Chloe in Prison Ch. 11

I started to cry.

"Chloe, what is the matter? OK, we can have sex now, I will suck Cartwright later."

"I don't know if we can have sex at all," I said. "I don't have anything to give you. I have to try to earn something."

"There is no need Chloe, you do not have to pay me."

I almost cracked: but from somewhere I managed to summon a last vestige of -- I don't know what. Not pride, not dignity -- but something akin.

"No Prana," I said: "I can't take any favours: I must pay you."

"But Chloe, you don't understand: I am already paid. Rose gave me two squares of chocolate at Exercise. You did not know this?"

"What?" I exclaimed. "No. No Prana I did not know. Are you sure?"

"Quite sure Chloe."

"But -- she had some chocolate, but she was saving it: she said she gets cravings when she's pre-menstrual. And she gave it to you for me?"

"Yes Chloe."

"Prana, I can't take it. That chocolate meant everything to her. I've got to return it."

"Chloe," said Prana, turning her eyes on me in a way that almost had me swooning. "Rose wanted to do this for you. She is a very kind and generous lady. She will be hurt if you do not accept her gift. Besides: it is too late: I have already eaten the chocolate."

"Oh God Prana," I said: "this is wonderful -- I'm so happy I could die -- but I must go and thank her."

Prana jerked her head to the left: I looked, and saw Rose with the curly haired woman. They were standing close, and had their hands between each-others legs.

"Rose will not thank you if you disturb her now," said Prana. "Thank her later."

"Yes. Alright," I said. I was practically jumping up and down with happiness.

"So shall we meet after our showers?" said Prana. "Already time is passing. I must suck Cartwright and then have my shower, then it is your turn to shower."

"Yes," I said. "Yes, that's fine, that's so perfect Prana."

She gave me a peck on the lips, squeezed me hand, then slipped away.

I wandered round in a daze, hardly aware of who was around me. People may have spoken to me: if so I didn't answer. I could only think of what was to come, less than twenty-five minutes away. Not long now I said to the clamouring voice in my pussy. Then I laughed, maniacally: I'm turning into Mrs Tiggywinkle, I thought, talking to my own vagina.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Prana again, standing close to a thickset middle-aged woman with a scar on her cheek and a tattoo of a dagger dripping blood on her arm. I didn't want to watch, so I turned on my heels and paced to the other end of the shower room, where I spotted Fatima, head bent to her knees, rocking and mumbling. A surge of goodwill overtook me, and I went and sat down on the bench beside her. She did not speak, but must have been aware of me as she hugged herself tighter.

"Fatima?" I said gently. She didn't reply, but froze in her movements.

"Fatima," I said again. "I'm Chloe: I won't hurt you." I put my hand on her shoulder: she flinched away. Her large breasts swung as she did so. I felt as though I was approaching a very nervous animal.

"Aren't you lonely, always by yourself?" I asked, trying to engage her eyes: she had a round, pleasant if rather fleshy face, and it struck me she might have been attractive if she were not so obviously consumed with misery.

She didn't reply.

"You could talk to me," I said. "I'm new here, it's still very strange to me."

Then she did speak: with her head bowed, such that against the noise of the showers and the women chattering her voice was almost inaudible, she said:

"You and the Indian girl: you do very wrong things."

"I don't see it like that Fatima," I said.

"Everyone in here does very wrong things," muttered Fatima.

I didn't know what to say: but it didn't matter, because Fatima had taken up her praying or reciting again, and nothing I tried could elicit a further response from her.

Hardiman's stentorian voice was ordering Cells Thirteen to Eighteen into the showers. Prana must have finished with Cartwright, I reflected. Another ten minutes and I would be in the showers. Another fifteen...

I caught sight of a girl I had not noticed before, standing against the wall by herself. She was taller than me, and slim, with a short, boyish haircut and pleasant, urchin features. She smiled at me, and I got the feeling she had been trying to catch my eye. I returned her smile, and looked her up and down. Two things struck me: the first was how hairy she was. Her legs, both upper and lower, were covered with dark hairs, and hair spread across the top of her thighs and up over her stomach. This made the white, shaved patch around her crotch seem strangely anomalous: like a clearing in a dense forest. The second thing was that she had the smallest breasts I'd ever seen on an adult female. For a second I thought she must have had a mastectomy, though she seemed far too young: but I could see no scar tissue, and it was clear that she did have breasts of a kind, albeit they were about the size of a baby's dummy.

