Becca XXX - Hard Time Ch. 02

"Are you telling me that there hasn't been a fight in here?"

"I didn't see one," I replied. "They slipped."

"Prisoner Heart? Is this true?"

"I was in the shower with soap in my eyes. I didn't see anything," she replied.

"DID ANY ONE ELSE SEE WHAT HAPPENED?" the screw addressed the whole room, knowing that he wouldn't get an answer.

The silence remained but the atmosphere was calm.

"Ok. Get these three to the infirmary," said the screw.

He then pushed the tip of his metal baton under my chin and lifted my head back slightly.

"You might be new in here, but I'm watching you, Sloan. Understand?" he snarled.

"Yes, boss," I nodded.

He pulled his baton away and placed it back into the pouch of his stab vest. He peered at my naked body and then at Naomi's as a dirty smile crept over his face. It looked like he loved this aspect of his job.

"Get dressed and go back to your cells," he added.

"Yes, boss."

The screws brought in some stretchers and started to carry the three bodies out of the shower room. It took four of them to move the bulldog due to her size. We dried off in silence until the screws were out of earshot.

"For fucks sake, Becca. You've not even been in here for a day yet and you're already in trouble," she whispered. "What are you playing at?"

"You've been nice to me," I explained. "I wasn't going to stand by and let those fuckers lay into you."

"That's how Melody got into trouble, by helping me. I don't want the same thing to happen to you."

"I think it's a bit late for that," I smirked. "It looks like I got away with it anyway. Who were they talking about when they mentioned The Crow? Who is she?"

"The Crow is the boss of The Sisterhood. She runs all the contraband in here: drugs, phones, booze, you name it. No one fucks with her."

"Melody did," I pointed out.

"Yeah, that's what worries me. She shouldn't have stepped in and neither should you. The Crow is going to go ape shit when she hears about this."

"Where is she?"

"She's in the same place as Melody," she sighed. "Hurry up and get dressed before more of her mob turn up."

I watched Naomi pull her panties up and smooth the white garment down against her dark-brown skin. Her breasts looked magnificent as she stood in front of me. They were larger than mine and had a natural sag to them due to their weight. They were nice and pert with small areola which were almost black. Her nipples looked like two blackberries sitting on top of her round orbs and they jiggled as she moved.

I pulled my knickers on and clipped my bra in place before pulling my trousers and T-shirt on. I then sat down to put on my socks and shoes. My hair was still tied up in a towel and I looked around the room in search of a hair dryer.

"There's one in our cell," she said as she realised what I was looking for. "You can dry it when we get back."

"Ok, cool," I replied.

I towel-dried it was best I could and ran a brush through it which I found in my wash bag.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Sure. Let's go."

I led us out of the shower room and back onto the main wing. The place was a lot busier now than when I'd arrived. Small groups of girls were talking quietly about what had just happened in the showers. It might have been a daily occurrence, but I doubted that many people would have inflicted the same amount of damage that I just had in such a short space of time.

I didn't want to appear vulnerable in prison. I wanted people to know that I wasn't an easy target and that if you messed with me, you'd come off worse. I could see that my message had been received loud and clear as we walked back to our cell. People looked the other way as I passed them on the landing, not wanting to get eye contact with me.

I felt powerful but also relieved that my baptism of fire was over. I'd already started to get a name for myself and I hoped that would be the end of it. I'd earned the respect I deserved and no one seemed bothered that three members of The Sisterhood had been taken out. If anything, the opposite was true.

For now, I was winning.

****

The rest of the day had dragged on and was only broken up by the dullness of prison routine.

After Naomi and I had dried our hair, she showed me around the rest of the wing so I could get to grips with my new home.

Our building was in the shape of a cross, with the cells located on the T- shape of it. Amenities such as the shower and toilet block, mess hall and laundry room were all located at the top of the cross. There was a guard office at the intersection point, as it had a commanding view of the whole wing.

Naomi explained that there was an admin building across a courtyard from the four housing blocks which incorporated classrooms and work areas. She told me that I'd either be given a job to do or that I could attend classes to try and educate myself ready for the outside world. The prison system was supposed to be about the rehabilitation of people rather than just locking them up to prevent them from committing further crimes. If criminals could be given the prospect of a new skill or job, they might be less likely to re-offend once they got out. That was the theory at least.

