Beth Calhoun was feeling very happy with life in general and her own in particular. She had left Peoria a week ago to escape the monotony of small town life, and in that short time had found herself a job as a receptionist in a small insurance agency on the Northwest Side of Chicago. Also, she had found a modestly priced one-room efficiency apartment, complete with tiny kitchenette, in which she could prepare her own meals, and in which, after the confining life she had had even in her mother's house back home, seemed wonderfully spacious and free, exactly because it meant freedom to her.
Beth Calhoun was twenty years old, about five feet six inches in height, with dark brown hair and a sweet, heart-shaped face, large and very expressive dark brown eyes, a dainty little uptilted nose, and a full, sweet, kissable mouth. She had already attracted many a wolf-whistle back in Peoria, and she had been drawn to one or two boys in her senior year of high school, but she'd never really dated, first of all, because her stepfather had put his foot down the moment he'd married Mom, just five years ago, just a week after her own fifteenth birthday. And ever since that time, life in the pleasant, roomy old house on Linn Street had been little short of hell for Beth Calhoun.
In fact, when she applied for the job at Pimco Casualty-Assurance Company of California and Montrose, she had used her own father's original name. She had done this for two reasons: first, so that she would never again be reminded of Dennis Calhoun, the man who had kind of swept her mother off her feet and then acted like a dictator; and second, so that he wouldn't be able to trace her here in her new life. Her father, Clark Calhoun, had been a kindly, easygoing salesman for a farm machinery outfit in East Peoria, and he and she and Mom had got along wonderfully together. Mom couldn't have any more kids, but somehow Dad and she seemed to have as much fun as a whole big family. But that had all changed when Dennis Henderson had moved into the house on Linn Street.
Mom was just about to hit forty, but still was very good-looking. Plump, with a kind of apologetic look all the time, and still a very nice figure, and wheat-colored hair that didn't have any gray in it yet. Dennis Henderson was tall, stern-faced, about fifty, with gray hair and a harsh, dry voice. She had never seen him smile once in the five years she had lived there. And several times he had slapped her across the mouth and reprimanded her for some tiny little mistake or another, and when she had gone weeping to Mom, all that Mom could do was say helplessly, "I know, honey, you just have to put up with him. He's a good man in his way, and he'll get to understand you. Just go along with him, for my sake."
So she'd tried, even to passing up dates when she went to college in St. Anne's College for Girls, ten miles outside Peoria. Her stepfather had sent her there purposely, although she had wanted to go to the University of Illinois. He had told her that no daughter of his was going to go to a distant campus where she could be exposed to all the nastiness of boys away from home who looked upon single and attractive girls like her as easy marks.
There had been many quarrels at home during her years in college, and sometimes she had come home to find Mom weeping and hiding bruises on her arms. Then, a month ago, when she had come home early, Dennis Henderson had been out shopping and she had pushed open Mom's bedroom door and seen her mother lying there in her slip. It had been rumpled up, and she had seen dark, angry marks on her mother's legs and body, and when she asked questions about it, Mom had told her, "I guess I did something wrong, and he took the strap to me."
That was when Beth Calhoun had made her decision. She would be next, she knew. What she hadn't told her mother was that just the night before this had happened, he had come to her room late at night, opened the door and stood looking down at her. She had wakened and looked up at him, and he had muttered, "One of these days, young lady, I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget. You think you're so high and mighty, but deep down inside you've got the makings of a little teaser. I'll take the strap to your butt, and then I'll show you what a man is really like, you hear me?"
And so the next morning, without telling her mother what had happened, Beth Calhoun began to plan how to get away from the house on Linn Street.
Her great-aunt in Springfield had left her about two thousand dollars. It was in the bank, it was to be hers on her twentieth birthday, so she had waited until that happy day, when she had gone to the bank, shown her birth certificate and drawn it all out. Then she had bought a suitcase and some clothes, written a letter to her mother and taken the Rocket to Chicago.
She lay on the indoor bed in her little apartment, wearing just her white cotton pajamas, which though they were very modest, emphasized the magnificent, high-set, closely spaced round globes of her titties, snugged her round and spacious bottom-cheeks, and called attention to the full, womanly curves of beautiful white-skinned thighs. She was thinking that there were lots of nice fellows down at the insurance agency, and that maybe when she got over the fear of being followed, when she had conquered her fear of Dennis Henderson, she might just find out what it was like to be loved by a decent guy.
How could she know, in her trusting innocence, that she had jumped from the frying pan into the fire?
CHAPTER TWO
Beth Calhoun's apartment was on the fourth floor of a new high-rise building which lofted twelve impressive stories at the corner of Belmont and Western Avenue. It was about twenty-five minutes from the apartment to the agency, and with lovely warm June weather now prevalent in Chicago, there were times when Beth Calhoun felt like walking to and from work, just to thrill to the feeling of being her own mistress, earning her own living and being free. But in the apartment next door, fate was taking a hand to change her life into something that even a nightmare couldn't have conjured up. And the two people who were going to affect her young life were, at the moment, fucking.
Al Barker, thirty-five, with a wispy moustache, very dapper and quite personable, wearing just his socks, was slowly and luxuriously thrusting his stiff prick back and forth inside the moist, warm and tight lovesheath of Belle Crandon, a brassy twenty-six-year old blonde cocktail waitress who worked in a North Michigan Avenue cocktail lounge. Al was a two-time loser, and he was still wanted out in California and Nevada for forgery and the confidence racket. As for Belle, she was almost am amateur whore, having married at seventeen and having had her husband walk out on her six months later for another girl. From this she had gone on to various jobs in restaurants and bars, occasionally finding a fried who would pay the rent on the apartment in exchange for fucking privileges. She had stumbled on in the lounge where she now worked, been smitten with him by that peculiar chemistry which often attracts opposites, and now she was part and parcel of his nefarious scheme to make a killing. It consisted, as he had just told her, of finding some "sap, probably a dame, who has access to money orders or checks or negotiable bonds, you know, Belle Baby. Now we sort of work on her, get a good stack of those orders, and then we spread the paper around in other towns. We'll make a killing before they can catch up with us. And who will get the blame? The sap, naturally."
Belle had been enthusiastic. This was her chance to make a lot of money without any danger, and to have this good-looking, black-haired cock-smith grateful to her for her help. That was why, wearing just her nylons and garter belt, she arched her big, melon-like titties against his chest, as she kissed him hard and thrust her tongue between his lips, her fingernails digging into his shoulder-blades, whispering, "Oh Al, it feels so good, oh screw me hard, give it to me, darling!"
Al Barker dug deep to the balls inside Belle Crandon's quaking cunthole, as he muttered, "I'll give it you, you, you sweet bitch, I really will. And you wait till we get that dough and go off to South America. I'll get you a villa, and you can have a whole staff of servants for about twenty bucks American cash, and lead a life of luxury. You just stick by me and give me nookie when I need it, just like now, and I'll take real good care of you!"
"Oh, will I ever, Al lover," the blonde cocktail waitress panted. Her hair was bobbed and frizzy, and the dye showed a little too plainly, perhaps making her look a little older than she actually was. Its natural color was a light brown, but it now came out a kind of dark gold with metallic glints. But of course the hair around her cunt was dark brown and thick and shaggy, and Al Barker was feeling it now against his balls as he moved slowly back and forth, just stirring his cock a little inside the tightly churning lovesheath of his pass ion-partner.
He was thinking that she was a damn good lay, but nothing really super. When he got a good heist, he could always dump her and find a real young squirmy bitch who didn't need to dye her hair and whose titties were even firmer. Belle had big size thirty-eight D bubbies, but they were just a little soft and starting to sag. Give her two or three years of really high living, and she'd have a pot on her. Her skin wasn't too bad, though, soft and pink like a baby's. Her calves were just a little too stocky, and she had plump thighs. They would get fatter, too. Right now she was at her peak. Maybe she could earn about fifty bucks for a good hour-long fucking session if she were still plying her trade. But he was practical enough to take what the gods of fortune gave, and not be too critical right now. Later, once he got his hands on some real dough, there would be time enough to pick and choose pussy.
Now her stockinged legs wrapped over his bottom as she began to arch her cunt up to take his digs and to kiss him hard on the mouth and to pant hoarsely, "Oh God, make it last a long time, lover, I'm going to bubble all my juice up if you keep on fucking me and work it out-oh Al, I'm so hot when you screw me-you just drive me cracy! Even the Johns I used to lay could never get little Belle here worked up the way you do just by pushing your big hard cock into my little puss-oh lover, frig me, too-tickle my button and make me burst!"
He knew that she liked to talk dirty when she fucked, and he accommodated her. He could thus express his contempt for her while at the same time enjoying a good screwing and working her up to really putting out. She didn't have too much variety to offer, although she could French, but then, all whores knew how to do that. She wouldn't let him bugger her, and that was one thing he always wanted to do to a broad. Another thing she wouldn't let him do was give it to her from behind while she knelt on all fours on the bed, wriggling her big ass. But she didn't like that either. Most of the time they did it the "Missionary" way, with him on top and her legs wrapped around him the way they were right now. Of course, that was nice and thrilling, but a man wanted variety when he poked pussy. And a young bitch who was just being broken in, maybe around nineteen or twenty, would be glad and happy and wild to try everything in the world to please him, because he was her first guy. He would really like to take a piece of cherry and polish it into something really first-class in bed.
These ideas excited him, and of course Belle, beneath him, thought she was the inspiration for his sudden digging back and forth. He put his forefinger between them and found her clitoris, and began to rub it back and forth while she moaned, bucking and twisting her big bottom, the cheeks contracting and yawning spasmodically as she groaned and sobbed with her delight.
And then suddenly the cataclysm hit her, and he began to feel the cuntwalls grip his prick and tax all his self-control, until he couldn't hold it back any more. With a bellow of delight, he thrust a last time to the balls and felt himself explode, and they rocked back and forth until at last Belle was on top of him, panting and sobbing in her bliss.
Thus Al Barker had cemented his union with the amoral cocktail waitress who was to play such a vital part in the destiny of unsuspecting Beth Calhoun.
CHAPTER THREE
About eighteen miles south of Joliet, the little town of Keston quartered on its northeastern boundary the newest branch of the state reformatory for girls and women. It had been in existence only two years, and it was located in a little farm town of about eighteen hundred inhabitants. There was a main street, one movie house, a drug store, a department store, a farm equipment and supply shop, a gasoline station and mechanics facility, and a grocery store. Not that all this would have mattered to the occupants of the Keston Women's Reformatory, for they did not see the outside of the walled-in penal institution to which they were committed.
There were, at the present time, two hundred and sixty-five occupants, ranging in age from seventeen to the oldest, who was forty-one, a perennial thief whose last offense had been a charge of transporting stolen goods in which some marijuana was found.
She herself was awaiting transfer to the Women's State Penitentiary and would have to go back to court to face a charge which would alter her status and lengthen her imprisonment.
But as she was a dowdy, hard-faced and unattractive creature, her loss would mean nothing to Alma Burbage, the superintendent of Keston. For Alma, who was the cousin of a state representative in Springfield-which was one reason she had got the job-was a notorious Lesbian and sadist.
Alma Burbage was thirty-six, black-haired, stern-faced and about five feet eight inches in height, with a svelte, rather athletic body. She had tawny skin, small but beautifully formed orange-like titties, and a boyishly compact bottom still quite firm and resilient. Her best features were her long, shapely thighs and the smooth, satiny quality of her bare skin. Her "pets" were made to appreciate these features, for Alma liked nothing better than to be gamahuched by an exceptionally pretty young girl-especially one who had never done anything like that before and was forced to it by a threat of a week of solitary confinement and being strung up by the thumbs and given a taste of the blacksnake whip by Matron Flossie Durkin.
Alma Burbage and Flossie Durkin were two of a kind; indeed, they had gone to the same high school in Galena. Flossie was thirty-eight, and her hair was the color of wheat, curly and unruly. She was stocky but attractive all the same, with big, jutting titties, a splendidly Amazonian behind which was still firm and could go without a corset or a girdle, and an exceptionally pale white skin which for her age was quite remarkable. But her face was cold and cruel, and her gray-green eyes could make a young girl shudder when they fixed lingeringly on her.
Both women had this one thing in common: they hated men, because each of them had been jilted by a lover they had trusted. They had given their cherries to two different men, and each of those man had betrayed them, made a laughing stock of of them, and then flaunted their replacements in their face. Alma, when she was twenty, a trusting virgin, keeping house for her ailing mother and dying father. A traveling salesman had come to sell her a vacuum cleaner which Alma was going to buy anyway, and he had been so fascinating and thoughtful and considerate, that Alma, starved for affection and cooped up in the house with her elderly parents, had fallen madly in love with him.
He had taught her how to French him, he had fucked her, he had undressed her and talked poetry to her while he got her naked, then while she was half-fainting with desire and shame, he had licked her cunt and tickled her thighs and bottom until she heard herself begging him to give it to her. And he had done just that.
A couple of weeks of fucking, and Alma Burbage had believed that she and Mack Radimer were going to be married and live the happiest life that any passionately devoted couple ever could.
She had a false alarm of pregnancy, and told him on his next trip in town, for his headquarters were in East St. Louis. To her horror and dismay, he had laughed in her face and said, "Now look, Alma baby, let's be sensible. You fuck like a mink, and I'm not here to see whom you're sleeping with every day. Probably it's not my brat anyhow. Besides, I've got news for you. They're going to transfer me to the Ozarks starting next week, and I've already got me a cute little gal. Fact is, I think I'm going to marry her. I want you to meet her. She's about seventeen, a real sweet kid and nice as they come."
She had fainted at that shocking news, and a week later she had had a letter from her treacherous lover, enclosing a picture of his fiancee with a body-doll face and a voluptuous young Venus-like body. As it turned out, Mack Radimer didn't marry that girl either, but the effect was the same on poor Alma Burbage. She became sour and hard and stern. When her parents died two years later, she took what money she had and went to school to learn about sociology and to do penal work. She had one burning obsession in life, and that was to punish all the wicked young bitches who would lure men away from their rightful mates. And eventually she got to work as a guard, helped quell a mutiny, so when the new addition to the state reformatory was built, her distant cousin in Springfield proposed her name before his colleagues, and she was voted in without one dissenting vote.
In her two years of reign over Keston, Alma Burbage was vindictively enjoying her newly acquired power. Every girl whom she had confined to solitary and turned over to Flossie Durkin for a whipping, every girl she punished herself and forced under the strap or paddle or the hairbrush to crawl between her legs and gamahuch her represented that innocent fiancee of Mack Radimer's.
As for Flossie Durkin, when she was twenty-five, she had fallen madly in love with a married man who had conned her, practical and hard-minded though she was. He was going to divorce his wife and marry her, he told her. And because Flossie had a brutal stepfather and an ailing mother-nothing like Alma's-she had to stay home until she was past her early twenties, because she didn't want to trust her mother to that bastard. Several times he had tried to fuck her, and several times he had taken the strap to her until she had wanted to kill him.
So when John Colton came along and told her she was beautiful and desirable and had an exotic quality to her that made him want to give up everything in the world and be with her, Flossie Durkin swallowed it hook, line and sinker. She gave him her cherry, too, though she was really somewhat reluctant about intimacy between a man and a woman. She had seen her stepfather fuck her mother before and mother got sick, and the brutal, animal-like way he had done it had sickened her.
But John Colton was such an expert lover, using his lips and fingers and tongue, not hurrying, not forcing, and Flossie had been lulled into yielding and had actually experienced bliss after the initial pain of losing her cherry.
After six months she had timidly asked John Colton when they could be married, and he had gently told her that things had gone from bad to worse and his wife refused to give him a divorce. She made an anonymous phone call one evening, and she discovered that John Colton's wife didn't even know that he was in the middle of an affair and was deeply in love with him. Agitated, Flossie hung up. It didn't do her very much good to read in the newspaper a few weeks later that Mrs. John Colton was suing her husband for infidelity. By then she was sick of men.
She drifted from one job to another after her mother died, about six months after that, until finally Alma Burbage, in her new job, hired her away from a tough nightclub where she was a hostess fending off men and already starting to give the eye to pretty young girls and handsome young matrons who wanted to rub pussy and gam in turn. And as head matron of Keston, Flossie Durkin was able to vent her own vindictive spleen on attractive girls and women and to make them love her, and to make up for perfidious John Colton's treachery.
Thus there was a fearful bond of sadistic and Lesbian lust between these two strange women whose only amatory experience with the opposite sex had been so ironically flawed. And the two of them also were destined to alter the life of innocent Beth Calhoun.
CHAPTER FOUR
Flossie Durkin, in her white matron's dress, white stockings and shoes, exactly like that of a hospital, was rolling up the sleeves to display her powerful biceps. She had taken off her cap and unbuttoned her dress to give herself a little more freedom of movement, because she had a habit of perspiring when she was giving a good whipping-just as she was about to do now.
She was down in the basement of the prison, and on this north-side section of the basement under the main building, there were two solitary cells known as the "holes," with just enough peepholes for air to get in, but no windows and no light, and only a hard narrow cot and a stool.
Beyond and to the right of these "holes" was a huge cell, with all sorts of equipment for punishment, and here it was that Flossie operated most of the time when she had punishment in mind.
Alma Burbage shared Flossie Durkin's more than nominal interest in all those devices which could be used to make female prisoners uncomfortable when they were being prepared for a good sound spanking or a whipping. There was a pillory, a low, flat bench with several sets of buckling straps, and there was also a very heavy whipping ladder. But Flossie's particular pride and joy, and something she had devised herself from watching an old German movie which had to do with a cruel boarding school where naughty girls were thrashed as they properly deserved, was a very simple and effective device, it consisted simply of a pair of metal rings attached to heavy straps which were lowered from the ceiling by a kind of pulley. Actually, they were nothing more nor less than gymnasium exercise rings, the type with which people do somersaults and cutoffs. But here at Keston, they had a far more sinister purpose. They were about to be demonstrated now, as Flossie Durkin, about to roll up her sleeves, stared greedily at the sobbing, whimpering young girl who was held between two of her subordinate matrons, and who had been sentenced to a thrashing for having dared to slap one of them across the face for making an indecent proposal to her.
The girl was Beatrice Dudley. She was eighteen, she was a runaway from home, all the way from Ohio, she had taken up with a boy in Chicago's Old Town, shacked up with him, and then when he had been picked up by the police for possession of narcotics, she had nobly tried to help him by taking some of the cache and trying to get rid of it herself. When she had been picked up, she had been found with about half a pound of marijuana and a dozen bottles of barbiturates, though she herself was not a user. The upshot was that she was sentenced to Keston for two years. She had been here exactly two months, and because her beauty was vivid, Flossie Durkin had lusted for her cunt, although she knew that Beatrice was no virgin and had had a very passionate love affair with her man before she was sentenced.
But Beatrice found Lesbian love odius, and she had resisted even her cellmate's advances, until the latter, a boldly handsome red-haired prostitute of twenty, had told her, "You stupid little bitch, somebody's going to get your girl-cherry here, and at least if I do it, I can protect you. But if you're that way, go ahead. Get yourself raped by a bull dagger like Henshaw or Burton or even the head bitch, that lousy Flossie!"
And so a few days ago, when Assistant Matron Clara Henshaw had come into Beatrice's cell while her cellmate was having an interview with Alma Burbage, who was about to tell her that her request for parole had been turned down by the board, Clara Henshaw had put a hand on Beatrice's tittie and whispered, "If you're a good girl, you little sweetheart, I can make things a good deal easier for you."
And in her shame and disgust, poor Beatrice had made the mistake of slapping the woman, a cardinal offense.
She had been thrown in the "hole" for twenty-four hours, and now she had been brought out, having lived on a diet of bread and water, and was about to be whipped for her mutinous insubordination.
Mabel Burton, the other matron holding the terrified young beauty, winked at Flossie Durkin: "Should we peel her down, Flossie honey?"
"You said it! Down to just her pants. I don't even want any stockings on her. I'm in good form today, and I want to raise some marks on that cute bitch's bare legs."
"But you're going to leave her pants on?" Clara Henshaw echoed with a scowl.
"Relax, Clara. Maybe I'm going to whip them off her, that's what," the head matron chuckled, and Clara Henshaw grinned and nodded hearty approval. Then she muttered to the weeping Beatrice, "I just wish I was the one to snake you, you uppity little snot! But when Flossie gets done with you, you'll be begging me to come take you to my room and love you up. And maybe I will and maybe I won't. Now you're really gonna get it, baby!"
So saying the two women began to tug off the gray prison dress and the cheap white cotton slip of the sobbing young girl, and then the equally cheap cotton brassiere, then the coarse black cotton stockings and the workshoes. Beatrice was reduced to just her white cotton panties, but these nonetheless molded out her voluptuous young ass like a second skin, and all three women visually devoured those Callipygian charms, as they did the panting young naked titties of the unfortunate young beauty.
Meanwhile, Flossie Dukin strode to the wall and lowered the rings. When they were just about at the height of the women's shoulders, Matron Henshaw seized one of Beatrice's wrists and tied it with a cord around the ring, while Matron Burton did the same with the other wrist. Flossie now touched the spring which motivated the straps of the pulley and lofted it slowly, until with a shriek, Beatrice found herself drawn up till her toes just left the floor, her head tilting back, and her magnificent and almost naked body spectacularly displayed. This was what Flossie Durkin loved most, to see a naked girl kick under the blacksnake or the switch or the paddle or the cane, or even the hairbrush or her hand. She was an avid reader of books on whipping and had an extensive library of her own in her private quarters. Sometimes, out of sheer sadism, she would compel a girl who was sentenced to a whipping to kneel down on the floor and read aloud from one of those books, while she sat in-just her slip, which was pulled high up on her thighs to show her hairy cunt, brandishing a paddle or a hairbrush menacingly while the terrified girl continued to read the salacious details of the sound thrashing to some fictional heroine. At the conclusion of the reading, Flossie would enact the particular section with the unfortunate female had been compelled to read to her.
Beatrice Dudley had long black hair, almost down to her hips. She had been mocked as a "hippie" because she had been picked up in Chicago's Old Town, headquarters for the "flower children." Usually such hair was cut upon entrance to the prison, but both Alma Burbage and Flossie Durkin agreed that so delicious a girl looked the more feminine and desirable with long hair, especially if she were clad in nothing but that. So they had simply ordered the prison doctor to inspect her for lice, then give her a good shampoo and fumigation.
She was about five feet six inches in height, with a gentle, wistful, oval-shaped face, blue eyes, a delicate, straight nose and a full, generous mouth. Her titties were really magnificent. They tilted upwards, conical, widely spaced, and they seemed made of pure ivory with tiny blue veins, dark coral, narrow aurolae, and pert, saucy dark nipples. Her bellybutton was deep and narrow, and her cunt was tickly furred with black curls which reached even along the perineum towards her ass-hole. She had beautifully rounded thighs and sleek, curvaceously rounded calves; but best of all, so far as Floosie Durkin was concerned, as she lovingly fingered the blacksnake which she took down from a peg on the wall in front of the distraught, half-naked beauty, was that Beatrice had a soft olive skin which would mark beautifully with the lash.