"It's Chloe isn't it?" the girl said.

"That's right."

"My name's Michaela, though everyone calls me 'Pancakes'. I prefer 'Micky' though."

"Then I shall call you Micky," I said.

"I expect you want to know about my breasts," Micky said, brushing her hands up and down over her almost flat chest. "The truth is, they just never grew. When I was sixteen I had no breasts at all. By the time I was eighteen I had these. You can imagine how much I was teased. I'd never worn a bra in my life before I came here. At first they made me, because of the rules, but they don't bother any more. My mother also has very small breasts, and so does my aunt: though my sister's breasts are quite normal. It's a genetic thing: there's nothing I can do about it."

She said all this in something of a rush, as though she had been nervously rehearsing what to say.

"I think they're nice," I said: and whether or not it was because I was so sexually charged there seemed something perversely erotic about those miniscule little tits.

"Do you Chloe?" said Micky. "That's nice of you. You can touch them if you want to."

I put my hands over them, and drew my fingers towards me. Her nipples quickly became erect: these, at least, were normal-sized.

"That's nice," said Micky. "They may be small but they're very sensitive."

I did it again: Micky closed her eyes and her boyish face, with its scattering of freckles, reminded me of a cat in sunshine.

"I've been watching you," said Micky. "I think you're really nice, Chloe."

"Thank you," I said.

"I saw the way you tried to talk to Fatima."

"I don't think it did any good," I said.

"It was kind though," said Micky. "Can I ask you something Chloe?"

"Of course."

"Is Prana your girlfriend?"

"We're very good friends," I said.

Micky nodded slowly.

"I don't have a girlfriend," she said.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Ten months and six days," said Micky.

"How on earth do you keep count?" I asked.

"I scratch a mark with my fingernail on my cell wall."

There was a pause: Micky seemed to be weighing up something. I heard Hardiman order cells nineteen to twenty-four into the showers.

"Will you have sex with me Chloe?" asked Micky. "I can give you a square of chocolate."

I took just a few seconds to answer. Micky wasn't at all my type of girl: she was much too hairy and mannish. And yet, for the second time, a sort of perverse erotic frisson ran through me at the sight of her body. And I liked her directness and candour. Also, I had to start earning -- and the sooner the better.

"Yes," I said.

For a minute her face lit up -- only to cloud over when I added:

"But not today. I've got to shower in a minute, and after that I'm spoken for."

"All right Chloe," she said, disappointed. "I understand."

"Either at Exercise or next Showers," I said. "Is that OK?"

"Yes Chloe: I shall look forward to it."

"I've got to go now," I said: and with a last look at her little breasts I took my leave.

The occupants of cells twenty-five to twenty nine were already lined up, waiting for the call to showers. I found Rose, and put my arms round her.

"Thank you Rose," I said in her ear. "You don't know what this means to me."

"Oh I do," said Rose: "I know exactly what it means."

"I'll pay you back," I said.

"We'll argue about that another time," said Rose: "now get under the shower, Hardiman's calling."

I stood under the hail of water: I rubbed shampoo into my hair, and soon the water was cleansing me, purging me of all the dirt and sweat and staleness of the week gone by, obliterating everything in its relentless downpour. Only today, my body was so supercharged that even the water seemed to arouse me: waves of desire lapped over me, making me faint. I felt I could almost come to the touch of the water, and scarcely dared wash myself between the legs for fear I would be tipped over the edge.

Then the shower was over, and with beating heart I took a fresh towel from the pile, and made my way over to where Prana was waiting. I was less than half dry when I got to her, but I tossed the towel down on a bench, and for the second time that afternoon held Prana in my arms.

"Chloe," she said: "How nice you smell."

"Prana," I said: "Don't say anything: just touch me. Please."

I was literally trembling with need. I felt Prana's hand gliding down my back, and over my bottom. I tried to stroke her in turn, but my hands were shaking too much.

"Chloe," she whispered: "this is no good, you must not get in this state again."

"Just bring me off Prana, before I explode."

As Prana slid her warm hand between my legs I sobbed with longing: my head, my heart, my eyes, my pussy, every part of me cried out for release. My pussy ached, my heart ached, Prana's hand gently rubbed at me, I felt a force as of millions of gallons of water building up in me, surging against the dam of my pussy: and then the dam broke, the tsunami roared over, and I came and came and came, sobbing, shrieking, clutching, gabbling, in the longest and most tremendous orgasm I'd ever had in my life.

