by Paul Blades
All of a sudden, someone pushed into the line behind Leslie. She turned and looked. It was one of the other inmates. She was at least 6’ tall and broad shouldered. She had matted, black hair, cut short to below her ears. She looked maybe forty five or so. Her face had deep creases, and her nose looked like it had been broken several times. Her arms were thick and she had large breasts that pushed out against the blouse of her dress. She smiled at Leslie.
Leslie turned away to look up ahead towards the chow line. The woman leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Leslie ignored it. The woman leaned over and whispered in her ear again. It sounded creepy. She tried to pay it no attention.
Then she felt a hand on her ass. A chill went through her. She reached down and tried to brush it away. The woman quickly jammed two stiff fingers in the side of her head. “Ow!” Leslie exclaimed. Then she looked around quickly to make sure that none of the guards heard her. No one was looking at her.
The line was moving slowly. She felt the hand on her ass again. This time it rubbed up and down, causing her skirt to move. Leslie went to bat it away, but the two fingers jabbed into her head again, this time harder.
“Ow!” Leslie exclaimed again. She turned to look at the woman. She was smiling lasciviously at her. A chill went down her spine.
As soon as she turned her head to look forward again, the hand came back. Leslie, angered at the woman’s rudeness, swatted it away, harder this time. This time, the woman gave her a punch on the side of the head.
“Ohhhhhh!” Leslie called out. She staggered to her left, moving out of the line. One of the guards saw her. She moved to her immediately. She was small, about 5’4” tall, but she was compact and looked muscled. She looked to be in her late twenties. Without saying a word, when the guard reached her, she took her club and jammed it fiercely into Leslie’s ribs.
“Oooooomph!” Leslie spat out. She doubled over. The guard pushed he club under her chin and forced her head up. The she jammed it against her chest, forcing her back in line, shouting out some invective.
Leslie tightened her lips, trying not to cry. The tall woman was still behind her. This time, when she placed her hand on her ass, Leslie did nothing.
She suppressed a whine as she felt the hot hand move up and down her rear cheek. The woman was using her right hand, closest to the wall, so that it couldn’t be seen by the guard. She could feel the hem of her skirt going higher and higher. When the hem was high enough, the hand reached under it and made contact with her naked flesh.
The hand was rough, but the touch was gentle. A sourness erupted in Leslie’s stomach. She held her hands together in front of her tightly. At the same time, the heat and gentle friction from the hand was making her loins tingle. It moved up and down her thigh, it brushed over her rear cheek and then went back again. Slowly, the touch became firmer, more confident. Leslie couldn’t believe that she was being sexually assaulted in the middle of a vast crowd of people and that there was nothing she could do about it. She tried to deny the heat that was rising within her.
She looked ahead. They were coming closer and closer to the chow line. Once she was there, she knew that the woman would have to stop.
It took about another five minutes for her to reach the line of steam tables where the food was handed out. The big woman’s hand continued its assault on her tender flesh all that time. A thick finger traced its way up from the base of her perineum, along the crack of her ass until it reached the dainty portal itself. It flitted at it, teasing it, and then ran its way all the way back down again. Leslie kept her thighs mashed together as much as she could. She took tiny steps each time the line moved. The last thing she wanted was the woman’s filthy finger on her sex.
Although she felt revulsion at the woman’s touch, there was something about the situation that was raising her lust. There was something about the utter feeling of helplessness she felt while the woman took her liberties with her. The hand was hot and, while rough, the woman had a deft touch, letting the tips of her fingers drift across her flesh, up and down her thigh, all over her rear cheeks. There was something exciting about having her passion raised against her will. Her nipples had stiffened and her breath had grown short. It was if the hand was, since she had no power to resist it, giving her the chance to enjoy her baser, darker instincts without guilt. It was somehow, deeply compelling. Leslie shuddered with revulsion.
