At last, here is the story I promised. A poll that took forever to post, followed by a story that took forever to write. I hope you will find it worth the wait. -- JD For details on the poll, see: www.asstr.org/files/Authors/C_Lakewood/Stories by Joe Doe/Tibool's Pictures.txt For the picture from Tibool that started it all, see: http://www.chainganggirls.com/images/tib36.jpg HARSH JUDGMENT by Joe Doe AND NOW, THE STORY. JUDGE ASHLEY MARSH, WHILE VISITING A JUDICIAL CONFERENCE IN THE SOUTH, DECIDES TO ACTIVELY PARTICIPATE IN A "NATURE OR NURTURE" ARGUMENT INVOLVING A FEMALE CHAIN GANG. ****************************** Part 1 "And what about you, Ashley? May I trust a first hand experience with Southern justice won't offend your delicate sensibilities?" Judge Ashley Marsh smiled demurely. Beneath her starched, conservative façade she felt a delicious, thrilling tingle, and Judge Helms knew it. The judicial conference had been a bore. It wasn't until after she arrived that she realized that she had been invited to speak, less because anyone wanted to hear what she had to say than because having a female judge, let alone a female state supreme court judge, was a novelty in this part of the country. Her carefully prepared speech had been greeted with the barest smattering of polite applause. The response had flustered her so much that she had dropped her papers and had suffered the further indignity of several snickers and even a few wolf whistles as she bent over to retrieve them. During the day, Ashley felt like an animal at the zoo, and the evening was even worse. She had been invited to THE CLUB, and had been forced to rather awkwardly stand amongst a couple of hundred middle-aged, mostly overweight, cigar-smoking, and bourbon-swilling southern judges and listen as they lied about their golf scores, fishing exploits, and mistresses. Ashley was 32, but her petite body and youthful appearance made her appear some years younger. Several times during the evening, she suffered the embarrassment of a guest asking her to freshen his drink, as she tried to explain that she wasn't a serving girl. When the manager came and not-too-politely informed her that the club was segregated, and she would have to wait in the women's lounge, she felt strangely relieved. The relief was short-lived. The wives of the judges made no effort to hide their resentment of the young, pretty, well-educated Yankee whose mere presence many regarded as an attack upon their way of life. Although she considered herself something of a moderate, it was clear that the women regarded her as some sort of gender deviate or, at best, as an emblem of liberalism run amok. When Judge Helms and Judge Bovine, the hosts of the conference, came to rescue her with an offer to adjourn to supper at the Helms mansion down the street, Ashley was grateful for the judicial reprieve. Helms treated Ashley and the party to a scrumptious fried chicken dinner. Although, as a Northerner, Ashley was more than a little embarrassed by the utterly servile demeanor of the black servants who waited on her, she held her tongue. If these people wanted to pretend it was still 1840, she knew there was little that she could say to convince them otherwise. Bovine spent the entire evening ogling her with his wide-set eyes, while his portly wife simply glared as she lazily chewed first her food, then her gum. Helms, in contrast, was the model of Southern chivalry, so much so that Ashley felt brave enough to ask about the cool reception she had received from her supposed "hosts." "What you don't understand, Ashley, is what a curiosity your presence has become," Helms explained. "I'll confess that when I invited you here, I knew it would create something of a stir. Women in these parts don't generally attend college, or pursue the professions. You are, I know, the future, but it is a future that most of the people in our audience distrust and reject." "Good riddance to bad rubbish," Mrs. Bovine sneered. "Pretending to be a man is not becoming to a lady, Miss Marsh, and the respectable women of this county don't appreciate some little chit from the North coming down here to steal our husbands." At this, Mrs. Bovine "accidentally" elbowed her leering spouse in the ribs. He responded by regurgitating his mashed potatoes and gravy and dribbling them down to the front of his shirt. Despite herself, Ashley laughed out loud. Judge And Mrs. Bovine were not amused. Helms attempted to ease the tension by steering the conversation back on course. "I knew, of course, that you were an accomplished female justice, and I had admired your opinions greatly. However, I had no idea that you were unmarried...or how young and attractive you were. I'm afraid that has only exacerbated various resentments." "Well, with all due respect, Your Honor, the South is going to have to figure out a way to deal with women like me," Ashley said in a tone that made it clear it was not merely her opinion. "We have a way," Mrs. Bovine hissed. "Now, Gertrude, be nice," her husband chided. A bewildered Ashley turned to Judge Helms for an explanation. "Am I missing something?" "Mrs. Bovine was making something of a joke," he explained unconvincingly. "Our municipalities have rather strict laws regarding such things as vagrancy, loitering, and other such offenses. Out-of-town visitors...." "Yankee hussies!" Mrs. Bovine hissed. "Visitors who disrupt our social norms are often arrested on such charges and sentenced to a term of service in one of our rehabilitation facilities." "Chain gang labor," Mrs. Bovine explained, her voice oozing malice. "On the prison farm!" "Women?" Ashley said, genuinely shocked. "On a chain gang?" "Really, Mrs. Bovine, I must protest," Helms protested, rather unconvincingly. "Such conversation at the dinner table, and with a guest, no less." He turned to the black maid, who at that moment was staring at her shoes. "Missy, be a dear and fetch us that cherry pie. I, for one, am ready for some desert." The conversation soon turned back to the excellent dinner, the conference, and the unseasonable heat. However, Ashley could not stop thinking about the chain gang or shake the feeling that the hateful Mrs. Bovine would very much like to see her on it. ****************************** Since the subject of the chain gang did not naturally arise the next day, Ashley took the forward step of asking Helms if the two of them might have dinner at his house to discuss various "judicial matters" in detail. Since he was a widower and many years Ashley's senior, he agreed only on the condition that he could invite someone else along, lest vicious gossips besmirch his stellar reputation. His selection, the elderly Judge Dithers, who had slept through almost the entire conference, made Ashley laugh. They would be alone, without actually being alone. Despite the relative privacy, she waited to broach the subject until the peach cobbler had been served. "I couldn't help being curious at Mrs. Bovine's remark. When I was 18 I found a lurid paperback novel in my brother's bedroom titled 'Chain Gang Girls.' It was about these two college girls who ended up getting arrested for speeding in the South and...well, about the dreadful things that happened to them." Judge Helms glanced at Judge Dithers, who was napping. He then turned to the two servants standing mutely by the door. "Toby and Missy, if you'll excuse us...." No further encouragement was needed. The two blacks bowed and quickly left the room. "What EXACTLY happened to them, Ashley?" Helms said, leaning closer. Ashley adopted the hushed tone of a neighborhood gossip describing a particularly juicy scandal too outrageous to believe, but too exciting to suppress. "Well, after they were sentenced, they were taken to the prison farm. The Sheriff gave brought them to the matron, and they had to strip. They stopped when they got down to their underwear, but the matron said that their panties were "contraband" and had to be taken off. They had to strip down "bay-yur nek-kid,"" Ashley said, affecting a mock Southern accent that made the judge's eyes narrow, "with the warden and the Sheriff watching." Ashley, feeling unusually flushed, unbuttoned another button on her blouse as she continued in a hushed whisper. "As if that weren't enough, they had to bend over, and let the matron search...up inside them. The Sheriff and the warden could see everything, and they snickered while the two girls were probed. And then...." "I get the idea...." Helms said. "Wait!" Ashley said. "I haven't even gotten to the prison brothel yet." "It's obvious that you read the story quite carefully, Ashley," Helms said, in a tone left over from his prosecutorial days, "Did you remember the exact wording from a single reading?" "Oh, no," she said, too engrossed in her story to realize fully what she was admitting. "I read it over and over. When my brother went back to college I stole it from him, so I could read it every night." "I see," Helms said. "And when you heard Mrs. Bovine talk about our 'peculiar institution' naturally your curiosity was piqued." "Well...yes. Over the years I've read all sorts of books and stories about such places, but I never imagined that they really existed." she gushed, admitting more to the judge than she ever had to herself. "The novel you mention is a classic of the genre and has a prominent place in my own extensive literary collection on the subject. Although the story is fictional, the type of prison it describes is not. Such establishments are as real as you are." It was a peculiar phrasing, "as real as you are," and Ashley felt a momentary twinge of discomfort as she found her own existence lumped in with the prison in a strange simile. However, the momentary flicker of panic quickly gave way to a more familiar -- and deliciously naughty -- tingle. She felt flushed, light-headed, and (because the wine was quite good) oddly liberated. Although she had only known Helms for a short time, she sensed that in some strange way he was a kindred spirit. Whether it was the potent wine or the strangeness of the environment, but Ashley unburdened herself as she had never done before. "I've been the good girl my whole life," she confessed. "Perfect grades, perfect career, perfect life. I've always wondered what it would be like to end up in one of those places...to be stripped of everything...to be utterly powerless, and to have to do anything those wicked guards ordered me to do. It's simply scandalous. But somehow...strangely exciting." Judge Helms assumed a pedantic tone. "It's a common enough phenomenon. The prisoner fantasy allows you to be a good girl, who gets to do "bad things," not because she wants to, but because she has to. You can engage in the most wanton and unseemly behavior, because you are powerless to resist. Indeed, the absolute helplessness of your predicament would only increase your excitement." "I've always wondered what it would be like to a prisoner in a place like that. I'd do anything to experience what those girls in the novel did, to feel what they felt...." Judge Helms reached behind him and opened his cigar box. For a moment Ashley thought he was going to courteously ask her if he could smoke as he had always done in the past. However, he did not, but merely lit his cigar, almost as if she were not there. As she watched him thoughtfully puff on his stogie, she wondered if his failure to ask her permission had been a mere oversight, or a portent of a powerful change in the dynamic of their relationship. She decided to press harder. "Mrs. Bovine seemed to think I was a good candidate for the prison," Ashley said, biting her lip nervously. "She certainly wanted to send me there." "Indeed she did," Helms replied wryly. "And if you had been traveling alone through this area -- and you were not a judge -- your foreign ways and boldness of action would undoubtedly have given her a pretext for placing you there. A simple phone call to the Sheriff and...." Ashley shivered as he blew a smoke ring and smiled. "But you are a state supreme court justice, and your absence would be missed." "Certainly if I spent a few hours there...." "No, my dear. If you want to truly experience what the girls in that novel went through, an authentic sentence would be required. As I recall, our two intrepid heroines were athletic and hearty, and they spent nearly a week picking cotton in the fields before they requested...special duties." At the mention of "special duties" Ashley squeezed her thighs together. In the novel the girls had been put on the chain gang, and the overseer had worked them hard. They were not forced to serve at the truck stop brothel, but had "auditioned" for the privilege in order escape the brutality of the fields. "Our term has just concluded, and I am not due back until the first week of September...." "Splendid!" Helms said. "Then call your secretary and tell her to inform your friends that you are taking an extended tour of our beloved Dixie and will not return until the fall." Ashley swallowed. September seemed a long way off. "A tour? What sort of tour?" She felt excited, fearful, aroused, and terrified as she watched the judge casually blow an enormous smoke ring. "A tour, my dear, in which your dreams will come true." ****************************** Part 2 "And what about you, Ashley? Helms said. May I trust a first hand experience with Southern justice won't offend your delicate sensibilities?" Judge Ashley Marsh's cunt spasmed, but she tried to remain outwardly cool. There were six people in the stretch limousine. Like Ashley, all were alumni of the recent conference who had accepted the Helms's offer of a ride to the train station. The evening before, Ashley and Judge Helms had playfully flirted with the idea of incarcerating her at the women's prison farm, and now he was asking her if she wanted to push her fantasy further by visiting the prison itself. She realized that he was toying with her, testing her, exploring her limits. She had been brave enough last night, safe and snug in his mansion, guzzling his fine wine. But did she have the nerve required to make her fantasies a reality? "By all means. We don't have female chain gangs in Chicago, and I'd be fascinated to see one. Obviously Gertrude thinks it's something I should see." Ashley flashed the obese Gertrude Bovine her sexiest and most charming smile, and Mrs. Bovine glared lightning back at her. Her husband, Judge Bovine, smiled, in no small part because he was using the limo ride to ogle Ashley's lovely legs. Judge Dithers, waking from one of his frequent dozes, looked at Ashley with concern. "The prison farm is quite remote, and it's surrounded by the most dismal bog. You might miss your train to Chicago, my dear." Ashley "accidentally" revealed a rather fetching display of cleavage as she leaned forward to take the elderly jurist's hand. "There will be other trains, Arthur," she purred. "But there may never be another opportunity like this. Isn't that right, Judge Helms?" "Truer words were never spoken," Helms chuckled. He gave his driver an order, and they turned onto a road that was elevated over an impenetrable bog. Ashley was initially intrigued by the large number of DANGER: QUICKSAND! signs and the numerous alligators she spied sunning themselves along the sides of the road. She realized that if a young woman did manage to escape the prison, she would find herself in a habitat poorly suited to pedestrians. She became bored spotting gators and staring at cypress trees and so spent the next hour flirting shamelessly with the male judges, bragging about her accomplishments and intellectual prowess, and flashing just enough skin to keep the game interesting. Judge Helms, Judge Spite, and Judge Bovine were delighted, and reveled in the lively conversation. Judge Dithers, when he was awake, seemed confused by the fast-paced banter and Ashley's sly double entendres. The two wives, Mrs. Bovine and Mrs. Spite, were NOT amused, and spent the entire trip glaring daggers at Ashley as they elbowed their husbands. Fortunately, the limo was large enough for the husbands to move out of harm's way, and the games continued. Towards the end of the trip, Ashley rather boldly lit up one of Judge Helms's cigars. The men watched transfixed as she playfully ran the stem in and out of her mouth in a most suggestive manner before bursting into laughter. "I say, Ashley," Judge Bovine snickered. "Your saucy manner reminds me of some of the little college chits who sometimes end up in my court room on their way to spring break. They're quite the sight, standing in handcuffs before my bench, in their tight tops and short little skirts." "If you have the same reaction to short skirts in your courtroom, I hope your bench has modesty panels," Ashley shot back. "It would be terrible if you had to adjourn court and retire to chambers to...take matters in hand." She smiled triumphantly as the