The blacksnake whip was about five feet long, with a short, thick handle, and Flossie Durkin was an expert at wielding it. She could flick it so that a cigarette would be plucked out of a girl's mouth, and she could tear off a girl's panties with a dextrose flick or two. She had such expertise that she never broke the skin. There was always the possibility of a visit from penal officials, and when that happened, Alma's cousin always warned her in advance. The girls who had recently been whipped or tortured, were naturally sequestered in the "hole" or elsewhere so that one could see them, and the girls who knew the terrible things that had been done to the luckless inmates because they had refused to gamahuch or pussyrub knew better than to blab to any visitor, lest they too find themselves in this "meditation room," as Flossie Durkin herself facetiously called it, where Beatrice Dudley was at this moment destined to experience her punishment.
Flossie Durkin moved behind the sobbing girl, who frantically tried to turn her head over her shoulder to watch her executioner. The other two matrons avidly watched the play of Beatrice's muscles, and they could see the dark tufts of armpit hair dampened by the girl's agony-sweat which began to rivulet down her dark-sheened sides. But their eyes feasted most on the panty sheathed bottom, which was always Flossie Durkin's favorite target. Beatrice had broad oval ass-cheeks, with a gradually widening cleft which the coarse panties shaped out in the most licentious way. They were firm and jouncy, as Matron Henshaw knew from having pinched them while she and her colleague had dragged the pleading, terrified young girl out of her solitary cell to the "meditation room."
"Well now, Beatrice darling," Flossie Durkin purred sadistically as she measured the length of the blacksnake whip and calculated the distance of her target on the shuddering, almost naked body dangling in the air before her, "I'll bet you're sorry now you dared to lift your hand against a matron here, I'll bet."
"Oh yes! But you don't know, Matron, she--she said something filthy to me-she-she-I'm ashamed to tell you-"
"The dirty, lying little bitch!" Clara Henshaw hissed, "skin that ass of hers good for her, Flossie dear."
"Don't you worry, Clara, she'll get her share. But come now, Beatrice honey, you're among women now, just like yourself. What did Clara go ahead and say to you, huh? Tell me. I won't talk to anybody else, you can count on it. I'm the head matron here, and don't your ever forget it."
Thus deceived, and in her frantic shame and even greater fear of the whip, poor Beatrice babbled, "She-she wanted me to-to have s-sex, with her, Matron. But I couldn't. Oliver was my boyfriend, and I loved him, and I couldn't ever-"
"That's enough!" Flossie Durkin snapped, cracking the whip angrily in the air. "Come here and boast about the fucking you did that got you into trouble. Taking up with a drug peddler, no less. Why, if I had been the judge, I'd have given you twenty years? So she wanted to have sex with you, did she? Well, Beatrice, before I'm through with you, you're going to think twice about saying no to any matron here who wants something of you, you understand me? Now, let's just see whether I can heat you up as much as this fine Oliver of yours you keep talking about. Let's just see honey!"
Licking her lips with relish, Flossie Durkin drew back the blacksnake and darted it forward, drawing back her wrist with an expert flick. The cruel whip curled around the tops of Beatrice's naked firm round titties, biting cruelly and leaving a fiery circle of pain, and the naked girl shrieked and lunged this way and that, the pulley straps creaking their protest as she kicked frenziedly about.
"Take her pants off for her, Flossie honey," Mabel Burton advised in a hoarse voice. "I can't wait to see the big firm ass of hers get licked!"
"No hurry, Mabel girl. I just want to paint a little pattern on Beatrice's nice soft skin there, that's all. Time enough to go to work on her ass when I'm through there," Flossie Durkin promised.
"Just wait till I get my second wind."
Without warning, she cast out the whip the way a fisherman casts out a trolling line and drew back her wrist with a savage flick. Once again the blacksnake curled around the half-naked body dangling in the air, this time just under those two shuddering titties, leaving another agonizing circle of crimson torment imprinted on the warm olive satin of Beatrice Dudley's defenseless skin.
"Awrrrrrrrghrrr!! ! Oh my God, it hurts, it hurts! Oh, don't beat me like that-you've got no right-you're not supposed to treat prisoners like this, oh God, I'll tell, I'll tell the superintendent!" Beatrice shrieked in her torment.
"Well, girls, we've got another jailhouse lawyer here, looks to me," Flossie Durkin announced with a wink at her two cronies. "She's right, you know. But you see, Beatrice honey, you ain't never gonna get the chance to tell nobody. And even if you do get to Miss Burbage, it's her orders I'm giving you the snake, if you really want to know. So you just be a nice, humble, obedient girl and do whatever the matrons tell you to the next time, and you won't ever have to be here again. Mmmmmm, you sure have a nice soft sensitive skin. Look at those nice red marks I've left already, and you've only had two cuts. Why, we got all afternoon ahead of us, just you and me, honey. There now, how does that feel?"
This time she struck vertically and diagonally, and the blacksnake cracked against the top of poor
Beatrice's right shoulder and drew an angry welt down to the waistband of the cheap cotton panties. Again Beatrice tilted back her head, kicked wildly forward, dragging on her bound wrists as she swung and twisted madly in the air, uttering a wild, agonized cry of pain.
Now, playfully, Flossie Durkin flicked out the snake to circle the girl's struggling naked thighs, and the crack of the lash was echoed by a piercing scream.
"Oh don't Oh, you're killing me-it burns-it cuts me-I can't stand it-I'll tell-I swear I'll tell-you can't do this-I know my rights!"
"Stupid little bitch, she's just asking for it, Flossie," Mable Burton sneered.
"And she's going to get everything she asks for and a little extra dose besides, for slapping Clara," the head matron of Keston vengefully declared.
Flossie Durkin lowered the whip and contemplated with satisfaction the handiwork she had thus far achieved. Whimpering and moaning, the unfortunate, almost-naked girl dangled from the rings, her fingers clawing them, her naked bubbies rising anf falling in turbulent agitation. Sweat oozed down her naked sides now, and the tufts of her armpits were matted, and the acrid odor of her sweat filled the room. It was a king of cantharide, and it affected the three sadistic matrons. Both Mabel Burton and Clara Hensaw were sent to surreptitiously rub their crotches, to lick their lips, their eyes humid, wide, and glazed with lust. And into Flossie Durkin's cold eyes there came a sinister glow of lustful joy. For in her mind's eye she was whipping the treacherous, pretty little bitch who had taken Mack Radimer away from her.
Now, taking a deep breath, she began to whip in earnest. The blacksnake whip curled wickedly around Beatrice's belly, waist and upper thighs, sparing the button and sparing the titties themselves, for these were to be treated to Flossie's own viciously cunning dosage later on, to compel the young brunette prisoner to surrender herself to the perversities of Lesbian love.
Sometimes, out of caprice, the head matron of Keston sent the blacksnake whip coiling around one of those beautiful naked arms dragged up, and once or twice she deftly flicked the whip right into Beatrice Budley's mossy armpits, drawing frenzied and prolonged shrieks of agony, followed by the most salacious and involuntary kicks and gyrations. Spinning around like a puppet on a string jerked by a capricious master puppeteer, the tortured young girl writhed and twisted and kicked and bent interminably, while the eyes of the other two matrons riveted on her body, registering every spasm, every involuntary kick, every rictus of that lovely, beleagured face.
After about thirty lashes, Beatrice's head sagged, and her stertorous breathing indicated that she was almost unconscious. Her body was covered with circular weals, diagonal and horizontal welts, some bright, some turning dark, and some already turning livid with purple tint of intolerable pain. Her body was drenched with sweat, and in her agony she had even pissed, for at her crotch was a huge damp stain of body fluids showing on her cotton panties, a fact which the other two matrons commented upon with obscene merriment.
Flossie Durkin made a sign and Mabel Burton picked up a bucket full of brine, water into which several pounds of salt had been steeping overnight. This she sloshed over the half-fainting girl's shuddering body, and slowly Beatrice raised her head, her eyes glazed and huge with suffering, trying to speak, inarticulate groans escaping her trembling lips.
"M-m-mercy-h-h-have m-m-mercy-I-can't st-stand any m-m-more-oh my God-you haven't any right-you're killing me-oh please, that's enough-let me down-i'm dying-"
"You're faking, you mean, you little slut," Clara Henshaw sneered as she walked forward and gave Beatrice Dudley's bottom a vicious pinch, making the girl jerk and scream and kick and twist.
"Don't you worry. Flossie knows how to wake you up. Go on, Flossie, tear those pants off now," Clara urged.
"Not this time. You can pull them down, though, if you've a mind to, Clara honey," Flossie Durkin laughed.
The stout, gray-haired matron waddled forward, inserted her hand into the waistband of the garment and yanked it down until the panties twisted around the middle of the victim's thighs. The thick bush of her cunthole was seen now, and the untouched, olive-sheened oval-shaped globes of her magnificent ass was completely exposed.
Then Glossie Durkin took a step backwards, slightly more to the left, swung back the whip and brought it straight down across the summits of the girl's naked ass-cheeks. With a wild cry, the young brunette plunged forward, the pulley creaking wildly, and she twisted her contorted face over her shoulder to implore mercy.
Again and again the blacksnake attacked the luscious nether globes of the unfortunate young sufferer. After a dozen cuts, Flossie expertly made the whip curl around the loins and ass of the unfortunate sufferer, and Beatrice at last cried out, "Oh stop-I'll do anything-are you going to kill me-Oh my god-have mercy on me-I can't stand it-I'll do anything!"
"Let's just see," Flossie purred. Raising her arm again, she whisked the whip forward. A maddened shriek attested to the accuracy of that new blow: the blacksnake whip curled exactly across the centers of both panting titties, marring their satiny perfection with the livid, ignominious mark of the lash. Frenzied, unable to bear such indescribable suffering, Beatrice Dudley kicked and jerked her body wildly, uttering shriek upon shriek, and then a tumult of babbling words professed her willingness to obey, her repentance for having struck a matron, her eagerness to prove her obedience and submission.
At a sign, Mabel Burton lowered the pulley until Beatrice sprawled upon the ground, panting and groaning, tears coursing down her contorted face.
"Go to it, Clara!" the head matron panted.
And then, cackling obscenely, the stout gray-haired matron tugged off her uniform, her slip, and then the heavy lycra corselet and then her panties. In only her shoes and stockings, grotesquely naked, blabby, she flung herself down on the whimpering, nude young girl and began to cuntrub, commanding Beatrice to kiss her and to rub back unless she wished to be returned to the rings and to dance in the air under the blacksnake again. And this time Beatrice did not rebel.
CHAPTER FIVE
Belle Crandon had already noticed that the girl who lived next door was really a dish. They had met a couple of times in the hall and exchanged the usual amenities, and Belle had already summed Beth Calhoun up as a typical small town cherry who didn't know which way was up. And since Al Barker had told her to be on the lookout for just such a contact who might lead them to the promised land of a quick get-away profit, Belle decided to work on the unsuspecting brunette.
But this particular Saturday, just a week after Al Barker and Belle Crandon had cemented their unholy pact with a good hot fucking session, Belle met the charming young Peoria girl in the hallway just in front of the incinerator chute in the act of dropping her sack of garbage, a task on which the brassy blonde was similarly engaged. "Oh, hi there, honey," Belle gushed with one of her most radiant smiles. She had used it to great advantage as a hostess when she was on the make for a protector with cash to spend on her rent, before she had run into Al Barker, and she was now determined to give a sterling performance as an actress so as to entrap this very likely and very lovely dupe.
Beth Calhoun made the fatal error of confiding a joyous piece of news to her neighbor. After all, it was only natural, because she had absolutely no friends in Chicago, and she was still living in a little fear of Dennis Henderson, her belligerent stepfather who had threatened to strap her good and who had already driven her away from home by the way he had been treating her mother. So she returned the smile radiantly, which only made her the more lovely, and exclaimed, "Isn't it a beautiful day!"
"Say there, honey" Belle chuckled, "you sure seem to have had some good news. What's it all about? I've been noticing you the last week or so, and you sure don't act like a big-city girl."
"I'm not. I-well, it doesn't matter, but I came here to find a job and make out on my own, you see."
"Anybody can see that, honey. And good luck to you. Now what's the good news?" Belle wanted to know.
"Well, I've only been with this insurance agency a few weeks, and they've already promoted me and given me a raise and I'm to start in the claims department on Monday," Beth Calhoun confided.
Belle's larcenous brain began to go into high gear. She remembered what Al Barker had told her about trying to get next to somebody who had access to money orders or checks, and she knew enough about insurance to understand that anybody who worked in the claims department would have plenty of checks around all the time. Insurance companies were always paying off claims and their checks didn't bounce. Now if only she could get next to this little bitch and work out some way to get hold of a good big stack of those insurance checks, she and Al could fly off to Rio in a cloud of dust and kiss the Windy City good-bye forever.
"Why. I think that's wonderful!" she cooed. "It really calls for a celebration. Say-you really don't know anybody here in this town, do you, honey?"
Beth shook her head. "Not really, just you, Miss Crandon."
"Aw, for gosh sakes, call me Belle. Everybody else does," the brassy blonde giggled. "Tell you what. I'm going to throw a little shindig tonight, and I might just have a nice guy over. He'd love to meet a doll like you. Why don't you come and have supper with us?"
"Oh, I couldn't!" Beth blushed demurely and looked all the more adorable for doing so. "I-I don't want to force myself on-"
"Now don't be silly, or Mama spank!" Belle chided. "I won't take no for an answer. It won't be anything imagine. It's too hot to cook, really, even with the air-conditioner going. My place ain't much bigger than yours, I don't guess. But anyhow, I have some cold chicken and cheese and stuff like that and some beer and you can relax and let down your hair. Speaking about hair, yours is awful pretty."
Again Beth Calhoun blushed. She was very proud of her dark brown hair which she wore styled in a very thick pageboy with the curls turned under. "You're awfully nice. You're sure it won't put you out any?" she hesitantly asked.
"Now don't be silly, honey! Of course it won't. Me, I'm lonesome for company just as much as you are. And anyhow, you'll like this fellow. His name is Al Barker, and he's awfully considerate and he's a gentleman."
Again Beth blushed deliciously. It was true that she was beginning to entertain notions of finding herself a fellow, someone who could protect her and love her and make her feel safe forever against the menace of her stepfather. Once she was under a real man's protection, she told herself, she wouldn't have to worry ever again. Of course she just hoped and prayed that poor Mom would get away from that awful man, but Mom seemed to be in love with him, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why. She certainly wouldn't love anybody who beat her up and left bruises on her the way Dennis Henderson had done on Mom. "Well, I don't know about that," she hedged, "but it's awfully nice of you. I'll be there, then, and thank you ever so much."
"My pleasure, honey. Why don't you just knock at the door around seven o'clock and we'll be all set for supper and we'll go on from there?"
No sooner had Beth Calhoun got back to her apartment, her eyes glowing and her cheeks deli-ciously flushed, then Belle Crandon hurried back to hers and picked up the phone and called Al at his rooming house about a mile away. "Listen, lover, I think we've got our first real break," she exclaimed eagerly once his resonant voice came on the other end of the phone.
"What's up, baby? I was just going to call you, anyhow. How'd you like to go out and paint the town red?"
"I've got a better idea, Al. You remember you were telling me about finding some dope who might be working in a place where they've got checks and money orders?"
"Sure I do. It's still the first order of business for you and me if we're going to make a quick haul and blow this lousy town," Al Barker replied.
"Well, my next-door neighbor turns out to be a gorgeous chick from some small town-I think it's Peoria. Anyhow, she works in an insurance company, see? And she just now told me she got promoted starting Monday to work in the claims department. Don't they have checks there?"
"Belle, you've hit the jackpot! I knew you were lucky the first time I laid eyes on you, baby. Now what's the plan?"
"I ought to be jealous as hell, but this is for both of us, darling," the brassy blonde cooed lovingly. "But I invited her over for supper tonight, see, and I told her there was a real handsome guy I wanted her to meet. That's you, lover."
"Hey now! What's in that scheming little mind of yours, honey?"
"Well, you're going to fall for this little bitch, see, Al? I just sort of felt her out and she doesn't have a boyfriend and she's darned lonesome and I'll bet she's just wetting her panties every night and playing fingers, if you know what I mean."
"I get the picture. So I'm supposed to be her new boyfriend, is that your idea?"
"That's it. But don't rush this little girl, Al. Sort of play a nice easy palsy-walsy type, if you know what I mean."
"Don't you worry, I'll get into her panties if that's what has to be done."
"All right, but not too often and you better not like it more that you like to get into mine," Belle warned.
"Listen, baby, you and me are set for Rio, don't forget it. This is just part of the deal, that's all. Hell, I'd make love to the fat lady in the circus if I thought it would get us our stake. And then it's you and me and a nice villa and servants and steaks and champagne for the rest of our lives," Al Barker conned the cocktail hostess. "Anyhow, I got something that'll make our little small town girl really go for me."
"What's that, lover?"
"You ever heard of Spanish fly? I got some, and it's guaranteed to work. You don't use too much, just enough to get a girl starting to itch down in her little spot. And lover boy here will take care of the rest. I'll have ear eating out of my hand and doing anything to get you and me that book of claim checks just so she can have another fucking."
"Well, I won't say no to that, Al darling. Only if I thought for a minute you were going to get real cozy with that little bitch and cut me out, I'd really work her over!" Belle Crandon fiercely declared.
"Now listen, honey, be reasonable. After the night you and I had do you think I'm gonna give it up just for a one-night stand with a hayseed little virgin from the sticks who probably never even let a guy put his hand under her skirt? But this little Spanish fly we're gonna put into her drink tonight, that'll get her little cooze so heated up and creamy she won't know whether she's coming or going. You wait, in a week or so, we'll have a nice big pad of claim checks and we can pass some real paper and then beat it. Now I'll see you tonight."
"I told her you were a nice gentleman type, see, Al?"
"Leave it to me, baby. I'll make her think I'm her long-lost brother."
* * *
Belle Crandon was in the kitchen making some iced coffee, and keeping an eye on her boyfriend to see how the latter was making out with luscious Beth Calhoun. The charming your brunette from Peoria was obviously quite flattered by Al Barker's attentions. He had put on his best pinstripe suit, had a haircut, and looked extremely debonair. He was playing it easy, chatting calmly with her and not pressing anything. And she was responding, being drawn out of her shell, telling him all about her stepfather and how worried she was about her mother and how she had left Peoria because she just couldn't stand to be beaten by Dennis Henderson and how proud she was of finding her job all by herself and her apartment and getting a raise and everything.
The Spanish fly, a tiny little gray capsule, had already been dropped into Beth's tall glass of black coffee with a little whipped cream on top and a cube of sugar. Belle was stirring it and saying prayers that it would work just the way Al thought.
"Your company pays a lot of claims, I imagine," Al was saying as he lit a cigarette, offered Beth one, but she smilingly shook her head.
"No thanks, I don't smoke. Yes, I guess it does. Mr. Windrow, he's going to be my new boss, I saw him yesterday afternoon when they told me I was being promoted, and he told me that one of my jobs would be to check the claims forms and see if they are made out properly. Lots of people try to swindle an insurance company, you know."
"I know, and it's a darn shame," Al Barker fervently declared shaking his head and looking very righteous. "I suppose you'll be writing out checks too once you make sure the claims are good?"
"No, that isn't my job. But I know the girl who does that. She's awfully nice, her name is Rosie Borchard and she's married and she's about five years older than I am. My goodness, I don't know what's got into me to talk so much. I hardly know you, and yet I feel so at home here."
"That's a very nice compliment, Beth," Al Barker smiled. He hadn't yet made the mistake of putting his arm around this sweet little bitch, but he was already feeling a familiar throbbing in his prick. He'd rather have a girl like this than Belle any day in the week and twice on Sunday. She was really stacked, and that white skin, and those big expressive brown eyes and that ripe red mouth he was just dying to kiss and stick his tongue between. Just as he was dying to stick his prick between those nice round thighs of hers. She had on a brown rayon skirt, rather modestly cut, just to her knees, but they were dimpled and delightfully rounded, he could see that. She had on smoke'-colored nylons, and through the thin dress he could make out the outline of her white nylon bra and panty set and just the outline of the garter belt which kept her stockings up. He'd like to have her down in just garter belt and stockings and really fuck the little bitch, he thought to himself. And this Spanish fly was going to do the trick.
"Here's something nice and cool, iced coffee with whipped cream and I've put one lump of sugar in, dear." Belle said effusively as she came in with a tray with two other glasses for herself and Al.
"Oh that's very nice! I do like iced coffee so much," Beth said gratefully as she took her glass and took a long sip. Belle and Al exchanged conspiratorial glances, and Belle nodded imperceptibly as she went back to the kitchen to put away the tray.
Al meanwhile turned on TV and soon Beth was giggling over a comedy show by Dick Van Dyke. Al sat beside her on the couch, about a foot away, glancing at her stealthily from time to time. After about a quarter of an hour, he saw that her face was slightly flushed and that those beautiful titties of hers were beginning to rise and fall a little more quickly. She put a hand to her forehead: "My goodness, it's so warm in here!"
"I'll open the window, honey."
"Don't wreck the air-conditioning, Al dear," Belle said warningly.
"That's right. Maybe I can fan you. Here, or better still, why don't you turn the air conditioner up to high, Belle girl?" Al Barker suggested. Belle shrugged, walked to the window and pressed the button. The humming of the fan grew louder and a cooler breeze seemed to waft towards the couch. But it didn't seem to make much difference to luscious
Beth Calhoun. She was now experiencing the throes of the mysterious and very powerful cantharide which had been put into her coffee and which was now filtering through her nervous system.
Her head tilted back, and she closed her eyes. Her hands were in her lap, her fingers were twisting. They seemed to rumple up her skirt a little, and Al's greedy eyes could see the lovely contours of her lower thighs with the hint of beautiful curves to come. Now she crossed one leg over the other, nervously swinging the uppermost foot back and forth. She flexed her foot, and the pump dropped off and she sighed, "Oh my, I don't know what's got into me, I really don't."
"Nothing to worry about. Just too much sun today, honey," Al said solicitously.
But now Beth's hands grasped her skirt and rumpled it upwards, and Al couldn't help seeing the beautifully rounded curves of her thighs sheathed in smoke-colored nylon. The smoke tint made her white skin even more delicious, and he really felt a hard-on. But a glance from Belle warned him not to start action too fast, lest he spoil everything. Moreover, he had no such intention.
"Why don't you relax and put your head against my shoulder, Beth honey," he suggested gently as he slyly put his arm around her waist and moved a little closer to her. "That's it, just lean back, that's a good girl. You'll be fine in a minute."
"I really don't know what's happening to me, Mr. Barker. It's so strange. I feel so funny. I'm not sick, but I just feel-warm and sort of restless," Beth confided. By now her voice had become husky, and this also gave her more of a bedroom atmosphere so far as the con man was concerned. He could smell the perfume of her body and her hair mingled with the delicious acridity of her sweat, for the dose of cantharide was making her perspire quite profusely. And he felt her thigh quivering against his, and the ache in his balls grew more agonizing than ever. But he was a voluptuary enough not to want to rush things, and also, suspecting that she was truly a virgin, he didn't intend to break her cherry. What he was going to do was work her to come with his fingers and tongue, and then she would really be grateful to him. She would still be cherry but she would know what it was to be a woman. It was a masterstroke.