The admin block also housed the governor's office as well as the prison staff and visitor's room. I doubted I'd be receiving any visitors as the people I trusted were the ones who'd put me here.

My new best friend then showed me the canteen or mess hall as it was called at Bronzefield. She told me that she worked in the kitchens as a chef's aid because it gave her better access to decent food. She had wanted to continue her work as a fitness instructor in the prison gym, but the governor hadn't allowed it. He'd told her that it wasn't appropriate for her to carry on with her chosen career which sounded spiteful to me.

The guy sounded like an asshole. Naomi's only passion seemed to be keeping fit and helping others to do the same so why take it away from her? I guessed it was all part of her punishment and the fact that the governor wanted to assert his authority over his inmates.

At around eleven o'clock a bell had sounded which signalled that the exercise yard was open. We were allowed an hour of exercise each day in an outside area. It was about half the size of a football pitch and had a high barbed-wire fence all the way around it.

Some of the inmates were exercising, but most were smoking and chatting in small groups. I spent the whole hour running laps around the perimeter, enjoying the fact that I was outside. I'd only been inside for one night, but the fact I was locked up made it fee like longer. Fresh air and an open sky above me were like heaven and made me feel a little freer even if I was just running around the edge of a cage.

As I ran around, I took in as much detail of the place as I could. The high fence around the yard matched an even higher fence which surrounded the whole prison site. Beyond that there was a twelve-foot gap followed by a thirty-foot high perimeter wall. The wall had a smooth surface which made it impossible to climb even if you could get to it.

I spotted cameras across the top of the fences and the wall. In fact, they were everywhere I looked. If I was looking for an escape route -- this certainly wasn't it.

All too soon our trip outside came to an end and we were ushered back into the wing by the screws. I was disappointed to be back inside but at least it was lunch time. Naomi talked me through it and suggested we'd be better off taking our lunch back to our cell rather than eating it in the mess hall. I agreed with her, especially as I was getting glares from some of the other inmates whom I assumed to be additional members of The Sisterhood. They knew what I'd done in the showers and I didn't fancy having another fight on my first day.

We took our sandwiches and drinks and went back to our cell to eat them and chill out for a while. I'd been on edge about The Sisterhood's revenge for the whole morning, but I assumed they'd have retaliated by now if it was going to happen. Maybe they were scared or maybe they were waiting for orders from The Crow.

"I forgot to say thank you," Naomi said as she ate her lunch.

"Thank you for what?" I asked.

"For doing what you did in the shower room this morning."

"You don't have to thank me. Bullies like that only respond to one thing. I know you don't like violence, but sometimes it's the only way."

"I know, but you don't have to stick up for me. I'd have handled it."

"Handled it how? By letting them give you a good kicking?" I sniggered.

She was about to answer when I heard a bang on our cell door and a female guard stuck her head in.

"Prisoner Sloan, the governor wants to see you," she said "Let's go."

"Yes Miss..." I craned my neck to see her name tag. "...Davis. Can I just finish my lunch?"

"Be quick. I'll be out here," she snapped, before leaving and waiting outside the door with another guard.

"It looks like I'm in for a bollocking already," I sighed. "He must have heard about the fight."

"Not necessarily. I doubt that the governor's heard about it that quickly. It's probably just a routine interview. He usually likes to speak to the new inmates on arrival. You got here late last night so he's probably seeing you this afternoon instead."

"What for?"

"He'll give you his speech about the prison and about how he wants you to grow and learn in here rather than languish and feel self pity."

"That's nice of him," I said sarcastically

"Oh yeah. He's all heart," she joked. "Just watch your back. He likes to touch up the inmates."

"Hurry up, Sloan," said Davis. "Don't keep the governor waiting."

"Coming, Miss Davis," I rolled my eyes at Naomi.

I exited my cell and was met by another female officer called Edwards. They escorted me down the stairs to the end of the block. Davis unlocked the barred gate and I was pushed through before the door was closed behind me.

