Chloe in Prison Ch. 08

"Chloe," she said: "I can see you're exhausted, but I have to shave you before the light goes. You know what Clark said."

"In the morning," I begged, already falling asleep again.

"No Chloe, now," said Rose. "You can leave me to the morning but I must do you now. Look, you just lie there and go to sleep, I'll do it all."

I hadn't the energy even to wet and soap myself over the bowl. I felt my legs being parted, and something damp – which I later learned was Rose's wetted towel - being placed in between. I was aware of the carbolic smell of the soap, of hands lathering me, of the razor being drawn over me, of my fanny lips being opened and stretched. In my near-delirium, I fancied it was Prana feeling and kneading me. I had no energy or will to move, just gave myself up to the practised fingers and hands. I was aware of the damp towel once more: dreamily I put my middle finger, the finger I had inserted in Prana's anus, to my nose: something of the scent of her lingered there: I inhaled it deeply, drawing this fleeting, fragrant essence of her deep into my nostrils: then I fell asleep.

Day Twelve

I had the longest, deepest sleep I had had in prison. When I woke I dragged myself groggily out with the slops bucket, then roused myself to shave Rose. I had to endure Bradley poking around at me, clearly looking for signs of negligence, but survived the shaving inspection. Rose and I didn't say much until breakfast was over.

"Feeling better today?" she asked.

"Much better thanks," I said.

"We could hear you screaming across the showers," Rose said: "it sounded like somebody was having their throat slit."

"No Rose: just the opposite," I said with a smile.

"Well: it seems I owe you an apology," Rose said. "Clearly Prana isn't as mercenary as I thought. You were obviously having a whale of a time together."

"We were," I said.

"And for love not chocolate: well, it just goes to show you can get people wrong."

I said nothing – and perhaps I was silent in the wrong way, for Rose said:

"Chloe: look at me: You didn't promise her chocolate did you?"

"Not chocolate," I said, unable to lie."

"Oh no Chloe: you did pay her didn't you? What on earth have you paid?"

"Only an emery board," I said.

"An emery board?" Rose nearly exploded. "She made you pay an emery board? God, the little bitch: what emery board, anyway: where did you get an emery board?"

"From those women they call the Andrew Sisters," I said. "I – I sucked them both off. Did I do wrong? Was that a bad deal?"

"They might have given you one each," said Rose. "But never mind that: did you tell Prana how you feel about her?"

"Yes," I said.

"And she still had the nerve to charge you an emery board?"

"Rose it wasn't how you're making it sound. She explained why she had to charge: some of her earnings go to Megan, and the other girls would object if I got it for free and they had to pay. She was so nice about it. Not mercenary at all."

"Oh, there's always a reason why someone would just love to give you something for free, but against all their wishes they have to charge."

"Rose," I said, and I was starting to cry: "I had the time of my life yesterday, and you're trying to spoil it. Stop it! You're being horrible about Prana: I won't hear any more!"

"OK, OK, I'm sorry," said Rose, as I dissolved into tears.

"You don't understand how it was," I said. "You weren't there."

"All right, all right: I've said I'm sorry," said Rose.

"Prana has to be paid," I said, choking: "it doesn't mean she doesn't love me. And I'm going to go on paying. Every week: more if I could: I don't care."

Rose fell silent whilst I cried myself out. Hearing Prana being vilified in this way made me long for her again, to comfort her and protect her from charges she'd never heard. 'Where are you now?' I asked silently. If I could just get a glimpse of her; exchange a smile or a word, or even a wave.

There was a bit of a frost in our cell that morning. I saw Rose masturbating, but she didn't look as though she was enjoying herself much. After lunch I dozed again, and when I woke Rose said:

"This is silly isn't it? Friends again?"

"Yes," I said. "Friends again."

I went across and gave her a cuddle. No more was said about Prana.

"A rub would be nice," Rose said, a little later, so I gave her pussy as much loving as I knew how, sliding my fingers inside her again as I had once before, and working her up to a wicked orgasm.

"Shall I do you?" she asked when she'd recovered.

"Rose," I said: "I'm still spent – if you don't mind."

"OK," said Rose: "it's not compulsory. Another time."

I went back to my own bed, for it was too uncomfortable to double up for long. Presently I asked:

"Tell me about Fatima, Rose. What has she done?"