flustered Bovine and Spite blushed like embarrassed teenage boys as they struggled to hide the tent poles in their pants. Ashley glanced over at the frowning wives. "Still, from what I've seen of the women of the South, taking matters in hand might well be your best option." And so it continued, with Ashley entertaining herself at her hosts' expense until finally the journey through the bog ended, and the limousine confronted the massive iron gate of the Cracker County Prison Farm for Women. Ashley was squinting through the limo's tinted glass when a crew-cut guard jerked opened the side door and shined a flashlight in her face. "Look like we got ourselves a fresh chicken," he chuckled, ogling Ashley's legs. "Could you buzz us through, son?" Helms said. "We're in something of a hurry." "Oh yes, sir, Judge Helms!" the guard said, in a tone that reminded Ashley of the servile domestics at Helms's home. "Right away, sir!" The door closed, and once again Ashley was plunged into darkness. It took her a moment to regain her senses and to register what had just happened. The guard had called her a "fresh chicken." What had he meant? Then it hit her -- he had thought she was a new prisoner. Even with her stylish fancy suit, he had thought she was a lowly convict, destined for the chain gang. The moment had not been lost on Mrs. Bovine or Mrs. Spite, and they smiled at Ashley in a most unpleasant way. For the first time that day Ashley felt the uncomfortable sensation of encountering a situation in which she was not in charge. After being buzzed through the first gate, then the second, then the third, the party entered the prison proper. Ashley first sighted the sharpshooters in the tower and the guards on horseback patrolling the acres of cotton fields. It wasn't until the limo passed closer that she saw the prisoners working in those fields. They were barefoot and wore identical uniforms: simple striped sack dresses with scoop necklines and hemlines that reached down to just above mid-thigh. Each wore manacles around her wrists and ankles, which were used to shackle them into small groups of four or five. Ashley watched transfixed as the female prisoners toiled in the fields under the watchful eyes of the guards. It looked almost like a scene from "Gone With the Wind," except the "slaves" were of several races: black, white, brown..... She frowned. In this one respect, the color barrier in the South had truly been broken. She wiped her eyes, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. How many nights had she had fallen asleep dreaming of such a place? Could it truly be real? The scene was embellished by the appearance of a picturesque Greek Revival mansion at the end of long archway of oak trees. "The warden's House," Helms helpfully explained. The driver started to turn toward the house, but Helms stopped him. "Go on," he said softly. They drove on, past the rice fields, where prisoners worked in knee high water, past the quarry, where (to Ashley's shock) manacled female prisoners swung pick axes and carried heavy boulders to carts drawn by other inmates. "I thought I'd give you folks the full tour," Helms explained. His comment was directed at the group, but Ashley could see that he was looking directly at her as he spoke. "Take us to 'Reception,'" he said, turning to his driver. "We have some business to conduct there." Ashley felt a tiny chill. She knew from her extensive reading how absurdly deceitful the cheerful term "Reception" was and what it meant to a young woman to be "received" into a place such as this. But it was the judge's implicit threat of "business to conduct" there, delivered while staring directly at Ashley, that frightened -- and excited -- her the most. ****************************** It had been a been a long ride, and the assembled party was grateful for the chance to stretch in front of the large limestone building. The building was very old, with massive stone columns that Ashley guessed were the older relatives of the heavy stones Ashley had seen the prisoners hauling out of the quarry. Ashley frowned. The columns were huge, but she knew it would be easy enough to build the mansion and prison buildings with the "inexhaustible" supply of female labor. Her attention focused, not on the architecture, but on a group of twenty inmates tarring the other half of the parking lot. It was in the 90s, with brutal humidity. She watched in sympathy as the wretched, sweating women struggled to spread the hot asphalt in the blazing sun. As the older members of her party struggled to restore their circulation, Ashley walked across the lot to talk to one of the inmates. She was quickly intercepted by a guard on horseback, who peered down at her through his mirrored sunglasses. The guard then looked past her, and she turned in time to see Judge Helms give him a nod of approval. The guard said nothing, but backed up his horse to allow Ashley to pass. She selected a young woman who was using a pick-axe to dig out a deteriorated section of the parking lot. She was in her early thirties, with shoulder-length dark hair, and Ashley could tell that, if you washed the stink and sweat and filth off her, she'd be quite pretty. Ashley stepped gingerly to avoid having her high heels sink into the soft asphalt. She was surprised that the prisoner before her was able to stand on the surface bare foot, but guessed that weeks of hard labor had toughened her soles considerably. As she approached, the prisoner put down her tool and curtseyed, at least as much of a courtesy as she could muster with her ankles connected by a short chain. Ashley looked the prisoner up and down. Her uniform was filthy and her hands bore calluses. Her stink was overwhelming. Although she was obviously poor white trash, her abject and wretched condition and the way she was staring down at her grubby feet filled Ashley with sympathy. "What's your name, girl?" Ashley asked. "Natalie, ma'am," she replied, still not daring to make eye contact. "What crime did you commit?" "To be candid, I'm not entirely sure, ma'am. My cousin, Holly, and I...." She paused to point to a honey blonde girl working nearby. "Holly and I were on our way to an educational conference...." Ashley was shocked. Other than the mechanical drawl she used on the word, "ma'am," the girl did NOT have a Southern accent. Her use of the word "candid" and her general diction were surprising. "An educational conference?" Ashley was unable to hide her disbelief. "Yes, I'm from Ohio, originally. I teach history at the University of...." "Who gives a shit what you USED to be, fish?" a southern female voice snarled. "You just earned yourself a lickin', girl." The wretched inmate scampered back to work, which allowed the matron to turn her full attention to Ashley. She was black, tall, and muscular, with her hair greased back into a mannish style. Her name-tag read, "SGT. MAXINE WATERS." Ashley shuddered as the infuriated matron looked her up and down in a way that was most unappetizing. "What you here for, girl?" Ashley was normally ultra confident, but the jolt of seeing her fantasy turned to reality, her astonishment at finding a college professor on the chain gang (!), and her surprise at Maxine's sudden appearance, threw her momentarily off her game. "Um...I'm here to visit...not VISIT...I mean...the judge said...um..."reception," Ashley said, pointing at the sign in front of the building. "If you're due in court, you should be cuffed," Maxine barked. Ashley gasped as the matron deftly removed a pair of handcuffs from her belt and cuffed -- actually cuffed -- Ashley's left wrist. She reached for the right wrist, but Ashley pulled her arm away. It was a small and understated gesture, but it was nonetheless an act of rebellion in a place where rebellion was not tolerated. Ashley gasped as the burly Matron used her cuffed arm to spin her around like a doll. Ashley was aware of being bent forward and winced at the pain in her shoulder as the matron wrenched her wrists together behind her back. In short order, she was cuffed like a common criminal. "What seems to be the problem here?" Judge Helms asked, approaching the pair. "We had a new chicken running loose, Your Honor," Maxine explained. "I'm not a NEW CHICKEN, dammit! I'm a judge!" Ashley huffed. "NEW CHICKENS speak when they're spoken to," Maxine barked, punctuating her comment by slapping Ashley across the face with the back of her hand. It wasn't a hard slap, but it was hard enough to make it clear that Maxine was in charge, and Ashley, who was not used to being slapped around, fell silent. Judge Helms paused for a moment, as if considering what to do. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm. "She is not a new chicken; she IS a judge. And she is my guest." "Uncuff me!" Ashley ordered. Maxine, still not convinced, ignored Ashley and looked at Judge Helms. He nodded. Maxine gritted her teeth as she undid Ashley's handcuffs. "Now apologize," Ashley said, rubbing her lip. Maxine, unable to believe her ears, glanced at the judge again. But he again nodded. It took five tries before the butch matron, who had never apologized to anyone in her life, managed an apology that was sufficiently loud and sufficiently abject to please Ashley. "Your apology is accepted," Ashley said grudgingly. "Now I'm parched. Be a dear and fetch me a Coca-Cola." Maxine was seemingly unable to comprehend the outrage coming out of Ashley's pretty mouth. But the judge nodded, and Ashley had the pleasure of seeing Maxine obediently trotted away to fetch Ashley and the rest of the group their refreshments. As soon as Maxine left, Judge Bovine turned to Ashley. "You're lucky Judge Helms was here, Your Honor. Otherwise I think that matron would have had you tarring the lot before lunch." The assembled party, including Ashley, laughed at Judge Bovine's wit, but Mrs. Spite did not. "I'm sorry Judge Helms interfered," she said. "A little time on the chain gang might be just what you need." "I don't think so," Ashley said. "But it might help you ladies lose a few pounds." The two wives turned red with indignation. Clever Ashley somehow always managed to turn everything they said about her back on them as an insult. "How dare you come here...." Judge Helms diplomatically cut Mrs. Spite off. "It hardly matters, my dear ladies. If I hadn't interceded, someone else would have. Remember, Ashley is an Illinois Supreme Court justice. She'd never fit in on the chain gang." "Why not?" Mrs. Bovine said. "She's the right age, and, if you put her in a uniform, she wouldn't look much different than the rest." "Preposterous!" Judge Dithers said. "Ashley is a supreme court judge, not a criminal. Any fool can see that she's a woman of wealth, and taste, and the most refined...." "That's because of the way she's dressed and the fancy airs she puts on," Mrs. Spite said. "If you stripped her out of her fancy frillies and put a cotton basket in her hand, she'd stink up the fields with the rest of them." "That's absurd!" Judge Helms said. "Quality will always out." "Perhaps if the ladies had attended Harvard, as I have, they'd be better equipped to make an intelligent judgment," Ashley said. "If you spend your life living in a southern fried chicken coop, after a while everything starts to look like poultry. Southern girls are bred to farm work, and I imagine it's easy to loop them together and trot them off to the fields." At this outrageous insult to Southern women both the men and their wives glared. "Don't confuse me with you," Ashley sniffed. "Harvard isn't a barn yard, and they graduate lawyers, not field hands." A heated argument ensued, with the entire group debating whether a well-dressed and well-educated young woman like Ashley could ever blend in with a group of common criminals. It was quite an interesting discussion, actually, with the judges offering up various theories of nature versus nurture, the impact of class distinctions on criminal behavior, and even predestination. Judge Dithers, Ashley, and Judge Helms argued that Ashley could never be a mistaken for a criminal, at least not for long, although there was a certain academic archness to Judge Helms's mock outrage that left Ashley more than a little irritated. The two women, who clearly despised Ashley, disagreed, and it was apparent the idea of Ashley toiling on the chain gang delighted them. Judge Bovine and Judge Spite, ever the impartial advocates, fell somewhere between, and debated both sides of what seemed to them to be a rather abstract and theoretical argument. "If you actually put her on the chain gang for few hours and let her work up a stink, we could see for sure," Mrs. Spite hissed. "Yes, she wouldn't look so hoity-toity with a tar brush in her hand," Mrs. Bovine agreed. Judge Helms seized the opening. "Hmmm...that would be a fascinating experiment," he mused, as if his guests had just proposed some sort of entirely unique breakthrough. "Like all great experiments, our research would be incisive, novel, and definitive. We could process Ashley into the prison, just like any other convict. That would solve the dispute over criminal heredity, and whether, as the ladies argue, clothes make the woman." The two shrewish wives jumped at the idea, and the tone of the conversation immediately changed. Judge Bovine and Judge Spite, who had been treating the entire conversation as an abstract Socratic argument, perked up immediately. "I, for one, would be fascinated to see your intake process," Spite said. "If the crux of the argument is the feasibility of transforming any young woman into a convincing criminal, a close review of the transformation process itself would seem critical." "Yes, I quite agree," said Bovine. "We'll need to see everything, soup to nuts...." Ashley noticed he was looking her up and down as he added, "And tip to toe." For her part, Ashley listened more than she talked, conceding that it would be an "intriguing" experiment, while trying not to sound too keen about the notion. Helms watched her closely, and she was both terrified by and deeply aroused by the possibility of her fantasy coming true. At this point, Maxine arrived with the refreshments, and, as the group agreed on the necessity for "absolute realism," Ashley reveled in the sight of the Maxine suffering through her unaccustomed role of cocktail waitress. She smiled broadly at Maxine as the guard popped the top off of her soda bottle and submissively handed over the ice cold bottle, all the while glaring at her in a way that made it clear that she'd like to be giving Ashley the back of her hand. "If we want this to be realistic, we'll need to convict her of something," Helms said. "I believe the courtroom is available today, so scheduling won't be a problem." "The courtroom is here?" Ashley asked. "I thought it would be in town." "No, it's more convenient to try the cases here," Helms explained. "Rapid bench trials avoid the time and expense of juries." "Here, here," Bovine said. "Yes, indeed," Spite put in. "Juries use their hearts instead of their heads. Too often they are swayed by a pretty face." "Yes, well, there's no danger of that in my case," Helms chuckled. "I race them through quickly, sometimes twenty per hour at harvest time. Plus, by having the proceedings here I can give the women who are scheduled to be released their final merit review at the same time I'm processing the new inmates in." "What's a merit review?" Bovine asked. "Before we declare a female inmate as being fit for decent society, I take a few minutes to review their record at the prison. You don't want to release a woman into world until she's contrite and has truly learned her lesson." "Good thinking, Jessie," Bovine said. "Yes, indeed," Spite agreed. "The world would be a better place if there were more judges like you." Ashley wasn't sure of the legality of arbitrarily adding more time onto a sentence already served, but there was so much of this that baffled her that she decided to start at the beginning. "What if a young woman is found innocent?" she asked. "Then you will have driven her out to the prison for nothing." "Don't be silly, child," Mrs. Bovine said, as if she had just said something unimaginably foolish. "Why would the police arrest them if they were innocent?" "Quite right," Helms agreed. "All of the young women who appear before my bench are strong, able-bodied, and excellent field workers. Why, then, would I let them go? An experienced jurist such as myself can tell just by looking at them that they are in need of correction." "Like Ashley?" Mrs. Bovine asked. The entire group laughed out loud at this splendid witticism. Ashley, trying to be a good sport, smiled nervously. "She certainly appears fit to me," Bovine said, ogling her yet again. "Well, she's rather small-boned, and unaccustomed to field work," Helms said, enjoying the way that Ashley was shrinking back under his appraising gaze. But