Slam -- jangle.

The screws only ever opened one door at a time to prevent us from doing a runner. I knew I had no chance of escape, but the guards wanted that feeling to be constantly reinforced.

"He's not going to be happy when he hears about what you did on your first day," said Edwards.

"I didn't do anything. They slipped," I replied.

"Of course they did," she smirked.

After several more barred gates, we made it to a door which led outside. Edwards unlocked it and Davis pushed me outside to the square which led to the administration building. I was held in place as it was slammed behind me.

"This way," she said.

We walked across the square under a wire mesh corridor and entered the admin building before coming to yet another door. This one had a huge warning sign written on it, which read: - 'No prisoners allowed beyond this point without hand cuffs'.

"Hold out your hands," said Edwards.

I did as I was told and a set of cuffs were slapped around my wrists. They were the new type with a solid bar between them rather than a chain. It made it easier for the screws to control the prisoner, as the bar could be used like a lever to inflict pain.

"You're about to meet the governor of this facility," she explained. "You'll be polite and speak when spoken to. You will address him as Sir. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Edwards," I replied.

"This way."

She opened the final door which led into a plush reception area. It was very old-fashioned with wooden panelling on the walls and a shag-pile carpet. The place was spotless. A wooden partitioned wall with frosted glass panels loomed in front of us.

'Governor Nigel Fisher' was etched into the glass door as we stopped in front of it.

Knock -- knock.

There was a brief pause, purely for effect and I saw a shadow moving behind the glass.

"Enter," he said in a soft but powerful voice.

Edwards opened the door and I was escorted into the room with an officer either side of me. The door remained open behind me.

"This is prisoner Sloan as requested, Sir," said Davis, as though she was talking to a military commander.

Governor Fisher was in his early sixties with fair hair, cut into a neat short back and sides. He was clean shaven and was wearing a pinstriped suit. He sat behind a large wooden desk in front of a barred window. The room smelled of furniture polish and looked like something from the nineteen-sixties.

I took the opportunity to gaze past him and see what was beyond his office window. There wasn't much to see other than a large car park and a barrier which was unmanned. Security was practically non existent from what I could see.

Fisher finished signing some paperwork before finally looking up at me with a stern expression on his face.

"Thank you, officers. Please wait outside and close the door on the way out," he gestured.

"Thank you, Sir."

Davis and Edwards left the room and I heard the door close behind me. I stayed standing as I hadn't been offered a chair. Fisher stared at me for a full thirty seconds without saying a word and without losing eye contact.

I stared back.

He was trying to psych me out or get a read on me, but I didn't allow it. I was as emotionless as I'd been in the shower block when I had three bullies in front of me. This guy was no different to them in my opinion.

Finally, he looked away and picked up a small folder with my name written on the front. He opened it up and flicked through the pages to get a general overview of who I was and why I was in his prison.

"Rebecca Sloan... twenty-four... on remand for murder," he read out the headlines.

He closed the folder and placed his hands in a steeple position with his elbows on the desk.

"I'm Governor Fisher," he said.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir," I replied.

"I wish I could say the same. It's always such a shame when young women such as yourself, come to my correctional facility. It means that somewhere along the way, you have been failed by society and have committed a crime so heinous that you have ended up before me today."

This must have been the speech that Naomi had warned me about. It was well rehearsed like a vicar's sermon.

"I sometimes feel as though young girls like you are like stubborn donkeys looking for an owner to correct the error of your ways," he continued. "It's my job as governor of this prison to see that you pay for your crimes, but also that you are educated so that I won't have to see you again, subject to your release."

"I'm hoping that my trial doesn't take too long," I replied. "I've been wrongly accused and I'm sure that my defence council will get an innocent verdict when it goes to court."

"If only I had a pound for every girl who's stood in front of me and said that," he smirked. "You may be right, but until such time as your trial, you belong to me."

I didn't reply. There didn't seem much point.

"What did you do for a living before you came to me?" he asked.

I thought about telling him the truth, that I used to seduce criminals and kill bad people for the greater good, but now wasn't the time. I had to stick with my Rebecca Sloan cover story for now.