"You're really a very sweet girl, Beth. I'd sure like to take care of you. Just lean your head back, that's right. Let old Uncle Al here take good care of you. Nobody's going to hurt you while I'm around, that's for sure," he said gently to her.
Trustingly Beth had leaned her head back, her eyes closed, but he could see from the parted trembling lips and the flaring of her nostrils that the drug was really getting to her. And her hands kept scrabbling up her skirt, till by now it had reached nearly her stocking tops. Her legs were crossed, but now she uncrossed them and crossed them with her left leg on top and began to waggle that pump until that one too fell off. She was flexing her toes, they were dainty and delightfully made, and he licked his lips and wanted pussy the worst way. Belle was standing at the window, glaring at him. Even though she knew that this was for their mutual cause, she wasn't too happy about it. She didn't have enough voyeuristic instinct to appreciate his technique. But he winked at her and gave her a smile and a nod and she felt a little better. Then he blew her a kiss with his free hand, and she giggled.
"Oh-I don't know what it is-I'm so warm-I feel as if I wanted to take off my clothes and I know I shouldn't-" Beth now suddenly confided, her voice now huskier than ever.
"Why not, honey? You're among friends. Belle there will chaperone us," Al Barker chuckled softly. He was watching the pulse beat in Beth's lovely round throat, and he wanted to kiss it. He yielded to his impulse, and when he did she gave soft little gasp and put one hand to the back of his head. His prick was nearly ready to tear out of his fly, so maddening was this contact, so innocently abandoned was that gesture of hers.
"It's so nice-to feel you looking after me-my goodness, what's happened to me-" she repeated in a kind of faint voice. Her beautiful titties were rising and falling violently now, and it was all he could do to keep from putting a hand on one of them and squeezing it and seeing it was real. He was pretty sure it was. Her bra was awfully skimpy. He wanted to take her other hand and put it down between his legs and let her feel what sort of a man he was and what he had saved up for her, but this wasn't the time or place. Wait until he got this cute little cherry-pussy all hepped up for him and him alone, when she didn't have any Spanish fly in her but just wanted her itchy pussy taken care of! Then he could really dump Belle and go off to Rio with this cute little chick! A girl was always grateful to the first man who fucked her and taught her what life was all about, he knew. But this girl had a lot more years of humping in her and a more gorgeous shape that wouldn't deteriorate with the years the way Bell's would that was for certain.
She moaned a little again, and at that moment Al Barker leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. Beth Calhoun gave a startled little sigh, then both her hands grasped the back of his head as she responded to the kiss, her lips parted and trembling. The sweet warm nectar of her breath fanned his nostrils, and he shivered. His arm tightened round her waist, and now his right hand came up to stroke her throat and feel the hammering pulse of her young life.
"Oh Al-what must you think of me-you're the first fellow I've actually really kissed-it's so funny-I'm so warm and it feels so nice here with you-I like you very much, Al," Beth Calhoun murmured in a distant voice. It was almost that of a little girl who was being overcome by emotions too great for her.
The kiss at last ended, and Beth Calhoun sighed deeply. She groped with one hand for his, and locked fingers with him, and then his mouth took hers again and with a little whimpering sob, she put her other arm around his shoulders and drew him tightly to her as their lips fused. Her legs were now crossed, the right leg over the left, and the skirt had hoisted mid-way up her thighs, and his eyes could covertly glimpse the felxions of her agile muscles against the gauzy smoke-colored nylon hose which made a second skin for those beautiful rounded legs of hers. The aching in his balls was prodigious, and he wished that Belle were somewhere else so that he could really work on this sweet little bitch. She was just about to get her jollies from the Spanish fly, and what she needed was a good hard poke right here and now. But he knew that Belle wouldn't quite go for that. And he'd already whispered to her something of his plan of campaign back in the kitchen before they had really gone to work on unsuspecting Beth Calhoun. She had agreed to it, but she wasn't too happy about it, and she didn't want him to show too much enthusiasm.
Because now he was really wrapped up in this sweet little bitch, and he really wanted her quite apart from what she could do for the two of them. She had a gorgeous shape, and the smell and feel of her just about drove him crazy. A girl like this would be greedy and eager to learn new ways and new positions of pleasing a man, once she found out how good she was, once she found out what her tight cunt could do for a man's prick when it got eager.-And the buttery-moist and soft feel of her lips to his gave him a kind of preview of what her soft cunt lips would feel like once his prick slipped in between them.
"Oh Al-you're taking my breath away-oh you're so nice-I feel as if I'm just drifting in a cloud now-" she murmured.
"You still don't feel dizzy or anything like that?" he anxiously inquired.
"Oh no-it's so dreamy-I feel as if I were going to sleep and I don't want to. You kiss me again-aren't I awful?" then Beth Calhoun gave a silly little giggle which trailed off, for one reason because his mouth had taken hold of hers again and was pressing it ardently and now his tongue dared to dart between her lips and flick her tongue and send a galvanizing current of passion through her young, newly learning system.
His left hand was at the back of her neck and now his right hand moved over to her knee. He stroked the nylon-sheathed rondure, and Beth made no sign of protest. She had begun to pant a little, her mouth fervently returned his kiss which continued endlessly. His hand glided onward, tasting the rich curve of the lower thigh and on up the nylon-gauzy contour of her beautiful young leg. Now he was at the stockingtop, and just one more daring inch and his fingertips brushed the warm and vibrant naked skin of her thigh below her panties. His prick was going to burst out of his fly any minute now, he knew.
Her thighs suddenly clenched against his hand, and then began to rub erratically back and forth as she seemed to return his kiss with greater ardor than ever. He could feel her fingernails digging into the back of his neck, and his arm around her shoulders pressed her forward. Now slowly his right forefinger advanced up to the crotch of her panties, and then he began, holding his breath, to prod her dainty cunt whose outline he could feel through the snug veil of white nylon.
Whimpering little gasps exuded from Beth Calhoun's parted lips. She moaned and squirmed, and her thighs began to part suddenly only to clench again. "Oh Al-oh my goodness-what are you doing to me-oh darling-mmmm-oh my God-it's so nice, oh Al-love me, just love me!" she breathed.
Belle muttered an oath under her breath and walked into the kitchen and lit a cigarette to quiet her jangled nerves. She wanted to be with Al right now, getting fucked, instead of watching him play up to that stinking little bitch. But of course she had to go through with it if they ever wanted to make the killing they wanted to be free and away for life.
Now Al Barker's forefinger was rubbing back and forth in a steady frigging rhythm and he could feel the crotch of Beth's panties getting moist, indicating that she was getting really hot and ready to trot. But he wasn't going to take her cherry. That would come later. All he wanted to do now was make her so dreamy-creamy that she would go off in her panties and them remember at night who was the man who had done it to her. And she would be back for the real thing before much longer. And then he could make his own deal with her with Belle knowing nothing about it.
Nonetheless, he wanted relief. Well, Belle could give him that. It was too much to expect that this little virgin from a small town could know all the answers and what a man needed when he was really hard and hot to fuck.
He was kissing her mouth and now he dipped his lips to her throat.
By now, the drug was really working on lovely innocent Beth Calhoun. She was hardly conscious of the fact that her skirt was lofted around her lips and that her petticoat had followed the ascent, or that Al Barker's right forefinger was slowly and insistenly rubbing against her moist cunthole. But he could feel the lips twitchingly respond to this friction, and as his mouth feasted on her trembling lips and let his tongue glide and out between them, he could hear and feel and taste and see all the myriad reactions which were overtaking the beautiful young virgin who was thus being drawn for the first time to carnal ecstasy by the science of a male and the demands of her own passion-aroused young flesh.
As for Belle, she was glowering in the kitchen not wanting to look at the scene, because it made her jealous and angry. She wasn't playing out a role as Al was to woo sweet Beth Calhoun to become his foil and dupe. With that insecurity which a prostitute always has, the brassy blonde was afraid that having tasted such sweet young pussy, her lover might well leave her in favor of a younger girl like Beth and try to renew his love affair with Beth on a far more intimate basis and without her presence.
She smoked cigarette after cigarette, grimacing with anger every time she heard Beth gasp and moan.
But by now the young beauty was wriggling on the couch, uncontrollably in the grip of the Spanish fly which attacked all her subtle feminine nerves and broke down all her defenses. Indeed, had Al Barker wanted to fuck her and take her cherry then and there, she could have put up no resistance. All her body yearned and churned and throbbed and palpitated for love. And she began unknowingly to press her pussy back and forth against his prodding finger so as to taste the delicious friction. Meanwhile, moving his finger slowly in a circular pattern, the con man traced the outline of that sweet pussy-fig, and now his mouth sucked hers as he drained her lovely nectar and tasted its sweet purity and stimulus.
Now her hands clasped the back of his head and her fingernails hurt him, but he grinned knowingly at this goad. He knew that she was one the way to passion and that nothing could hold her back. "Don't fight it, Beth darling, just give in," he whispered. Then he bent his head and began to kiss her throat, and now the left hand which he had had round her shoulders so protectively and possessively moved down to cup one of those gorgeous firm young titties of hers.
"Ohh-oh Al-what are you dong to me-you're making me so dizzy-it's so nice-so lovely-that I'm going to faint if you keep it up-oh darling-what's come over me?"
"Just relax now, baby, everything's going to be fine," he reassured her. Now his finger began to prod right into the open gape of her cunt, pressing the nylon material into her cunthole each time he thrust forward. He thus emulated the action of a cock, and Beth began suggestively to grind her hips and to arch her pelvic basin back and forth almost as if in the act of fucking.
And then suddenly she uttered a sobbing groan and sagged forward against him, panting hard, her eyes closed, her fingernails dug into his neck, as she felt release and felt the furious climax burst upon her.
"That was lovely, baby," he muttered hoarsely. "You just lie there and take a little snooze, and don't worry about a thing. Me, I'm going to get a cup of coffee now."
He laid her gently back on the couch, lifted her legs and stretched them out, without bothering to pull down her skirt of petticoat. His eyes feasted on her, and he watched how her face was flushed and her eyelids closed but fluttering. The panting of her titties had begun to subside, showing that she had reached her climax. But he was still fit to burst and he needed relief fast.
He moved into the kitchen silently, put his finger to his lids and took hold of Belle by the shoulders. "It worked, baby," he exulted. "She'll eat our of my hand before I'm finished with her."
"Oh you," Belle grumbled, "don't give me that, you wished you could have screwed her, I bet!"
"Any man would. But look, baby, see what I've got saved up for you. I didn't give it to her, I saved it for you. Look!" he pleaded.
Belle turned her face away and grumbled again, but he playfully squeezed her behind and then, cupping her chin with the other hand, forced her to turn and then to look. Her eyes widened. His prick was enormous, pressing against his fly as though it would burst through at any moment.
You see, Belle baby?" he muttered. "You're the one I want to fuck, not that little small town cherry. Now give me a good job, because I got hot just thinking about you while I was working on her. You wait and see, this girl's a little goldmine. Aw, come on, come on, be nice!"
Flattered, Belle succumbed. She zipped down her housecoat and showed the shaggy fleece of her pussy, as he swiftly dragged his fly down and liberated his bulging prick. She put her hand to it and moaned to feel its heat and rigidity. And then she stuffed it into her cunt as his hands slipped round her and squeezed her bare behind. As he fused with her, he began to fuck her slowly, grinding his teeth to hold back the juices which Beth's presence had roused.
"Oh Gawd," she moaned. "Oh it's good, oh baby, oh Al, give it to me, I'm so glad you'd rather fuck me than her, I love you, Al baby!"
"And I love you, you lovely jealous bitch," he chuckled. But even as his prick began to dig faster and faster inside of her, he couldn't help glancing back out into the living room where Beth Calhoun lay in her near swoon. And when he closed his eyes and shot his wad deep into Belle's cunt, it was really into Beth's he was wishing he could shoot it!
CHAPTER SIX
After Al Barker had hauled his ashes quickly in the kitchen with the all too willing Belle, he hastily mopped off his cock, drew his zipper back into place, and went back to lovely Beth Calhoun.
She lay like one asleep, with a beatific smile on her lovely face, her clothes still rumpled up, and a suspicious, moist patch at the crotch of her panties very visible. Al looked down with a kind of tenderness towards her, for now that he had had relief from the tightly gripping and ferociously jealous lovesheath of his brassy blonde companion, he could afford to be more compassionate. The loveliness of her white skin showing above the tops of her nylons, and the sweet verve of her titties, the lovely, almost wistful face, stirred even more vigorous yearnings in the con man. Belle had followed him back into the living room and, hands on hips, contemplated the drowsing young beauty with contemptuous disdain.
"Get that little bitch out of my apartment, Al lover," she hissed, "she's just about worn out her welcome, if you know what I mean. Now I suppose you'll have to slip her a convincer later on to find out where all those claim checks are stashed."
"I've got a much better idea. I happen to know that every employee gets a passkey. Well, little Miss Cherry will have a new one to her department when she starts her promotion Monday, see? So what I'll do is swipe the key, have a quick duplicate made, and then I can get in there some night and pick up a big pad of claim checks, and we can start writing paper for all we're worth. Get it?"
"Sure. But can't you get the key without screwing that little bitch? I could see how hot you were for her, Al, and don't tell me you weren't."
"Aw, baby, don't be like that!" He went back to her and cupped her titties, giving her a quick French kiss. "You know it's you I'm doing this for. She's just in the way. She's just helping. Sure, she's got a shape, but hell-I'm not taking her to Rio."
Partially mollified, Belle permitted herself to smile and, linking her arms around his neck, began to rub her crotch against his as she teased him by playfully flicking her tongue over his lips.
"I think maybe some black coffee will wake her up," he murmured huskily, after a few minutes. "Then maybe I'll come around sometime next week, all by myself, and have a little fun with the bitch and swipe the key. This way, none of us is going to get involved, and she won't be in any trouble either."
"A lot I should care about her, the little tramp!" Belle contemptuously sniffed. "Personally, I'd just as soon see her in the pen when we make our getaway. When they find those checks missing, they're going to suspect somebody. So they'll grab her. I just hope they do."
"Don't be that way, baby. I don't like it in you," he grumbled. "Like I said, this is business. Even if she'd been homely, I'd have had to work her up and get next to her. You see how she liked me. Well, it's going to pay off next week, you wait and see."
The blonde cocktail waitress shrugged. But Al Barker chuckled softly, ran his hands over her opulent bottom, and squeezed, while he rubbed his crotch against hers and gave her a hot French kiss. She relented.
"You just make me melt all over when you handle me that way, lover," she huskily murmured. "All right, then. Have your fun, but just don't let me know about it. You work that bitch up to get you that nice big pad of checks and then you can drop her like a hot potato. Besides," she continued in a coy and seductive tone as her hands stroked his already bulging crotch, "I'm all the pussy you'll be needing for a while, lover. I'll drain out every drop you've got, so you won't have any left for that little small-town cherry."
* * *
On the following Wednesday evening, Beth Calhoun had come home, prepared a quick TV dinner, then turned on the radio (she had promised herself to buy a small portable TV set as soon as she could save a little money), took a shower and then lay down on the couch wearing her white pajamas with green trim. She liked her new job and its responsibilities, and her supervisor had complimented her this afternoon about how quickly she had picked up her new duties. This was really heaven, being free and independent, having her own apartment, answerable to no one. Just the same, she missed Mother and she hoped that Mother would understand and forgive her. It had been a sort of cowardly thing to do, leaving Mother all alone with that awful brute. But she knew she couldn't do anything about it and she had to protect herself. She had sent off a letter just yesterday, but without an address, because she had a pretty good idea that Dennis Henderson might read the letter and try to trace her. But she'd promised Mother that she'd call her one of these days and maybe give her an address.
She found herself thinking about last Saturday and Al Barker. She had only a hazy recollection of what had happened then, only remembering that she had let him kiss her and it had been awfully nice. It had been sort of daring and adventurous, because that big blonde had been there all the time and probably had seen her do it. Just the same, for once in her life she had felt happy and carefree and it was nice to have a good-looking man show interest in her.
There was a knock on her door and she got up from the couch, wide-eyed, and opening the door on bar, asked hesitantly, "Who is it?"
"It's me, Al, Beth honey. Can I talk to you for a couple of minutes?"
Hear heart began to beat erratically. "I-I guess so. Just a minute, please. I-I'm not dressed," she stammered. She hurried to the closet, took our her bathrobe, hastily put it on and quickly went back to let him in.
He was wearing a straw hat and a dacron suit and he had been to the barber that afternoon and he reeked of lotion, but he was even more debonair and handsome than he had been on Saturday afternoon, in her impressionable mind.
"Nice seeing you again, Beth. I just happened to be by and thought I'd stop in and see how you were. How's the new job?"
"I-I guess so." She felt irritated with herself, because she was lowering here eyes and her cheeks were hot with blushes. She had belted the bathrobe and buttoned it very primly all the way up. But still it was very daring to have a man alone in her room. It would never have happened back on Linn Street.
"Radio isn't what it used to be, is it, Beth honey?" he glanced around at her little transistor radio, then put his straw hat on the end of the couch and seated himself. "What you need is a TV."
"I know. If I get a nice big raise, I'm going to get one. There's lots of good movies I'd like to see. It would actually be cheaper than going out and trying to entertain myself."
"Now that's silly for a lovely girl like you, to talk that way, honey," he said jovially. "There's lots of guys who would just love to take you all over town, and it wouldn't cost you a red cent. I'm one of them. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, and that's no lie."
"Th--thank you, Al." Her blushes deepened as she slowly seated herself, not too close to him. "What did you want to see me about?"
"Oh, nothing really special. As I say, I was just passing by and I wanted to see how you were. I couldn't get over meeting you Saturday night over at Belle's. You've sort of grown on me, Beth. I can tell you that."
"You-you're very flattering."
"I'm telling you the truth-it's no lie," he protested. "So now you're in the claims department? I'll bet there are lots of people in it too, and one of these days you'll be a supervisor."
"Oh my gracious, no. I'm just a beginner. There are about twenty people and all of them have been there a while, and I've got a lot to learn."
"You know," he said philosophically, as he slyly moved closer to her, unnoticed, "it must be a sort of good feeling, I mean, to sit in a business office and write out checks to people who are going to pay them for their hospital bills and when they're sick and don't have any money to buy food and stuff like that for the kids, and clothes and things like that. It's real good work, and you can be proud you're doing something like that."
"I-I hadn't thought about it like that, but I guess you're right. It is interesting."
"Of course it is. What do you do in the department?"
"Mostly filing and typing up reports from the agents, and then giving the file to one of the men or one of the head girls to get the claim investigated and pay off or not, depending on what it is. Do you know anything about insurance, Al?"
"Gee, kid, it sure sounds nice when you call me by name. I never heard it sound so nice before, and that's a fact. Sure, I know something about insurance. I used to sell it," he lied. "But I'm glad you like your job. You aren't homesick, are you?"
"Well, really-of course, I still love my mother a lot, but I just couldn't take my stepfather. The only thing is, I do wish I could talk to her or something."
"You could call her up."
"I know. I've been meaning to. But I'm so afraid he-my stepfather-would be there and answer the phone, and then he'd try to trace the call."
"I've got a better idea. Why don't I place the call to your mother, and then he won't know who I am, in case he answers."
"That's a very good idea! I-would you?"
"I'd be glad to, honey. Just tell me the number."
Beth Calhoun smiled at him and told him her mother's phone number. Al Barker picked up the phone, dialed long distance, and placed the call to Mrs. Calhoun. As luck would have it, Beth's mother was home alone. Dennis Henderson had gone out to play pool with some of his friends-or at least, that was the story he had given her. Actually, he was meeting a sexy little waitress who worked at the other end of town and they were going to a motel and fuck like minks.
"Mrs. Calhoun? Just a moment. Someone wants to talk to you from Chicago," Al said with a chuckle, then handed the phone to Beth.
"Mother? It's Beth!" the lovely young brownette exclaimed.
"Oh, darling-if you only knew how worried I've been! Where are you?"
"I'm fine, Mother. I've got a wonderful job and my own little apartment, and they've put me in a new department, and I'm going to get a raise pretty soon, and I've got lots of new friends! But how are you-and-you know-"
"He's fit to be tied! Thank goodness he's not in now, or he'd really let you have a piece of his mind, dear. He's been threatening to have the police look for you all over Chicago. I've been so worried!"
"Has he-has he hurt you, Mother?"
"Well, once in a while, when he gets a little too much liquor in him-but it can work out, I know it can. I want you to be happy, darling, that's the main thing. Can you give me your address, so I can write you?"
"If you'll promise not to let him see it."
"Of course I will."
Beth Calhoun quickly gave her mother the address, and then added, "I'll write you, Mother, but I won't put any return address on it. And I'll mark it personal. And I'll type the letter, so he won't recognize my handwriting. Do take care of yourself. I wish you could come up here and live with me. We'd get along so well without him."
"I don't like to hear you talk like that, dear. After all, I did marry him. It's going to work out. It's just a period of adjustment."
"I know, but it's been five years, and if he doesn't treat you any better now than he did then, I don't see that it's going to improve-"
"I don't want to hear any more about it, Beth. That's my problem. You just keep well and be happy. And I do hope you meet a nice fellow and get married. You let me know if that happens."
"I will. It's wonderful talking to you, Mother. Good night, darling." She hung up and turned to Al Barker, her face radiant: "It was so nice of you. It was so clever of you to think of how to get her."
"I have a couple of talents, honey," he said with a crooked smile. "I want to be your friend, because I'm very stuck on you."
"You-you shouldn't say things like that to me unless you mean them, Al. Besides, what about Belle?"
"She's just a good friend. Nothing serious between us. We had a couple of hard knocks together and I felt sorry for her, but I swear to you, kid, you're the one I go for. Didn't you feel it Saturday night, when I kissed you?"
Beth Calhoun blushed and lowered her eyes, and Al Barker, wily con man that he was, clutched her in his arms and kissed her hard, his hands molding her back and moving down to her luscious hips. Beth tried to protest, but the waves of desire that swept over her were, this time, induced by her own health need of affection and her own strong, lusty young body, not the drug that he had so insidiously used before. And when she felt his hands on her bottom, when she felt his tongue prying between her lips, she shivered and moaned and pressed against him. Her panting young titties rose and fell against his chest, and Al Barker knew he could make her here and now.
Gently he slipped off the bathrobe and his hands cupped her titties, as her hands tried to brush his away, stammering, "Oh darling, don't, please don't. It's so early. Please don't-we don't know each other-"
"I know what I want, and I want you-for life, baby, that's what. I don't go for just any girl, but I could protect you. I gather you've got a stepfather you don't like. I could stand up against him for you, and if I were your hubby, you wouldn't have to look anywhere else for protection or love, baby," he assured her.