I imagine we could get an honest day's work out of her...if she were properly motivated." More laughter. Ashley tentatively joined in, not because she was amused, but because she suddenly had an urgent need to feel part of the group rather than the butt of the joke. Judge Helms continued. "And you gentlemen are correct that the intake processing is a key element of the correctional process. By having the trials at the prison, I'm free to stay and watch the girls go through the full intake procedure, "soup to nuts," as you put it, whenever I find a case that...catches my interest." "Like Ashley?" Mrs. Bovine asked. The entire group laughed again. Once more, Ashley, increasingly anxious, forced herself to join them, although, if the "intake" processing was like her brother's novel, what the judge was proposing was no laughing matter. Helms laughed heartily. "Yes, I imagine I'd make time for Miss Marsh's case, my schedule permitting," he said, chuckling. "What about it, Ashley? Would you like to while away the afternoon with an intriguing little diversion?" There were some chuckles from the group at the judge's comedic understatement, but Ashley did not laugh. "I-I suppose...if it's the only way to get the data," she said tentatively. "There is no suppose about it," Helms sad sternly. "In order to get the data that we need, and prove or disprove our hypothesis, we're going to have to do this for real. We are going to march you into court and sentence you. From that point on you will be, in the eyes of the law, a convicted criminal. We will strip you of everything you have: your money, your power, and yes, even your personal property. You will be friendless and powerless, and totally under the control of our Southern penal system. "At the conclusion of your sentence, I will, of course, expunge your record, but until that time you will be a common criminal, and you will be treated as such. Do I make myself clear, young lady?" Ashley felt dizzy, frightened, and dreadfully excited, all at once. "Crystal clear, sir," she said, in a voice that belied her competence and authority. "You understand that, if you agree to do this, there will be no turning back. I consider you a friend. We have broken bread, and you have graced my table. But, the instant I give the word, you will become a criminal, and once we start we will not stop for any reason. Do you understand?" Ashley nodded, meekly staring at her shoes. "Are you ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN you want to proceed, knowing that from this point on there is no turning back, no matter what?" Ashley could feel the eyes of the group upon her as she weighed her momentous decision. Finally, she nodded. "I need to hear you say it," Helms said sternly. "Speak up, girl." The 32-year-old Ashley didn't like being referred to as "girl," but she knew that this was not the time to voice a complaint. Instead, with as much courage as she could muster, she said, "Please, I want to get the data, Your Honor, sir. I want to be admitted to prison and-and...treated as a common criminal, sir." "Excellent," Judge Helms said. "Please go bring Matron Maxine over, so we can get started." LIKE ALL OF US, I WAS GRIEVED TO HEAR ABOUT THE LOSS OF OUR CHUM, HOLLY, ALWAYS A FRIEND TO THESE GROUPS AND TO THIS AUTHOR IN PARTICULAR. I GAVE HER AND HER COUSIN, NATALIE, A CAMEO IN THIS STORY AS A TRIBUTE TO HER, AND HEREBY DEDICATE THE STORY TO ONE WHO WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN. WE MISS YOU, HOLLY. ****************************** Part 3 Ashley felt her heart jump as she learned that the matron whom she had bested would be involved in her "intake," but knew that it was too late to argue. She dutifully walked across the yard to where Maxine was berating poor Holly for "missing a spot." "Judge Helms would like to see you, ma'am," Ashley said. Maxine was annoyed to be interrupted, but, more than that, she was surprised at Ashley's meek and docile tone. Why was a judge calling HER "ma'am," and why was she staring at her shoes? The answer became clear when Maxine rejoined the group. "I need you take this young woman into custody and escort her to her holding cell," Helms said, pointing out Ashley as the accused. "Court will convene shortly." "I don't understand," Maxine said, confused. "Is this a joke?" "No joke," Helms replied. "Arrest this woman. Now!" Maxine looked at his unsmiling countenance, then turned to Ashley, who seemed like a frightened rabbit staring helplessly into the headlights while a massive truck bore down on her. As she registered the fear in Ashley's eyes, Maxine's confidence returned. Ashley winced as the matron cinched the handcuffs tightly around her wrists. "Come on!" Maxine growled, dragging Ashley by the arm. It was difficult to walk in stylishly high heels with her hands cuffed behind her, but Maxine held her arm firmly in a way that ensured that it was she who controlled the speed. Helms and his party walked between the massive columns and through the front door, but Maxine led Ashley to a side entrance and down a flight of stairs into a subterranean basement. Ashley nearly fell as Maxine half-yanked her down the stairs, but the larger woman caught her and easily set her back on her feet. "It's hard to walk in these heels," Ashley said. "Don't worry about it, Princess," Maxine said ominously. "You'll be barefoot soon enough." She roughly shoved Ashley into a dismal cell and slammed the barred door shut behind her. "When is my trial? Do I get a lawyer?" Ashley said. Maxine left without answering. Ashley was surprised at Maxine's manner. After their previous encounter, she had expected Maxine to beat the crap out of her the moment that they were alone. But the matron's manner was far different; gruff to be sure, but not vindictive. She didn't choose to stay in the cell and torment Ashley, although it was clearly in her power to do so. Instead, she had simply dumped her there and left as if Ashley were just another detainee. In a strange way, it was comforting. She wasn't an inmate, at least not yet. There was still the matter of her trial, and, whatever charge they dreamed up, she knew she had the legal skills to beat the rap. She looked around the dismal prison. There were several cells in the makeshift cellar, with barred cell doors that reminded her of an old western. Ashley tried to sit on the cot, but the big rodents who were nestled under the blanket objected. She retreated to the farthest corner of the cell. Maxine had left her hands cuffed behind her back, and she had no way of defending herself should the rats attack. But they ignored her, not frightened, but not much interested in her, either. Apparently they had seen plenty like her before. There was a covered wooden pail that she guessed was for certain "necessities." After drinking a large bottle of Coke, she very much needed to pee, but, with her hands cuffed behind her back, there wasn't much she could do. And she certainly didn't want to give that horrible matron the satisfaction of returning to find her squatting over a bucket. With nothing else to do, she waited...and waited...and waited some more, wondering what was taking so long and what the others were doing. At last, Maxine returned and opened Ashley's cage. "Am I going to see Judge Helms?" Ashley asked hopefully. Maxine did not reply, but instead grabbed Ashley by the arm and led her up the stairs into a short hallway attached to a small courtroom. Her subterranean cell had been dismally dark, and it took Ashley's eyes several seconds to adjust to the light. It was a quaint Southern courtroom and reminded Ashley of the set of "TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD." She smiled, but her amusement was cut short as the bailiff gave the order for all to rise, and Maxine quickly hustled Ashley over to her place behind the defense table. "Could you uncuff me, please?" Ashley asked. "We don't bother uncuffing 'em for court," Maxine said tartly. "But don't you worry. This won't take long." All rose, with the exception of Judge Dithers, Ashley's "counsel," who was sitting in the next chair, dozing peacefully. Ashley watched as the door behind the bench opened and Judge Helms, looking quite grand in his black robe, entered the court and mounted the steps to the bench. He did not look at her, or at Judge Spite or Judge Bovine, who were both standing at the prosecutor's table, with their wives sitting behind them in the gallery. The bailiff handed Helms the papers for the case. The judge BANGED his gavel loudly three times, and the bailiff announced, "Hear ye, hear ye! This court is now in session. All those having business come forward and be heard. Our first case in the docket is 3830-1838.1: the People versus Ashley Marsh." Judge Spite spoke for the People. "The charge is petty larceny, Your Honor. Petty in name only, I assure you." Helms glanced through his court papers. "Yes, I can see that. How does the defendant plead?" Petty larceny? Ashley was confused by the charge, but not by her plea. "Absolutely, 100% not guilty, Your Honor," she said, her voice loud and firm. Helms banged his gavel and gave her his sternest look. "Young lady, in this courtroom, the defendant's lawyer enters the plea." Ashley's hands were still cuffed behind her back, and it was with some difficulty that she shook Judge Dithers awake. "Where are we?" he asked, confused. "We're in court, " she said. "You need to enter my Not-Guilty plea," Judge Spite, standing at the prosecutor's table, took the floor. "The other night Miss Marsh told Judge Helms that she stole a book from her brother's bedroom. It was a rather lewd book, one not at all fit for a proper young lady. She told Judge Helms that she read the book over and over, to the point where she could quote its most lascivious passages from memory. Of course, what she did with the stolen property has no bearing on the theft itself, though what she might have been doing as she was reading this scandalous tome might fairly be considered by Judge Helms during sentencing, as it pertains to character." Judge Spite leaned in closer and addressed the baffled-looking Judge Dithers directly, "Tell me, Arthur, when a young woman freely admits to the crime, and confesses to the judge that she did it, and offers no defense, what sort of plea is that?" "Uh, guilty, I suppose," Judge Dithers said, scratching his head in confusion. "GUILTY!" Judge Helms said, sealing the verdict with a loud BANG of his gavel. "The prisoner will approach the bench for sentencing." "Wait, I...." Her protest was cut short as Maxine roughly grabbed her arm and dragged her forward until she stood in front of the high bench. Ashley, who was diminutive to begin with, felt positively tiny as she craned her neck to look up at scowling Judge Helms. "Does the prisoner have anything to say before the court passes sentence?" "I'm a judge, and I know something about the law," Ashley said. "First off, I didn't do anything wrong, and I'm not pleading guilty...." Judge Helms cut her off with a bang of his gavel. "Anyone who knows the law knows that sentencing phase is not the time to change one's plea, or to re-argue the merits of the case. It is a time to show contrition, and to present any mitigating circumstances." Judge Bovine spoke for the prosecution. "Given the nature of the stolen materials, and a reasoned guess as to what this supposed lady was using them for, the prosecution requests the maximum sentence: $500 fine and a term of 1 year at the Cracker County Correctional Facility for Women." "One year?" Ashley said. "For a first offense? That's outrageous!" Helms SLAMMED down his gavel. "The defendant will speak when she is spoken to," he shouted. "Now, then, how much money does the defendant have in her purse?" "$275," Maxine replied. Helms cleared his throat. "That money will be distributed as fees -- $125 to the bench as remuneration for the judicial services provided the defendant during her trial, and the remaining $150 to be divided equally between counsel and prosecutor." Ashley watched in disbelief as Maxine took the money out of her purse and handed it directly to Judge Spite and Judge Bovine. She had heard of jurisdictions where compensation for the prosecutors, judges, and Sheriffs was drawn largely from the fines levied in court. Under such a system, Ashley realized, trips to the prison farm were never wasted. The lack of adequate legal representation, the presumption of guilt, and a bench trial conducted by a judge who profited so directly from the defendant's guilt rendered guilt a foregone conclusion. Ashley swallowed as she nervously looked up at Judge Helms. They were friends, but there was no evidence of friendship now. Helms towered over her like a king on his throne, and Ashley, her hands cuffed behind her back, was powerless to do anything but nervously chew her lip as she trembled in his presence. She knew that this was no charade. This was the point of no return, and, whatever her previous status, she was now just another prisoner in his court, no more and no less. The thought terrified her, even as the reality of having her fantasy turned to reality caused her juices to dribble down her thighs. Judge Helms stroked his chin thoughtfully as he mulled over her fate. He consulted his papers, then tapped his pencil against his desk. When the courtroom was in absolute, total suspense, he spoke. "Since this was the defendant's first offense, the court was tempted to limit the sentence to a few hours of jail and a fine. However, the defendant's total lack of remorse and outright defiance has made mercy impossible. I sentence the prisoner to a $500 fine and 30 days of hard labor at the Cracker County Correctional Facility for Women. Sentence to begin immediately." Judge Helms slammed down the gavel, signaling the end of court. All rose as he exited. Ashley stared at his retreating figure, too stunned to move, almost too stunned to breathe. A few moments before, she had been the one who sat on the bench. Now she was a convicted criminal. As the others left the courtroom, Judge Dithers approached Ashley from behind. "I'm sorry you were guilty," he said. "Of course, your conduct was inexcusable, and maybe this is for the best. In any event, I always liked you, and I hope whatever happens you'll always think of me as a friend." Judge Dithers offered her his hand in a final farewell shake. She responded by showing him her shackled wrists. "Yes, well, quite. Nothing more to be done. Goodbye, Ashley." "Wait!" Ashley said. "You can launch an appeal. You're the only one who knows I'm here. If you got me a real lawyer...." "A real lawyer!" Dithers was clearly insulted. "I'll have you know, young lady, that in my day I lost more cases than you'll ever try!" "I'm sorry," Ashley said, acutely aware of the precariousness of her situation. "I just meant...if you had practiced law more recently...." Judge Dithers, still stung, looked at Ashley sternly. "I've seen your type before. New judges with radical new ideas, turning old judges like me out to pasture. Judge Helms is right. You need to learn respect for your elders, young lady. Maybe you'll learn that lesson here." "But, if you appeal...." Ashley protested. "Appeal! You haven't even started serving your sentence here. If I were you, I'd forget about any appeal nonsense and turn my full attention towards doing whatever was necessary to survive." "What do you mean?" Ashley asked. "Thirty days on the work farm could be a death sentence for a pampered little rich girl like you, Ashley. Judge Helms and the law won't be able to protect you any more. Fortunately, you're a very pretty young woman. That should help." "I don't understand," Ashley said. "Do I have to spell it out? In order to survive in a place like this, you're going to have to do...things. Things a decent, respectable woman would never dream of. Remember, Ashley, whatever you do, or whatever they make you do, it's the law. The humiliation you will feel is just and an important part of your punishment." Ashley panicked as Maxine took her by the arm. "Please!" she pleaded. "You've got to help me." "Goodbye, Ashley," he said, then turned his back and walked away. The last thing she heard as she was led out of the courtroom toward her doom was the cheerful voice of Judge Dithers chuckling with the bailiff as he speculated whether the heat would have any impact on the home team's pitching. ****************************** Maxine led Ashley out the door and across the hall. "I need to go to the bathroom, please, ma'am," Ashley said, hoping that a submissive tone might buy her some sympathy. It did not, and Maxine responded by pushing Ashley through a wooden door labeled "PROCESSING." Ashley was surprised to see that the other members of her party, including Judge Helms, were already sitting there, awaiting her arrival. Maxine turned to Helms. "The defense counsel is still in the other