"I was an accountant, Sir," I replied.

"That's a very respectable job," he cooed. "Do you know what I used to do before I became a prison governor?"

"No, Sir."

"I was a head master of an all-girls school of further education. The two jobs are very similar in my opinion."

"Are they, Sir?"

"Of course. Both jobs involve me punishing naughty little girls," he said. "It doesn't matter whether you've been caught doing dirty things behind the bike sheds or whether you've killed someone; you still end up in front of me for punishment."

"I see your point, Sir."

"I hope that you do. I'm very old fashioned when it comes to punishment. The modern ways don't suit me, I like to take a more hands on approach."

I didn't like where this was heading. His voice had an edge to it and when he stood up from behind his desk, I knew this was about to take a turn for the worse.

"Do you understand what I mean?" he asked.

"Not entirely, Sir. No."

"Let me explain. School girls used to be brought to me, full of attitude and bravado, thinking they could do whatever they liked and get away with it because daddy had paid for their education. I used to show them that the opposite was true. It was me that could do what ever I liked to them and get away with it. It was a hard lesson for them to learn but one they didn't forget easily."

He walked to the corner of the room and picked up a long thin wooden cane. It was the type used back in the olden days when corporal punishment was still allowed in schools. He bent the cane in both hands flexing it to show its elasticity as he came towards me.

"Fighting was always a problem in an all-girls school," he continued. "Girls would argue about the smallest of things and a fight would break out. I hate fighting, both in schools and in my prison."

He circled around me like a prowling tiger, still flexing his cane.

"Do you know what the punishment was in school for fighting?" he whispered into my ear.

His breath was hot and he smelled of cheap aftershave.

"Detention?" I suggested.

"Detention was for smoking. Try again."

"Writing lines?"

I wasn't going to give this asshole the satisfaction. He was playing games and I didn't want to join in.

"For an accountant, you're not very intelligent, are you, Sloan?"

He swished the cane through the air and brought it down onto the desk with a horrifying snapping sound.

Thwack.

"A good fucking caning," he bellowed, making me jump. "I'd make them take their panties down and I'd cane their backsides."

He slapped the cane down again onto the desk.

Thwack.

"I've had reports that you were fighting in the showers this morning," he continued. "What do you have to say about that?"

"I heard that they slipped over, Sir."

"I wasn't born yesterday, Sloan. I know what happened."

"Have the girls that slipped over said anything?"

"One is still unconscious. One is having her jaw put back together, but one of them has spoken up, yes."

"And what did she say happened, Sir?" I mused.

There was a pause before he answered me.

"You criminal little bitches always stick together. She said that they'd slipped over in the shower, but I know the truth."

I just smirked but I didn't answer. Inmates often stuck together rather than telling the screws what really happened. The three girls would want to get their own revenge on me rather than reporting it.

"You've been here less than twenty-four hours and you're already causing problems," he snapped, getting in my face. "This can't go unpunished. Drop your trousers."

He took a step back and stared at me, tapping the cane lightly in his palm.

"You've got to be fucking joking, right?" I protested.

"I don't care for jokes."

"Caning me is illegal."

"In my prison; I say what's legal," he spat. "Now drop your trousers. You're in for three lashes of my cane. One lash for each of the women you put in the hospital. Hurry up, I haven't got all day."

His demeanour never faltered. He sounded like an old public-school boy with a chip on his shoulder and I knew that I didn't have a choice. I undid my button and zip and let the grey trousers fall around my ankles.

Fisher started to circle me again, looking me up and down and paying particular attention to my ass.

"Very nice. It's always great to know that my inmates stay fit and healthy. Drop your panties too," he demanded. "Do it slowly."

From his tone I knew he was getting hard in his pants. He was yet another power-crazed weirdo wanting his share of Becca's pie. This wasn't going to end with just a caning, I knew he'd push it much further than that. I could practically smell the sperm bubbling up in his balls.

He remained behind me as I pushed my thumbs into my waistband and slid them down my legs as slowly as I could. I was thankful that they were a fresh pair and that I hadn't creamed them up yet.