't tell, she's not wearing any underwear. What she had went with her personal stuff yesterday. Look, I don't care what you do - take her naked if you want to, but she has to leave the uniform here; and I want to get you guys out of here!"

The two men looked at each other and shrugged. The clerk looked at Marcie. "Let's have the uniform", she demanded, "and then you're on your way." She reached out her hand.

Marcie was dumfounded. She was tired of standing, her full bladder was uncomfortable, and now she was being ordered to take off the only clothes she had on in front of the clerk and two men. She started to protest, then thought better of it. This was going nowhere, and the longer the argument went on, the more uncomfortable she would be. Gingerly, turning her back to the men, she unfastened the jacket, slipped it off, and placed it in the extended hand of the clerk.

The clerk pointed to the pants. Slowly, still with her back to the men, she unfastened them and let them drop. She stepped out of them, and handed the pants to the clerk. She stood, barefoot and stark naked, trying to keep her back to the men, holding one hand across her breasts and trying to cover her pubic area with the other.

"OK, she's yours. Take her away!" the clerk demanded impatiently.

The men spun her around, not too roughly. "Hands behind your back" she was instructed. Plastic cuffs were fastened to her wrists behind her back, ending the use of her hands to retain the last vestige of her modesty. She blushed furiously, and trembled a bit.

Quickly they ushered her toward the door. "Please," she pleaded, "before we go, I need to go to the bathroom - pretty badly. Please let me - "

"Not here, sister!" said the clerk with a note of finality.

With one officer on each side of her, Marcie was walked, nude, through the opened door and to the van a few feet away. She glanced about, noting that at least there were no other persons nearby.

The men opened the door of the van, and guided her up the steps. Inside, there was a long bench on each side. There were windows, covered with heavy wire mesh. A screen of heavy wire mesh separated the area for the passengers from the drivers area in front. Marcie realized she was the only passenger.

The senior of the two men addressed her, as he locked the door behind her. "Look, Miss Hamilton, or Marcie, or whatever you want to be called. We're just doing our job, but we've got to follow the rules. Fortunately for you it's warm, so you won't catch cold. I wish we had a uniform for you, but we don't, and we're not allowed to provide you any clothing other than a uniform, so you're going to be like you are for the next four or five hours. I have no lunch for you, but you'll get fed when you get there. We do have some ice water, so you can have a drink if you get thirsty."

"No, thanks. I don't need any water. I've got too much in me now. Please, I'm very uncomfortable. Isn't there some way you can let me go to the bathroom?"

The men looked at each other. The first one went on. "Not here. That's already been discussed. Usually we make a bathroom stop after the first couple of hours, if we can find a gas station with a secure women's restroom. Then we let the prisoners use it while we stand guard. I don't know what we're going to do with you, though, because you're not dressed to be taken outside. And the cuffs have to stay on, even in the van. That's the rules. If you want a drink, we'll get you a cup and a straw, and hold it for you. But, as you say, your problem right now isn't a lack of water!"

"Please", Marcie begged, as they started the van, "I 've got to go! No way can I hold for four or five hours - I'm not sure I can hold for thirty minutes! I drank an awful lot of liquid back there, and after all the time we waited, I'm .... well, I'm full up ... down there. If you make me wait too long, I'm going to leak, and it'll be in the van!"

The second officer chimed in sternly, "You'd better not leak. We'd have to write that up as a discipline infraction, and you'd get penalty time for it. Now, for a while, just hold it. We'll see if we can think of something."

Marcie sat, squirming a bit, on the hard wooden bench. She was glad she was facing the center of the van, so her back was toward the window. Anyone looking in, though, would see her naked back and know she was bare in front, too. With her hands bound behind her, she couldn't even attempt to cover her breasts, which could now be viewed easily through the opposite window.

Again she pleaded. "Can't you at least cuff my hands in front, so I could use them at least a little cover? It's bright daylight, and people are going to be able to see me! Can't I have any modesty at all?"

"Rules say," she was firmly told, "hands to be cuffed behind. Try pulling your knees up in front of you. We don't want to create any traffic jams, either."

She did it. She slid down a bit, put her feet on the bench, her knees in front of her. The position was uncomfortable with her cuffed hands. She squirmed a bit more, feeling the increasing discomfort of her gradually stretching bladder.

The van rolled on, through side streets and small towns. Several times it stopped at stop signs or traffic lights, and several people spotted Marcie in the back. She thought of lying on the floor, but the best she could do was try to cover up by using the position of her legs. Her arms were a bit cramped from being continually held behind her. But her most gnawing concern was the increasing load in her bladder. It had gone beyond just discomfort, and was now hurting her noticeably. She bit her lip and gritted her teeth, trying to hold on, her pelvic muscles clenching ever tighter.

Again she pleaded with her guards. "Please, please; let me go to the bathroom. I have to pee so bad it hurts! I'm trying hard to hold it, but I just won't be able to much longer! Please?" She was asking as nicely as possible. She heard the two men discussing together, but she couldn't make out what they were saying..