room," she said. "Should we wait for him?" "No need," Judge Helms said, glancing at his watch. "We don't have all day for this." Maxine nodded. Ashley sighed with relief as Maxine uncuffed her wrists. The cuffs had been excruciatingly tight, and Ashley was relieved to finally be able to rub some circulation back into her hands. Her relief was short-lived, however. She watched in dismay as Maxine produced a large plastic box similar to a milk crate. Ashley's purse was already inside, and the end was labeled: MARSH, ASHLEY 288-38377-7378 She gasped. She realized she was looking at her property box. Then the ritual began.... "Let your hair down." "Shake it out." "Take off your watch." "Take off your earrings." "My, those are pretty diamonds," Mrs. Bovine said. "I wish I had earrings like that!" "Maxine, please add these earrings to my judicial fee. The watch, too. I don't want Mrs. Spite to feel left out." Judge Bovine took Ashley's expensive ring as a present for his niece, while Judge Spite claimed her pearl necklace. After all, as Judge Helms said, it was only right that everyone have a souvenir. No one should feel left out. Ashley watched in dismay as Mrs. Bovine and Mrs. Spite chatted happily as they donned her expensive solid gold watch and diamond earrings. The two cows gushed like school girls as they admired each other, basked in their slavish husbands' compliments, and exchanged congratulations on their exceptional taste. Ashley used the momentary diversion to reflect upon her "crime." Truth be told, she had felt slightly guilty about stealing her brother's "Chain Gang Girls" porn novel from his room when he went off to college, but she had rationalized "borrowing" it initially by reasoning that she enjoyed the book even more than her brother did, and that the use she got out of the book somehow justified the crime. When he came home from school she did not return the book, and, when he said nothing about it, she reasoned that either he didn't notice its loss or didn't care. In truth, she knew, he wasn't sure who had taken it. Ashley? The cleaning lady? His angry mother? In any event the novel clearly wasn't worth the embarrassment of questioning his mother, father, and teenaged sister. Ashley knew, of course, that what she had done was wrong, and she had always felt guilty about both the book and what she had used it for. On some level, she felt that she truly deserved to be punished. Although Judge Helms had repeated stated the punishment was going to be "realistic," she had reasoned that it was a mere play on words. She had never dreamed she'd be sentenced to a REAL jail term for an actual crime that she had committed. It was more than a little ironic that she was being sentenced into precisely the sort of prison that she had fantasized about. On some cosmic level, had she earned the sentence through her endless hours of diddling herself as she gloated over the heroines' humiliations? Perhaps, and, although she hated to admit it, the fact that the crime was real and the sentence was somehow deserved made it all the more exciting. It was also ironic that she was being incarcerated for petty larceny only to have the judges and their piggish wives steal hundreds of dollars from her. But the property box was deep, and she knew that it was designed to hold far more than earrings. From the way the grinning men were looking her up and down, the loss of her expensive jewelry would soon be the least of her problems. The spoils thus divided, Maxine impatiently returned to the business at hand. "Shoes," she said crisply. ****************************** Part 4 At Maxine's command, Ashley rather awkwardly removed her stylish high heels. "My, aren't those lovely," Mrs. Bovine said. "Yes, they've very pretty," Mrs. Spite allowed, before adding gleefully, "it's almost a shame that the convicts go barefoot." "Jacket," Maxine ordered. Ashley doffed her expensive jacket and handed it to the matron. After doing a perfunctory search of the pockets, Maxine folded it in half and casually tossed it into the box. "Shirt," Maxine sad. Ashley began undoing the buttons of her blouse slowly, reluctantly. Her faux "attorney," Judge Dithers, entered, followed by a portly man in a white linen suit that Ashley supposed was the warden. "Oh, my!" he said, surveying the scene. "What do we have here?" "We need to get this girl into her uniform," Mrs. Bovine said, her voice dripping with eagerness. "And do we need to watch this procedure?" Dithers inquired. "Indeed, Arthur," Helms replied. "Justice must be seen to be done." For a moment Ashley thought that her lawyer was going to intervene on her behalf, but then she noticed his glazed, ancient eyes ogling her lacy white bra peaking from beneath her half-opened blouse. He licked his lips as he gazed at Ashley's luscious form. How long had it been...? No matter. "Proceed," he said. Ashley was more than a little surprised that her so-called lawyer didn't make more of an effort to spare her the indignity of an eager audience, and she looked back at Arthur Dithers with pleading eyes. But Maxine never wasted time on pointless appeals. "Get on with it, convict," she said sharply. "I have things to do!" Ashley quickly finished unbuttoning her blouse, but turned her back on her audience before taking it off. She knew she was being silly, since she wouldn't be showing more than people could see on the beach. However, this was most decidedly not the beach. It was a humiliating and shameful strip search being performed in front of her peers and their wives. It was the knowledge of that difference that filled Ashley with an almost unimaginable shame. She handed her blouse back over her shoulder and crossed her arms across her chest. Maxine folded the garment and dropped it in the cratebox, then ordered her to "turn around." "Skirt!" Ashley reluctantly uncrossed her arms and unzipped her skirt. It was a tight fit, and she had to wiggle a bit to get out of it, an action that caused her small but nicely shaped breasts to jiggle, much to the audience's amusement. "I wish I had a dollar bill," the warden chuckled. Ashley's eyes filled with tears. She had never felt so alone. As she listened to the group, she knew that there was no longer any way to maintain that they were laughing with her, not at her. Ashley stood before the others in her white bra and panties and her white garter belt and black stockings. She crossed her arms in front of herself again in a forlorn effort. "Stockings!" Maxine barked. "Now just a second," Judge Spite said. "I, for one, appreciate it when a young lady puts on such filly scanties. My, those are nice -- all soft and smooth and lacy. Ashley, be a darlin'. Put your hands on your head and give us a nice slow turn." Ashley had indeed chosen her undergarments carefully that morning, knowing full well that she might be showing them to whomever processed her and perhaps even (if reality matched the lurid pages in her brother's novel) to Judge Helms. But, even in her wildest dreams, she had never imagined a lingerie fashion show with so many enthusiastic spectators. But it was late in the day for regrets. "You heard the man, convict," Maxine said. Ashley swallowed, put her hands on top of her head, and turned slowly in a circle. "Yes, quality will out," Judge Helms said. Judge Bovine let out a slow whistle, too caught up in the moment to notice his wife's glare. "I'll say," he said, as if in a dream. "She looks a bit skinny to me," Mrs. Bovine said. "Yes, there's not much on top," Mrs. Spite added. "Well, it's true that girls with a few pounds on them usually have an easer time of it on the farm," the warden observed. "Still, a girl like Ashley does have her uses." The group was left to ponder what those uses might be as Ashley, her humiliating runway spin complete, dutifully removed her stockings and slipped out of her garter belt. She paused and covered herself again. "Ah, the moment of truth," Judge Bovine said with a chuckle. "Yes, this is where it gets interesting," the warden agreed, giving Maxine the nod to proceed. "Take off your bra," Maxine ordered. In a desperate attempt at modesty, Ashley once again turned her back and removed her bra. She reached behind her to hand it to Maxine, who scarcely looked at the garment before tossing it into the box. "Now the underpants." Ashley bent forward, but only slightly, so as to not give the eager male eyes behind her too lewd a view of her upturned bottom. However, as she lowered her panties, she discovered a worse problem; she knew she was excited, and indeed she had been aroused ever since the driver turned off toward the prison. But she was surprised to discover that the gusset of her panties was positively soaked. She carefully folded her panties to conceal the wet spot and discreetly wiped her crotch to conceal her arousal. Reaching behind her to hand her panties over to Maxine, she desperately hoped no one would discover her shameful secret. "Turn around, spread your legs, and put your hands in the air," Maxine ordered. "I say, is this really necessary?" Judge Dithers asked. It was a feeble protest, and Ashley would have found it more convincing if his rheumy eyes weren't ogling her shapely backside. "Yup," the warden replied. "All new prisoners have to be searched for contraband...unless, of course, there's some reason to treat this one special." Ashley looked over her shoulder at the group and pleaded with them with her eyes. She was a Harvard Law School graduate, an accomplished attorney, and an Illinois Supreme Court justice. Clearly she WAS special, and her modesty and dignity were worthy of some consideration. But the group's silence was deafening. Ashley was just another criminal, and her processing would continue. "Git to it!" Maxine barked. Feeling more shame than she ever imagined possible, Ashley turned around, spread her legs, and put her arms up over her head, in a sort of modified Jumping-Jack pose. She felt herself flush. The women stared at her with sly smiles. They were envious of her beauty to be sure, but now they were simply reveling in her humiliation. The men were easier to read: pop-eyed, they stared at Ashley with undisguised lust. She was particularly aware of the men staring at the dark brown curls between her legs, and she hoped that her dampness wasn't obvious. "Nice to see that the rug matches the drapes," Judge Bovine said. "Yes," Judge Helms agreed. "Symmetry in such matters can be most pleasing to the eye." The judge's academic tone made her feel more like a living work of art than a live human girl, but Ashley soon had bigger problems. She swallowed as Maxine crossed the room and slowly extracted a latex glove from a cardboard box. Oh, god! Ashley's pulse quickened. She desperately wanted to cover herself, to grab her clothes, to run away from this dreadful place. But she did not. Instead, she watched helplessly as Maxine slowly, teasingly slid the glove over her unnaturally long fingers and SNAPPED it into place. "Take down your hair," Maxine barked. Ashley obeyed, quickly removing the pins and handing them to the grinning matron. Ashley shook her head, and the men smiled as her beautiful dark hair cascaded down over her shoulders. "Ah, lovely," Judge Bovine said. "Indeed," Judge Helms seconded. But Maxine was not interested in aesthetics. As Maxine searched her long hair and scalp for weapons, Ashley's head pushed forward slightly, and she found herself staring at her bare feet. She preferred looking down, since it allowed her to avoid the eyes of her audience while Maxine gruffly massaged her scalp. The procedure was demeaning and humiliating, and, if this was what prison was like, Ashley understood why Natalie and the other inmates found it impossible to make eye contact with her. "Show me the bottoms of your feet," Maxine said. Ashley lifted first her left foot, then her right, for inspection. "Open your mouth." Maxine used a small flashlight in her ungloved hand to illuminate Ashley's tonsils. She conducted the sort of exam that would make any dentist proud, and Ashley fought the urge to gag as the butch matron checked her cheeks, gum line, and even under her tongue for the imaginary "contraband." Maxine walked away then, and, for a second Ashley thought she was going to get a prison uniform. But instead she pulled back a white curtain to reveal an old-fashioned medical exam table. Ashley instinctively covered her crotch as Maxine brusquely adjusted the stirrups to their maximum separation before locking them in place. "Really!" Judge Dithers said. "Is this absolutely necessary?" "Them's the rules," the warden said, as if that ended the argument. "Yes, Arthur, absolutely it is," Judge Helms said. "In a facility such as this, the security of the guards is paramount...." "But really, the stirrups?" Dithers protested. "In front of EVERYONE? I mean, it's so dreadfully humiliating." "Precisely my point," Helms argued. "During the time that you've known Ashley, did you ever picture her, naked as a newborn babe, with her feet in the stirrups, her legs spread wide?" "Of course not!" Dithers exclaimed. "Unimaginable." "Yes, exactly. Such a thing IS unimaginable, and how can one imagine something that it is unimaginable? If this is something that must be seen to be believed, must we not see it?" "Yes, I suppose...," Dithers admitted, trying to follow the bizarre chain of reasoning. Judge Helms nodded to Maxine, who gave the order. "All right, Princess, it's time for some deep sea fishing. Up on the table, legs apart, feet in the stirrups. Let's go, hurry up!" The room was so quiet that everyone could hear the sound of Ashley's bare feet scampering across the linoleum. She sat down on the table and laid back. Left foot into its stirrup, then right foot. With her legs split as widely as possible, she felt utterly exposed. Her only comfort was that she was staring up at the ceiling and didn't have to look at the faces of the men and women staring at her outrageously exposed privates. The warden let out a slow whistle. "Whoo-wee. That's what I call 'quality.' I'd love to put a quarter in that slot." "Yes, this is first rate merchandise," Judge Bovine agreed. "Even better than I had imagined." "Capital," Judge Spite said. Oddly enough, it was Judge Dithers who noticed it first, perhaps because he was the first to move in for a closer view. "I say," he said. "Is she...wet?" A chill ran down Ashley's spine as her secret was revealed. Oh, how she wanted to close her legs. But she could not. She was a convicted criminal being admitted into prison, and they had every right to search her. Indeed, in this topsy-turvy world, closing her legs might actually be against the law. Instead, she just bit her lip and stared at the acoustical tiles on the ceiling as the group formed a tight semi-circle around her widely splayed thighs. "By golly, she IS wet!" Judge Bovine exclaimed. "She's soaking!" "So, our blushing barrister got herself all hot and bothered during her search." Judge Spite said. "That IS a surprise." "Not to me," his wife hissed. "I knew all along she was a slut." "Someone should take their belt to the randy bitch's backside," Mrs. Bovine agreed. Ashley, wishing she could disappear, chewed her lip as the warden gently stroked her shamefully wet sex with his chubby fingers. "Now this is what I call 'Grade A Cunt," he chortled. "Hot, wet, and...let's see -- yup! She's snappy as a rubber band. This one might not be much good for field work...hell, she'd probably drop over dead after a month...but Judge Helms is right about the 'merchandise' part. We're going to make ourselves some money on her. This, gentleman, is top of the line truck stop pussy!" "I don't understand," Judge Dithers said stupidly. "What does Ashley know about trucking?" Judge Helms explained. "The warden often rents the girls out to local farmers and businesses. It's quite a profitable venture, since the girls work from dawn to dusk for free, and the guards are provided by the state. I believe that the warden is suggesting that Ashley's...particular talents...might be best suited to the uh...entertainment industry." "A truck stop whore," Mrs. Spite hissed. "I'd love to see that -- Miss Hoity Toity selling it for a dime a dip!" "Goodness gracious!" Judge Dithers said. "I can't imagine poor Ashley being forced to work in a place like that!" "We don't force nobody," the warden explained. "This one here's a natural. Watch this!" He began to stroke Ashley's button, slowly at first, then more rapidly, casually masturbating her as he chatted with the others. She struggled to maintain her composure, but, as she listened to him describe her future career in his melodic southern drawl, the horrible, unstoppable tingling grew. "Truck stop's easy duty next to the chain gang. Way it works is...after a few days a juicy little peach like Ashley here will start offering it up to the guards. If she's any good, they'll pass a recommendation