I thought it would never stop. Once the main body of water had broken, thousands of little tributary orgasms spurted up, died away, were renewed. I clung to Prana like a drowning person clinging to a tree lest she be swept away. It seemed as though the orgasmic force was breaking out through my hands and feet, through my fingers and toes. Explosions of colour and light were taking place behind my eyes. Then at last I was spent.

"Chloe," said Prana: "you scare me. I never knew a girl to have an orgasm like that before."

I couldn't speak. I slumped on the damp floor at Prana's feet, until she slid down beside me. "Oh my God Prana," I breathed: "Oh my God."

Even when I'd recovered my wits I could not bear to speak. Instead I let my hands do the talking. I slid my left hand up and down inside Prana's thigh, then closed my palm over her mound. She was sopping wet: I was pleased to find how turned-on she must have been. I played with her, caressed her clitoris, snuggled in closer, tweaked and rubbed, and as I felt her body building up to its own climax her legs started twitching, her breath came fast and short, until in no time at all she seemed to launch herself into a heaving, shattering orgasm that left her whimpering and sighing.

"Oh Chloe," she said presently: "What do we do to each other?"

We lay basking for several minutes. We heard Hardiman bawling, and voices, near and far off at the same time. Then, as we came to, I felt the urge to prattle.

"It's been an awful week Prana -- but it doesn't matter now." I kissed her, and stroked her damp hair.

"For me also," said Prana: "I missed you at Exercise when we were not allowed to speak."

"Did you really?" I asked.

"Of course Chloe."

"That poor girl," I said. "I was so scared when we saw the whipping horse: I thought for a minute it might be you they were going to punish."

"No Chloe," laughed Prana. "Not this time. I learned my lesson."

"What? You mean -- you have been beaten?"

"Once, yes, they beat me. But not like this, in front of everybody."

"Oh God Prana, no."

"It's OK Chloe, it was a long time ago. I was very stupid and hot-headed: one day I swore at Dawes. We were in my cell. She told me: 'Right, this is an Assault on a Warden'. She came back with Hardiman, and they said I am to be punished. They make me take off my clothes and they bent me over my bed and held me down: then they caned me with a riding crop. Have you ever been hit with a riding crop Chloe?"

"No," I said.

"One strike with a riding crop, Chloe, you never want another. At first it felt like needles had been stuck into my bottom. You cannot imagine the pain, it was awful. I promised myself I would not cry, I would not give them satisfaction: but straight away I was screaming. You would scream, Chloe. Everybody would scream. They hit me again, three times. It was like somebody had lit a fire under my bottom. I screamed and screamed: they took no notice. They told me I had wet myself: I did not even notice I had done so, the pain was all I was aware of. I saw a puddle on the floor: they made me mop it up even though I was in agony. They told me if I assaulted a Warden again I would get double. As soon as they had gone I lay on my bed and I cried and cried. I could not help it. The pain lasted for days: I could not sit down; it was hard even to use the bucket."

"Oh God Prana," I said. I was almost in tears myself, living vicariously through her ordeal. I held her tight in my arms. Then, because I wanted to comfort the places where she had been hurt, I wriggled down and put my hands gently on her bottom. There were no traces of the crop, but I ran my hands over her anyway, trying to soothe at least the memory of the pain. I put my face close to her buttocks and kissed them. I leaned my cheek against them. A faint musky scent drifted into my nostrils. I pressed my face to the crack in her bum-cheeks, and parted them slightly. The little star of her anus puckered an inch or so in front of me. I breathed in deeply: the scent almost made me swoon. Then I put my tongue against her anus, and savoured its warmth and its textures.

"Chloe, what are you doing?" Prana giggled.

I carried on licking.

"Mmm, that is nice," Prana purred.

I held Prana's buttocks apart as best I could, and tried to part her legs to give me better access. I reached round and felt for her, and found her wet and responsive. With my tongue on her anus and my finger on her clitoris, I tweaked her until her breathing grew rapid and shallow and her hips shuddered as she orgasmed again.

"Nobody ever did that to me before," Prana said, gasping.

"I've never done it before," I said.

"Would you like me to do it to you?"