"Nothing," said Rose. "That's the tragedy of it."

"How can that be?"

"The police arrested her brother for terrorist crimes. They claimed he was planning to blow up an airport. They arrested the rest of the family as well. Fatima wouldn't say anything: they have a code of honour about these things: no-one will say anything against a family member. Well, in English Law you don't have to testify against a wife or husband: but that doesn't apply to siblings. When Fatima refused to say anything they decided she was complicit or whatever they call it, and they sent her here. She's never been charged."

"That's awful Rose."

"It doesn't end there," said Rose. "If she does get out she can never go back to her family."

"Why not, if she's always been loyal?"

"Because of the things she's done in here," said Rose. "It makes no difference she was forced to do them: she's from a very strict background, where women aren't allowed to have sex with other women. They're not allowed to take off their veils outsides their homes, let alone go naked.

"So there's no life left for her anywhere. If she got out she'd have to have a new identity, move to a different area: she couldn't cope with that. Besides, someone would find her. So she shrinks into herself and spends all her time praying."

"Rose, that's criminal," I said, contrasting her with the few seemingly-independent Muslim girls I had known at University. "Can't anybody do anything to help her? I've seen Wilson bullying her."

"She's a lost cause I'm afraid. Some people have tried to talk to her, but they can't get through. Other people who could help won't, because she won't give anything back. She won't have sex, and she doesn't have anything to trade. The Megans in here aren't fairy Godmothers you know: they won't help a lame duck just because she's lame. I'm afraid she'll go the way of Sandy, and end up in Broadmoor."

I thought of the solitary girl huddled on the bench – and I remembered fleetingly catching her watching from behind her hands. What was she thinking? That we were dammed? That she wished she could be happy in the same way? I promised myself I would try to speak to her next time.

"At least the Wardens don't bother her much any more," said Rose. "There's not much pleasure in tormenting somebody who doesn't respond."

After dinner Rose shaved me again – I hadn't touched my pussy all day and it was nice to feel the razor gliding over me, but I didn't allow myself to get carried away. We brushed our teeth and did our business in the bucket: and when the light went out, I was able to deduct another day from the seven hundred and thirty of my sentence.

Day Thirteen: Exercise

Next day was Exercise: which meant I would see Prana again. I hadn't had such a long absence as to make me restless and desperate, and I wasn't expecting us to have sex again, but I was eager to see her, to give her the emery board, to hold her and bask in her smile. Two days I could manage without her, I thought: another week and I would die. All day I was hearing her in anticipation, her delectable accent, her lovable quirks of speech. Nothing notable happened during the morning, and my only anxiety was over whether the Andrews Sisters would really produce the emery board.

"They will," said Rose. "They'll want you again before long. But Chloe, as a general rule, never promise anything you haven't got."

"Alright," I said.

By the time we were ordered out of our cells I had butterflies once again. I could sense Prana getting closer, closer in space, closer in time. I joined the line and marched down the corridor with the others, all the time scrutinising the chalk names on the cell doors.

And then I saw it: Cell 21 P Kumali and C – what was the other name? It looked like a jumble of 'C's and 'Z's and 'Ws', but we were past before I could get a handle on how to pronounce or memorise them. Still, it was something to go on: Rose would probably know. I was closer now to finding out which lucky person shared Prana's cell, had Prana's smile and Prana's body and Prana's conversation to herself twenty four hours a day. I was jealous, of course I was jealous: yet something inside me also suspected that twenty four hours a day of Prana would prove too much for any mortal to bear.

So by and large I was in a happy if slightly nervous state as we were led outside and the Exercise cage came into view, and it was only when we started to file through the steel doors, and Rose stiffened and spoke, that I had any intimation that something was wrong.

"Oh no," said Rose quietly. "Some poor girl's for it."

Almost at once I saw what she had spotted: a piece of equipment standing in the centre of the cage. It looked like a vaulting horse, with four legs sticking out at angles and a padded leather seat: only the front legs were longer than the rear ones, so that even if you vaulted from the back you would struggle to clear the front.

There were also straps attached to each of the legs.

"What is it Rose?" I asked.

"A whipping horse. I can guess who it's for as well: you know that commotion we heard at slop-out yesterday?"