"Oh Al, I do so want to believe you-I do-oh Al, you shouldn't-oh Al, please don't take them off-oh my-oh Al-oohhh-ooooooh!! ! ! "
Expertly he had unbuttoned her pajama tops and tugged them off, pinning her arms and thus leaving her magnificent titties vulnerable. His eyes feasted on them, and now his mouth took each nipple in turn, sucking at it, then sending the tip of his tongue furling against the drinkling bud. Beth Calhoun tried to struggle, her head tilting back, her eyes enormous and glazed, but the stimulus of passion he had induced in her by his male directness was her undoing. For now his hands sought the waistband of the pajamas, and in a trice he had them down about her knees, and now one hand was rubbing her bare behind, and one hand was rubbing her mossy cunthole, and he was kissing her so hard she couldn't get her breath.
He pulled her down onto the couch and she was on top of him, and now both his hands were gripping her bottom and his mouth was kissing hers hard. She moaned and sobbed, but she was powerless to resist. Her hands pushed at him, but weakly. It was a token resistance, because her loins were churning with the virgin urge to become a woman.
His hands were squeezing her ass-cheeks gently and lovingly as he ground his crotch against her furry nook. The friction taught her a kind of semblance of what fucking would be, and Beth Calhoun sobbed deep in her throat and she closed her eyes and shuddered as she surrendered to the waves of sensual passion swirling in her being.
"I won't hurt you, baby, I promise. I won't get you with a baby, either. Just leave it to old Al. God, how I love you, baby. You're built, you're gorgeous, you've got a mind, and I want to marry you, that's a fact," Al Barker panted. Now he wrestled himself on top of her, and Beth Calhoun found herself without her pajama pants, the legs tangled around her ankles the tops open, her arms pinned, her lips crushed against his, and her face was scarlet as she was swept with sweet confusion, maiden apprhension and what she thought was love.
Swiftly he paused, his left hand still cupping one of her titties as his right hand moved down to release his zipper, baring his cock. Then his right hand dug into his trouser pocket to produce a packet of Trojans, and he extricated one and expertly tugged it over his stiff ramrod so that the white sheath would spare her purity from the onus of an unwanted child coming from their fucking now.
Her eyes were enormous as she watched, and she turned her head to one side and closed her eyes, shivering. Now his right hand began to stroke her belly and then her lower abdomen, where the fleece grew so thickly, and then her pussy. His fingertip traced the delicate rims of her love labia, and she arched and squirmed and sighed and sighed as she felt this first titillation of a man, this first intimation that would turn her from a timid virgin into a fulfilled woman.
"I won't hurt you, I promise I won't, Beth baby. Just relax. Put your arms around me and kiss me." He stretched himself over her, and now his hands gripped her armpits as he steered her towards his goal. His prickhead prodded against the lips of her cunt, forced entry, but gently. Slowly he pressed himself forward until he felt her maiden seal.
Beth Calhoun moaned and winched, trying to squirm out from under him, but her mouth was being besieged by his fiery kisses and now by his tongue which voraciously dug between her lips and found her tongue, to great a galvanizing current of fever which burned deeply within her.
Her hands gripped him tightly and she panted, "Oh, be careful-it's my first time-oh darling, I want you too-oh, please be gentle, Al!"
"I will, baby. Get ready now-I'm going to break in, and after that, you won't feel a thing but pleasure. Get ready, sweetie!"
He arched himself and thrust, and. fortunately for Beth, her hymen yielded at his first brutal shock. She uttered a single startled cry, but already he was kissing her to silence, and she yielded under him as she felt his prick thrust into her to the very balls inside her tight warm young sheath.
Then he began to fuck her slowly, at the same time vigorously, with a steady and persistent rhythm that began to make her writhe and squirm and moan and gasp. His hands now left her armpits to cup and knead her titties, then to grab the juicy cheeks of her ass, to hold on tight as he threaded the needle between prick and cunt, drawing back to the very brink of her pussylips, then surging home to the hilt within her. He began to feel that his rhythmic prowess was making her cuntwalls quake and quiver and clasp him eagerly as he returned each time.
God, what a flirty little bitch she was, he told himself. She was really hot to trot, and she was better than Belle ever was on her best day. Or night! Grinning to himself, he proceeded to use all his artistry to prolong the fuck, holding back the spunk which surged to the lips of his puckering meatus. And finally, when he found himself no longer able to hold back the jet, he quickened his pace within her, and Beth Calhoun arched like a bow and sobbed as she was brought perilously close to creaming. He hadn't expected a creaming this first fuck, not from a cherry, but it proved how hot she was!
Then he felt himself explode, but he still worked inside her, until at last he was rewarded by her sobbing groaned and her squirmings and twistings under him. And as he lay there, tasting the glory of her mouth, feeling her titties thrusting up against his chest, he knew that he had conquered her definitively.
And when he left her apartment that evening, unbeknownst to Beth Calhoun, he had the key to her department! He had a friend on the North Side to whom he delivered the key an hour later, and half an hour after that, he was back in his own room with Belle, showing her the duplicate. He had gotten the key back to Beth by the simple ruse of knocking at her door and telling her that he just had to kiss her goodnight. Her face flaming, wearing just her pajamas, she had let him in for a goodnight kiss, and he had found the keyring in her open purse on the floor, and while she had gone out to the kitchen to get him a cold drink of water, as he had asked, he slipped it back on. Now all that was left was the killing. He had just murdered love, and now he was going to murder faith and trust and confidence as well ... and also alter the life of innocent Beth Calhoun, beyond her worst possible dreams.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Two nights after Al Barker had had a duplicate key made from Beth Calhoun's departmental key to the claims department, he got into the building from a rear basement window, climbed the stairs and avoided the drowsing night watchman, and entered the department. Swiftly, playing a flashlight over the desks, he found in one of the drawers in a private office of the manager of the department some numbered checkbooks stamped with the company's name and signature. He pocketed three books, and left the office swiftly, congratulating himself on the ease of the operation. Unfortunately, he had overlooked one minor detail: he had parked his car much too near a bus stop on the boulevard just beyond the building which he intended to rob. As a consequence, when he got back to his car, he found a squadcar waiting for him with its blue light flashing and two officers about to write him a ticket. Al Barker made the mistake of panicking, of trying frantically to explain that it had been an emergency stop. But he simply aroused the suspicion of the two officers, who promptly took him down to the district station where a search revealed the stolen checkbooks.
Accordingly, the next morning, the district commander telephoned the head of the claims department at Beth's company to inform him that they had apprehended a burglar who had been found with checkbooks belonging to the company. Al Barker was charged with burglary and with breaking and entering, and when he was asked how he happened to have a key, he winked and said, "I had a little girl friend, that's all. No need to drag her into this."
But when his home address was found to be the same as Beth Calhoun's, since of course the two were neighbors, the finger of suspicion was pointed at the newest employee of Pimco Casualty-Assurance Company. Summoned to the boss's office, she was confronted with the damning evidence, admitted to knowing Al Barker but frantically protested that she had never in the world thought of giving him a key.
Unhappily, the circumstantial evidence was too much, and poor Beth Calhoun found herself arraigned on the charge of conspiracy to commit grand theft, appeared three days later before a judge in the Criminal Court building on California
Street, and heard herself sentenced to three years in the state reformatory for girls and women, disposition of her person to be made to the new branch at Keston.
The newspapers carried pictures of lovely Beth, as well as her tearful story to the reporters that she was utterly innocent and had been framed. Al Barker, wanting to save his own skin, did not have the decency to clear her or to confess that he had simply filched the key and had a duplicate made. He justified his own conscience by telling himself that after all he hadn't named her and he hadn't told the authorities that she actually helped him by giving him a key. More than that, he saw no reason to do. And the reason for this was, of all things, his sudden quixotic change of mind in the belief that Belle Crandon would stick by him and do more for him than Beth could ever do.
Al himself was sent to the penitentiary at Joliet for a term of from three to five years, and would be eligible for parole in eighteen months. Belle promised to wait for him, but already she was scheming on how to find a man who would take care of her rent at her apartment in the building where poor Beth had lived next door. There was double dealing here, but the only one really to suffer was unfortunate Beth, who had lost not only her cherry but her liberty and reputation and was now disgraced by being an inmate of Keston ... worse than that, menanaced because of her beauty, with a dire fate to which even the judge who sentenced her to
Keston hadn't the slightest notion could possibly exist in a modern penal institution. . .
Beth Calhoun was sobbing softly as she sat, her head bowed, in Alma Burbage's office, with Head Matron Flossie Durkin standing behind the chair and grinning at the superintendent as much as to say, "Here's a real doll, Alma, and are we ever going to have fun with her!"
Alma Burbage considered the lovely dark-brown-haired prisoner, then glanced at the dossier which told of Beth's background, her crime and the sentence. She cleared her throat: "Now then, Calhoun, there's no use carrying on like this. You had a fair trial, I'm sure the judge examined all the evidence, and you just made a mistake, that's all. So face up to it. With good behavior, you might be out of here in nine months-and after all, that's no longer than it takes for a woman to bear a child."
This quip drew a cackle of obscene glee from the sadistic head matron. Alma Burbage shook her head warningly and went on: "Miss Durkin here will give you all the rules and we'll expect you to abide by them, Calhoun. This is your first day here, so you'll go first to the doctor for an examination. Then you'll be put into a kind of isolation ward for two days to make sure that you don't have any communicable diseases. After that you'll come back here for a couple of examinations, which will tell us where you belong and where we can use you effectively. There are some good jobs and training possibilities here for you, and if you apply yourself-and you seem to be an intelligent girl-there shouldn't be any reason you can't go back to society with your debt fully paid and feel like a proper citizen again."
"But it was all a terrible mistake! I never gave him the key, I swear to God I didn't! I've never done anything criminal in my life, and yet here I am in a prison!" Beth sobbed heartbrokenly.
"That's enough of that. I've other people to interview, and I've work to do beside. Take her to Dr. Andrews, Miss Durkin," Alma Burbage concluded as she rose.
Flossie Durkin bent over the chair, a grin of anticipation on her face. Her stubby fingers dug into Beth Calhoun's shoulder as she snarled, "You heard the superintendent! Now get up and get a move on, and get the lead out of that young ass of yours, or you'll feel something else there you won't particularly like. Come along now!"
Still sobbing, Beth Calhoun tried to obey to show at least her docility and her desire to give no trouble. Frankly, it wouldn't have mattered to either Alma Burbage or Flossie Durkin whether this luscious young girl was the most perfectly behaved prisoner in the world; her beauty and desirability, her ingenuous innocence, had whetted their cruel appetites and they had already decided to enjoy her to the fullest.
Floosie Durkin led the unhappy girl down a long corridor and finally stopped by a door on the left which was marked "Dr. Marsha Andrews." She knocked, was told to come in, and opened the door and pushed poor Beth forward. "I'll be waiting for you after you're done, Calhoun," she informed the disconsolate victim of Al Barker's treachery. "Now don't give Doc Andrews any trouble or I'll hear about it, and you'll be on report! A new fish like you better stay out of trouble and not get any demerits, or you might just get a touch of the snake!"
Wonderingly, Beth Calhoun glanced back at that evil, cruel face and echoed, "The s-snake?"
"Oh you'll find out what it is soon enough, if you keep on being stupid, Calhoun," Flossie Durkin snapped. "Doc Andrews is waiting for you, so shut your mouth and do what she tells you to. I'll be outside here waiting for you to take you back to the isolation ward."
As the door closed, the head matron of Keston chuckled again to herself. She was going to have a delicious time with this little bitch. What a nice white skin and dark brown hair and a sweet face the little bitch really had. It was going to be fun getting her to peel down and make her crawl on her knees between Alma's legs and between her own and learn how to gam for dear life or else. Or else the snake, and a few other little devices which Flossie Durkin was dreaming up to use on her helpless prisoners. She was a great believer in enemas, and she had recently read a book which indicated that in some prisons in Europe, where women had been mutinous and rebellious, the ringleaders had been given hot oil enemas and then "figged," using a kind of stopple to hold back the injection, after which they were then strapped onto a whipping horse and then properly spanked and then made to lie there tied and gagged for a full hour before at least being allowed to go to the bathroom. Flossie Durkin had sworn that she would use this method on the very next naughty girl that came her way. She just hoped it would be beautiful Beth Calhoun. . .
"You can start by stripping naked, Calhoun!" Dr. Marsha Andrews snapped as she looked up from her desk and saw the trembling, tearful young brunette standing before her. "In the first place, we're going to give you new clothes, and these will be saved for you until you get through with your sentence. Now be quick about it, I've other prisoners to examine after you, you know. We've got five besides you, and it's already three-thirty in the afternoon. Get with it, Calhoun!"
"Please, Dr. Andrews, won't you help me?"
"What are you talking about, girl? How am I supposed to help you? You're here for two years or is it three-well, long enough so that even if you get a parole, you'll get a taste of what Keston's like. And the first thing you'd better learn right this minute is to obey an order and not to argue or question it and still more not to hesitate when it's given to you. I said, get naked, and I meant just that! Or do you want to have me call Miss Durkin back to help you take off your clothes?"
"Oh no, please don't" Beth Calhoun sobbed. Her eyes blinded with tears, she groped for the hem of her dress and dragged it up and off her body and let it fall to the floor, then the slip, and Dr. Marsha Andrews turned in her swivel chair and her gray-green eyes narrowed with more than casual interest.
Marsha Andrews was thirty, and she was, svelte, auburn-haired, and a dominant Lesbian into the bargain. She too had no love for men, for she had had an uncle who had seduced her when she was only fourteen and then had blatantly told her father that she had tried to seduce him, for which she was forced to strip naked and endure the strap from her father's hand till she nearly fainted. A year later, she had run away, lied about her age, got a job as a waitress in a drive-in near Cairo, and two years later found herself adopted by a kindly and matronly woman who had taken over the ownership of the drive-in after the Greek bachelor owner's death. Marsha had had to fight him off throughout her working there, but she discovered that the new owner was kind and gentle and paid well. So it wasn't long before Marsha discovered that her new employer liked girls and not men.
The woman not only became Marsha's lover and initiatress, but paid for her education through medical school. At twenty six, Marsha Andrews was assigned to a clinic in East St. Louis, and she kept up her amorous liason with her benefactress, even though the latter was nearing forty-five. It didn't take long before she was appointed to Keston, because Alma Burbage herself interviewed several candidates and could tell at once that Marsha Andrews was her own kind.
Although not so cruel as Head Matron Durkin and the other matrons, Marsha Andrews loved wearing dominatress costumes and imposing the whip and shackles on her particular "favorites." Already she could see that lovely Beth Calhoun could be one of these, given a little training and direction. The trouble was, this girl was so deliciously and damnably lovely and so naive that she was likely already to have won the much more powerful favor of Alma or Flossie herself. And Marsha Andrews had no wish to precipitate a political war in Keston. There were plenty of new young girls coming in all the time, and maybe if she lost this girl now, she would get another one.
Beth Calhoun had managed to get off her bra and was now hesitating over the panties. "What's the matter with you, Calhoun? That means shoes and stockings too. I really am exasperated with you, girl! Maybe you need Miss Durkin in here to help you along!"
"Oh please don't call her, I-I'll do what you want-oh I've never been so ashamed in all my life-"
"Now don't start that! I've looked over the papers, and you were just stupid enough to get involved with a loser, that's all. I don't know whether you actually helped him or not, but you deserved everything you got, to my may of thinking. Didn't you know he was a forger and thief and a very unsavory character?"
"No-he made love to me-"
"Stop it. I don't care to hear about your dirty little screwing games, Calhoun," Marsha Andrews grimaced. "Now get on that table on your back, put your knees up, and spread them well apart. Put your hands behind your neck and don't move them until I tell you to."
Then there followed for poor Beth Calhoun the most mortifying of experiences. She felt like a guinea pig upon that examining table, with its cold black leather, and the stern-faced though lovely svelte auburn-haired woman in white medical uniform bending over her, touching her here and there, examining her vagina and her anus, then her breasts, till she began to sob with deepest mortification.
"You're healthy enough. At least you didn't get pregnant, it appears. So much the better for you. Was he your first guy?"
"Why-yes-oh please help me I'm innocent-I didn't give him the key-
"There's no point rehashing all that, Calhoun. You're here, the judge sent you here, and here you'll stay until parole or your time's up, either one or the other. Make up your mind to it. And if you go bawling around Keston, every bitch in the place will have you down as a little crybaby and they'll just love egging you on and laying for you and giving you something to cry about. So will the matrons. Take it from me, keep your mouth shut, do what you're told, and don't say a word about how innocent you were. They're all innocent here. I've got a good deal more respect for a bitch who comes out and says that she goofed and she's going to do her time nice and cool. You'll go a long way if you try that attitude, believe me. All right, you can get down now. I want you to stand with your legs apart and your hands held behind you, open your mouth and say 'Ah'. "
Again Beth Calhoun obeyed, shivering and closing her eyes. Dr. Marsha Andrews poked a dental mirror into her mouth and examined her critically, then tested for adenoids and tonsils, finally her eyes.
"Well, you're a healthy enough specimen, I'll give you that. I don't see any communicable diseases. Ever have chicken pox, measles, whooping cough, or anything like that."
"N-no."
"Call me Dr. Andrews, and don't forget it. And when you're talking to a matron, say 'Yes, Matron.' If you don't, you'll get demerits. And if you get enough demerits, God help you, that nice white skin of yours will get a few marks on it you hadn't counted on."
"What-what do you mean?"
"Simply that around here, Calhoun, they don't waste time giving you lectures or psychology examinations. They'll spank you, that's what I mean."
"But that's unheard of! They can't do that in a prison!"
"Can't they? You'll find out. And you've got a lovely ass on you and skin that's going to mark very nicely from a paddle or a strap, Calhoun. I wouldn't advise you to let the matrons see just how much they can mark you, I really wouldn't. I'm telling you this for your own good. Now then, you can leave."
"Like this?" Beth Calhoun incredulously gasped.
"For God's sake, Calhoun, get some sense into your thick skull! This is a woman's reformatory. There aren't any men her at all. There won't be. And everybody here knows what a woman looks like, especially the matrons. Miss Durkin will take you to the supply depot to get your new uniform and then will take you to the isolation ward. Now get out of here!"
"Yes, Dr. Andrews," Beth Calhoun quavered. Two great tears rolled down her cheeks. She fumbled for the knob of the door and, head bowed, walked out slowly naked as the day she was born. Dr. Marsha Andrews stared after her, and her high-perched pear-shaped titties rose and fell more quickly. "God what I wouldn't give for a roll in bed with that sweet bitch," she murmured huskily. Then, hoisting up her uniform, and lowering her lace-trimmed nylon panties, she began to frig herself furiously, until, with a groan, she felt herself at climax. . .
It was just as well for Beth Calhoun's peace of mind that she didn't see what was happening to Cassie Vernon, a plump, nineteen-year-old taffy--.-haired "new fish" who had been sentenced to Keston for two years for possession of marijuana and for running around with a few questionable male characters who had already been rounded up in a burglary ring. Although Cassie had been cleared of complicity in the burglaries, the possession of narcotics was enough to send her to the reformatory. And what she missed most was her steady boyfriend, Ben Killigrow, a burly, lack-haired young tough from Chicago's West Side who had been the best cocksmith Cassie had ever encountered, and she had been fucking since she was sixteen.
Cassie had resented the way Matron Mabel Murton had pushed her around while taking her to Dr. Marsha Andrews. She had wrenched her arm away from Mabel Burton's grasp and snarled, "You don't hafta break my arm, you know!"
"Why, you uppity little bitch, you watch your tongue!" stocky mousy-brown-haired forty-year-old Mabel Burton had angrily countered. "You're off to a great start, Cassie, and you're going to get a demerit for talking back and sassing me that way!"
"Up yours!" Cassie had sneered. "I can walk by myself, thanks."
"That's two demerits, bitch!" Mabel Burton had grinned sadistically and again grabbed hold of Cassie's arm. But the taffy-haired blonde uttered a cry, again dragged herself free of the matron's grasp and slapped her in the face. A moment later, she was regretting her impetuous action. Mabel
Burton uttered the snarl of a wild beast at bay, clenched her fist and struck Cassie in the jaw, felling her to the floor. Then she stooped over the whimpering girl, dragged her up by the hair and, one hand at the scruff of Cassie's neck, quick-marched the sobbing, struggling plump young blonde down to the "meditation room," bringing up her right knee from time to time to bang against Cassie's opulent rounded ass.
Once inside the room, Mable Burton solicited the aid of Clara Henshaw, who was only too glad to come to her friend's help, especially as it concerned the punishment of a most attractive and rebellious "new fish." In a few moments, Cassie found herself stripped naked, tied over the sawhorse whose sharp ridge at once pressed into her hairy cunt, her body tightly drawn and her big round pale white bottom-cheeks presented for a sound thrashing.
"Now then, Cassie, we're going to start you off right on your first day at Keston," Clara Henshaw declared as Mabel Burton immediately pulled up her uniform and slip, revealing her own even more hairy cunt. "I'm going to whip ass until you say you're sorry to Mabel here and do it the way she likes best-by gamming her!"
"You go to hell, you bitches!" Cassie wailed. "You've got no right to do this, you've got no right! I'd never do that, I go for boys, not for fat old dirty dames like that!"
"Make her take that back, Clara darling," Mabel Burton cooed, a vicious light glinting in her eyes. "That big ass can use the paddle and take plenty of it."
"It sure can," Clara Henshaw agreed.
Taking down an over-shaped leather paddle from a hook on the wall from the lengthy and terrifying array of fustigatory implements, gray-haired Clara Henshaw lifted it high and brought it down with a loud whack across the ripest curves of both Cassie's jutting naked ass-cheeks. The young taffy-haired blonde yelled out in pain and struggled, but her struggles only rubbed the cruel ridge against her tender cunt and chafed her cruelly.
A second blow fell and then a third, all three spanks being administered to the plumpest curves of the summits. The angry red blotch left by the paddle stood out violently against Cassie's pale white skin.
"That's just a taste, you little slut," Clara Henshaw hissed. "I'm going to give you forty. Nobody fish like you, bitch! And a hophead to boot! I'll at Keston raises a hand to a matron, least of all new make her gam you, darling, you watch and see!"
Thereupon the vicious gray-haired matron resumed the paddling. Slowly, expertly, she flattened each of Cassie's bottom-cheeks with alternate swipes of the leather instrument. First the right globe and then the left, starting at the tops of the girl's hips, and working down to the base. Then she shifted after about a dozen blows and landed them diagonally, bridging the crease which was quite deep and lasciviously shadowy, which separated that voluptuous big naked ass. By then Cassie was screaming and pleading for mercy, but Mabel Burton and Clara Henshaw couldn't hear a word. Not until the fortieth spank had landed, leaving poor Cassie's bottom violently swollen and angrily darkened, did she at last lower the paddle while the hysterical and naked captive writhed and twisted, babbling incoherent pleas for mercy and swearing that she was going to die if they didn't stop.
"I'm going to start all over again at forty, Cassie, unless you start on Mabel there," Clara Henshaw gloatingly announced. She laid the paddle over the base of those swollen ass-cheeks and patted it gently. "Get ready!" "Awwrrr-oh God, oh for God's sake, don't, I'll do it, just don't swat me anymore, oh my hind end is burning up, you're killing me-I'll do it!" Cassie shrieked. And as Mabel Burton approached and rubbed her shaggy muff against the girl's panting lips, the conquered "new fish" began to gamahuch the sadistic matron while Clara Henshaw from time to time applied a capricious little swat of the paddle on that blazing bottom just to show the unfortunate girl who was boss....