When they reached the head of the line, Leslie grabbed a dirty and scratched, dark brown plastic tray divided into three compartments and a large steel spoon. It was the only eating utensil there. A guard was standing there watching carefully so that no inmate would take more than one. A spoon might not seem like much of a weapon, but if you spent a hundred or more hours rubbing its edge against a wall or the steel frame of your bed, it would become razor sharp.
The inmates behind the steam table seemed healthier and more robust than their mates. Kitchen duty is one of the most coveted jobs in a prison. You get first dibs on everything and eat as much as you want. There were four servers dressed in the standard drab, light brown dresses. They stood over large tubs of yellow, green and brown mush. The fourth was handing out what looked like a tiny little cube of thick bread. A fifth inmate stood at the end handing out tin cups filled with a greenish, yellow liquid. A green garbed guard patrolled behind them.
When Leslie passed down the line, one of the servers looked up at her. She smiled and gave a nudge to the woman on her right. That woman looked up and nudged the woman on her right. They were all tough looking women with dark, dirty hair and dark, sullen eyes. Leslie became self conscious of the tight pull of her dress over her breasts. She looked down at her tray. The servers plopped large spoonfuls of the mush onto it. One of them tossed it down forcefully so that it sprayed up on Leslie’s dress. Leslie gave a short hop back in surprise and then looked up at the woman. She gave Leslie a wink and made a kissy face. Leslie looked quickly back down and moved on.
When they left the chow line, the inmates filed towards the tables, filling them up as they went under the direction of one of the guards. Leslie had no choice but to follow her cellmate, who was still ahead of her, down one of the aisles and then sit next to her at a table. The tables were so close together that there was no room to move between them once she sat down. To her dismay, the big woman who was behind her sat down at her right.
There was so little room on the bench that the women sat with their hips pressed together. A wave of revulsion passed through Leslie as she felt the heat of the big woman’s body. As Leslie was beginning to tentatively dip her spoon into the unidentifiable slop, she felt the woman’s thigh press up against hers. She decided to try and ignore it. She put a small sample of the yellow glop in her mouth. It tasted salty and pasty. She had no idea what it was. She looked around and all the other women were scooping it up hastily. A dismal chill went through her as she realized that if she spent more than a few days here, she would undoubtedly sooner or later become just as enthusiastic at the chance to consume it.
She was just getting a small spoonful of the brown mush to her lips, it looked like there might be some kind of beans in it, when she felt a hand on her right thigh. She froze as it drifted down its length all the way down to her knee and back again. On its way back, it dragged the hem of her garment with it, exposing her skin.
Leslie didn’t know what to do. She withdrew the spoon from her mouth and pushed her elbow and hip into the big woman next to her to try and communicate her rejection of the advance. The hand left her thigh for a moment and then came down harshly, formed into a large fist. It struck her right on the muscle of her upper thigh. The pain went up her thigh and into her belly. She groaned and leaned forward. Leslie gave the woman a plaintive, begging look, but she just smiled. Leslie looked around for a guard to help, but there was no way a guard could see what was going on.
When the hand returned, Leslie knew that there was nothing she could do about it. She scrunched her shoulders together in dismay and tri
ed to concentrate on her food.
The hand kept gliding back and forth over her smooth skin. Leslie cast a furtive glance at her assailant. While her left hand was stroking Leslie’s thigh, her right hand was dutifully and regularly spooning loads of the glop into her mouth.
Leslie tried a few more small spoonfuls of the food. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the hot hand on her thigh. When the fingers tried to insinuate themselves between her legs, Leslie pushed them tightly together. Stroking her thigh was one thing, but there was no way, she was going to let the woman touch her down there.
She was mistaken. The hand rose again and once more came down forcefully on her thigh. Leslie groaned with the pain. Then the woman grabbed a thin slice of the flesh on her thigh between her thumb and forefinger and gave it a harsh twist. Leslie dropped her spoon and her hand went down to her thigh to try and free her stinging flesh, but the woman kept twisting harder and harder. Tears were coming to Leslie’s eyes. The women across from her were looking up from their meals and smirking at her. Finally, in desperation, Leslie let her thighs open. The fingers released her flesh and slid between them.