"Yes," I said. I remembered now: we had heard a noise and shouting, but had seen nothing in our section of corridor.

"Well somebody kicked her slops bucket over Clark. They were talking in Showers: I forgot to tell you."

We carried on filing into the cage. Hardiman was at the head of the line, which had not been the case the previous week, when all the prisoners had been ushered in but the Wardens had stayed patrolling the perimeter outside.

When everybody was in we formed three sides of a square, with the whipping horse in the centre. Hardiman stepped up to it and addressed us:

"There will be no bartering and no ball games today," she announced. "One of the prisoners has committed a serious assault on a Prison Officer. She will be punished and you will all witness her punishment. It will serve as a warning to you all of what will happen if you should think of committing such an assault. There will no talking whilst the punishment is carried out. No-one will attempt to communicate with the offender in any way. Anyone who disobeys these orders will be punished."

We all stood, shifting uneasily, eying the whipping horse, fascinated and appalled. I looked round for Prana: for an awful moment, remembering her hot temper, I thought she was must be the victim: then I caught sight of her, head bowed, almost eclipsed by a large blond woman.

Minutes passed: the day was quite mild: there were even birds singing somewhere, though it was hard to know where, as there were no trees visible in the prison grounds.

Then through the cage door came two women – Dawes and Clark – leading a third figure, a girl of maybe twenty-five with long black hair, who I did not know. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and her head was bowed.

She was marched into the centre of the cage, and the cuffs were removed.

"Prisoner Cradock's punishment will now begin," Hardiman announced. "Cradock: take off all your clothes."

The miserable girl began to undress: her eyes were red, her face a mask of misery. One by one she took off her pullover, skirt, sandals, socks, knickers and bra. Her breasts were full and swung free; her skin puckered in the cool air, and she hugged herself.

"Step up to the whipping horse," Hardiman commanded.

The girl did as she was told.

"Lean forward: stretch your arms down the front legs of the horse."

The girl gave a last, despairing look around, as if there might be somewhere to flee, then lay forward, stretching her arms as instructed. Clark and Dawes immediately fastened straps around each of her wrists, then strapped her legs to the back legs of the horse, just above her knees. A further strap was placed around the horse, securing her body just above the waist. Her breasts were squashed against the horse's back: Dawes now ran her hands between the girl's chest and the horse, and forced her breasts outwards, so that they were squashed and splayed one each side, with the nipples horizontal. The girls head rested high up the body of the horse, facing away from me. I noticed she had a small red rose tattooed on her shoulder: somehow it made her look even more forlorn.

About ten Wardens then stepped up: all of those I knew, and some I did not. Hackett, the Stores and Admin Officer, was also present, and produced from a black bag a leather strap. It was about two feet long, maybe two inches broad, with a banded handle. Hackett handed it to Hardiman.

"An assault against any Warden in an assault against all Wardens," Hardiman said. "Therefore all Wardens will take part in the punishment."

Hardiman took up a position just behind the girl, and cracked the strap in the air a couple of times. Then she pulled her right arm back: and using all of the tremendous strength with which she had lifted me up to the ceiling, brought the strap down across Craddock's bottom. There was a terrific crack, which seemed to reverberate over the still yard, and an audible intake of breath from the watching prisoners. Craddock screamed. It was an anguished, heart-rending scream, and was quickly followed by several more scream-like sounds. My whole body had tensed-up, as, I suspect had the bodies of most of the prisoners: it was as though we all felt something of that blow, and of Cradock's pain.

Then Dawes took the strap. Hardiman stepped back and Dawes, making up with determination for what she lacked in height, drew back her arm and let fly. There was another crack: again Cradock screamed. I don't know how far away the nearest dwelling was, because it was impossible to see beyond the high, barbed-wire-capped prison wall: but anyone within half a mile must have heard that scream. At the same time as she screamed, Cradock flexed against the straps which held her, thrashing furiously, her body's automatic response to the pain: but the straps denied her almost any bodily liberty. I saw her fingers clench and unclench and clench again. Apart from this, the only parts of her body not restrained were her lower legs. These she bend upwards at the knee, and her legs and feet thrashed wildly in the air as her body fought desperately for some way to shake out or free itself from the pain. By now Bradley had the strap: again it flailed against the poor girl's rear: again she thrashed impotently, and screamed. A red mark, like a wine stain on a white tablecloth, had spread across her buttocks. It was awful to watch: instinctively I slipped my hand into Rose's and squeezed.