This then, was the regimen of discipline imposed on the attractive victims who were sent to this penal institution by those authorities who had no knowledge of what was going on behind its walls!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Flossie Durkin led the shamed, humiliated, naked young prisoner down the corridor towards the supply depot, where an elderly and bony trusty presided in charge of clothing for the reformatory inmates.
"Here's a real cute one for you, Margaret, " Flossie cackled, giving poor Beth Calhoun a shove forward, "give her the works."
The woman eyed the shrinking and blushing girl and then uttered a dry, humorless laugh. "If I was ten years younger, Flossie, I might get a bang out of a piece like this. But I'll leave her to you. Maybe I shouldn't even give her any dudds, seeing as how-"
"You keep your trap shut, Margaret, if you know what's good for you," the head matron angrily interposed. "Just give her what's coming to her and I'll take care of the rest."
"Sorry, Matron," the trusty drawled with an inflection of sarcasm that left poor Beth Calhoun more confused and shamed than ever. She was given a gray cotton dress which went down to mid-calf, a sleazy cotton slip, and black cotton bloomers and a matching bra, as well as a pair of black cotton stockings with elastic garters and low, heavy work shoes. Under Flossie Durkin's vigilant eye, she had to dress then and there in the corridor, and as other matrons and other prisoners passed by, one can well imagine Beth Calhoun's miserable unhappiness at being so publicly displayed.
Flossie Durkin grinned cruelly, comprehending just how wretched the naked girl must feel. It delighted her to order the sensitive dark-brown-haired prisoner around in a scornful, sneering voice, and make the prisoner follow her to the isolation ward on the second floor of the building in whose basement the laundry workshop under Genevieve Corley was located. And when she saw Beth fling herself down on the hard cot and heard her muffled sobs, she grinned again, anticipating the moment when this tasty "new fish" would have to strip naked for a good sound ass warming which she herself would apply. There was nothing she loved more than to work over some well educated imagine piece who thought herself a lady, and make the bitch snivel and whine and grovel like all the inmates here!
* * *
But unbeknownst to Beth Calhoun, the story of her arrest and trial and imprisonment had reached Peoria via the newspapers. And Dennis Henderson turned livid with rage the afternoon he went out for coffee and got an afternoon paper and saw the story.
When he got home, he snapped at Beth's mother, "So that's the kind of lousy tramp you raised, is it? like mother, like daughter, I'm thinking. I've about had it with you, baby."
And then, having had a few too many at the saloon before coming home to drown his "disgrace" over Beth's downfall-even though she had used the name of Calhoun, he had recognized her true identity-he slapped her viciously.
"Dennis-for God's sake-the poor girl got into trouble, maybe it's not her fault," the mother protested.
"Like hell it's not! And you let her run away." He slapped her again. And when she tried to protest, he ripped off her clothes and fucked her, then got up and growled, "You're not even a good lay any more, baby. You can sue for a divorce if you want. I've got your replacement already picked out, if you want to know something!"
And so Beth's mother had gone to a lawyer, not only to arrange for the divorce, but also to see what he could do about investigating Beth Calhoun's unfortunate disgrace back in Chicago. His name was Ken Davis, he was twenty-seven, wore glasses, had light brown hair and he worked in a firm which had once handled Beth's father's legal affairs, which was how Beth's mother made the contact.
As it turned out, Ken Davis remembered lovely Beth, and he was shocked to hear what had happened to her. "It's largely circumstantial evidence, Mrs. Henderson," he told Beth's mother. "I've got a vacation coming in the next few weeks, and I'll just go up to Chicago and make some preliminary checks with some of the witnesses and the insurance company personnel and find out what I can. If I can unearth any evidence, it's quite likely I can get your daughter off. That's all we really need, since she had no record prior to that, and even the judge admitted that it was only circumstantial that she might have given the key to Al Barker. It was an unfortunate circumstance, and she was unlucky."
"Anything you can do for my daughter, Mr. Davis, I'll deeply appreciate. I know that I drove her away from home because I stayed married to that awful brute. And you're going to handle my divorce suit, aren't you?"
"It will be my pleasure, Mrs. Henderson. I think you have plenty of grounds, and I'll get you a good settlement, don't you worry."
And thus, even as poor Beth Calhoun was spending her first night at Keston, thinking herself abandoned and beyond hope for the next several years, aggressive forces were being put to work to salvage her young beauty.
CHAPTER NINE
Dr. Marsha Andrews was enjoying a relaxed but stimulating evening following her favorite penchant, which was that of wearing a disciplinary costume of molding black kid and subjugating a particularly attractive young girl who had had the misfortune not only of getting into trouble, but also of drawing the Lesbian doctor's particular interest.
The girl was Jacqueline Blee, seventeen and a half, with coppery red hair falling in kind of Veronica Lake sweep over one cheek, a sulky face with highset cheekbones and a tawny skin with freckles. She was about five feet seven, and she had small but perfectly orange-like firm titties, long, lovely legs and a boyishly compact bottom with an almost invisible groove-or so it seemed now as she flexed her bottom muscles and shudderingly awaited the beginning of her trashing.
She was stark naked and blindfolded, and she was tied over a leather-padded whipping stool in Dr. Marsha Andrews' private quarters in a building which stood next to the main prison building and was used as quarters for the head matrons, the other matrons, Alma Burbage and Dr. Marsha Andrews herself.
Jacqueline Blee was a runaway from a St. Louis home, had got into bad company in Chicago, and been in love with a young man who robbed several filling stations and then got her to transport a package to the other side of town which, when opened by arresting police officers, was found to contain barbiturates, which he had also stolen from a pharmacy and intended to sell to a narcotics pusher.
For this she was sentenced to the reformatory at Keston until her twenty-first birthday. She was rebellious from the start, and she had already spent two days in solitary for spitting at a matron. That had cost her a paddling from none other than Flossie Durkin in her first week here. Now, in her third month, she had already run afoul of Dr. Marsha Andrews because, in order to get out a working detail in the latrines to which Flossie Durkin had sentenced her out of spite, Jacqueline had pleaded illness. The illness had been faked and Dr. Andrews had lectured her sternly on it and had finally given her an alternative: either she was sent back in disgrace to her regular cell-tier and had to undergo whatever Flossie had in mind for her, or she would just submit for a weekend to Marsha Andrews herself. Naturally, Jacqueline took the latter. A paddling at Flossie's hands would have been cruel; she had not been able to walk for the next day or two after the last one; and whatever Dr. Andrews had in mind, she felt certain the doctor, younger and attractive, would be less severe-and that was where she had made another sad error.
If Marsha Andrews was not so much the brutal sadist that one found in Flossie Durkin or Mabel Burton or Clara Henshaw, she was the more perverse and to be feared because of her quixotic imagination. Now, draped over the whipping stool and blindfolded, stark naked, Jacqueline had been waiting there for a ful five minutes, not knowing exactly what was going to happen to her but assuming she would be spanked. She had tightened her muscles until there was hardly any separation between the jouncy, firm globes of her naked ass, but Dr. Marsha Andrews had used that time to change from her white medical costume into her favorite dominatress attire. A black kid corselet, one-piece in format, with a thin strap which hid her cunt and hooked up behind to the hems of the back and which began at her titties, cuirassed her slim figure. She wore shoulder-length gloves and thigh-high boots, and she had sprayed herself with perfume and her eyes glinted with lust as they fixed on Jacqueline Blee's tautened, draped-over naked figure.
She had taken a little round pincushion from the basket on the dresser in her bedroom, and it contained color-headed pins. She now began to prick Jacqueline's shuddering, bare ass with one of these, while the girl winced and groaned, pleading, "Oh gosh, Dr. Andrews, please get it over with-I can't stand waiting like this-it's awful-ouch! Oww! What are you doing to me?"
"Shut your mouth, you little bitch, or I'll turn you back over to Flossie. Would you like that?"
"N-no-but-hey, that hurts-ow! What are you sticking me with?"
Dr. Andrews had just stuck a green-headed pin squarely into the summit of Jacqueline Blee's left ass-cheek, and then had watched the girl's frantic squirmings over the whipping stool.
Slowly and delectatingly, the svelte auburn-haired lesbian continued her fiendishly cruel preface to punishment and subjugation. By the time she had planted twelve of these pins in red, green, black and yellow, six to each bottom-cheek, forming two circles, Jacqueline Blee was shrieking and squirming and twisting, frantically pleading to be spared any more.
"I'm just making a target for the whipping," she purred to the horrified, naked young beauty. "I'm going to give you all the spanks right in those circles where I've put the pins. Now you can get yourself ready."
Now she took up a short plastic hairbrush, brown in color, with extremely short, sharp, prickly bristles. Then, palming the girl's lower back with her left hand, her eyes devouring the flexing and shuddering naked ass-cheeks with their lewd pin-studded circles, she began to apply the back of the brush to start with. Three swats within each circle made Jacqueline Blee cry out and tearfully plead for mercy.
Then Dr. Andrews paused and reversed the brush. The next blow struck the bristles viciously in to the circle made by the pins on the left ass-cheeks, and Nacqueline Blee lifted her head and shrieked aloud, a high-pitched agonized cry that implored pardon.
Implacably the brush smacked against the other globe within that pin-marked circle, and then again Jacqueline's voice rose again in a shrill lament of agony.
Now the dominatress began to spank all along the very narrow and dissembled bottom-furrow, where the flesh was the tenderest, using the bristle side entirely. The girl's struggles and gyrations over the stool made Dr. Marsha Andrews shudder with mounting lust.
When she stopped, those two circles were a blazing, livid red with dark bluish corruscations left by the bristles, and Jacqueline was sobbing her heart out and dripping with agony-sweat.
Now Marsha Andrews stopped and unstrapped the weeping girl, only to hell her to bend herself over the stool in reverse, with her bottom pressed against the top of the stool, letting her arms hang down at the side. When the blindfolded captive tearfully protested, the Lesbian medico threatened to call Flossie Durkin, and once again the terror of this brutal head matron compelled poor Jacqueline to accept what she still hoped might be the lesser evil. In a few moments the svelte, auburn-haired doctor had strapped the girl's wrists and ankles so that this time Jacqueline's loins and belly were offered at the top of the stool and her quite hairy count hole was gaping.
Now, her left palm on the girl's shuddering belly, she began to apply cruel little blows of the bristled side of the hairbrush along the inside of the girl's thighs, observing how the victim twisted and writhed, and how her cries grew more hoarse and agonized and wordless as her strength began to diminish. Now it was the bristles that dug into that tender cunt, and this time Jacqueline raised her head and shrieked wildly for pardon.
"If I stop, are you going to be a good girl and do everything I tell you to, Jacqueline?" Thuckkkk!!-Thuckkkk!! Twice the bristle side of the brush banged into the gaping pussy.
"Awrrrowwwouuu!! ! Eeeyeeeowuuuuu!! ! ! Oh yes, I'll do anything-Oh my God, stop it, Dr. Andrews-oh my poor pussy-I'll do anything you want, if you'll only stop!"
Dr. Marsha Andrews released the whimpering, hysterical naked girl. Then she removed the blindfold and, substituting a leather dog whip for the hairbrush, cracked it in the air and commanded, in a hissingly insolent voice, "Get down on your knees then and lick my boots until I can see my face in them!"
She was frantically and avidly obeyed and poor Jacqueline Blee, thinking only of easing the torture in her burning bottom and cunt, knelt down and bowed her head and, her hands clasping one booted ankle, began to lick and suck the toe and the arch of the other boot till they gleamed.
"Now the other one!" was the order. This, too, was executed.
"Now then, Jacqueline, the rest of your punishment depends entirely upon how willing you are," the lesbian medico purred.
"I'll do anything, but please don't spank me any more. Oh, can't I take those awful things out of my poor b-bottom? They're just killing me-oh please!"
"You leave those pins in there. I myself will take them out and put an antiseptic on the wounds. Now, crawl up to me. Do you see the little flap that goes between by legs and hooks on to my corselet?"
"Y-yes-"
The whip came down diagonally over poor Jacqueline's tawny-sheened bare back. "Call me Doctor Andrews or Mistress, you dirty little slut!" the lesbian dominatress cried.
"Ahrrrr-oh yes, Dr. Andrews! For God's sake, don't whip me any more! Let me off any more! I'll do anything you want, I swear I will!" the prisoner shrieked. Tears flooded her cheeks and her small, firm, orange-like titties rose and fell violently with her emotions.
"All right. Reach between by legs and unhook that strap. You'll fina way to do it. Then roll it under the hems of my corselet. Then you can just put your hands on my bottom and go ahead and gam me. You'll find my pussy easily enough, once you get that strap out of the way, Jacqueline. Do it!"
Jacqueline Blee didn't wait for a second command. Servily, she reached between the dominatress' widely spread legs, found the strap and unfastened it, tucked it up under the hems of the corselet, and then, grasping the cheeks of Marsha Andrews' bottom, lowered her face to the furry snatch, extended her tongue and began to gouge inside of it. The leather whip cracked in the air, sometimes near the tawny flesh, but so long as Jacqueline's tongue continued to requite the lesbian medico, Dr. Marsha Andrews was quite content to continue this subjugational compulsion of the girl whom she now considered a thoroughly broken-in slave.
Jacqueline Blee had never shown the least lesbian inclination hitherto, but the loved to fuck with her boyfriend. She found her task now most odious, but the fiendish torture in her turning flesh reminded her that it would be most indiscrete for her to indicate the least abhorrence. Nevertheless, she screwed up her face and closed her eyes as her tongue dug back and forth in Dr. Marsha Andrews's moistening, twitching cunthole. And when the auburn-haired beauty found herself near the verge of come, she put her left hand out, twisted her gloved fingers in the flowing tresses of the unhappy young girl, and then applied a few deft cuts of the whip over the livid bottom and the deeply hollowed, bare, tawny-sheened back.
"Now get up and take off my corselet. And then come to bed with me. I'll teach you a thing or two, you little bitch!" she hissed. "I'll teach you obedience yet."
She was obeyed. She found herself naked save for boots and gloves, she made poor, weeping Jacqueline kneel before and beg humbly to kiss the whip, then go to bed with her and prove her obedience. Nor did she remove the pins until she had forced the young coppery-haired prisoner to lie on her back-despite the suffering which such a movement cost poor Jacqueline, as the delved-in pins worked back and forth in her tender ass-flesh. Then, crouching over Jacquelin's contorted, tearstained face, she presented the girl with her cunt and hissed, "Now gam me until I tell you to stop!"
Jacqueline again did not need a second invitation to obey. Fervently, her hand again clasping Marsha Andrews' naked ass, she proceeded to mouth and suck and kiss that tasty pussy. But this time, when Dr. Andrews reached the approach of climax, she made the girl desist. Then, flinging herself over Jacqueline's body, she began to pussyrub, while her hands reached under the unfortunate girl and grasped the very centers of those ass-cheeks where the spanking and pin-circles had been devised, and the girl's cried and writhing struggled added to the doctor's lascivious pleasure.
CHAPTER TEN
It was as well for Beth Calhoun's peace of mind during the two days and nights that she was compelled to remain in the isolation ward cell that she was not aware of the minor rebellion which took place in the refectory the very night which marked her first as a prisoner at Keston Women's Reformatory.
Alma Burbage had seen a chance to make a little profit in her commissary, and so she had been buying cheap frankfurters and sacks of kidney beans as summer fare for the luckless inmates. These came out as hotdogs and baked beans, but the problem was that the frankfurters were mostly made of cereal and the beans were tasteless and particularly unimproved when served with a sourish, cheap tomato sauce which had been also purchased in quantity because of a special discount which came via a dividend check which came to her personally and addressed to a private address outside the prison.
For Alma Burbage, like Head Matron Flossie Durkin, maintained a separate establishment for the purposes of mail and occasional orgies during a weekend when, as chanced once in a while, a few of the girls who were already designated as "femme bitches," were allowed to prove their zealousness to serve by offering their voluptuous young bodies for the personal pleasure of Alma Burbage and Flossie Durkin and such others as the two might decide to invite. Dr. Marsha Andrews had also her own little cottage about two miles from the reformatory, but she was most wary about orgies, because there was always the danger of blackmail and ultimate retribution. At most, she would take one girl whom she could trust, swearing her to secrecy with all manner of dire penalties in the event of treachery. Moreover, she was more selective and since, as we have already seen, her esoteric and resourceful Pagination surpassed even that of Alma Burbage herself or of Flossie Durkin-who preferred outright brutality to finesse-she preferred to pick and choose as she had done with Jacqueline Blee.
And so, on the very night that Beth Calhoun was to sob herself to sleep in her windowless cell in the isolation ward, at suppertime several of the prisoners protest the sloppy meal which was ladled out to them as they passed in line before surly-looking, fat cooks, under the vigilant supervision of all the matrons.
No sooner had the prisoners got to their tables, at a concerted signal, they lifted their tin plates and flung them down on the floor and then began to drum on the wooden tables with their coffee mugs, chanting, "We won't eat slop-we won't eat slop!"
So violent was the outburst that Alma Burbage hastily directed Flossie Durkin to turn on one of the powerful water hoses, and the result was that at least a dozen girls were felled, one of them suffering a broken arm. But the ringleaders were rounded up, and there were two particular girls for whom Alma Burbage had harbored for some time now and especially vindictive hostility. She was delighted to see that they were among those caught in the net after this melee, and promptly made arrangements for their punishment.
This punishment took place the following noon, before any lunch was served to any inmate. At the very front of the refectory, a large cleared space had been made and two gymnasium horses had been brought in, with heavy leather padding and heavy leather buckling straps.
Alma Burbage now ascended the little podium, and taking the microphone, addressed the prisoners through the loudspeaker system, which ran throughout the refectory and other chambers throughout the building and could be controlled by a master switch from her own office.
"Before any one of you is given food today, girls," she said sarcastically, "I just want you to sit and see what is going to happen to Amy Porter and
Christine Jenkins. As you know, last night we had a disgraceful episode here. These two girls were chiefly responsible. They complained about the food. Now, you know that I, as superintendent, am always ready to listen to complaints if they are brought to me in a proper manner. But to stage what is properly called a near-riot, I absolutely will not tolerate. I rarely take if upon myself to order the public chastisement of a prisoner, but here and now I believe that such stern measures have been called for by these two unruly and unprincipled girls themselves. You will be served your luncheon meal after they have had their punishment. Carry on, Matron."
She thereupon seated herself in an armchair before which was drown up a little table on which lay a try with piping hot roast beef from a prime cut, a baked potato covered with sour cream, butter and chives, artichoke, a pot of excellent coffee and a brown betty pudding. Out of pure sadism, she began to eat leisurely, while four of the assistant matrons now dragged the two unfortunate young prisoners out of a door at the right and into the clearing towards the whipping-horses.
This time, two of the fat cooks themselves were designated as executioners, and this was also a subtle nuance of Alma Burbage's invention. These women were particularly incensed that their culinary offerings were so shabbily received, and they promised to give an exemplary account of themselves before all these others, who would then have to partake of their fare and would then, it was hoped, profit by the lesson.
Amy Porter was twenty, with straw-colored bobbed hair, a vapidly pretty face, and a spectacularly fine pair of titties, though rather boyish bottomcheeks by contrast. She was there for four years for assault with a deadly weapon upon a caseworker, because her illegitimate child had died and because in her grief she believed that the welfare agency was responsible for this death by not giving her funds, food and medicines in time.
Christine Jenkins was twenty-two, petite, with the figure of a young Venus, softly pale pink skin, huge dark brown eyes and long pageboy-styled chestnut hair. She was sentenced to three years for driving a getaway car for a boyfriend who had tried to rob a bank; since it was a first offence, she had been sent to Keston rather than to the State Penitentiary, though at the moment she would certainly have preferred the latter!
At Alma Burbage's side, the two girls were instantly stripped down to their bloomers, bras and stockings, their shoes removed, and then they were forced astride the horses, to which they were hurriedly strapped. Next, by another refinement of the superintendent, pails of warm water were doused over their bottoms so that the coarse cotton bloomers adhered to the flesh and molded it out like a second skin. The cooks where then handed leather paddles and told to proceed.
"Fifty spanks," Alma Burbage said as she swallowed a particularly bite of roast beef and then paused to watch the expiation of these two wicked culprits.
The cooks raised their paddles and brought them down with all their might. The wet smack of the leather implements on the doused cotton bloomers, under which was resilient and tightly-stretched girl-flesh, made an impressive sound, and Alma Burbage promised herself to repeat it in private for her own delectation. Instantly, piercing cries rose as the two victims tugged at their bonds, lifted their heads, their eyes wide and shadowed with suffering.
The implacable "Thivack-thuckkk-smackkk!" of the two paddles now filled the room, punctuated by the wild shrieks and babbled entreaties for mercy from both Amy and Christine. Christine seemed to suffer the most, frantically dragging at her bonds and twisting and wrestling against the ferociously biting, bruising shock of the leather paddle in her executioner's pudgy hand. The latter, grinning obscenely, relished her victim's suffering, and did all she could to increase it by pausing from time to time to yank the top of the soaked bloomers up higher so that the clinging material would bite into Christine's ass-hole.
By the time half a dozen cuts had been applied, both girls were nearly fainting, and by the end of the fifty strokes, both were half unconscious. But their torment was not yet over.
The cooks now retired and Flossie Durkin and Clara Henshaw took over. Drawing down the bloomers and exposing the swollen, dark-reddened asses of the two unfortunate young women, these vindictive harpies now proceeded to apply twenty strokes with a broad leather strap, which revived the consciousness of the two victims and drew from them uncontrollable, inhuman screams and maddened cries for mercy. Silent, trembling, pale, the other inmates of Keston watched, unable to take their eyes off those swollen, naked bottoms which lunged and twisted and bucked and jerked in the most salacious contortions.
When it was over, Alma Burbage, having finished her dessert and coffee, rose to address the prisoners again: "I trust that what you have just seen will serve as a lesson none of you is going to forget. Now lunch is going to be served. Take those two girls to the infirmary."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Beth Calhoun was released from the isolation ward, she was brought at once to the office of the superintendent. Alma Burbage received her cordially, which ought to have been enough to put Beth on her guard. But the unfortunate young beauty had been so crushed and annihilated by the degrading treatment she had already received (having to strip naked and then being led down to get her clothes in that same au naturelle condition and then being locked away from every one else for two days and nights), that she almost pathetically strove to make a friend of the perverse superintendent.
"So far, Calhoun," Alma Burbage coldly used the prisoner's last name as part of her treatment to make each new inmate feel herself at the very bottom of the social scale and thus be acquainted with her inferiority from the very outset, "there are no demerits against you, although Head Matron Durkin thinks you are just a bit too impertinent. I'd watch that if I were you."
"I-I'm sorry, Miss Burbage."