on to me, and if she offers it up real sweet, I'll give her a ride. Finely, she'll audition out at the truck stop. We got a lot of talent and only so many beds, so it's only the juiciest little sluts like this one that manage to keep their slots." "By selling their slots," Judge Spite snickered. "How much do you charge?" Judge Bovine asked. "How much do you want?" the warden cackled. "Our prices are dirt cheap. We work the girls hard and price for volume. In fact, seeing as how you're a friend of the judge, if you come in to see Ashley, we might even give you a judicial discount...out of the judge's share, of course." "Judge Helms gets a share of the proceeds?" Judge Spite asked, clearly intrigued. "He most certainly do," the warden said. "In fact, he'll get a weekly report of every guy Ashley did -- age, race, and any special extras paid for." That did it. As he described her life at the truck stop, the pressure had been building, building, building. But the thought of the judge gloating over the lengthy roster of every man who fucked her, and chuckling as he read the details of each perversion performed, pushed her over the edge. Illinois Supreme Court Justice Ashley Marsh, with her legs spread wide and half a dozen near-strangers gaping at her twitching, spasming pussy, grunted her way through the most shattering orgasm of her life. "Wooh-ee! Look at 'er go!" The warden said, pulling his hand away so that everyone could watch her twitch. "Like I said, that girl's a natural. I could cook hotdogs in that little snatch." "Disgusting!" Mrs. Bovine hissed. "Yes, disgusting!" Mrs. Spite echoed. "I see it differently, ladies," the warden said suavely. "While you see a shameless vixen, humping her jailer's fingers and begging for more, I see a snappy little piggy bank that will turn a tidy profit for all concerned. Watch me put another nickel in the slot." The warden played Ashley like a video game, and she soon found herself blushing and squirming through her second, third, and even fourth orgasm. The men considered her gasps and gyrations and twitches endlessly fascinating, and they could have watched for days, but the ladies finally objected, and, to Ashley's relief (since she wasn't sure her heart could take any more), the show ended. After that humiliating performance, Maxine's cavity search was almost (ahem!) anti-climactic. It was long and thorough, and, by the time it was finished, Ashley had no doubt as to Maxine's sexual orientation. She also knew that she couldn't take the chain gang for long, and she'd soon be "auditioning" for the guards. She was not into girls and hoped that the stern, mannish Maxine wouldn't be one of the guards she had to satisfy. She breathed a sigh of relief as Maxine finally withdrew her long, probing fingers. She expected to hear the sound of the glove being removed, but instead came Maxine's voice: "She's clean." "Not in my opinion," Mrs. Spite said archly. Mrs. Spite's wit was met with a chorus of laughter, since everyone knew that the juicy, randy Ashley was anything but clean. When the laughter subsided, the warden said, "Good job, Max. Now check the other end." "All right, Princess, we have to check number two," Maxine barked. "On your knees, ass in the air." Ashley couldn't believe her ears. Had she heard correctly? The answer was Maxine's roughly yanking Ashley's foot out of the stirrup. "Come on. We've all seen enough of your twat. Hop it!" Ashley, weak and shaken from four shattering orgasms, scrambled off the table. Commanded to show the merchandise from a different angle, she turned and climbed up on all fours. "Head down, ass up!" Maxine barked, pushing down on Ashely's neck. Ashley obeyed, arching her back so as to raise her bottom high for her audience's viewing pleasure. She had always thought her pert backside was her best feature, and she felt herself flush anew as the eyes of the men roved freely over her shapely fanny. The sight of Ashley's bottom raised high in the air inspired an altogether different emotion in Mrs. Spite, and Ashley's embarrassment turned to panic as she heard her sharp, shrill voice cut through the air like a whip. "Does this institution practice corporal punishment?" Judge Helms smiled as Ashley's bottom cheeks clenched in panic. ****************************** Part 5 "Yes, most definitely. Corporal punishment is an important teaching tool," Judge Helms answered Mrs. Spite. "The girls can be punished for falling behind their quota, or for failing to obey an order quickly enough or with the proper enthusiasm. Eyeballing their betters is also strictly forbidden and will result in prompt discipline." "And what instrument is used?" Mrs. Spite asked. "Typically, the razor strap. Some guards prefer the tawse. The cane is reserved for the more serious offenses." "My!" Mrs. Spite chuckled, smiling evilly as Ashley's bottom cheeks clenched and jiggled in anticipation of the implicit threat. "I imagine that must really sizzle, particularly with only that thin rag of a uniform for protection." "Indeed it does," Judge Helms confirmed. "But their uniforms provide no protection whatsoever. Punishments are always applied to the prisoner's bare backside." "Totally bare?" Mrs. Bovine asked, less to get an answer than to drive home the point to the blushing prisoner posed bottoms up before her. "As bare as Ashley is now?" Mrs. Spite added, piling on. "Yes, as bare as Ashley is now. In fact, I'd say her bottom is perfectly positioned for punishment," Helms observed. As he hoped, his observation triggered more nervous clenching. This WAS fun. "A good dose of the razor strap is precisely what THAT one needs," opined Mrs. Bovine. "Yes, look at the way her bottom is twitching," Mrs. Spite said. "You can see her fanny is itching for discipline." Ashley's fanny was indeed clenching and twitching as she listened to their conversation. Her blood ran cold as Judge Spite asked the next, logical, terrible question. "Do we have a razor strap here?" Judge Helms nodded to Maxine, and Ashley listened as the matron opened the cabinet behind her and retrieved the strap. Ashley dared not look up or break her humbling position, but, from the universal acclaim, she knew that it would make short work of her bottom. "My, that is a beauty!" "I'll bet it still packs a wallop." "I'll say. Look, they've even oiled it. It must really hug the curves!" "What do you say we give her a dose, Jessie?" "Yes, by all means. Let's hear the little pup yelp!" "I must object," Judge Dithers said. "Ashley has done nothing wrong. She has cooperated fully, and there is no justification for her to be punished." "Yes, I must agree," Judge Helms said, issuing his ruling. "Ashley has been an obedient bitch, ripe and juicy, and has proven herself well-suited to the collar. We can set the strap aside. Momentarily." Ashley had not seen the strap, but Judge Helms corrected her ignorance and maximized her terror by laying the strap out on the table in front of her, so that it nearly touched her nose. Ashley's heart raced. The strap was long and brown and thick, well-worn but still in excellent condition. She could tell from the way that it draped lazily over the sides of the exam table that the supple leather would indeed hug the curves. She wanted to hold the strap to better test its measure, but dared not move her hands. She listened to the pounding of her heart as she craned her head forward and gently touched the strap with the tip of her nose. As she had feared, the leather was deceptively soft and supple, and her nostrils quickly filled with the scent of the strap oil. "Spread your legs wide, Ashley, and show us your bottom hole," Helms said. "Your pussy appears to be okay, but the matron has to examine both ends." BOTH ENDS! Ashley was appalled. The vaginal inspection had been bad enough, but now she was supposed to show them her tight little fanny hole, too? "Really, Jessie," Judge Dithers said. "Ashley is a judge, after all. The idea that she would be smuggling contraband into a prison in her anal cavity is simply preposterous. Probing around her anus, when you didn't even bother to check her purse, is simply absurd." It was indeed, preposterous, and Ashley's heart leapt with joy at the spirited defense. Finally someone was standing up for her rights. "Ashley no longer has a purse, so that it not an issue. As for the matter of contraband in her anal cavity, it is indeed preposterous, unlikely in the extreme," Judge Helms said. "But, let us suppose for a moment that she WERE to smuggle in contraband. Where would she hide it? Would our Harvard lawyer put it in her purse, a place easily searched, and a place a guard would be most likely to look? Or would she choose the most unlikely place, the absurd place, the most preposterous place we could ever imagine?" Ashley didn't have her purse, but the other women still had theirs, and no one had bothered to search them. The men had not even been frisked. Moreover, Ashley had ostensibly not known that she would be booked into the facility as an inmate, and thus logically there was no reason for her to smuggle contraband in her bottom or anywhere else. The thousands of arguments that flooded Ashley's mind were cut short by her "lawyer's" weak, dishwater response. "Yes, I suppose you are right," Judge Dithers conceded. "I really hadn't thought of that." Ashley fumed, and silently flashed forward to the day she would again be a judge, and she could strip Dithers of his law license and send the old geezer to a retirement home. "Indeed," Judge Helms said, flush with triumph. "Now spread your legs, Ashley. Nice and wide, so we can see your bottom hole." "Please, sir," Ashley said weakly. "I swear...I swear I'm not.... There is no contraband." "A likely story!" hissed Judge Spite. "Perhaps, but we can hardly be expected to take the word of a convicted thief, can we? Now spread your legs. Or would you prefer a dose of strap oil, first?" Ashley's ears perked up at the sound of the dreaded word. She stared at the strap in front of her, so long and soft and supple. She clenched her cheeks as she imagined the merciless strap doing its wicked work. She didn't want to obey, but what choice did she have? Gritting her teeth, she obeyed. "No, Ashley, you'll have to do much better than that," Helms chided. "We need to see EVERYTHING." Ashley spread her legs wider still, but the judge was unimpressed. "All the way, Ashley. We'll have no false modesty from the likes of you.... No, wider. We need to get a good look at that tight little pooper." "The very idea!" humphed Mrs. Spite. "The young trollop putting on airs, when not five minutes before she spread her legs like a ten peso puta in the window of a Tijuana brothel." "Quite," Judge Bovine agreed. "We've seen so much, there's no reason we shouldn't see it all." Grimacing, Ashley spread her knees to very edge of the table and lifted her fanny high in the air. "Yes, that's better," Judge Helms said, finally satisfied. "Now we can see what you had for breakfast." Ashley squirmed in humiliation as she heard Judge Bovine cackle behind her. "There's a cute little button hole," he chortled. "What do you say Ashley -- give us a wink?" Have you ever tried not to think of something, after someone has told you not to think about it? Trapped in just such a dilemma, Ashley found herself "winking" her tight little fanny hole for the amusement of the assembled guests. "Now Ashley, before we get started, I want to ask you a question," Helms said. Remember, we're all here to help you, so I want you to answer it honestly. Now, from what I see, that little winker of yours looks quite tight. Have you had much experience back there?" "No," Ashley replied. The mere thought of what he was asking caused her to wink again, triggering more titters from the people who were "there to help her." "Have you had ANY experience back there?" "No, of course not," Ashley said. "I'm a nice girl!" Her protests of purity brought more laughter from the group and a remark from the warden that he'd be happy to "pop her cork." This in turn triggered more desperate winking and still more laughter. "I see," Judge Helms said. "In that case, for your own comfort and safety, we need to loosen you up a bit. I want you to give your rear horn a nice loud toot." "What?" Ashley said. "You heard me. I want you to fart. I know it's embarrassing, but you're a prisoner now, and you're going to have to learn to conform your natural body functions to the demands of your captors. Now let's here a nice big toot!" "I...I can't!" She shuddered as the judge picked up the strap. "'Can't' is a word that no longer belongs in your vocabulary. I suggest you replace it with, "Yes, sir" or "Right away, sir." Ashley couldn't believe what she was being asked to do, but the feel of the leather strap being teasingly drawn across her bottom urged her to obey. She farted, and everyone laughed. "After that great big soda pop you can do better than that," Helms chided. "Again!" Ashley tooted her horn twice more, until at last the judge seemed satisfied with her obedience. He gave Maxine a nod, and the most unlady-like search of Ashley's bottom began. There was a large tub of generic lube next to the exam table, but Maxine did not use it. Instead, she lubricated her long index finger in Ashley's own wetness before beginning her thorough probe. How many times had she brought herself to a shattering orgasm fantasizing about just such a prison search in one of the countless porn stories she had devoured over the years? But now the fickle finger of fate had turned. It was pointing at her, it was wearing a glove, and she was in the perfect position to experience its deep caress. When Maxine at last removed her finger, it made a small popping sound, as if a champagne cork was being released. "Happy New Year!" Judge Bovine shouted, much to the amusement of all. All...except Ashley. She did maintain her position, though -- bottom up and legs spread -- until commanded to move. "On your feet convict!" Maxine barked, punctuating her command with a stinging SPANK! across Asley's exposed bottom. "We don't have all day." It seemed to Ashley that, when it came to humiliating her, they did indeed have all day, but she knew better than to argue. She climbed off the table and covered herself as best she could. But her efforts proved to be in vain, as Maxine quickly cuffed her hands behind her back. "What about my uniform?" "Later, convict," Maxine replied. "We have business in the barn first." Maxine led her, buck naked and cuffed, by the scruff of the neck. As the others left, Judge Helms tarried a bit, then went back and fetched Ashley's still wet panties. He held them up to his nose, savoring the aroma of her arousal. He smiled and stuffed them in his pocket. After all, it was only right that everyone have a souvenir. Ashley squinted when the basement door opened and the sunlight flooded into her eyes. Conscious of her nudity and utterly unable to cover herself, she resisted when Maxine pushed her forward, but the big woman's beefy hand was totally unconcerned with Ashely's modesty. Maxine marched Ashley, stark naked, across the compound as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The guards paid special attention, however, and Ashley blushed furiously as they whistled, hooted, and made clucking sounds as they commented on the "tasty chicken." Ashley had been sweating it out during her time on the table, and, now that her breasts were bouncing in the breeze. her nipples had hardened into two diamonds. But, with her hands cuffed behind her back, there was nothing she could do but blush as the men lewdly appraised her figure and promised delicious times for her on the prison farm. "How do you like your new outfit, Ashley?" Mrs. Bovine mocked. "Yes, the men around here don't seem to be noticing your Harvard education," seconded Mrs. Spite. The elderly Judge Dithers had been on his feet more than he was accustomed to and so adjourned himself to the limo. Ashley watched nervously as her only advocate toddled away for his morning nap. The parade ended inside the barn, but there was no respite for Ashley. Maxine picked up a wooden privy bucket, took off the lid, and set it down in front of her. "You said you needed to piss," Maxine said. "Well, git to it." The watchng women looked disgusted, but the men looked intrigued. Ashley had drunk two Cokes outside, and her bladder was quite full. But could she squat and pee into a bucket with half a dozen people watching? "I...I don't have to go anymore," Ashley murmured. "When I say, "Piss," you piss!" Maxine snapped, punctuating her words with a hard SPANK across Ashley's bare rump. The group guffawed as Justice Ashley Marsh, buck naked and with her hands still cuffed behind her back, scampered over to the bucket and squatted like a housebroken dog. "That's it, Ashley," Judge Bovine chuckled. "Be a good girl and make pee-pee." Farting had been