Clark was next to let fly. Cradock's buttocks wobbled under the impact: again her legs flexed up and down: and then I noticed something wet starting to trickle down the inside of her thighs.

"Oh God, she's wetting herself," I thought.

The Wardens paused, and waited. The only sound was a faint hiss coming from between Cradock's legs. A small pool formed on the ground beneath her.

The stream dwindled and ceased. Hardiman gave a nod to the next Warden – I did not recognise her – and she took the strap in her left hand and brought it down with a vicious thwack.

Cradock's screams now became continuous. One after another the Wardens walked up to her, and showing no expressions of reluctance or pity brought down the strap on her trembling behind. Even Raymond, the one Officer I might have expected to go easy, drew back the strap and seemed to let fly with all the strength her tall frame could muster. The red area on Cradock's bottom increased in size and intensity of colour. Her lower legs were flailing up and down like the arms of a drowning person desperately crying out for help.

Ten Wardens in all applied the strap. Cradock's screams had changed now, morphed into a sort of wailing, moaning sound, like a cow lamenting a dead calf.

It must be over now, I thought: but I was wrong. Hardiman again had the strap poised. A groan like a Mexican wave pulsed through the prisoners: I couldn't bear to watch any more, and stared down at the ground.

"All the prisoners will watch the punishment," Hardiman said, her deep voice rumbling across the prison yard.

This time the blow found virgin skin: the soft, fleshy inside of Cradock's thighs. She screamed anew: her legs went frantic, kicking up and down like the arms of a manic drummer. Taking their cue from Hardiman, each of the other Wardens likewise sought out the sensitive area at the rear, or just inside of, Cradock's thighs. The right-handed ones brought the strap down on the inside of Cradock's left leg, the left-handed ones on the inside of her right. Each one seemed to aim a little lower, working gradually down from the base of her buttocks to the area just above her knee. My heart was thumping: every instinct called to me to try to stop this, to go and succour the poor girl: but there was nothing I or anybody could do.

At long last the second procession of Wardens came to the end. Hardiman took the strap and addressed us all:

"Let this be a warning and a lesson to all of you," she said.

There was a general shifting and murmuring, as everyone was finally released from the dreadful spell. People looked each other briefly in the eye, just to register a shared fear or repugnance or solidarity – then looked away.

Hardiman spoke again:

"There are nine minutes of exercise left. You will spend them walking around the perimeter of the Exercise Yard."

Wardens began walking past us, ordering us to get into line. We formed a long crocodile, and, with Hardiman setting a brisk pace at the head, marched round the cage. After four circuits Hardiman stopped and announced that Exercise was over. Two other Wardens took over and led us out of the cage.

Cradock was still lying strapped to the whipping horse. Her bottom and thighs were bright red. Her eyes, too, were red. The sounds she made were almost unearthly: strange hybrids of cries, shrieks and groans. No-one attended to her. No-one dared utter a word of comfort.

"Rose: that was terrible," I said, back in our cell. "I feel sick."

"All because she knocked a slops bucket over Clark's feet," said Rose.

"Did she do it deliberately?" I asked.

"Probably," said Rose: "though apparently she swore it was an accident."

"Pity she didn't empty it over Clark's head," I said.

"She'd have got a lot worse if she had," said Rose.

"How can they just leave her there? I asked.

"They'll bring her in now," said Rose. "Now we're all back inside."

I had no appetite that night, and only because it was forbidden to leave food did I manage to force dinner down.

"I suppose we have to shave," I said.

"Unfortunately yes," said Rose, who for once showed no inclination to masturbate.

We went through the ritual in a routine sort of way.

"Best get ready for bed," said Rose.

As I sat on the bucket I thought of Cradock and wondered how she would cope, with her bottom so flayed.

The light went out, and I huddled under the blankets. My thoughts began to stray from Cradock. I hated myself for it: but an anguish that I had kept in check during and after the punishment now surfaced in my thoughts again: I had not been able to talk to Prana. And I would not have another chance for five long days.