"Well, we expect that this must be hard for you," Alma said with a certain graciousness in her voice as she stared greedily at the lovely dark-brown-haired prisoner standing before her with head bowed and arms at her sides. "Now you are going to have some tests, and they will take most of the morning. By late afternoon, I should find out from Dr. Edwards what your I.Q. is and what your tendencies are for work, and then I shall assign you to a special detail. You were an office girl in an insurance company I gather from your dossier. We have a library here, but we also have essential work like laundry and kitchen and latrines. However, you may be sure I'll make the proper disposition of you after you have taken the tests. Now you may leave and go to the office at your left where Dr. Edwards is waiting for you."
"Thank you-thank you very much, M-Miss Burbage," Beth Calhoun faltered.
She rose and left the superintendent's office, and Alma Burbage stared after her, watching the undulations of Beth Calhoun's voluptuous ass. She could hardly wait to see those bloomers come down and that nice soft white skin redden under a good sound spanking. But if all went well, she would prefer to do that in her own private quarters so that Beth would be her own little slave bitch with no one else to interfere. The trouble with spanking a girl publicly, as with Amy and Christine the other day, was that these girls lost their fascination for her. A good hard whipping such as they had had drew out all their potential, and so there would be no surprises for her. But this delicious new inmate, not yet introduced to Lesbian love, would make a prime prize and so Alma Burbage intended to win Beth Calhoun's voluptuous young body to her bed. . .
The tests were not particularly difficult, and Beth finished them quickly and was then taken back to her new cell by Flossie Durkin. For a week, it would be a private cell, and after that if all went well and the girl had no demerits, as Flossie previously explained, she would then be roomed with another prisoner. This would depend to some extent on how many new inmates they received and a number of other circumstances;-none of which Flossie Durkin felt it necessary to explain to the bewildered and unhappy young woman.
But this very evening, Flossie Durkin had already agreed with Alma Burbage, Beth Calhoun would be "tested." And her reaction would determine precisely what would happen to her.
At the end of the afternoon she was again called to the superintendent's office and then told that her tests had been most satisfactory and that she would be given library work. It would start the following Monday. "If your record is good and you have no demerits, it's possible you can have parole inside of nine or ten months. It's all up to you, Calhoun," Alma Burbage concluded. "Now Head Matron Durkin will take you back to your cell and soon it will be time for supper. You've made a fair start, don't spoil it. I want to hear no complaints, I want no scenes, I want you to do your work and keep your mouth shut at all times. Matron Durkin will give you a book of rules to read, and I hope You'll memorize them. It will help you along in your stay here. That's all."
* * *
Lights went out promptly at ten o'clock. Some of the prisoners were allowed radios and others had books from the library, if their disciplinary record was good. But no radio might be kept on after ten, no matter how low. As Beth Calhoun lay on her cot, her head pillowed in her hands, staring up at the dark ceiling and realizing with a terrible immensity the many long terrifying nights that would unroll before she would at last step out of this place a free woman again, she heard a cry and then what sounded like a slap followed by an angry voice: "I've had just about enough of your tricks, Best-wick! You're going on report tomorrow, and Head Matron Durkin will have something to say to you, I'll be bound. Now lie over on your stomach and go to sleep. If I come in here again and catch your playing with yourself, you'll get more than a slap from me."
Beth Calhoun blushed. She had of course read about the isolation and the lack of sex in all prisons, and she had probably guessed that girls among themselves played with themselves as she had done before she had lost her maidenhead to Al Barker. Just as in male prisons, men without women had to use one another or else themselves. But till now it had been only a theoretical kind of knowledge, in the back of her mind and with no particular interest for her. Now suddenly, hearing that quite audible tirade from the matron, she blushed for shame when she thought that that poor girl was perhaps missing a husband or a sweetheart and was playing with herself in an attempt to recreate his presence here in this dreary prison.
The footsteps came closer, and suddenly they stopped outside Beth Calhoun's cell. The next thing Beth knew, a flashlight was being shone into her face. "You're Calhoun, aren't you?" the matron hissed. Her name was Dulcy Gromer, and she was short and fat and had a sour body odor. She was one of the newer assistants hired only about six months ago, and her own innate cruelty had made her a prime favorite with Alma Burbage. Dulcy Gromer had long hated pretty girls, and men also, because in her earlier life had kept her from being sought after by men. She had seen how they went for pretty girls instead, and her own sister had been attractive and had married a very handsome man that Dulcy secretly yearned for. So here at Keson she had her chance to avenge the shabby deal which fate had given her, taking it out on luckless attractive girls whose only crime was being here and being helpless to avert what was done to them.
There was a jangling of keys as Dulcy Gromer unlocked Beth Calhoun's cell door and moved in. "Stand up when the matron comes into your cell, Calhoun!" she snapped. "Arms at your sides, head up, in attention!"
Beth obeyed, blushing with shame and lowering her eyes as the fat unprepossessing matron scrutinized her. "Well, you're not bad-looking. Sort of young. What are you in for?"
"Accessory to th-theft," Beth Calhoun gulped, her blushes even more violent than ever, wishing she could sink through the very floor.
"Speak up when I talk to you! Now then, a little thief, eh? You won't steal anything here. Any complaints?"
"Oh no!"
"Call me matron, you little slut!" Dulcy Gromer's right palm flashed out and collided sharply with Beth Calhoun's right cheek. The young woman uttered a startled cry, put her hand to her cheek and stared tearfully at her tormentress, "and don't give me that baby doll look of yours, it won't work, Calhoun! You know what will work?"
"N-no, M-Matron," Beth Calhoun quavered.
"Doing what you're told. Keeping your mouth shut, making friends with the matrons. like me now. You and I could get along just fine, dearie. If you're a good girl. I can save you a lot of demerits, get you more food, help you with your job. So Miss Burbage will write you down as a good fish, and that'll help you with the parole board, see what I mean?"
"Yes-Matron."
"I thought you would. Say, you're real pretty. Ever have a girlfriend."
"Oh no, M-Matron!"
"Don't look so shocked. Now that you're here for what is it-three years--? Anyhow, you're going to be wanting somebody to love you up, with a shape like that and those nice red lips of yours. I can tell you're sexy just by looking at you here. Only there won't be any guys, so you might just as well take what's around. If you keep your mouth shut and act nice, it can be real sweet for you here, see what I mean?"
"I-I don't want to do anything I shouldn't and I don't-I never have-"
"You've never been with a woman, is that it? Great! Half the broads in this place would give a week's food to find that out and to snuggle right up to you now, Beth baby. Take off your dress and your slip while you're at it. Then stand up, and I want to see you at attention"
Beth Calhoun shamefacedly obeyed and stood in only the cheap bra and bloomers, stockings and shoes. Matron Gromer studied her, eyes narrowed, her lips curled in a cruel little grin. "Now take off your bra, honey."
"But-I already had a physical."
"Are you talking back? You want some demerits, huh?"
"Oh no-no please no!"
"All right, do what I told you to then. Well, that's better. Mmmmm, you got gorgeous tits, honey. You really do. Lemme feel them, and don't your dare move or use your hands to push mine away, or you and I are going to have a little paddle session tonight."
As the bra dropped to the floor, Matron Gromer sucked in her breath and put her hands out and began to squeeze and caress those heaving young titties. Poor Beth Calhoun looked down at the floor, closed her eyes tightly, as if to obliterate the sight of the matron's flushed, ugly face. But the feel of those pudgy fingers on her titties made her whimper with disgust and shame.
"Now let's have those bloomers off, baby," was the next command.
"Oh please-"
"What's this? Are you gonna make trouble now?"
"Oh no-I'll-I'll do it, M-Matron!" poor Beth Calhoun yanked down the bloomers and was naked except for her stockings and garters and shoes. The cruel matron stared greedily at that thick dark-brown cunt fleece. Her hands went back to fondle Beth's titties, and then moved down the girl's belly, on to her furry bush. But when she felt a forefinger invade the citadel of her cunthole, Beth Calhoun uttered a shriek and recoiled, clapping her hand over her pussy and gasping, "You-you haven't got any right-oh please don't-please, no!"
"Well, ain't we the little princess though?" Matron Gromer sneered. "Okay, put your duds back on and go right to sleep. So you don't want to play fingers with me, huh? Honey, it won't be long before you'll be begging to love me up in my room. Maybe I will and maybe I won't. And in the meantime I'm gonna tell Flossie and the super that you're nothing but an uppity little bitch. Now you go to sleep."
Dazed, shamed, agonized with fear over this veiled menace, Beth Calhoun obeyed and then flung herself back on the cot and burst into tears as Matron Gromer left the cell and locked it. She heard the matron's cynical laugh as the latter resumed her rounds. And she prayed that somehow a miracle would happen to take her out of this hellhole.
CHAPTER TWELVE
All the tests which lovely Beth Calhoun had taken meant really nothing; the real "test" had been the assistant matron's attempted seduction of the dark-brown-haired prisoner, and the fact that Beth Calhoun had indignantly rebuffed the Lesbian was carefully noted in the latter's report to Alma Burbage the very next morning.
"So she isn't going to play games, it appears," the superintendent drawled as she lit a cigarette. "In that case, we'll start her with a week or two in the laundry, and maybe she'll get some sense. Besides the exercise will streamline that gorgeous shape of hers."
"Just don't take too many pounds off her ass, Alma," the vindictive Lesbian purred, "because I'd like to do that myself with a paddle."
"You'll do nothing of the sort. Don't forget who's in charge here. And besides, Flossie and I have prime call on the new fish. When we're done with them, you can have your share. And anyway, you've got your own little pets, as I know, so don't come whining to me for a sweetie pie, not a new girl like this. Dismissed!"
When the woman had left Alma Burbage's office with a disgruntled look on her face, the superintendent had crushed out her cigarette and pressed a buzzer on the intercom panel at the side of her desk, and Flossie Durkin promptly entered, grinning and in good humor.
"What's up, Alma?"
"Calhoun's for the laundry detail. Put her there first thing tomorrow morning. And see if you can't get a couple of demerits on her somehow today."
"Leave it to me. I gave her the rule book and she's read it all right. I asked her a couple of questions, and she knows the answers perfectly. Whether she'll act them out is another thing."
"Well, she doesn't seem to want a little protectress at night, I hear."
"That's fine. I thought she would say that. But we're going to keep this little cherry for ourselves. Apparently the only time she ever had an affair was with that fellow who got her into this, so my guess is that, being the sensitive bitch she is, she's going to be awfully sorry she ever took up with him, when she spent some lonely nights after a hard day in the laundry. That'll make her very susceptible, Flossie, and a little persuasion won't hurt. Especially when she finds out that if she doesn't cooperate, that sweet ass of hers is going to be awfully sore and she's going to have more work that she can keep up with. She's going to be on her knees begging for a chance to be a good, sweet little bed bitch, you watch and see. That's all, Flossie. Wait-there's one other thing. How are Amy and Christine?"
"They're still in the infirmary, natch, Alma. They won't be trying those tricks any more."
"Well, when they get out, they can go right straight to the laundry, too. And I want Mabel to watch them every minute. The same goes for Genevieve."
Flossie Durkin's ugly face lit up and she winked. "Don't worry, Alma. Genevieve will keep those bitches hustling, and Calhoun too. I'll see you around. By the way, are you doing anything special next Saturday night?"
"At the moment I can't think of anything. Why?"
"Just thought we might have a little party with some of the new fish. Maybe by then Amy and Christine could join us."
"That might be fun. I've got a dear friend coming from New York. She's quite a bull dagger, and she just loves using a dildo. Especially one that's got ticklers on it. Wouldn't you just love to see Amy and Christine screwed?"
"That would be fun. Be talking to you, Alma. I'll get right to Genevieve.
* * *
Genevieve Corley was a handsome, rawboned woman of about thirty-eight, and head of the laundry workshop to which, as a rule, the uncooperative and incorrigible prisoners were sent. She was an exacting taskmistress, and she was also as confirmed a Lesbian as all of the higher echelon of Keston. She had her own pets, like every matron in the prison. These girls filled the roles of supervisors, making sure that the unfortunates assigned to the steaming laundry kept up their quota of work, wasted no time in gossiping, and didn't abuse the privilege of two toilet breaks a day. If a girl was having her period, she received three toilet breaks a day, and more than that required special permission from Genevieve herself-who dispensed these as she might special privileges and only in return for "cooperation." Many a girl had had to wet her own panties in desperation because, having no desire to yield to Genevieve's impassioned advances and sadistic love-play, she chose the lesser evil rather than ask for permission to go to the lavatory even when it was most urgently needed.
Beth Calhoun filed in the line going into the refectory for lunch that fateful day, shivering at the cruel faces of the supervisory faces of the matrons who herded the inmates to their midday meal. She had read the rulebook indeed, and she knew that no talking was permitted during eating. There was a full hour of recreation given in the afternoon if the weather was pleasant, out in the prison courtyard, and here talking was permitted. Of course, prisoners in their cells were permitted to talk to one another, but she wasn't permitted to have a roommate yet. In a way, she wanted one. She had to talk to someone or go mad. If only Al Barker had told the truth, she wouldn't be here. Oh God, the prospect of three miserable years in this dreadful place made her want to die right now!"
But Flossie Durkin had already done her evil work at Alma Burbage's bidding. She had approached one of her own little pets, a seventeen-year-old girl named Abbie Benson, a meek, scared little rabbit who was there for a year on a charge of shoplifting and who had already at fourteen displayed a rather unwholesome interest in her own sex, having had a crush on her high-school gym instructress. Abbie was of medium height, quite slim, with a startlingly large pair of titties and a most undulatingly mobile pair of high-set, round, solid asscheeks which had already known Flossie's paddling attentions several times in the four months she had now spent here.
To save herself further paddlings, Abbie had all too willingly gone to bed with Flossie Durkin and in the head matron's opinion, was one of the best gammers in Keston. She had been promised a cushy job in the library if she managed to pull this off, and she stared at Beth Calhoun who was just ahead of her, with an eager little grin on her insipidly pretty face. As they rounded the corner on their way to the refectory, she adroitly put out her right foot and tripped Beth Calhoun, who sprawled with a cry of pain and surprise. Instantly, Flossie Durkin was hurrying forward.
"What's going on here? Calhoun, on your feet! You're holding up the luncheon line."
"But I was tripped-I didn't do it on purpose," Beth indignantly replied, which was exactly the attitude that Flossie hoped she would plunge into.
"Talking back, eh? I'll just put down a couple of demerits for that, Calhoun!"
"But that's not fair!"
"Well now, we've got another jailhouse lawyer on our hands. Step out of line, Calhoun, arms at your sides, head down. You've just missed your lunch today, I'm afraid."
"It's still not fair! I tell you, I was tripped. The girl in line beside me did it."
"That's a very serious charge. Abbie, get over tome here now!"
"Yes, Head Matron," the light-brown-haired girl simpered.
"Did you trip Calhoun there?"
"Oh no, Head Matron. I wouldn't think of a thing like that. I don't want to get into trouble, you know that."
"I didn't think so. All right, go on in to lunch, Abbie. The rest of you, snap it up there!"
And when at last all the inmates had shuffled into the large refectory, where only the night before they had watched the punishment of Amy and Christine, Flossie Durkin grinned at the unhappy dark-brown-haired beauty: "I can see you're a born troublemaker, Calhoun. You got a demerit last night, and these two call for a little session with Miss Burbage. Come along with me right now."
"Last night? But I didn't do anything!" Beth Calhoun protested.
"Are you contradicting the word of a matron? Now you come along or I'll make it four demerits and you'll find yourself in a peck of trouble. Walk ahead of me, and I'll tell you where to go!"
With a groan, Beth Calhoun obeyed. Soon they were before Alma Burbage's office. Flossie Durkin knocked, opened the door and gave Beth Calhoun a shove forward.
"This girl's created a scene at luncheon lineup, Miss Burbage," she said with obvious satisfaction, "and you know she had a demerit last night."
"But that's not fair-and what did I do last night? Anyway, I was tripped, Miss Burbage. I didn't fall on purpose. It's not fair-I don't think it's right to treat me this way."
"Your attitude is very bad, Miss Calhoun," Alma Burbage said in a cold voice. "You're off to a very bad start your first week. Three demerits. I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to give you the library job I'd hoped. You'll start tomorrow in the laundry, under Matron Corley, and this evening, Miss Durkin here is going to punish you. It will be right before you go to bed, and it will be in her quarters."
"Punish me? But why? You haven't any right to punish prisoners, I know you haven't," Beth burst out in amazement, defiantly.
Flossie Durkin crossed over to the unhappy young woman and viciously slapped her across the cheek. "Don't you dare use that tone of voice to the superintendent, you little bitch!" she snapped. "I'm marking you down for another demerit right now, for that. You're going to get yourself spanked on the bare ass, and by me. I'm going to make you eat humble pie, you watch and see. Now I'll just take you back to your cell and you'll wait till supper. It's your own fault if you're hungry."
"Miss Burbage, for God's sake, this is unjust. I swear I was tripped by the girl in line behind me!"
"I questioned her, Miss Burbage, and she utterly denies it. I think that Abbie Benson is quite trustworthy. In fact, I recommend that she be given a job in the library. I think she's earned it."
The superintendent nodded. "I'll have a transfer made at once. That's all, Calhoun."
"But you've no right-you're not supposed to punish prisoners-oh, this is inhuman-" Beth Calhoun groaned, tears blurring her lovely eyes.
"Just keep it up, and this time you'll find yourself back in the refectory, but this time over a wooden horse and with everybody watching your big butt get it!" Flossie Durkin put in maliciously, and thus Beth Calhoun, tears running down her cheeks, reluctantly turned and left the superintendent's office, while Alma Burbage smirked with eager anticipation of the night, for she meant to share Flossie Durkin's recreations of the night in inflicting malicious and lascivious treatment on this beautiful, innocent "new fish."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The lights had just been turned out along the tiers of cells in one of which poor Beth Calhoun was incarcerated when there was the quickened sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. It was Flossie Durkin, vengefully eager to initiate the newest inmate into the tyrannies of Keston.
The young dark-brown-haired girl had been put into the very last cell at the far end of the floor, to isolate her from the other prisoners and also for making it easier for taking her on to punishment. Now often when a girl had been informed at the beginning of the day that she was down on the punishment list, she sometimes made the error of fighting and creating a scene which was hardly good for the morale of the others. In this instance, Flossie Durkin, knowing that Alma Burbage was eager to participate in this, the very first chastisement of desirable Beth Calhoun, did not wish the other inmates to know what was going to happen. There were already a few troublemakers whom she suspected, though thus far they had been clever enough to avoid retribution. There was a lot of rumor going around the reformatory about the need for reform, and there was even one anonymous tip-which had been investigated and turned out to be just fiction that someone was going to try to smuggle a letter out to visitors aimed at getting the attention of a newspaper editor who would make a full investigation of Keston's brutality and depravity to these helpless girls and women.
But all this was of no consequence to poor Beth now, as she waited with pounding heart, in terror, knowing that those footsteps were coming for her. She couldn't help remembering Flossie Durkin's cruel, gloating face nor the cold insolent contempt with which Alma Burbage had discountenanced her.
But the fact that she was actually going to be beaten, so barbaric and anachronistic a treatment which supposedly had been removed from all prisons in this century, made her legs weak; and she was for the first time in her young life terribly afraid. She understood that there was some kind of pernicious interest in her, a kind of challenge to her spirit and courage and endurance, and she told herself desperately that she must at all odds not break down and show them that they were hurting her.
Somehow there would be some chance; perhaps some legal authority would visit the reformatory and then she would have a chance to tell what was going on. She had already heard some harrowing tales, though she had seen nothing concrete yet. But what she had heard the other night where that awful matron had come into her cell, had made her suddenly very suspicious. And now that she had been directly told that she was to be given corporal punishment, her mind began to build and to embroider on the frightful possibilities of the suffering in store for her.
The cell door opened and Flossie Durkin entered. "Come on out, Calhoun," she hissed. "And no noise and don't make any fuss, or you'll really get a thrashing! March out now and turn to your left as you come out of the cell. Go on straight ahead and there's a door, open it and keep going till I tell you to stop."
Beth Calhoun was about to speak and then decided against it, if the superintendent were to be on hand, she would plead for some understanding of what had been going on, try to make the superintendent understand that she was innocent of all wrong-doing and that she really had been trapped. It was unthinkable that at her age she should be spanked-the very word made her blush with shame.
So, after stiffening she finally bowed her head and moved listlessly out of the cell and down the dark corridor to that door, opened it and went on through a narrower passageway. And soon she found herself on the floor and in the building where the private quarters of the matrons and Alma Burbage herself were located.
It was to be in Alma's apartment, and Flossie knocked gently at the door and was told to come in.
Alma Burbage wore a stunning black satin negligee and a bathrobe over it, her feet encased in black leather high-heeled pumps. There was a smell of perfume to her, and she had lip stick painted her mouth and put mascara on her lashes, and there was a kind of perverse, sexual allure to her which made Beth Calhoun begin to tremble even more violently than before.
"Here's Calhoun, Alma," Flossie Durkin chuckled. Giving the young woman a shove and sending her stumbling forward to where the superintendent waited, seated in an armchair with her legs crossed, indolently smoking a cigarette.
"Miss Burbage, for God's sake, this is a terrible mistake! I swear to you I didn't do anything-some matron came into my cell last night and-and tried-and tried to be familiar with me-" Beth Calhoun began.
"Silence! Did I tell you, you could speak? I can understand now why you have so many demerits in such a short time, Calhoun. Well, Flossie, what do you think?"
"A good sound spanking on the naked ass, that's what I always think. But this little bitch is fo finicky, she might just be a troublemaker. What she needs is a lesson that'll make her learn once and for all what the rules are so she won't open her yap or even think of doing it," the head matron declared with a smirk of satisfaction.
"Well, then, I suppose you're going to take her over your lap."
"I sure will, only I want her hands and feet tied so she won't struggle too much. Okay if we use straps?"
"No! You shan't tie me! It's horrible-it's not fair and it's criminal! I've not done anything to be beaten for," Beth Calhoun passionately cried, her eyes glistening with tears as she backed away.-s But Flossie Durkin seized her, doubled one wrist behind the girl's back and made her bend over and cry out in pain. "I'll teach you to start whining to Alma," she growled. "By the time I get through with you, you'll be the nicest, most obedient little bitch in Keston, you mark mv words!"
Alma Burbage had risen from her chair and, going to a closet, opened it and took out two heavy buckling straps, which she tossed to the stout vindictive head matron. Expertly, Flossie Durkin got both of Beth's wrists behind her back and bound them tightly, pulling up the strap to the very last notch in the buckle until the young woman cried out in pain and twisted and fought desperately but to no avail. Then squatting, she would the other heavy strap round Beth's slim ankles and buckled them just as tightly.
"Now then, you're all ready, except to peel you down for an ass warming, baby," she crooned, licking her lips with ferocious sadistic joy.
She was naked under the uniform except for stockings and garter belt and shoes. And when she eyed Alma Burbage, the latter nodded and smiled significantly. Flossie Durkin felt her heart bound with delight. That meant Alma was going to share this sweet little bitch with her. And she was really going to put on a show for Alma's benefit and make Calhoun here eat humble pie!"