one thing, but urination was another. Perhaps it was the men staring between her widely splayed thighs, or the cruel expressions on the women's faces, or the idea of "making pee-pee" on command, but, strain as she might, she couldn't squeeze out a drop. "Go on!" Maxine snarled. "I'm not going have you peeing on me while I'm holding you down for the smith." It was only then that Ashley noticed the large shirtless black man in the rear of the barn tending a brazier of red hot coals. Her heart fluttered as she spotted the hot irons roasting in the coals and the assorted branding irons hanging from hooks on the wall. That did it. As Ashley realized why she was in the barn, and why they hadn't dressed her, and why the blacksmith was heating irons, she lost control.... The pitter-patter of Ashley's urine splashing loudly against the metal bucket echoed around the barn. "My, look at her go!" Mrs. Bovine cackled. "She's peeing like a horse. I never thought a girl her size could hold that much." "Don't make too much of a splash, girl," Mrs. Spite chided. "We don't want to have to rub your nose in it, now do we?" Ashley was deeply humiliated, of course, but her fear trumped her embarrassment. When the torrent of piss finally ended, Maxine wasted no time in picking her up by the ear and dragging her off to the blacksmith. Ashley struggled, but Maxine was far stronger. As they approached the brazier, Maxine thoughtfully stuck out her foot and tripped her prisoner so that she landed face down on the dirt floor. Ashley screamed for help as felt Maxine pick up her left leg. "No!" she shouted. "Don't let her do it! Don't let her brand me! Please!" "Good heavens, girl, she's not going to brand you," Judge Helms exclaimed. "Those branding irons on the wall are from the old plantation days. She's merely going to fit you with your manacles. Hold still, or you WILL be branded!" Ashley stopped struggling and lay face down in the dirt as Maxine put her foot on the anvil. With an ease born of years of practice, Maxine fitted one of the antebellum shackles around Ashley's slender ankle. An instant later the blacksmith slipped the red hot bolt into place and hit it with his hammer. Ashley barely had time to notice the heat of the rivet before Maxine dunked her foot into a pail of cool water. As Ashley's left foot cooled, Maxine turned her attention to the right. The entire process only took a few seconds, and Ashley found herself amazed at the speed with which she was placed in bondage. Maxine freed Ashley's wrists, and she once again breathed a sigh of relief as she attempted to rub the circulation back. But her freedom was short-lived; she soon found herself kneeling in front of the anvil as they set about manacling her wrists. Her ankle cuffs were already chained together. Her wrist cuffs were free, but all four cuffs had an open eye piece which allowed her to be chained like a dog, either to a padlock or another girl. She had seen the cuffs on Natalie, but now she was getting a much closer look -- too close. "This is a mistake," she said. "These are the sort of things they used on plantation slaves." Judge Helms smiled and nodded in agreement. ****************************** Part 6 Judge Helms said, "Yes, they were originally used on black slaves, but they work equally well on white convicts. Our beloved Dixie has made a lot of progress since the War of Northern Aggression, and we treat our white nigras the same as our black nigras. The work's the same as it was in 1830, and our overseers still know how to crack the whip." Ashley had a better view than she had had when she was face down in the dirt, but that was no boon. Tears of shame and frustration ran down her face as the blacksmith slid the last bolt into place, hammered it, and dunked her hand into a bucket. Any fantasies Ashley had of escape faded as she stared at her shackles. Even if she did manage to get her clothes -- or SOME clothes -- to wear and make it past the guards and gators and quicksand, the chains would betray her to the first person who saw her. She had soft, beautiful hands, the hands of a scholar, which had been used to write some of her state's most brilliant judicial opinions. It broke her heart to think of her delicate hands being used to pick cotton. "Bend her over the anvil," Judge Helms said. "I want to see something." The order didn't have to be given twice, and, courtesy of Maxine and the blacksmith, Ashley soon found her bare bottom once again raised high in the air. "My family used to own part of this plantation," Helms said. "In fact, this branding iron here is our family crest." "Oh, that is lovely!" Mrs. Bovine said. "Yes, fine workmanship," Judge Spite agreed. "It would definitely leave a mark of honor." "Yes, capital," Judge Bovine said. "And nicely sized, too. Though it seems a bit small for a cow." "It wasn't made for cows," Judge Bovine said. Ashley shuddered as she felt cold metal press against the center of her naked butt-cheek. "Moo, moo!" Mrs Bovine cracked, and everyone laughed. (Everyone except Ashley, that is.) "How does that feel, Ashley? Judge Helms asked. "It's cold...." "Well, maybe we should heat it up for you," cackled Mrs. Spite. "What do you say, Ashley?" Helms asked, pressing the iron against her bottom. "Everyone else has a souvenir. Would you like one, too? A permanent reminder of your visit to Dixie?" "If we're going to do it, we need to get it real hot so it'll leave a proper mark." Judge Helms considered the matter for several moments, and Ashley held her breath as she felt him moving the brand across her bottom, as if trying to find the proper location for the humiliating mark of ownership. Finally, he spoke. "As I recall, my family used this only when a slave tried to escape," he said thoughtfully. "And I'm sure Ashley would never, ever try to escape. Would you, Ashley?" "No, sir," Ashley said, so terrified that she could hardly speak. "Because I know how clever you are," the judge said. "But it's important for you to know that although you might be able to use your Ivy League brain to outsmart the guards and get out of this place, eventually I'd catch you and bring you back...." He pressed the iron against her other bottom cheek, "And this will be heated when you arrive." Ashley gasped as he pressed the iron down, simulating her branding. "No, sir, I won't try to escape," Ashley promised, meaning every word. "Say it right," he demanded. "Like this was a plantation, and you were a slave, trembling at the thought of your master's brand." "No, suh, massah," Ashley said, in the best slave dialect she could muster. "Ashley be a good girl, an' work real hard, an' not run or nuthin'. Don' bran' me massuh, pleeeze!" Pleased at Ashley's effort, he chuckled and removed the iron. "You can take this," he said, handing it to the blacksmith. "We won't need it...for now." "Get up." Ashley rose, and once again tried to cover herself. "Wash your face in the bucket, Ashley," he said. "I can barely see you." She had been lying face down in the dirt during her shackling and was grateful for the chance to clean a bit of the dirt off. She didn't have time to get all of the filth out of her shoulder-length brown hair, so she shook it out in an effort to get rid of some of the bigger clumps. "Too bad we don't have a hose," Mrs. Bovine said. "Yes, a fire hose," Mrs. Spite seconded. "That would wash the sow down properly." Ashley rose, and Maxine handed her a uniform. Ashley's bare feet were chained together, but her manacled hands were not, allowing her to slip the dress easily over her head. She reluctantly modeled her uniform for the group. It was a sleeveless garment, of thin burlap, stitched together on the premises by prisoners pressed into labor as seamstresses. The hemline ended well above mid-thigh. It hung on her loosely, rather like a sack, although her breasts and hips were still vaguely visible underneath. It was plain the extreme, although the nine thick orange horizontal stripes identified her as a criminal every bit as much as the shackles that bound her ankles. "So what do you all think?" Helms asked. "Does our brash barrister look the part?" Ashley felt humiliated beyond words as her fellow judges and their hateful wives walked around her, surveying her like a piece of chained livestock. They talked about her as if she wasn't there or, more precisely, as if she were an animal too stupid to understand their humiliating appraisals. "Well, the clothes certainly do make the woman." "Yes, she doesn't look quite so full of herself, now that we've got her in uniform." "I think the shackles are the key. They make the look." "After we brown her up a bit in the sun, she'll look just like a pretty mulatta." "Shouldn't her ankle chain be shorter? We don't want her to be able to run." "Don't be silly, dear. Remember, she still has to be able to spread her legs." "Yes, but it's still not quite right." "Yes, I agree. She's still too hoity-toity. We should have whipped her." "Yes, I'll bet a little strap oil across that great big bare butt of hers would work wonders." "Yes, the strap would help, but there's more to it. She's still too...delicate." "I can still smell her perfume." "I told you we should have hosed her down." "Yes, she's still far too...refined. And, even when she's looking at her feet, you can still see how spirited she is." "Yes, even when she's not looking at you, you can tell she's still eyeballing you, at least in her mind." "Maybe we should put her to work in the fields. After a few hours of work we won't smell that perfume anymore." "Yes, that'll make her build up a good stink." The group agreed, and the order was given. "Put this inmate to work," Judge Helms ordered crisply. "Stick her in the south fields, by the main house, and see that she works up a sweat." "I'll see to it personally," Maxine grinned. She led the barefoot prisoner out the barnyard and towards the sprawling cotton fields. To her chagrin, Ashley noticed that this time the guards paid her no mind. Why should they? The barefoot girl in the sack dress was just another nameless convict on her way to work. ****************************** The longest legal brief on earth couldn't match the repetitive stress and mind-numbing monotony of picking cotton in the broiling sun. It seemed to Ashley that the row would never end, and, when it did, she merely emptied her basket and began again. She wasn't used to walking barefoot, and the roots and gravel cut into her soles. At last the pain got so bad that it was simply numbing. In the meantime, her feet got so dirty that they looked almost like black work boots. It was hard work, and she struggled to pace herself to keep from passing out from the heat. The overseer, a huge man on horseback, watched her with a practiced eye, and, on more than one occasion, he snarled at her for her "laziness." She had never been called lazy or, for that matter, been spoken to as if she were an ignorant field hand. But she fought the urge to debate the point, knowing that a lively discussion of the matter would likely leave her with a very sore backside. Instead, she watched the other girls and quickly mastered the art of putting just enough cotton into the basket just fast enough to avoid being punished, speeding up when "the boss" was looking, and slowing down to a crawl when he was not. She was nearly two hours into her work detail when she first spotted the handsome Greek Revival mansion at the end of the field. It wasn't until she was nearly at the end of the row that she saw her "friends" sitting together on the patio, lounging together as they enjoyed their mint juleps, wine, cheese, and finger sandwiches pleasantly in the shade. Ashley was very thirsty, and she looked longingly at the party's frosty drinks. The penalty for her momentary distraction, however, was a crack of the strap directly across her behind. "Eyes on your work, girl," the guard snapped. "You're here to pick cotton, not gawk at your betters." The guard was on horseback and it had been difficult for him to get in a truly powerful swing, so it was more startling than painful. Ashley wasn't used to a job where she could be spanked for "laziness" or, in her case, for eyeballing her "betters." Worse still the crisp punishment drew the attention of her erstwhile "friends" at the mansion, who laughed and waved at her as she rubbed the sting out of her bottom. The warden spoke to one of the domestics waiting at his table, and the servant ran at breakneck speed to tell a guard of the warden's wishes. That guard in turn rode over to the guard who had struck Ashley with the strap. "The warden wants to see THIS one," he said, dismissively indicating Ashley with a small thumb gesture. "Now." "Give me your hands," the guard ordered. Ashley did as she was told, and the guard easily threaded the rope on his saddle through the loop on her wrist shackle. Without saying a word to her, he turned and started his horse towards the warden at a brisk pace. Ashley had no choice but trot to keep up. The trip took only a few seconds. She stood, her eyes suitably downcast, in front of the luncheon party who a few hours before had been her peers. "We saw you strap cracking, Jake," the warden said, pointedly ignoring Ashley. "What did she do?" The presumption of guilt irritated Ashley, and she wanted to say that she hadn't done anything, but she knew better than to object. So she just stood, staring down, and listened as the others conversed. "She weren't minding her work," the guard explained. "From the looks of it, this one don't got brains enough to be minding the world and minding her cotton pickin', too." The women tittered at the reference to Ashley's stupidity. Ashley had to bite down on her lip to keep from responding. She had a doctorate in law from Harvard, and some barely literate turnkey was sneering at HER intelligence? "Is she making her quota?" Judge Helms asked. "Barely," the guard said. "Just enough to get by. They sure do learn lazy fast enough." "Well, what do you say we smarten her up a bit?" the judge asked. "A bit of strap oil across her lazy rump will quicken her step. String her up from that big ol' live oak over there." "It looks old," Mrs. Spite said. "Yes, we've been punishing slaves on it for centuries," Helms explained. There's even a groove in that big branch low down we use for the hoist. We call it the 'teaching tree.'" Everyone laughed heartily at the joke, except Ashley, of course, who was too stunned to speak. Did he actually order them to "string her up?" She had barely opened her mouth to object when the guard turned his horse and yanked her to the ground. Her objection was overruled by the mouthful of grass she got as the horse dragged her along the ground to the magnificent, centuries old oak that stood about twenty feet away from where her colleagues were enjoying their picnic. The speed of the horse made the trip mercifully short. Ashley rolled over and looked skywards as she came to a halt. The tree that towered above her was enormous, and, under other circumstances, she might have found it beautiful. But now she viewed it almost as a hanging tree.... She had expected to be hauled up by her wrists and was surprised when the guard kneeled down in front of her and undid the rope attached to her manacled hands. She was so distracted, in fact, that she barely noticed the guard cinching the manacles on her ankles together and attaching another chain to the pommel of his saddle. Ashley didn't have the spit to scream as the horse walked forward and lifted her, feet-first, off the ground. As she rose upside down in the air, her prison dress fell down around her shoulders, blocking her view and disorienting her further. The guard quickly solved that problem by taking the dress all the way off. Then he clipped her wrist-manacles together so that she couldn't reach back and cover her bottom. She therefore hung upside and naked with the tips of her fingers only scant inches from the ground. From her highly disorienting viewpoint, she could see the judges and their wives, but the guard quickly rotated her so that her bare bottom faced the mansion and Ashley faced the crowd of prisoners who had been called out of the field to witness the punishment for "laziness." Lazy! She was the hardest working judge on the bench! She hadn't been doing her best work in the fields, perhaps, but how could one be expected to feel motivated under such dreadful conditions? The answer came quickly as the razor strap SNAPPED across her shapely bottom. Although she still didn't have the spit to scream, she did scream -- a sharp, piercing sound that Judge Helms felt sure would echo across the South to Chicago and from there to Harvard Yard. She could hear the voices of Mrs. Bovine and Mrs. Spite behind her. "She felt that one!" "Yes, indeed. I hope they skin her alive!" SNAP! "You can't whip me like this!" Ashley protested. "I'm not an animal!" SNAP! "I-I have