Not satisfied with Leslie’s surrender, the hand pulled her right thigh harshly until it was more widely separated from the other. Then, slowly, it flitted over the inside of her thigh, up over her belly and down to her furry treasure.
A thick finger began to delicately worm its way into the gap between her outer labia. All of the contact to her naked thigh had unwillingly caused Leslie’s puss to moisten. The finger was able to glide easily into her already heated crevasse.
Slowly and steadily, the finger started to excite her. She had given up on trying to eat. She sat there, hunched over, humiliated and shamed at her powerlessness. The other women were snickering and smirking. One of them, seeing that she wasn’t eating it, snatched her tiny piece of coarse bread from her tray. Another one grabbed her tin of juice and replaced it with her empty one. Her cell mate, to her left, picked up her tray, sliding her empty one in its place, and started to wolf down her food.
Tears were flowing down Leslie’s face. Her puss was becoming mushier and mushier and the woman was able to slide two of her thick fingers into it. They slid in and out, abrading her stiffened clit with each motion. All of her being wanted to clasp her thighs back together, to interrupt the assault on her sex, to drive back the rapidly rising need. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut out the image of the other women watching her, trying to take herself anywhere but here. But the relentless fingers kept sawing and sawing, running seemingly deeper and deeper within her. When the fingers withdrew and began to concentrate on her pleasure nubbin, Leslie gasped. They were moving rapidly now, bedeviling her throbbing, slick clit. Leslie clenched her hands into fists. She felt her toes curl. Her breathing became deep and labored. And then it hit.
The first waves of her climax tore through her like a railroad train. Her thighs shuddered. She kept her lips tightly pressed together in an attempt to suppress her moans of pleasure. She had abandoned resistance to her assault. She rocked her hips back and forth. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Her blood was pumping hot.
As her pussy’s tremors eased, the fingers lazily slipped back and forth between her engorged love lips, delivering delicious aftershocks. Finally, they abandoned her, wiping themselves on her still trilling thigh. The hand gave her a loving pat and then withdrew.
It took Leslie a few moments to return to full consciousness of what was around her. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the other women at the table were eying her lasciviously. She turned to look at her assailant to her right. The woman was beaming with satisfaction, smelling Leslie’s odor on her hand.
CHAPTER THREE
A whistle blew. The tables started to empty. When it got to their table, Leslie picked up her tray and stood. She was still ravenously hungry, but at least her ordeal was over. They marched out towards the door in reverse order than when they came in. They passed a station where the inmates dropped off their trays and their spoons. Suddenly, Leslie realized that her spoon was missing. She couldn’t imagine where it had gone. When she got to the station, she put her tray down, tossing her tin cup into a plastic bin. When the guard saw that she had no spoon to return, she immediately came alive.
She poked Leslie in the chest with her baton harshly and began to scream at her. Leslie didn’t know what to do. It was hard for her to believe that the guard was making so much fuss over a spoon. The guard reached in, took a hold of the front of Leslie’s dress, and dragged her out of the line. Another guard came over. The one who had assaulted her gave the other an animated explanation. The second guard became livid and grabbed Leslie’s hair at the back of her head. Leslie whined and screamed as she was pulled across the cafeteria.
When they reached the middle, the guard released her and started yelling an order at her. Leslie, near hysteria, didn’t know what the guard wanted her to do. The guard jabbed her fiercely in the gut with her baton, knocking the air out of her. She fell to the floor. The guard struck her on the shoulder and hip savagely. Leslie moaned and cried. Fingers pried into her hair again and she was yanked to her feet. The guard started screaming again and pulling at Leslie’s clothes. Still desperately trying to catch her breath, she began a panicked unbuttoning of the front of her dress. When she got it down to her waist, she pulled it over her head and dropped it to the floor.