Now, seizing the girl by the waist, she dragged her over towards the couch and flung her down across her lap. Beth Calhoun uttered a plaintive cry of stupefaction and horror, twisted valiantly against her buckling straps but to no avail. Grinning, Flossie Durkin hoisted the coarse skirt and slip, rolled them well up out of harm's way, and revealed the magnificent bottom encased in the coarse white cotton bloomers. Meanwhile Alma Burbage bad gone over to the closet again and brought out a leather-covered oval-shaped paddle and moved over to the couch to watch the unveiling of this virginal behind.
"Now let's see what sort of an ass you've got for warming, Calhoun," Flossie Durkin growled as she inserted her pudgy fingers under the waistband and yanked the garment down. With all her might, poor Beth Calhoun tried to flatten herself across her tormentress' lap to prevent this, but in vain; with a sobbing cry she realized that her behind was naked now and that tied as she was, she was absolutely helpless before the cruelty of this tyrannical despot.
"Miss Burbage, for God's sake don't let her do it to me! It's criminal I tell you, you're not supposed to torture prisoners, to beat them, Oh my God, how can you do a thing like this, you a superintendent?" she appealed.
"Nice and slow, Flossie honey," Alma replied as she handed the head matron the paddle. "I want to see her big bottom dance. Isn't it nice and white and solid and firm and juicy, though! I want to see it red as a tomato, and I want to hear her yell for mercy."
"You will," Flossie Durkin promised.
Now tucking her left arm around the prisoner's waist, she lifted the paddle to get the heft of it, and then brought it down with a cruel smack across the ripest curves of both Beth Calhoun's quivering, upturned and helpless ass-cheeks.
Beth Calhoun had ground her teeth together and closed her eyes, but even though she had vowed courage, the burning shock of the first spank made her gasp and start convulsively.
"Her skin marks wonderfully," Alma crooned, squatting down just opposite to watch, her eyes glittering with lust. "Please don't hurry, it's a wonderful treat!"
"For me too, Alma honey," the head matron chuckled. Then she patted the twitching, huddling globes of Beth Calhoun's bare behind. "Now you've got a pretty far idea of what you're in for, bitch. You're not gonna talk so high and mighty from now on, you see if you don't. Get that ass ready, it belongs to me all night long, and there are lots of spanks coming in this paddle!"
With this, she again brandished the weapon high, hovered it a moment, then brought it down with a resounding Smackkk in exactly the same place. This deepened the already bright pink splotch left by the first spank, and the pain was really atrocious. Beth Calhoun lifted her head, her eyes wide and agonized, but she manage to suppress all but a stifled groan, while her body shook convulsively.
Now there was a full minute while Flossie Durkin playfully patted the shrinking naked white seat of her helpless victim. Beth Calhoun had closed her eyes very tightly and was trying to pray. She was praying for salvation, for some miracle to happen so that somehow people on the outside would know what was going on in this horrible place to which innocent girls and women were sent.
The third spank suddenly fell, landing on the base of both ass-cheeks, and her hips bounded convulsively again while this time a thin cry of pain was heard. "I didn't think she could resist my special spanker, Alma. Look at how nice and red the places are where I whacked already. And there's lots more room for plenty of swats," Flossie Durkin triumphantly declared. Now she entered a quick glancing diagonally placed blow over the right buttock, followed by a backhanded one over the left cheek, and the crisp smack-smack was echoed by another stifled cry from the unfortunate young sufferer.
Alma Burbage moved now a little forward so that she could watch Beth Calhoun's face. That lovely visage was contorted and flushed, and the nostrils were twitching and the lovely lips were trembling pitiably. Her fingers clinched together, as her wrists were dragged behind her and tightly strapped. She buried her face on the surface of the couch and tried to diminish herself. But the throbbing pain in her bare behind and the twisted cling of the bloomers at about mid-thigh reminded her only too well of her shameful and painful predicament.
Now slowly Alma Durkin began to spank, first on the right cheek, then the left allowing about twenty seconds between each blow. She did not use the full force of her arm, but her left arm held Beth's lovely supple waist as in a vise. And the crips sonorities of the blows from the leather paddle on the tender white flesh that began to redden furiously and to twitch and palpitate was in itself a shameful ordeal for lovely young Beth Calhoun. Wincing under each blow now, whimpering softly as the paddle rose from her bare ass to menace it once more, waiting for the next terrible shock which sent waves of fiery suffering through out her entire nervous system, the victim squirmed over Flossie Durkin's lap, tears surging from under her lids, in spite of all her resolutions to be brave and stoic.
Now Flossie Durkin directed the paddle vertically, again alternating on the cheeks, bisecting her entire bottom globe with a single swipe which landed more crisply now than ever. Beth Calhoun could no longer hold back her cries and groans. Nor could she stop the convulsive upward leaping of her naked hips as the paddle bit and imparted a new kiss of fire and torment.
Tears ran down her cheeks, and her face was upturned towards the ceiling as if she were praying for Divine Providence to save her.
But the paddle continued to fall, inexorably, wickedly, Flossie Durkin's vigor increasing in proportion to her own sexual arousal. And Alma Burbage's face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling with lust as she followed every nuance of this torture.
By the time Beth Calhoun had tasted fifty spanks of the paddle, her naked ass was a naked red and swollen, particularly on the summits and base. She was crying distractedly, her body feverishly twisting and squirming as if she were trying to rub her pussy off on Flossie Durkin's lap.
"That's a pretty good start, I'd say," the head matron pronounced as she laid the paddle squarely over the swollen hemispheres of Beth Calhoun's naked, and well spanked bottom. "I'll just let the little bitch cry off some of her pain, and then we'll keep going. Only I think the next time we ought to use a strap."
"Oh God-no more-I can't stand-I can't stand it-have p-pity on me, oh please, m--Miss Burbage, for God-s sake no more!" Beth Calhoun sobbed.
"It's a hard lesson," Alma Burbage rose now and in a throaty voice harangued the lovely dark-brown-haired captive. "But Head Matron Durkin here wants to make certain that you don't become the sort of troublemaker you've already shown some aptitude for. I'm inclined to let her go ahead with your spanking and to use a strap. It will bite more now that you've been well paddled."
"Please-oh dear God-I can't stand it-Oh help me, someone!" Beth Calhoun cried in her abject terror. To be bound like this, to be helpless, to have her bloomers pulled down and her naked behind spanked like a child's, was too much; but now the prospect of more spanking when her behind was already smarting and throbbing and hot with agony was just unthinkable.
"Of course, if you show the proper spirit of humility, we might be inclined to let you off this one time only," Alma Burbage pursued. She sat down on the other end of the couch, leaned towards the sobbing girl, and, cupping Beth Calhoun's chin in one hand, forced the girl's tearstained and contorted face up as she stared cruelly down into it: "Well, Beth? Do you think you can be a good little girl from now on and do exactly what we tell you to?" she greedily demanded.
"Oh please-oh this is awful-I can't stand it!" Beth moaned.
"Let me warm her up just some," Flossie Durkin cooed. Picking up the paddle from that swollen bare behind, she raised it high and applied three whistling, smacking blows, each vertically and each pinching the inner edges of Beth Calhoun's asscheeks together as they landed right over the amber, shadowy groove which separated those luscious globes.
Beth Calhoun uttered a wild shriek and tried to kick and twist and roll herself off of Flossie Durkin's lap but to no avail.
"Well now, you see that Head Matron Durkin doesn't have the same compassion for you I do, Beth dear," Alma Burbage purred. Again she cupped the girl's trembling chin and forced up Beth Calhoun's face and stared into those lovely tear-brimming eyes: "Do you think you can obey now and do everything we tell you to without any questions or arguments?"
"Oh please-oh let me g o a i i i iee yowwuuuu!! ! Oh my God, not any more, oh I'm so sore, it hurts me-stop it-I'll do what you want-oh God, have mercy on me!"
"I thought that would bring her around, Alma," Flossie Durkin grinned. For in the middle of Beth Calhoun's agonized supplications, she had delivered another three ferocious whacks right down the ass-hole groove once again pinching the inner edges of both globes together and causing the most unspeakable suffering as the captive's hips jerked, twisted and wriggled libidinously.
Alma Burbage now rose and removed her bathrobe, and furled up her negligee to her armpits to expose the black fleece of her cunthole. Standing beside the couch, she reached down with her left hand and, entangling her fingers in Beth Calhoun's glossy curls, yanked up the girl's tearstained and agonized face. "Kiss my cunt, bitch," she hissed. "Kiss it if you don't want the strap!"
"Oh no-oh that's too horrible-I won't-you can't make me do that-I'd rather dieEeyeoww!! ! ! Oh God, od dear God in heaven, give me strength, I'm dying-arrrri-awrraahhh!! ! Oh stop that, yes, anything-oh my God, please stop it!" As another three spanks quickly fell.
Flossie Durkin kept the paddle pressed right over those swollen naked bottomglobes after the last blow had fallen, making poor Beth aware that the punishment could be resumed at any moment and even harsher than before. "The Superintendent wants to hear you say yes, bitch," she snarled. "And if I don't hear it, I'm going to give you ten swats right here where the paddle is up against your big ass, understand me?"
It was too much. Whimpering and sobbing, poor Beth Calhoun nodded and in a faint voice quavered, "Oh yed-anything-only please put down that horrible paddle-I can't stand it anymore, I can't!"
Once again Alma Burbage cupped the girl's chin and forced her tear-stained face up to that shaggy black fleece. "Then kiss and suck and like me till I tell you to stop, bitch," she hissed. "Do it, or I'll tell Flossie to go on paddling till your tail is raw. I mean it, Calhoun!"
Just to quicken the girl, the head matron applied two more solid swats, one over each ass-summit, and poor Beth forgot all her resolve for Spartan courage. She glued her mouth to the superintendent's cunt, and began to lick and suck and gamahuch.
And before the night was done, she had been made to do the same thing to the cruelly vindictive head matron.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Beth Calhoun, more dead than alive and wishing herself the former, was dragged back to her solitary cell at the end of the tier, she believed that all hope, all pride and all decency had been torn away from her forever. Forced under the sadistic paddling of her naked behind to perform oral sex on Alma Burbage and then, as if that were not bad enough, on the head matron herself? For after Alma Burbage had experienced her own climax, she had replaced Flossie Durkin, seated herself on the couch, dragged the still bound and weeping, crushed captive over her lap and resumed with a few swats of the paddle, while Flossie Durkin hoisted up her uniform skirt and compelled the unfortunate brunette to gam her, she wept also for her own loss of courage.) Yet the terrible pain of the paddling and the cruel, relentless persecution of these two heartless women, had overcome far more courageous girls of greater physical stamina than Beth Calhoun herself.
After Flossie Durkin had led Beth back to her cell and shoved her back onto the cot, she bent over the weeping girl and murmured, "Now you just keep your mouth shut tonight. We'll find out if you blab any, and maybe all the fish in the dining room will watch your ass get it good and hard. That's what we do with squealers," and she had locked Beth in her cell for the night and gone off triumphantly to plan for a weekend of passion with some of the "trusty" girls who were her special favorites, and who would be sure to put out for both her and Alma Burbage. . .
The young lawyer, Ken Davis, had kept his word to Beth's mother. He had driven to Chicago, obtained a transfer of Beth Calhoun's trial, and made a number of notes. It was obvious that Al Barker was lying and, in his own selfish fear of getting a longer sentence, had tried to minimize his own part, giving the impression that it was a job pulled off by impulse rather than by careful planning. Though it hadn't worked, the judge had obviously been negatively impressed by Beth, believing that she was in cahoots with the wily con man who had already been a two-time loser.
His next step was to get a permit to see Al Barker in the penitentiary, and there for half an hour he appealed to Al Barker's sense of decency.
"Look, it's not going to shorten your sentence of lengthen it by a single day if you clear an innocent girl. I'm from the same home town she is, and she never had a prison record before. She trusted you, and somehow you must have got hold of that key. But you made everybody believe she made you do it. Now, won't it make your conscience feel better if you at least clear her? Do you know what sort of place that reformatory is? There have been a lot of rumors about it, and one of these days somebody might just call for a full-scale investigation. Do one decent thing in your life, Al. Help clear Beth Calhoun."
The black-haired con man had grinned crookedly at the handsome young lawyer. "I'll bet you're sort of sweet on her yourself, kid. Well, there's no reason for me to lie. like you say, it won't get me out of here any faster, even if I did. The fact, is Belle and me sort of made a play for her because she lived next door. When we found out she was working for an insurance company and then got promoted into claims, I told myself this was a chance to get hold of some checks and really spread some paper around this neck of the woods."
"And you planned it all without her knowledge?"
"Of course. That dumb little small town rube still had hayseed on her, Davis. Don't get sore now. A fact is a fact. She was cherry and she didn't know the time of day. I got the key off her key ring, had a duplicate made, and got it back without her being any the wiser. Just my dumb luck to have my car parked where it was, or I might have made it."
"If you had made it and gone off to South America, she might still have been picked up on suspicion and wound up in Keston anyway. And then you would have been in the clear. This is a much better thing, really. And I'll see if I can't get some little recognition of your being a decent guy and clearing her, and maybe it'll apply on your own record," David said as he shook hands with the con man.
But this was summer and it would take time to revive the case, even though Al Barker had agreed to make a sworn deposition before a notary or a public stenographer to clear Beth Calhoun. Ken Davis arranged the very next day to have a young woman who was a notary and an excellent court reporter to come with him the very next day and take down Al Barker's testimony just as he had given it the day before.
Armed with this, he presented himself before the Chicago judge who had sentenced Beth to the reformatory, but found the judge was on vacation and wouldn't be back for another two weeks. The wheels of justice were moving slowly, but Ken Davis was convinced that they would move, and finally in the right direction, if only it wasn't too late for poor Beth.
His next step was to go down to Keston, and he presented himself before Alma Burbage about four days after poor Beth had been forced to gam both her and the head matron. Alma Burbage received him coldly. She thought he was a pretty boy, and she hated men.
"So you want a permit to see Beth Calhoun, do you? Are you a relative?"
"No. I'm her mother's attorney and I have a perfect legal right to see her. Her mother has retained me to help Beth."
"How very noble. All right, I'll let you see her for five minutes. She's adjusting herself here, and just don't stir up any false hopes. She's got a three year term, you know, and she might be up for parole in another six months or so if she behaves herself."
"I understand, Miss Burbage. I'll tell her what I have to tell her in that time. Thanks for your courtesy."
Alma Burbage sniffed as the young attorney left her office and made a gesture to Head Matron Flossie Durkin, who had been working nearby and eavesdropping from a closet nearby which she had entered as soon as Ken Davis entered the superintendents office.
"You hear that, Flossie? We might be in for some problems. This fellow is a young crusader. I know the type. Just make sure that Calhoun doesn't spill her gut when she talks to him. Now you be there when the two of them get togehter, and if she tries to yipe about getting her ass paddled, you just let her know she'll get a lot worse if she doesn't keep her big trap shut."
"I'm with you all the way, Alma. I'll be down there," Flossie Durkin promised, and so she was a few minutes later as Ken Davis cooled his heels in an isolation cell, waiting for Beth to be brought in to him.
Flossie had got to Beth. She had warned the girl that here was an attorney who was looking into her case. "If you want to get out of here without some real hard times, girl, you just keep you yap shut to this shyster, get me?" she had warned the dark-haired victim. "Just let me hear one peep out of you about getting your tail warmed, and boy! Will you ever get it warmed, and from me personally. I'll take a cat-o-nine-tails to you, Beth, and I'll strip the skin off your ass and make a lampshade of it, I swear it. You just tell him you're doing fine and everything's all right, and that's all you tell him. You hear me?"
Cowed and crushed by the cruel head matron, Beth Calhoun listlessly nodded. A few minutes later when she was ushered into the cell where Ken Davis was waiting for her, her eyes widened. He was a very personable young man, handsome and softspoken, and when he told her he was from her mother, she burst into tears. She hadn't dreamed her mother knew of her shocking disgrace. But Ken Davis explained that the Peoria papers had carried the story and that her mother had called him and retained him to help her.
"I've seen Al Barker. He's cleared you," he told Beth.
"He-he has? Oh, thank God! When can I get out of this horrible place?" she gasped.
Flossie Durkin was standing right outside the door, and she now put her hand to her mouth and coughed three times, glaring at the excited young woman. It was a signal for Beth Calhoun to say no more about the special initiation she had had to endure.
"Well, it's going to be two weeks before the judge who sentenced you gets back from vacation. I've got the sworn statement that I took at the penitentiary, Miss Calhoun. It proves that you didn't know anything about his taking your key and having a duplicate made. He was just playing you for a sucker to get into the company offices at night to get those checks. I've got a good chance, I think, to get you out of here and get your name cleared of any criminal record," Ken Davis said.
"All right, Mr. Davis, time's up. I'm taking Beth back. Thank him for being interested in you, girl. Tell him, too, that you're getting along fine here."
"Oh yes, Mr. Davis, I-I am-tell Mother everything's all right," Beth blurted as Flossie took her by the arm and started to leave the room with her prey.
"I will. Good to see you. Keep your chin up, Miss Calhoun, you'll be out of here soon enough." He didn't like the possessive way the head matron was holding Beth Calhoun's arm. He didn't like the shrinking look of terror he had seen shadowing those lovely eyes for just a moment when Flossie Durkin had coughed outside in the hall. It was just a little too pat. Well, first he'd get her out of here, and then maybe he'd have some political big shot who wasn't afraid of any risk, to have this place really looked over with a fine-tooth comb. Something smelled very rotten in the state of Denmark and particularly in Keston. . .
He would have been certain of that if he could have been in Alma Burbage's private quarters that very same night, because Beth Calhoun was there too, and she was stark naked except for her black cotton stockings with the elastic garters to hold them up, and that was all, and she was kneeling before Alma, who was sprawled in an armchair, also stark naked except for pumps, garter belt and black opera-length mesh hose. She was gamahuching Alma Burbage and Flossie Durkin was standing by with a heavy leather strap in her hand, ready to spank that lovely white ass if need be. But Beth Calhoun was so scared and remembered that first paddling, that she was exerting herself, even though tears ran down her cheeks, to make Alma Burbage satisfied. And she was doing a pretty fair job, judging from the superintendent's moans and sighs and wrigglings.
"She was a good little bitch this afternoon. She didn't shoot off her trap, Alma," Flossie Durkin chuckled. "She knows what she would have got.
This!" And she lifted the strap and brought it down hard across the base of both Beth Calhoun's white ass-cheeks.
"Owuuu! Oh please don't whip me-Head Matron-I'm doing what you want-please don't!" Beth wailed as she put her hand back to soothe both jouncy ass-cheeks.
"Get back to work on me, or Flossie will give you the strap," Alma panted. "I'm almost there, so use your tongue on my clit and get me there fast!"
And so Beth Calhoun obeyed, while Flossie Durkin watched, holding the strap in her hand ready for the slightest sign of revulsion or hesitation. And after Beth and sucked off Alma, Flossie Flung herself down in a nearby chair, pulled up the flamboyant green negligee she had put on, and ordered Beth to crawl over there and suck her hairy cunt until she too tasted bliss. And it was Alma Burbage who took the strap and stood over the weeping girl as she reluctantly, weepingly complied.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nevertheless, even though Beth Calhoun had accepted the depravity forced upon her by the two domineering autocrats of Keston, it did not save her from laundry detail. Indeed, the very morning following that night of debauchery we have just relate ed, a grinning Flossie Durkin came into the refectory while Beth was eating her unpalatable breakfast of cornmeal mush, stale toast and tepid coffee, to whisper to her, "Directly when you finish, Calhoun, outside on the double and I'll be waiting for you. You're going to start your new job today. You'll like it. You'll keep nice and clean, I can promise you that!"
And so when the lovely dark brown-haired prisoner left the refectory, the head matron took her by the elbow and led her down to the laundry workshop where Genevieve Corley was in charge, assisted by three brawny matrons, all of whom loved nothing better than to tyrannize and whip and coerce their helpless female charges.
"Here's a fresh fish for you, Jenny," Flossie Durkin quipped, as she shoved the unresisting young woman forward to where Genevieve sat in her black uniform, presiding at a kind of podium at the far end of the room. The heat was oppressive, and the air was muggy, and every so often there would be blasts of steam. These emerged only from a little window, and since outside it was a sultry summer, there was little relief. All the girls who worked here-and there were some seventy of them-walked about with their cotton uniforms clinging to their bodies, damp and soaked, outlining their charms. It was here indeed that very often the lesbian "butches" among the matrons made their bedtime selections by determining which girl of another had a particularly tempting pair of titties or a lovely ass which would flinch and redden nicely under a good strapping, till the victim was ready to lick pussy and rub cunt as bidden. Some of them, indeed, strapped on dildos and fucked, thus usurping the male privilege with their penis envy. Genevieve Corley herself occasionally wore such a dildo, which she had had specially fabricated in a New York shop by a distant relative of a dear friend of hers, and which was adorned with tiny little spikes and whorls made of rubber. The frictional digging of this implement into a tender female cunt invariable brought Genevieve Corley exquisite delights.
She stared down coldly, her blue eyes appraising, at the unfortunate and unresisting Beth Calhoun, who stood before her with head bowed.
"She's got three years here, and she might spend some time cleaning up the works." Flossie Durkin announced. "Don't treat her different than anybody else, hear, Jenny? Just let me know if she gets any demerits. She's on probation with Alma, you might say, and with me too."
"I get it." Indeed, Genevieve Corley looked disappointed. "On probation" meant very simply that both the superintendent and the head matron had already marked this particular "new fish" for their very own, and Genevieve Corley, who owed her appointment to Alma Burbage herself, had no desire to lose a cushy job and all the girl-fucking privileges it entailed.
"I'll take care of things, don't worry, Flossie," she assured the head matron. Then, raising her voice, she called out, "Lissa, came over here and put this new fish to work!"
"Lissa" turned out to be a bespectacled, gray-haired woman of about fifty, with a moustache on her upper lip, a dour face, and one of the women most dreaded by the unfortunate laundry detail girls. Her name was really Clarissa Roder, and she had once been a private tutress to a family of three girls whose parents traveled to Europe extensively.
She very nearly had criminal charges preferred against her when they returned after a six month absence, to find that she had used the whip on all three girls, who ranged in age from ten to seventeen, and had forced all three of them to gamahuch and to pussyrub with her. That was in Palm Springs, and from there on, Clarissa Roder had gone through several institutions, most of them privately owned, where her brutality had at first not particularly mattered to the selfish and greedy superintendents of the sanitaria or mental homes for which she toiled.
But once again there was very nearly a scandal when she blackmailed a handsome matron whom she had caught with a lover in the apartment when the husband was away on a business trip, by forcing her to submit to a good thrashing and then going to bed with her. The wife complained, the husband very nearly beat Clarissa Roder to death. Two years after that, she had found a job in Keston, and her brooding, almost psychotic mind made a living hell for those she lusted for and whom she could get. For here at Keston, the Lesbian "butches" had to take their turns as regarded seniority and rank, and of course, Flossie Durkin as head matron was first after Alma Burbage herself. Clarissa Roder was at the bottom of the list, and so when she did get a girl, one whom no one else wanted, that particular girl was doomed to the most vicious and depraved kind of sexual servitude.