After the orgasm I'd just had, I hadn't believed it possible I would want to come again: but I was so aroused from licking Prana I couldn't resist. I got onto my knees and thrust my bottom into the air, hoping I'd washed myself properly. I felt Prana's warm breath on my anus, then her even warmer tongue. The sensation was amazing: hot, wet, arousing. I felt almost like I wanted to shit, though I knew I wouldn't: more as though I wanted an orgasm in my rectum. Once she started to diddle me the sensations switched to my pussy, the lovely warmth in my anus a sort of supplementary pleasure. Under Prana's expert fingering I quickly exploded.

"I could stay here for ever," I murmured, as Hardiman announced that Showers were over and we had ten minutes to get dry. The streaming water was shut off, there were gurgling sounds as the last of the water drained away, and voices became louder and harsher without the watery backdrop. Looking round I saw Fatima, still seated nearby: she made a slight movement as I looked at her, and again, though I could not be certain, I had the feeling that she had been watching us. A short distance away stood Micky, in conversation with someone I did not know. There was something forlorn and unloved about her pale little mound, exposed between her slender hairy legs: now that I was no longer burning with lust, I could not believe I'd found anything erotic in her.

I held onto Prana, trying to make the most of our final minutes. I was slumped on the floor with my back against a bench: Prana was sitting between my legs, which I had wrapped around her. Her back was pressed to my chest, and my arms were draped around her shoulders with my hands cradling her breasts. Sitting like this, still in a post-coital haze, I became aware of a change in the noise: at first I couldn't identify the cause, but something was definitely afoot, for the women were moving with some sort of purpose, touching each other on the shoulder, grouping together, whispering.

"It's the new girl," said Prana.

"New girl?"

"Didn't you hear? There is a new girl today."

Probably somebody had tried to tell me, and I had not heard.

"So?" I said: then it dawned on me what this meant. "Oh no," I said. "We don't have to join in, do we?"

"We must, Chloe: but we can wait here until it is near to the end."

We watched as a posse of women began to move as one across the room. I couldn't make out who their victim was: until suddenly there was shouting and commotion, and a largish, blond-haired girl was swept off her feet. Hands were laid on her, she thrashed and struggled like a porpoise caught in a fishing net: and, made of more substantial stuff than me, she somehow managed to free herself, half-slipped, and started running across the room towards the Wardens. Hands reached out to grab her, but she twisted away. The women tore after her, shouting, like a pack of baying hounds. The girl reached the wall where the Wardens were all lined up, and screamed at them to help her.

Not one of them raised a finger to help. Instead they stood, arms folded, mostly grinning at the wretched girl's plight. She was quickly recaptured. This time there was no escape, as double the number of women held her in a vice-like grip. Still she tried to thrash: but her legs and feet were held fast, her arms and hands and hair and just about every available area of her body was grasped and pinned and held fast. Still screaming she was frog-marched into the centre of the room, and her legs forced open. Once she managed to free one leg, and she kicked out wildly; but the leg was soon recaptured and held secure.

Then the initiation began. A line of women formed, with more waiting in the wings, and still others, like Prana and me, watching from the sidelines but ready to take their places in the queue when their turns came. One by one each woman stood between the new girl's legs, licked a finger and slid it into the girl's vagina, wiggling it for a few seconds before withdrawing. Fascinated, sickened, I watched the procession, women I recognised, women I knew by sight only, women I did not know at all. To begin with the girl bucked each time a new finger was inserted; after a time the fight seemed to go out of her, her shouts changed into feeble and pitiful cries, and she ceased to resist. Rose took her turn, as did the Andrews Sisters, Megan and her entourage, and Wilson, who fingered the girl with a sadistic grin on her face. I couldn't be sure, but I had a suspicion that some of the women returned to the back for a second turn. Someone touched me on the shoulder and told me I had to get up, so reluctantly Prana and I took our place in the much diminished queue. When it came to my turn I slid my finger inside the girl, felt the heat of her for a few seconds, then withdrew without wiggling my finger around. Since I could barely stand up unaided, I was doubly glad when it was done, and I could flop down again. After Prana the only girl behind me was Micky: she dutifully did the business; but all was not quite over: Wilson returned, this time propelling Fatima forward, holding one of the Muslim girl's arms bent behind her back. Some people frowned at this, but no-one intervened, and Fatima had her middle finger forced where all the other fingers had been.