"When did you last go?" officer number two asked. "Not since about eight this morning, and I drank at least a quart of juice and tea because they told me I wouldn't get any lunch! Please, it hurts so bad!" "Eight this morning? Well, it's two thirty now, and we've got at least four hours to go. You've lasted over six hours - I suppose it's only fair we give you a break. Tell you what - sit up and stop covering yourself for the next thirty minutes and we'll let you have some relief!"

"Another half hour?" Marcie moaned, feeling her pain increasing. "I'll try, but why do you need me to sit up?"

"Look, lady, this wasn't our idea. But you're putting on a show, whether you like it or not, and we'd sort of like to see some the reactions in this little town we're coming up to. We're going to stop there for a few minutes! If you're lucky, we'll sneak you a sandwich!"

"I don't need a sandwich - I need a bathroom! Please, please, let me pee!"

"Told you the rules. Play along and you'll get a bit of relief." She sensed that the two men were rather enjoying this situation.

Shortly, they stopped in front of a convenience store with a small crowd around it. Anxious to alleviate her torture, Marcie sat up, erect, as she had been told. Her bare breasts were clearly exposed in the bright sunlight coming through the windows. She held her legs tightly together. She looked down at herself; with her legs pressed together, only a tuft of pubic hair could be seen in her crotch.

One of her guards spoke to the other, "Joe, you go in first. You can get a couple of sandwiches, including something for our passenger, here. I think it would be nice if you got her a big drink, too - one of those sodas that comes in the extra large cup. Take your time - there's a mens' room to the left, if you want to take a leak, first. I'll stay and watch our cargo!"

Joe left, going to do as suggested. Marcie fumed. "You guys are torturing me! You know I can't afford to drink a drop. I hope some day you have to hurt like this! Please, please, have a little mercy! You get to go to the bathroom when you want - just let me go! Please" . She was quivering in her pain, her legs squeezed together, her breasts prominently displayed as she sat erect in front of the window, her hands cuffed securely behind her back. Her guard smiled a bit. "You'll get your chance if you go along with us. He's getting the means of your relief, but you'll have to be patient. Oh, look, I think you're getting an appreciative audience!"

Several teenagers had spotted the van and Marcie inside. They came running over, peering in the windows. There were about six boys and a couple of girls. One of the girls put her hands to her face and shrieked. The boys just stared, then began an agitated conversation among themselves. Marcie wanted to sink into the floor, but remembered her instructions. She sat rigidly erect, biting her lip in her agony, as she tried to remain a still as possible. The boys looked her over thoroughly. Soon, others joined them. A crowd was assembling around the van. Marcie reflected just a moment on her appearance. Apart from her nakedness, she considered herself a bit of a mess. Her hair was uncombed and she hadn't been able to even smooth it with her hands. She had no make-up. She was perspiring a bit, and since she had no deodorant she suspected she was developing a bit of body odor. She wasn't overweight, but she knew her breasts sagged a bit and jiggled noticeably whenever she moved.

Marcie sat in agonized distress for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Joe came back, carrying a bag evidently containing his purchases. He entered the van. "Here we are, Lou - everything we wanted. Hope I didn't make you wait too long. You want a rest stop, yourself, before we pull off?"

Lou nodded. "Yeah, I guess I'll make a quick run for a leak. It's going to be a long trip. You take care of our lady, here." With that, he exited the van and leisurely walked to the restroom.

Joe opened the door in the screen to the rear of the van. He held out to Marcie a large cup of cold soda, a size probably holding a pint, with a straw in the top of it. Also, he had a sandwich in his hand, unwrapped. "OK, here you are. And here's the deal. I'll hold this, and you drink it through the straw. You get it all down and eat the sandwich. I'll hold 'em for you while we drive. If you drain this cup, we'll let you use it. We can't take you out with no clothes on, but we'll try to stop and you empty yourself of as much as the cup will hold. That ought to let you feel a little better!"

Marcie grasped the idea. She was in no position to negotiate. "You mean you want me to pee into the cup, after I drink the soda out of it? I don't know how I can - my hands are tied; I couldn't even hold it. And the way I feel I could probably fill it a couple of times over - it may overflow-"

"Oh, no, it won't." Joe instructed her. "You get to pee one cup after you drink it empty. One cup in, one cup out- get it? You get it right, and maybe in an hour or so we'll find a place where we can take you for a walk, like you do a doggy. If you don't like doing it that way, we'll just let you squirm!"

The eyes of the crowd continued to peer in at her. Her internal torture was making her quiver and sweat. She just wanted to get going, and any amount of relief she could get was better than this. She took the straw in her lips, leaning forward, and sucked in the cool liquid.

Shortly Lou returned, expressed satisfaction at his own relief, and they were on their way, leaving the gaping crowd behind. Joe drove, leaving Lou to hold the soda out to Marcie. After she had drawn several long draughts into her, he withdrew the cup and held out the sandwich. She took a bite. He alternated the soda and the sandwich. She continued to fidget and squirm in her torment as she consumed her meal, eagerly awaiting the promised relief.

At length she had finished the sandwich and the plastic soda cup was empty. Her stomach felt filled, but her bladder felt as though it was a basketball protruding out of her pelvis. She couldn't touch it, but she knew she was hard and swollen. Again she begged, "Please- you promised!! I finished the drink. Please, let me pee. Don't you two care? I'm in pain, and it's getting worse! I just can't keep holding it!"