She glowered at the shrinking Beth Calhoun and, taking her by the arm, dragged her over to the laundry vat. "There's the soap, there's the dirty stuff. Now get busy," was her only explanation. "And you'd better keep up with the work that comes to you, or you'll get a taste of this!"
"This" was a heavy rubber truncheon which dangled from the belt of her uniform. She loved nothing better than to creep up behind a girl who was bent over a tub or vat, raise the truncheon high and deal a sonorous smack across the tightly presented bottom-cheeks of the offender. She called these "Love-taps" but those who knew Clarissa Roder well from unfortunate experience shuddered to think what her real blows of punishment were like in comparison with those supposedly "caressing" marks of attention.
By the time the luncheon break came around, Beth Calhoun was exhausted, damp with sweat, and nearly fainting. She had a dreadful headache, and her knuckles were chafed and raw from this menial toil which she had never before in her life had to do. She had already earned the notice of Genevieve Corley herself, and of course Clarissa Roder had been by several times to watch how the "new fish" was making out, and twice poor Beth had felt that rubber truncheon whack against her tender bottom.
Dazed, aching, she dragged herself to the refectory and ate the unpalatable meal-beans and frankfurters again. Nor were they very much better than those offered at the time of that near-riot in the refectory. In fact, she could scarcely finish her meal, and filled up on what bread she could, and a little lukewarm coffee. Then, drearily, she dragged herself back to her work, and finally, at four in the afternoon, she fainted. A bucket of water doused in her face revived her, and she saw both Genevieve Corley and Clarissia Roder bending over her, their eyes cruel and greedy.
"I'll bet the little bitch has got a loaf of bread in her oven," Clarissa Roder snarled.
"I don't think so. Dr. Andrews would have let us know if that was the case," Genevieve Corley remarked.
"I-I've got a terrible headache-I'm so sick-oh please, I-I can't do this awful work" Beth Calhoun faltered as she tried to get up.
"You'll do it or else!" Clarissa Roder growled. She bent down, seized the unhappy girl by the armpits and dragged her to her feet. Then her calloused hand smacked several times against each of the girl's cheeks, and poor Beth Calhoun burst into tears and tried to protect herself by twisting her face away and trying to fend off the blows with her hands.
"Put your hands down! You'd strike me, would you? You know what'll happen for that. You'll go into solitary, and you'll get thrashed in front of everybody!" the cruel assistant matron scolded. "I said put your hands down at your sides. Now-
THIS'LL PUT SOME COLOR BACK INTO THOSE CHEEKS OF YOURS, AND I'll put some color into the other set at bedtime, you can bet on that!"
So saying, she applied three or four more slaps to the sobbing young woman's face, then pushed her out of the laundry.
"You can go back to your cell, and just for that, you won't get any supper," she announced.
Once back in her cell, Beth Calhoun sprawled on her cot, not really caring whether she lived or died. Her head throbbed intolerably, and a sick nausea racked her from the oppressive humidity of that inferno where she had spent the day. She fell asleep at last, only to be wakened suddenly by the clanging of her cell door and the appearance of cruel Flossie Durkin.
"So you got yourself on the black books again, you little Bitch?" the head matron gloated in a husky whisper. "This time, you're really in for it!" Jenny Corley wants you really thrashed, and so does Alma. Come along now."
"No! It's not fair-I'm sick-the heat-and they beat me-I've never done work like that before-I fainted-oh, nothing could be so inhuman-how in the name of God in heaven can you be like that? I did what you wanted-oh, I wish I could die!" Beth Calhoun broke down and sobbed hysterically.
"Hush your noise! Do you want to wake all the other inmates.? Now come along. What.' You'd fight me?"
For, in the hysterical terror which gripped her at the thought of being forced to gamahuch again both the ugly head matron and the perfidious superintendent, as well as the horror of being whipped again, Beth Calhoun as last rebelled. She sat up on her cot and tried to fend off Flossie Durkin's groping hands, striking out and one, by chance, hitting the head matron in the cheek. Flossie Durkin let out a howl, reached in the dark for the whistle hanging around her neck, and blew on its lustily.
In a moment the lights were up, and two more matrons were beside her to aid her, Mabel Burton and Clara Henshaw.
"Get this fish down to the hole, the punishment hole!" Flossie Durkin snarled. "I'll bring Alma. This time, this fish is going to learn a lesson once and for all!"
* * *
About twenty minutes later, Beth Calhoun found herself stripped stark naked and dangling by her thumbs, with an iron bar tied between her ankles. It had two small rings, one at each end, and from these the cords were bound so as to stretch her legs at least a yard wide and make her most intimate parts assessable to the detailed attentions of her tormentresses.
Alma Burbage wore only her lace-trimmed peach-colored satin slip and high heeled pumps, while Mabel Burton and Clara Hensaw wore just their linen uniforms and high heeled pumps, without stockings or lingerie. As for Flossie Durkin, she boldly took off her uniform and displayed her ugly, shapeless, varicose-veined body in a tight white leather corselet with a a flap that gusseted her between the legs and could be released to show off her cunt. This she did at once, and grinned at the sobbing Beth Calhoun as she stepped forward, a pair of manicure tweezers flourished in her right hand.
"See all the hair I got on my cunt, Calhoun baby? Well, I've been wanting to rub it up against a nice little baby pussy. I'm going to pull out all your cunt-hair right now. After that, we'll warm you up with a good sound thrashing, and you're going to play ring-around-the-rosy with all of us. Maybe you'll be more cooperative after that. And then, if you're good, maybe we could let you off the laundry. Alma here thinks you could do good in the library. But I'm not convinced yet that you're anything but a troublemaker. And I'm still convinced you passed that young punk lawyer some message somehow, because Alma got a letter this morning from the court in Chicago that heard your case, and they said they were looking into it. Boy! You'd better not have come up with any gossip about Keston, or even if they do let you out, you'll go out without any skin on your ass. You hear me?"
All Beth Calhourn could do was to whimper and groan, for she was hanging by her thumbs, her feet just off the ground, and her legs straddled hugely until her muscles ached. She screamed now as Flossie Durkin put the tweezers to her dark-brown pussy-hair and yanked out a sprig. Her head tilted back and her beautiful titties arched like marble globes as another sprig was town away.
Sobbing pitifully, begging incoherently for mercy, she endured this hellish torture until at last the lips of her cunt appeared, raw and chafed, and all her cunt-hair was torn away and lay before her on the floor before her yawningly stretched naked thighs.
Then Flossie Durkin, grinning like a fiend, waddled forward, put her pudgy hands on Beth Calhoun's ass-cheeks, thrust her own shaggy-haired cunt up against the tender and overly sensitized soft pussy of the lovely and innocent victim of Keston brutality.
Biting her lips almost to the blood, whimpering, sweating in rivulets trickling down from her armpits, Beth Calhoun endured this hellish travesty of love, which was not so much sexual as it was sadistic and greedily triumphant to proclaim the complete subjugation of an innocent girl by the sadistic, vicious, cruel rulers of this women's reformatory.
"There now," Flossie Durkin panted after she had glued herself a last time to the sobbing, naked captive and had her infamous climax. "Now that warmed me up good, and I'm going to do the same for you, baby. Get that ass of yours ready!"
She now produced a short black leather thong at whose end four finger-like strips had been carefully cut so that they stood out and, when applied in the hand of an expert like the head matron could clutch and gnaw the tender flesh of a girl's bottom or her titties or her inner thighs or belly.
And it was over her belly that Beth Calhoun felt the cruel taws, which made her jerk and shriek frenziedly from the excruciating pain.
And the taws smashed out, cracking wickedly across the soft inner thighs, the fingers stinging the inside of the left thigh and the end of the bank smacking wickedly against the other thigh. Now Flossie moved to the right and directed the fingers of the whip to the right inner thigh just where it joined the pelvis, and a maddened scream, imploring and desperate, burst from Beth Calhoun's panting lips.
"OWWWRRREEEEYEEEOWWWW! Qh stop it! In the name of God, I'll do anything you want, put please stop whipping me!"
"Anything, baby?" Flossie drooled, as this time as she applied the finger-like ends of the whip against Beth Calhoun's panting left tittie, flattening the nipple as the surface of the band itself smashed home, the tips of the lash whisking around the outer curve of that luscious loveglobe. Another even more prolonged tortured shriek was torn from the twisting, dangling body of the sufferer. Her fingernails dug into her sweating palms, and her thumbs ached madly from the cruel strain imposed by having all her weight hanging from them.
Moving around, Flossie Durkin now began to attack Beth Calhoun's naked bottom. A dozen lashes drew the most agonized, abject supplications, shrieks, moans and hysterical weeping, as the girl plunged, twisted, lunged in her attempts to escape the cruel fire imposed by this unholy implement of torture. Finally Flossie Durkin came around to face her victim, lowered the taws, and asked, panting, "Are you really gonna do everything we say? everything, baby?" Are you gonna be a good bitch and gam us all and let us screw you?" And before Beth Calhoun could answer, the taws had leaped up into her naked, hairless cunthole, the fingers biting viciously into the delicate mucous membrane of that sweet love center.
Beth Calhoun's body convulsed, her head titled back, a prolonged and inhuman wail of indescribably agony poured from her, and then her head sagged forward and she hung loose and limp in her bonds.
"Oh shit! She's gone and fainted on us!" Flossie Durkin disgustedly growled. "Have you still got that darning needle, Mabel?"
"Sure. It's in my purse. I'll get it for you. There you are, Flossie honey. Wake her up!"
"Don't worry, I will," the head matron said grimly. She took the darning needle and began to prod viciously on those swollen nipples, the centers of those lovely bubbies now marked by the streaks of the infamous taws.
Beth Calhoun's eyes shuddered open, and then her mouth again gaped in a wailing cry: "AWWWRREEEEOUUUUU!! ! ! ! Oh dear God, I'll do whatever you want-I just can't stand it-I'd rather die-oh stop, I'll do anything-anythinganything!"
"All right, let her down," Alma Burbage panted, pulling off her slip and standing naked, her small, orange-like titties wildly heaving in her erotic excitement. She put a finger to the thick black fleece of her cunt and began to frig herself, shamelessly and lustfully, as her eyes devoured the shuddering, welted body, dank with agony sweat which dangled from the cords.
Flossie Durkin lowered the girl until she lay on her back. Then, at her order, Clara Henshaw got a thick, dome-like cushion and they lifted the whimpering Beth Calhoun and placed it under her back, lifting her loins until her cunt was proffered lewdly in offertory.
Then Alma flung herself down on that naked body, her mouth greedily sucking one of the swollen nipple buds, her fingers digging poor Beth's thighs and sides as she began to grind her shaggy pussy-fleece against the naked, raw-looking, denuded love lips. And soon she spent, slavering over the half-fainting victim. When she rose languidly, she gestured to Mabel Burton, who flung herself atop Beth and began to cuntrub avidly.
But Clara Henshaw demanded more of Beth than the others. Moving behind the moaning, semiconscious naked young woman, she straddled herself and lowered her cunt to that whimpering mouth, hissing, "You gam me, or Flossie will give you the taws right on your cunt again, you bitch!"
And Beth Calhoun had to obey.
And when they had finished with her, they took the bar from between her straddled, swollen thumbs and then she crawled across the floor and humbly kissed the feet of all four of them. And then the door opened and Genevieve Corley came in, naked and wearing a dildo and high heeled pumps. It was the special whorled dildo, with its spikes at the end, and laughing sadistically at Beth Calhoun's horrified face, the two assistant matrons and Alma herself held the poor girl down on her back and forced her to open her legs while Genevieve Corley mounted her, thrust the dildo home, and began to fuck her as a man might.
And to her shame and unutterable horror, her emotions roused against her will, her young body betrayed her. As the laundry detail matron thrust herself back and forth, rasping the tender young lovesheath, the sensitive young beauty uttered a sobbing cry and felt her body quake in tumultuous climax.
"You see?" Flossie Durkin cried triumphantly to Alma Burbage, "The little bitch is really a dyke after all. She doesn't need a man-all she needs is a good stiff cucumber of maybe a carrot, or Jenny's artificial prick up her twat. All right baby, you can start in the library tomorrow. Right now you can go back and get a good night's sleep. Maybe you'd better give her a shot of something strong, too. She looks done in."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
And for the next two weeks, Beth Calhoun was relieved from the hell of the laundry, working in the library. But her nights were not her own. When the lights went out, there was the inevitable step of Flossie Durkin opening her cell, smirking at her, drawing her out, more gently now, in a hypocritical kind of tenderness, to an orgy. That week she was forced, with two sixteen-year-old girls, to visit Dr. Marsha Andrews, where Alma Burbage and Flossie Durkin were also honored quests. The three naked prisoners had to gamahuch the trio of Keston's rulers, and then themselves put on a sixty-nining, gamahuching spectacle for the entertainment of their jailers, and then all three had to be gamahuched again so they could experience a change of partners.
Beth Calhoun prayed only that she might die, and forget her eternal shame. She didn't even want to think about a nice, decent fellow like Ken Davis, nor about her mother who had given her birth. She was nothing worse but a whore now, a used plaything for these loathsome women. She despised sex with every bone in her body, and she wished to heaven that she were ugly, so they wouldn't lust after her. But at least it saved her the whip, and she couldn't endure that again. Not after that night, after she had spent that horrible day in the laundry. The mere thought, the mere glimpse of a whip made her flesh cringe.
But meanwhile Ken Davis had finally got before the judge, who had returned refreshed from his vacation, with the transcript of Al Barker's confession. The judge at once issued a bench warrant to bring lovely Beth Calhoun back to Chicago, and it was Flossie Durkin herself who drove the girl from Keston in her own Lincoln Continental, warning her all the way not to open her yap too much-or else.
But once in the judge's chambers, Beth Calhoun was asked questions by the now sympathetic judge, and answered them, and Al Barker's testimony was produced, and the judge finally conceded that the State had made a mistake, and an order was issued for the release of Beth Calhoun and the clearance of her record to show it free from any criminal indictment. Beth Calhoun broke down and wept, while Flossie Durkin, cheated of her prey, glowered in the rear of the courtroom when Beth came out of the chambers with young Davis supporting her with his arm around her.
"It will just be a few more days and then you'll be free, and I'll be waiting for you, Beth," he said gently.
"Oh, if I could only get out alive-"
"Why? What do you mean?"
"It's terrible there-I shouldn't tell you-that horrible woman there-she's the head matron-she's threatened me so often that if I ever said a word-but all those poor girls and women there, they're beaten, they're given terrible food, and the worst of it is, they have to-they have to be just about prostitutes to the matrons, yes, and even to the superintendent!" Beth gasped, her cheeks turning red with shame as she lowered her eyes.
"Are you sure of it?"
"Oh, yes! I could show you-I still have some of the marks from where they whipped me last-and they-they made me do the filthiest things-that women do with one another-in a prison. Oh, Ken, please get me out of there!"
"Wait till I talk to Judge Bronfield a minute." He left her there with a bailiff and hurried back to the judge's chambers. Twenty minutes later he came out, grim-faced, went up to Beth Calhoun and said, "There's going to be an investigation. They'll call the governor in Springfield and he'll have a prison management expert pay a surprise visit to Keston. And meanwhile, we'll keep you here overnight in protective custody until the formal order comes through. It's the least I can for you, Beth dear."
* * *
Flossie Durkin didn't hear what was being said between the handsome young attorney and the young girl who had become her personal toady and bed slave, and whom she shared with Alma Burbage. She was anxious to get back to Alma Burbage and report that apparently the little bitch hadn't opened her mouth. But they were going to let her go. Well, they had fun for a while, and there would be others like Beth Calhoun, lots of others.
And so the next evening, as was their wont, Flossie Durkin and Alma Burbage and even Dr. Marsha Andrews met in the large punishment room in the basement where all the instruments of punishment were aligned on the walls and where there were straps and whips and bondage equipment of all kinds. Two seventeen-year-old girls were being whipped, blindfolded and naked. One was on the whipping horse and one was bent over the stool. Both had refused to girlfuck: both were "new fish" and both had been there for ten days.
Suddenly the door burst open and Clara Henshaw rushed in, her face pale, her eyes huge, hardly able to speak.
"Th-there's somebody here from Springfield. Oh my god, get those girls out of here fast?"
"What are you taking about?"
"Somebody's here to investigate us. They're asking for you, Alma! Oh my God-No!"
A tall, bespectacled man, followed by a male secretary, had just entered. "I see," he said grimly. "I guess that your attorney wasn't making this up after all. Which one of you is Alma Burbage?"
Alma Burbage was in just her slip and high-heeled pumps, and she had the good grace to blush and lower here eyes, as she murmured, "I-I guess I am."
"And the rest of you are matrons, I suppose? Which of you is the head matron?"
"Me, quavered Flossie Durkin suddenly pale with terror.
"Have someone dress those girls and put them back in their cells. You, Miss Burbage, come back with me. I want to talk with you in your office. There will be criminal charges filed against all of you!"
* * *
Beth Calhoun was free. She was reunited with her mother in Peoria. The divorce action was completed, and Dennis Henderson had vanished forever, running off with some girl. And Beth's mother wept as the two women held each other in a tight embrace. And Beth's mother sobbed, "If only I'd understood-all this wouldn't have happened-and when I think of what happened to you there, and it wasn't your fault-I could just kill Dennis-oh well, I want to make it up to you!"
"I'll take care of that, Mrs. Calhoun," Den Davis smiled. He moved up to Beth and put his arm around her shoulders, drew her to him and cupped her chin with his hand.
"Darling, I want you to marry me. I know it's sort of sudden, but you're a beautiful girl and you deserve a little happiness. I promise you, you'll never see the inside of anything like Keston again. And the only problem you'll have is trying to make me show you every day how much I really love you."
* * *
A week later, Beth and Ken were married. They were in the Drake Hotel in Chicago, in the bridal suite. Beth was shy about being naked and she was stammering, "But, Ken darling, you've got to give me a little time. After all those terrible things that were done to me-I don't even know that I could respond to you."
"I think you can, honey. Let's see if I can't make you love me good tonight."
With this, he sank down to his knees before her, put his hands gently on her bottom and his lips softly on her cunt and began to suck and gamahuch her. Beth moaned and sobbed, squirming, "Oh God, they did that-oh please, it reminds me-oh Ken darling-" she moaned.
But all the same her passions were being aroused. Then suddenly he rose, his prick massive. He was naked as she was, and as he put his hands to her bottom, he thrust his prick into her cunt to the hilt.
"And what about this?" he panted. Then he began to kiss her, taking her breath away with the straining passion of his love, and his fingers kneaded her naked ass, and he slowly began to stroke his prick in and out of her. And this time Beth Calhoun responded, and it was with all her body and soul, and this time she knew the difference between a man's prick and an artificial dildo. And this time she had to admit to herself happily as she expired in climax, that she really didn't mind being gamahuched-not if it was by her loving husband!
A little later, after she had blushingly hurried to the bathroom to perform her ablutions, Beth Davis-for such was now her name-came back, her cheeks rosier than ever, for now she was of her own accord showing her voluptuous young body to her husband ... to a man for the first time, and eagerly in the sweet knowledge that she was loved.
"Come back to bed, you little hussy you," Ken Davis huskily muttered as he reached for his beautiful young wife. "I'm going to make you forget all about those vicious women who treated you so badly. Don't you worry, Beth honey, they'll be punished as they deserve."
"I wish," she murmured as she turned to him on her side, her hands stroking his chest, "I just wish I could have tied that awful head matron and the superintendent up on their own horrible apparatuses and used a paddle on them."
"Why, Beth Davis!" he chuckled, cupping her titties and kissing the nipples tenderly, "you sound bloodthirsty, a gentle sweet darling like you. But I can understand." His face darkened. "I wish I'd had a change to pay them back for what they did. But you're to forget all that, dearest. My job is to make you learn how to love all over again."
"And-and you're succeeding, dear Ken. . .my husband, my own sweet husband. Mmmmm, that feels lovely-" for he was sucking her tittie-buds again and now his forefinger had roamed down to the soft sinky dark-brown curls of her snatch and was beginning to find the dainty soft moist lips of her ardent young quim.
His mouth took hers and he pressed to her, his cock hard again and rooting for her twat. He parted the lips and gently edged his spearhead just inside the lobby of her lovesheath. "This time, it won't hurt, I promise," he murmured.
"Ohhh-you're r-right-oooh, it's so nice, Ken-OH MY!" she squealed, for his finger had just found her clitoris and begun to roll and rub it gently to and fro.
His right leg was clamped over her left thigh as they both lay on their sides, mouths fused together, his cock halfway in, and his right forefinger tickling the hardening nodule of her clitoris. Beth joyously clasped her arms round his neck and, eyes closed, ardently gave him her sweetly nectared mouth, her nostrils flaring and shrinking as she felt the swelling male hardness of him rasping along the tenderized volutes of her tight cunt scabbard.
Slowly he reached the hilt, and, hairs to hairs, luxuriated in the sweet feel of her womb walls' clamping round his rooted ramrod. She moaned in this delicious tutelage of what her body could feel and what powers of pleasure it could procure for both of them.
"Does it hurt now, darling?" he murmured, kissing her forehead.
"Oh-n-no-oh Ken, it's so lovely-ohh, I feel you in me, like a pulse, beating and throbbing deep inside of me and I-I'm throbbing with love for you in there, my sweetheart, my husband!" Beth panted. Her bare white thigh clenched tightly over his, as she arched her pelvis to him, wanting to feel every hard manly inch of his imbedded prick deep inside her twat.
"Then you needn't ever worry again that they contaminated you, Beth darling. You're wholesome and good, and they just wanted to corrupt you, but they couldn't. You'd rather love me now than be with those women, wouldn't you?"
"Ohh my goodness yes!" she blurted so hastily, then blushed, that he chuckled and kissed her hard.
Then, his forefinger slowly plying her clitoris back and forth, he drew his cock back and forth out of her tightening cuntsheath and began to fuck her lingeringly. Now that the burning edge was eased from his first lovegush inside her twat, he knew he could take his time and work her up to the paradise of passion.
And it would be a passion no longer imprisoned, as in that women's passion prison of Keston.
Beth Davis wasn't to know that justice had been done, but Alma Burbage knew it. Discharged as superintendent of Keston, she was brought to trial for malfeasance in office, cruelty and assault, convicted and sent to a women's prison.
But there, her Lesbian ardors did not cool, and she made the fatal mistake of making up to a handsome, stocky matron whom she believed shared her perverse lusts. The matron took her into a solitary cell, gagged and bound her, and then thrashed her bottom with a strap-but did not solace her as she yearned to be. And that was Alma Burbage's punishment for passionate perversity. Flossie Durkin and the other matrons who had taken part in the cruelties administered to the helpless Keston inmates were all given prison terms.
And so was Dr. Marsha Andrews, her medical license taken from her and sent to the same prison where Alma Burbage was incarcerated. Irony had it that both women met in the recreation yard, exchanged a sad look, but did not speak. For them, all passion was gone.
For beautiful Beth Calhoun Davis, it was just beginning-a healthy, responsive passion nurtured by the love of a virile male whose only playful cruelty might be spanking her sweet bare bottom to rouse her to fucking time-and this she longed for!