rights!" SNAP! "I'm NOT lazy! Really, I'm not. If we could only sit down and...." "I don't think she's going to feel much like sitting down by the time this is over," Judge Spite snickered. "Yes, I imagine that this is how a lot of the lawyers whom she has defeated over the years have fantasized her," Judge Bovine said. "Pleading her case as her big red bottom dances a jig with the strap." SNAP! "Ow! Please, I'll be good!" "Better, Ashley," Judge Helms shouted. "But say it louder and with a bit more contrition, like a GOOD girl, eh?" SNAP! She didn't feel contrite, but as the strap kissed her bottom, she vowed to give it a try. "I'm sorry I was lazy, sir!" she shouted. "I'll work harder, really I will." "Better, but a bit too polished. This is the South, and you're talking to your betters. Deep fry it! SNAP! "I'm sorry, suh!" Ashley shouted. "I's jus' a stupid ign'rant field girl. But I promises I'll try to do better!" SNAP! "Please massah!" she cried. "Please cut me down. I be a good girl, massah! I'll please you real good. I p-promises I will! ANYTHING!" "What you mean, there, girl?" the guard taunted. "Are you offering me that sweet little ass of yours?" SNAP! "Yas, suh!" "What about that pretty little mouth?" Ashley hesitated. She had never, ever done such a thing, and she certainly hadn't planned on offering that particular pleasure to the toothless, rank, barely literate hillbilly guard whipping her tender bottom. SNAP! The hillbilly's strap made a convincing argument, and, as the sizzle sank into Ashley's taut fanny, the lovely barrister quickly changed her plea. "Yes, massah!' she shouted. "I'll suck you real good an' swallow ever' drop." At last, it ended. The worst part wasn't the wasn't beating, or the even the humiliation of getting a bare bottom spanking in front of everyone, although that was simply awful. The worst part was that, by the time her "whuppin'" ended, her self-esteem was shattered, and she actually felt like a chain gang girl, a worthless piece of white trash too ignorant to understand anything but the strap and too stupid to use her mouth for anything but eating, drinking, and sucking cock. She had promised to do anything, ANYTHING to please the guards. The horrifying reality, at least for Ashley, was that she meant it, and everyone who had heard her knew it. Hanging loosely by her ankle shackles, she was too spent from screaming to speak, her red bottom at eye level, as the judges and their wives moved in for a closer view. "Well, I think this ends all argument." "I agree. Look at her. Hanging outside in her birthday suit for everyone to see. Shameless, isn't she?" "Did you hear the things she promised she'd do? Disgusting." "I'll bet she'd enjoy every minute of it, if she had the chance." "Well, we can always give her the chance." "Why not? She's a convicted criminal, isn't she?" "We've already proven that she's no better than the rest. How long was her sentence?" "Thirty days." "Sounds too lenient." "Well, Judge Helms will review her sentence at the end of her term. He's free to increase her jail time if she doesn't...keep her promises." The laughter faded into the distance as the group walked back to the limousine. Ashley wanted to protest the gross injustice of it all, but found herself too spent to do anything but watch, upside down, as the group loaded their ice bucket into the limo for their ride to the train station. As they drove into the distance, Ashley closed her eyes and steeled herself in preparation for what she knew would be the longest 30 days of her life. ****************************** Part 7: Epilogue to a Story of Crime & Punishment in the New South PRISONER PROGRESS REPORT NAME: Marsh, Ashley NBR: 288-38377-7378 SENTENCE: 30 days CRIME: 37803-83, Petty Larceny (Items worth less than $25) SUMMARY... On her first day in the cotton fields, Prisoner Marsh was strung up by the ankles to the warden's "teaching tree" and given 10 strokes of the razor strap across her bare rump for laziness. Her work improved immediately, and she worked hard in the field, constantly mindful of both the guards and the strap. She collapsed twice from from the heat in the first two days, and soon was offering her favors to the guards in exchange for extra rations and a lower cotton quota. Prisoner Marsh was a bit stuck up and objected the first time a guard wanted to use her mouth. She said it was "disgusting" and she'd never do such a thing. The guard threw her in the hole, and the next morning she gave him a most enthusiastic slurpee. She obviously hadn't done it before, but, over the next few days, the other guards made sure she got plenty of practice, and her technique improved rapidly. Before long she earned an audition for the warden. The warden told her that he was holding an "investigation" and asked if she had seen any abuse while she was in the prison. While Prisoner Marsh polished his boots, she told him about everything that had happened to her. She ratted like crazy and went on and on about how all the guards were "sadists" who should be put in jail. When he made her tell the details of what she had done to satisfy the guards, she blushed like a schoolgirl. She blushed even redder when she complained about being half-starved, and the warden told her to shuck off her uniform so he could see for himself. When he bent her over his desk for a routine contraband check, she was wetter than the bayou. It took only a few seconds of stroking to bring her off, and the warden asked her if she'd be willing to transfer to the "entertainment division" to get out of the fields and continue the investigation. She asked him what he meant, and he laughed and unzipped his pants. She spread her legs real wide for him, but pulled away when he spread her fanny cheeks apart instead. She said she'd never done anything like that before, and the warden replied that, if she'd rather dig ditches, that suited him just fine. Tearfully, she asked him if he would lube her up. So he let her get down on her knees and give him a quick suck just to get his tool wet. She got as much saliva on his knob as she could, before bending over and sticking her butt up in the air, pretty as you please. The warden thought it was pretty funny because he could see her face reflected in his office window, and she looked scared as hell. He spit on his fingers and put a big old goober on her fanny hole just to give her a little more grease, and she thanked him. Her eyes got wide as saucers, and her mouth made a little "O" when she felt his knob back there. She was tight as a tick and made little squealing sounds while he did her. As he reamed her, he told her that this is what "squealers" get, and he didn't want to hear no more complaints about the guards from her. She promised to take it up the ass like a good girl whenever she was told, and to thank the men who butt-fucked her..."real po-litely." The warden thought the combination of being hot as a pistol and shy as virgin was cute as hell, so he put her in a cheerleader's costume up on stage at the strip club. She blushed beet red, and you could see she just hated it, especially when all the guys started hooting at her, but, wouldn't you know it, when the warden took the tips out of her twat, the money was soaked. She was an eager little fuck-bunny, and she worked the truck stop real good, taking customers on two or three at a time. We had some trouble with her when she refused a customer. She had a bullshit story about how she had been an assistant D.A. once and had prosecuted this greaser for sodomy, and now he recognized her and told her he wanted to "re-enact the crime" with her. She got all hoity-toity and said she wouldn't do it, so we took her out of the whorehouse and put her to busting rocks in the quarry. It was almost two days before the warden got word that she'd changed her mind and was willing to take on anyone, anytime, anyway. I think it would have been faster, but Maxine was her overseer, and I think it took her a bit to get used to the idea of licking pussy. Anyway, the warden left her there for a week, busting rocks and licking twat, before he let her "audition" her tight little ass for him again. After which, he sent her back to the whorehouse. The warden made sure her first customer was the guy she had turned down, and they played it out just like he wanted, although it wasn't no crime this time because he was an upstanding citizen, and she was just a whore. Bottom line is that she's been sucking and fucking up a storm. She earns 25¢ a trick and 10% of her tips, and, by working hard, she has more than paid off her fine. The guards and the warden say she's real humble now, doesn't make eye contact with her betters, and never acts uppity like she used to. And there ain't nothing she won't do in the sack. In other words, she's one sorry, fully-rehabilitated Yankee, and all the folks agree that it's time to let her go and take her sweet carpetbagging ass back up North, where it belongs. Respectfully, Capt. Munsey Chief of Guards ****************************** Judge Helms carefully folded Ashley's progress report and put it back in his briefcase. The long wooden bench he was sitting on in the hallway outside the courtroom resembled a church pew, and, as the designated holding spot for prisoners, it was designed more for function than for comfort. Ashley was running late. The prison prided itself on efficiency, but doubtless because of her stellar progress report the guard decided to save a few minutes by striking the shackles off her wrists and ankles before he took her into court. That way, when the judge freed her (as surely he would, based on the report), Ashley could get dressed immediately and take the bus back to town. Sure enough, when the guard led her in by the arm, the first thing Helms noticed was that she was at last free of the humiliating shackles that she had worn everywhere, even in the whorehouse. She was barefoot, of course, and still dressed in the dirty prison uniform of a chain gang girl. Her slender wrists and ankles were encircled with the telltale marks of the manacles. The judge smiled. Ashley hadn't even looked at him as she had been brought in, instead keeping her eyes firmly locked on her dirty bare feet in a desperate attempt not to "eyeball her betters." Thirty days of the strap, the chain gang, and the whorehouse had left her well-trained, and the meek, diffident, and frightened young woman who stood trembling barefoot on the cold stone floor bore scant resemblance to the brilliant young jurist who had strode confidentially down the same hallway a scant 30 days before. "Hello, Ashley," Judge Helms said. "It's so nice to see you again. Have you been enjoying your stay with us?" Ashley was startled to hear the judge's voice, so startled that she almost broke the rules and looked up at him. Fortunately, she caught herself, and continued to stare downward. "Please, have a seat. Next to me." "No, thank you, Your Honor," Ashley said, her voice barely a whisper. "It wouldn't be right. A pig-ignorant girl like me can't get uppity with her betters." Of course, the Harvard-educated Ashley was far from "pig-ignorant," and both of them knew it. The judge glanced over at the guard, who was eyeing her like a hawk. Although it was fun to watch her bow and scrape before him, Helms also wanted to have an actual conversation, which would be impossible while the guard was glowering over her, waiting for her to show the slightest glimmer of independent thought. "Guard, could you leave us alone for a moment?" Helms asked. "I'd like a private word with the prisoner." The guard smiled, giving Ashley a little wink as he imagined what a "private word" might entail. "She's a hottie, Your Honor," he said. "Y'all have a good time now." The judge smiled and waited for the yokel guard to leave. "How was your sentence, Ashley?" he finally asked. "Were you well treated?" Knowing what was expected to her, she kept her eyes glued to the floor. "Yes, sir," she lied. "I see. Sit down, Ashley, next to me." She hesitated. "That's an order, young lady," he said. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. She gingerly sat down next to him, and he chuckled knowingly. My, someone seems to have a tender bottom. Were you punished, Ashley? "Only as I deserved, sir." "And WHY were you punished?" "I was uppity, sir," she said, still staring at the floor. "Ashley, I want you to look at me." She tried to look up, but could not. The last 30 days had been a nightmare. She had been shocked by the suddenness and completeness of her transformation and by the ease with which the judge had stripped her of her rank and privilege. Manacled and dressed in a dirty chain gang uniform, she was no longer a judge, but just another jailhouse slut to be worked and used for the fun and profit of her jailors. She had no rights and no dignity, and her sole purpose was to haul, and pick, and shuck, and fuck, and do whatever else she was told. A few times she had tried to explain that she was really a judge, and that her humiliating imprisonment was a terrible mistake, a wager gone awry. No one had believed her. A few of the guards and her disgusting "clients" did recognize her to be a lady of quality, but that only seemed to egg them on into debasing her all the more. As a result, she quickly realized that it was mentally easier for her to assume her new role, to forget her old life of dignity and responsibility. She became the jailhouse slut of her brother's novel: submissive, slow witted, and randy as hell. Now, when the judge asked her to look at him, she could not. He was too mighty, too powerful, for her to gaze at him directly. It was only after he remarked that "your cute little bottom must need some strap oil, since you can't follow a simple command," that she managed to meekly look up and meet his gaze. A woman whom Ashley did not recognize walked by, smiled, and nodded to the judge, and then entered the courtroom. The way that she looked at him, and the contemptuous way she barely looked at Ashley, reminded Ashley anew of her lowly position. [Note from Joe: If you want to visualize this meeting, here's the original picture from Tibool that inspired this story: http://www.chainganggirls.com/images/tib36.jpg ] The contrast between them was striking. Judge Helms was dressed as a successful professional, while Ashley was dressed in a dirty jailhouse rag. He was clean and well-groomed, while she was dirty, stinking, and disheveled. His dress shoes shown like mirrors, while she was barefoot with her heels raised to avoid touching the frigid floor. He wore dark socks, while her ankles were rubbed raw by her shackles. His hands were free, with his arm resting nonchalantly on his briefcase, while her wrists were cuffed together. She looked up at him, he looked down on her. "You have a good report, Ashley," the judge said. "But why did you snub me the other night?" Ashley felt her heart sink. It had been two nights ago, the end of a very long shift in the brothel, when the pimp blew his whistle commanding all the whores to assemble for a lineup. Ashley was wearing her usual whore's uniform of red bra, panties, garter-belt, and heels and had quickly hustled herself out to the floor in order to join the other girls in greeting yet another in the seemingly endless parade of "clients." Ashley was quite fetching in her red underwear, and she knew it. If it weren't for the manacles around her wrists and ankles, she would have been welcomed in any gentlemen's club in the world. It was then that she saw Judge Helms -- fat, happy, holding a drink, and looking her up and down like he had just swallowed the canary. She froze. It was her duty to stand with the other girls like a slave in an old-time slave market, dressed in only her scanties, smiling sweetly as the judge sat in his chair. One by one the girls would circle around him, jiggling and giggling as they strutted, trying to entice him to buy their wares. This couldn't be happening. He knew who she was. He knew she was a judge, not a convict, and certainly not a whore. Certainly he wouldn't humiliate her this way, by making her prance for his viewing pleasure, dressed like a ho. Their eyes met. Ashley knew he recognized her, and she could tell he liked what he saw. Far from feeling sorry for her, it was obvious that he was relishing every minute of her predicament. The judge's eyes slowly ran down over her breasts, belly, loins, and legs, stopping only at her manacled ankles. It was not the gaze of a friend or peer, but that of a dog looking at a steak. Ashley felt sick as he licked his lips and smiled. She knew she would be his jailhouse ho for the evening, and she could think of nothing worse. So she turned and hid in the bathroom until the lineup was over. Then, for the rest of the evening, she threw herself at a variety of men to make sure that she was "busy" until the judge was gone. Why did she do it? As a whore