Tears were flowing down her face. Her hip and shoulder were throbbing. The guard spat an order at her, raising her hands and Leslie raised hers in imitation. The guard moved her arms out wide at shoulder level and Leslie desperately followed suit. The guard banged her baton between Leslie’s thighs and she dutifully spread them wide.
The guard walked around her. She felt up the crack between her rear cheeks. She pressed her finger into the dainty hole and rummaged around. The she came around the front to examine her pussy. Leslie quailed at what she knew she would find. When the guard’s fingers detected her still slippery cunt, she screeched and slapped Leslie across the face.
The blow stung harshly and knocked Leslie off balance. She brought her arms in instinctively. The guard jammed her baton into her ribs and yelled out another order. Leslie quickly resumed her position, arms out, thighs spread and broke out into sobs.
The cafeteria was still emptying out of sullen, brown clad inmates. A couple of them sneered and snickered as they passed by. Another guard came over. She had a brief talk with the other guard and then laughed. She stepped up to Leslie and rubbed her hand over her vulva, her finger intruding inside and she laughed again. She then poked two fingers into Leslie’s crevasse, felt around for the missing spoon and then withdrew.
They left her standing there. Before she left, the second guard laid her baton under Leslie’s chin and then raised it. Leslie was forced to raise her chin and then, when the baton kept going, raise herself to her toes. The guard said something that Leslie interpreted as, “Stay as you are,” and then walked away.
Leslie stood like that for the longest time. The women who had been working in the kitchen came out to clean up. One became busy wiping down tables while two of them began to clean the trays, brushing dirty, pungent rags over them. Another started to sweep while the fifth brought out a bucket and mop and started cleaning the floor.
The pain in Leslie’s toes quickly became intolerable. Her arms became heavier and heavier and it became more and more difficult to hold them up. The inmates on kitchen detail kept looking at her and smirking. One of them, the one who had made a kissy face at her, as she was washing the floor around where Leslie was standing stark naked, gave her ass a little pinch as she passed by. Leslie whined with dismay. It was clear to her that she was considered as fair game for all the other inmates. She was young and attractive and, relatively innocent. Her skin was a pearly white and she had an alluring, hour glass figure. In her distress she wondered how long she could survive. When she thought of going back to her cruel cellmate, she felt queasy and desperate.
When the inmates were done cleaning the cafeteria, they retreated back into the kitchen. Leslie was left alone with three of the guards. She had lowered her feet due to the intense pain on her toes and one of the guards put her baton under her chin and raised it until she was restored to her former position. Leslie whined. Her lips were trembling. She was alone with three guards. There were no witnesses. They could do anything they wanted to her. She was naked and vulnerable and alone without a friend. The pain from her distended toes and her outstretched arms was disabling. She could see that the guards were contemplating something. A great empty space opened in her belly.
Just then, another guard walked in. Leslie noted right away that she had some stripes on her sleeve. She carried herself with an air of authority. The other guards came to order, stiffening at her presence.
The new guard asked a question. One of the guards gave an explanation. The new one nodded. She stepped closer to Leslie.
“So, what did you do with the spoon?” she asked, her voice brisk and clipped. Her voice carried only a slight accent. She looked a little older than the other guards. She was about 5’10” tall. While she seemed strong, her body was trim and somewhat graceful. Her hair was short, cut primly just below her ears, and had a slight wave to it. Her face was not unattractive. Her eyes communicated a sharp intelligence and a certain coldness.
“N,nothing,” Leslie said miserably, trying not to cry.
“Say, ‘Nothing, sayyidati.’ It is more polite.”
“N,nothing, sayyidati,” Leslie replied.
“Who did you give it to?”
“Nobody, sayyadati,” Leslie eked out. “Somebody took it while I wasn’t looking.”