she knew she had no right to refuse any customer for any reason. But the memory of having to service that pervert she had once prosecuted still haunted her. He had relished turning the tables on her, and taunting her, and using her in the most degrading ways imaginable. And Ashley, tears in her eyes, had been helpless to resist.... "I'm waiting for my answer, young lady," Judge Helms said. "I was your guest, and I expected you to treat me as such. Did you think that you were too good for me? That's it, isn't it?" She WAS too good for him. She was a Harvard-educated state supreme court justice, and he was a hillbilly judge who threw young women into the clink for "speeding" and "malicious mischief" and other trumped-up charges. Ashley WAS better than him. She was better than all of them. But how to say it in a nice way, a way that wouldn't give offense? "I wanted to keep our relationship...professional," she said. "But it WOULD have been professional, Ashley. Remember that I told you that, once you were a prisoner here, you would no longer be my friend, you would be a convicted criminal. That night, I would have sat in the chair, and you would have knelt before me, and unzipped my pants, and serviced me in the only way a girl like you is fit to do. I would have given you a good mark for humility and left satisfied that you had learned your lesson." "Tell me, Ashley, if we were on the plantation, what would you call a slave who thought she was too good to serve her master?" Ashley hesitated. She knew the word he wanted. It was a word she had seldom heard spoken aloud before her visit here, but, in the last 30 days it was a word that had been applied to her often, usually before a punishment. "'Uppity,' sir" she said, once again looking at the floor. "Louder." "'Uppity,' sir!" The guard knocked on the hallway door. "Are you done with her, Your Honor?" "Yes, I'm through," he said, rising from the bench. "Let's get this over with." Ashley panicked as the guard took her arm and led her into court. Sensing the judge's dissatisfaction she looked over her shoulder and began to plead frantically. "Wait! Your Honor...if you want me to...I can do it right now...." "You had your chance," he said coldly. "Now it's time for justice." Inside the courtroom, Ashley had to stood behind the defense table, alone. As a convicted criminal, she was no longer entitled to a lawyer. On the brighter side, there was no prosecutor either. All rose as the judge, a portly young man who was having a bad hair day, entered the room and sat down. "The prisoner will approach the bench," he ordered. The bailiff took Ashley by the arm. Once again she had the horrible sensation of standing barefoot and handcuffed before a judge who held her fate in his hands. "Well, this seems like an open and shut case. You've certainly earned a pretty penny for us, young lady. You must be quite the eager beaver." The knowing laughter from the courtroom burned in her ears. "Have you learned your lesson, young lady?" "Yassuh, yer honor," Ashley said, staring downward. "If I let you go, are you going to be a good girl?" It was a humiliating question, but she knew her part well. "Oh, yassuh, yer honor. I be real good. I promises!" The judge raised his gavel. "Very well, then. By the power vested in me by the people of Cracker County I order you...." The verdict was interrupted by the sound of Judge Helms clearing his throat. Ashley looked over her shoulder as he motioned a guard to bring him something to write on. Her heart pounded as she watched Judge Helms write what appeared to be a single word on a small scrap of paper. The guard walked past Ashley and handed the word to the presiding judge, who read it aloud. "Uppity," he said, looking down at Ashley. "You uppity, girl?" "No, sir!" Ashley said, panicked. "Are you eyeballing me, girl?" "No, sir!" Ashley said, once again returning her gaze to the floor. The judge looked at Judge Helms, who nodded. "Well, it's obvious to me that you still need a lesson. Ashley Marsh, I sentence you to another 30 days hard labor on the Cracker County Prison Farm for Women...plus 10 strokes on your bare behind for being uppity. Close your mouth, girl! You're not catching flies." "Please, Your Honor, I...." The gavel cut her off. "Case closed. Get her hooked up again, and then take her back to the quarry. Make her earn her way back to the house." Ashley pleaded frantically as the guard dragged her out. "Please, Your Honor! Judge Helms! You can't do this to me! Please! I'm not uppity! No, please! Don't shackle me again! Not the strap! I'll be a good girl! I'll do anything you say! I'll suck and fuck and take it up the ass and say 'Thank you, sir' afterward...." The courtroom door closed, and prisoner 288-38377-7378 was gone. ****************************** The second thirty days were worse than the first. First, Ashley was transferred back to the quarry. It was in some ways easier, since she had more muscle than when they first sent her out to the fields, and the calluses on her feet and hands no longer blistered. But she was thinner now, and long days of hauling rocks and swinging a sledgehammer quickly took their toll. She had long since steeled herself to the horrible taste of the slop she had to eat out of the feeding troughs during her "breaks." She needed the calories and guzzled it down like the barnyard animal she now was. Nonetheless, she soon found herself in the demeaning position of offering her services to the guards, not only to get out of the quarry and back into the brothel, but also to get little extras like a piece of fruit or (if she were really lucky) a leftover candy bar. She found herself targeting the tubbiest and least attractive guards since they always seemed to be the most generous, thrilled no doubt at the pretty girl's eagerness to please. Maxine was the worst. She required hours to satisfy and offered nothing in return, except of course for the all-important chance to "audition" for the warden. When she at last earned the precious opportunity, the warden once again "auditioned her" from behind. After several weeks in the brothel, taking it up the caboose was no longer a novelty for her, but the warden's smug attitude and the way he made her beg for the privilege made it much more demeaning. She grunted and squirmed as he reamed her, comforting herself with the thought that his enjoyment of her humiliation would make him finish that much quicker. The first time she had been put to work at the truck stop, she had found the work unspeakably degrading and had nearly puked with shame the first time she had been forced to swallow. This time it was different. she still blushed like a tomato when she put on the denim skirt, cowboy boots, tube top, and Stetson hat that branded her as a cowboy hooker. But she was so eager for the work -- and the calories -- that to hump as many men as possible no longer seemed like a moral issue at all, merely a matter of survival. Sure enough, after only a few days of hard riding at the truck stop, she was promoted to the main house. She was still a whore, of course, but it was classier, and she no longer had to parade around in her humiliating cowgirl and cheerleader outfits or twirl her little lasso to attract truckers who had stopped to find a place to pee. She worked indoors, ate real food, and dedicated herself to pleasing a classier brand of pervert. The brothel had no calendars because it was generally understood that the girls would be more productive if they concentrated on pleasing clients rather than their parole dates. Ashley, ever mindful of the failure that had doubled her sentence, and eager to avoid returning to the quarry, followed this rule, and concentrated on pleasing each of her clients fully and absolutely. She could play any part and be any woman that a client wanted her to be; customer satisfaction was her sole goal in life. Nonetheless, she had done the math in her head, and she knew that (if they kept to the schedule) tonight should mark the end of her second 30 days. She fully expected to receive a hearing in the morning, but was careful not to mention it or seem in any way eager lest her "brashness" earn her yet another 30 days. In her time at the brothel, she had dressed as a nurse, a pirate, a cheerleader, a roman slave girl, and even any national female political figure that she could reasonably pass for. As an experienced whore, she was beyond being shocked, which is why it was all the more amazing that the costume she found laid out neatly on the bed that final night shocked her like no other could have. It was the street clothes Ashley had been wearing when she first came into prison. Ashley recovered from her shock and obediently donned her clothes. Her purse was also there, which surprised her further (since, as a prisoner, she was strictly forbidden from handling money, charge cards, ID, or anything else that might identify her as a real person and thus aid in a possible escape). She pointedly ignored her purse; after 60 days of incarceration her role as a lowly prisoner had been so drilled into her that she was frightened even to look at it. Her panties were missing, and she was unsure as to whether she should keep the red panties she was wearing or simply go commando. But she quickly decided on the latter, reasoning that this prison left nothing to chance, and that if the authorities had wished to give her the privilege of underpants, they would have provided them. Once dressed, she was free to sit on the bed and try to figure out what was happening and what the riddle of her street clothes might mean. By the time the door opened, she was not surprised to see Judge Helms walk in. "Hello, Ashley," he said. "No, no...please. Sit down. No need to be formal now." She sat back down on the bed while the judge sat in the large easy chair in the corner. "You're looking well," he said pleasantly. "Putting on a few pounds, I see." "Yes, sir," Ashley said, being careful to keep her gaze directed downward. "The food is much better here, sir." "Yes, and from what I hear, you're on something of a high-protein diet," he chuckled. Ashley found his remark to be crude, degrading, and insulting -- but, knowing what was expected of her, laughed like a little airhead. "Yes, sir," she giggled. "Very amusing, Your Honor." Judge Helms, pleased, lit a cigar. "I think prison has changed you for the better, Ashley. You're still quite lovely, of course, but not quite so full of yourself, I suspect. Am I right on that?" "Yes, sir," she said, eyes still averted. "You're very perceptive, sir." "Let's play a little game -– a legal game. I want you to come over here and explain to me why you should be released. Your oral argument, as it were." Ashley rose and stood before the judge. She wasn't sure how she should start. Clearly staring at her shoes like a frightened bunny weakened her case, but did she dare to look him in the eye? No, not when so much was at stake. "Well, sir, my progress reports are excellent, and I've already served twice my original sentence. If you consider...." "You know, when you were driving here, you looked mighty sexy with that cigar in your mouth. What a little tease you were." "Um...thank you, sir," she said, uncertain as to how to respond. She had been a tease, and she had certainly paid the price -- and was paying it even now. She struggled to resume. "If you consider the amount of money I've earned for the county, I think you'll agree that it more than exceeds fair restitution for any...." "No, no, no. That's a LEGAL argument. However, you're not a lawyer anymore, are you?" "No, sir," Ashley admitted. "I should say not. I don't want to hear a lot of facts and figures. I want you to present the sort of oral argument a girl like you is fit to make." He smiled and took a long drag on his cigar as the lovely lawyer in front of him turned the most delicious shade of red. She was humiliated beyond words, but her last attempt to avoid pleasuring this man had cost her 30 more days on the farm. Without saying a word, she sank to her knees and quickly unzipped his fly. It was a bit too quick for the judge's tastes. How many times had Ashley put a man in a rubber in the last 60 days? Too many to count. And the easy way she sank into her duties left the judge unsatisfied. After all, if she were to learn the lesson he wanted to teach her, she would have to feel the humiliation he wanted her to feel. "Eager to get started, I see. I wonder what your law clerks and bailiffs would say if they could see you on your knees?" Ashley's jaw dropped at the horrifying thought of the subordinates she lorded it over watching her service the judge. Taking advantage of the convenient "O" that was her waiting mouth, the judge quickly slid his member out of his shorts and into her gaping pie hole. Shocked and surprised, she gagged and tried to pull back, but the judge would have none of it. Using her hair as a handle to slide her mouth up and down his rod, he gave the order, "Get busy, you little tramp. Show me what your mouth is good for." She forced herself to stifle her gag reflex. No longer resisting, she slid her mouth down the length of his shaft until the tip tickled the back of her throat. "That's good!" the judge grunted. "Suck it like a good little whore. Suck it like your life depends on it...as it very well might." Ashley stiffened in terror at the threat, and the judge chuckled. "That's right, my little whore. Suckle it sweetly, or I might decide that you need a YEAR here to practice." That was all it took. Abandoning her dignity, Ashley ran her velvety tongue down his shaft before teasing his slit with the tip of her tongue. She felt humiliated, nauseated, and utterly helpless as she tasted the first few drops of his pre-cum, and her eyes filled with tears as she remembered a time long ago when she had sipped the judge's best brandy and socialized with him in his study. Oh, how far she had fallen. The judge's commentary reinforced her humiliation. "That's it, use all those tricks you picked up in the jailhouse. You're a good little cocksucker, aren't you? Of course you are! You'll suck whatever the warden puts in your mouth for another bowl of slop in the chow line to feed your hungry belly or to save your sweet little cheeks from the razor strap." The charge was all the more humiliating because Ashley knew it was true. "Oh, here it comes! I want you to swish it all around your mouth so you get a really good taste. Don't swallow any. I want it to dry in your mouth, so you can taste it all the way on your long train ride back to Chicago." Her train ride home to CHICAGO! Ashley's heart leapt at the thought. So much so that the first spurt fired directly into the back of her tongue, right on the salt/bitter sensors, giving her the fullest possible tasting of the judge's copious load, which he had been saving up for some time, in anticipation of giving Ashley the biggest mouthful possible. She wanted to gag as the load filled her mouth, but was careful not to swallow, lest she spoil her release...again. When at last he finished, he patted her on the head, and chuckled, "I'll be sure to tell all of your lady friends from the conference about your performance here tonight. I'm sure the wives of all of the judges will be delighted to know that you've taken so well to your new career. When you get back home, you will write each of them a nice thank-you letter...a DETAILED letter." Ashley blushed crimson at the thought of Mrs. Bovine and the other wives snickering at her ordeal, but she knew that she would write those letters. The judge used his cock to smear his load around the inside of her mouth, and then he ordered her to kneel before him with her mouth open until the sticky wetness dried to his satisfaction. ****************************** It was a long train ride back to Chicago, and, as per the judge's order, she didn't eat or drink anything until she detrained at Union Station. She could have, of course -– she was out of the judge's jurisdiction shortly after he waved goodbye to her from the platform. But, despite her respectable clothes, she knew that she was still a convict until her arrival back in the sanctuary of the city she loved so well. But the first thing she did after getting back home was to write those very DETAILED letters to Mrs. Bovine and Mrs. Spite. (And, for good measure, she even wrote one to Maxine.) ****************************** The new term would start soon, and she began preparing herself for the grueling judicial schedule ahead. As fall turned to winter, and then to spring, however, the memory of her time in Cracker County never faded. And, as her long vacation approached again, she was more and more preoccupied by the question of how she might ask Judge Helms for permission to visit him that coming summer.... Perhaps she should confess to a disturbing tendency to become uppity once more. THE END Edited by C. Lakewood