Tabatha's Prison

Tabatha’s Prison

Chapter I

Nathan Baxter, who ran Greenville County Women’s Prison, was proud of his record.  In his thirties, he had risen to captain in the Imperial Guard and had been assigned this small single-block prison to run.  Under his tenure, almost every woman that had been released from Greenville Gaol had described it as the single worst experience of their lives, something that Baxter was proud of and the IG was impressed with.

Greenville County Women’s Prison was a building almost as old as Greenville.  Sometimes still known by its original name, Greenville Gaol, it was small with a theoretical capacity of around twenty or thirty.  Most of its inmate accommodation was subterranean and reminded one of an Earth medieval dungeon.

       Tabatha Constable was on her way to Greenville CWP.  Baxter’s good friend Judge Fair had convicted her of lese majesty charges after she had been overheard at a middle class dinner party in the town criticising the emperor for introducing more patriarchal legislation.  Everyone knew such words were never meant for public hearing or were necessarily very wrong, but these thoughts weren’t aired as Judge Fair went for her.  He had told her she was guilty of a very serious crime, and had ordered her branded a traitor on the spot.  So she had been stripped naked in the courtroom bent over a stool in front of the audience, and had had two ‘T’s branded on her behind by the executioner, all within five minutes of her verdict.  She was sentenced to seven years imprisonment. 

Baxter was excited by the level of control he knew he was going to have over her.  She had been sentenced to seven years imprisonment, but she was to be publicly whipped once a year, her last whipping being on the last day of her sentence.  It was up to Baxter to determine how many strokes she would get at each whipping based upon her behaviour and obedience in prison.  Also, in classic style, Fair had also decreed that if she was ever heard to be disrespecting anyone in a position of authority over her, she would be liable to be sentenced to slavery.

       Baxter watched her enter the rear entrance of the prison from his office window in her smart suit she had worn in court, and he appreciated how hot she was – he couldn’t wait for her to get under his discipline. 

       Less than an hour later, he was waiting in the induction room in the modern above-ground part of the prison.  Tabatha had been having her induction medical, which Baxter knew included her getting stripped naked, having an intimate examination by the doctor and an enema to make sure was not importing anything.  Baxter envied the doctor at times.  At that point, the doors opened and Tabatha was escorted in.  She was naked and wet from her induction, with no hair on her body due to the doctor’s penchant for depilation.  Baxter admired her body – she was a stunner, young, curvaceous with long raven brunette hair.  She looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.  Her wrists were shackled and the chains held by guards either side of her.  She was clearly nervous.

       “Tabatha Constable,” Nathan announced, “you are now prisoner 2859 of Greenville County Women’s Prison. You will obey everything my guards and I tell you. Understand?”

       “Yes,” she said meekly but defiantly.

       “You know that any disrespect you show in here will result in you being enslaved?”

       “Yes.”

       “You will refer to all prison staff as ‘sir’!”

       “Yes sir.”

       “Any misdemeanours will be harshly punished, especially in your public whipping. I have no sympathy for you. Do you understand?”

       “Yes sir,” she said reluctantly.

       Baxter signalled to one of the half dozen guards in the room.  He started taking full-frontal pictures of Tabatha for records, taking pictures at every forty-five degrees.  Baxter walked round to her rear.  Two ‘T’s for ‘Traitor’ were branded beautifully on each butt cheek. She was visibly shaking.  When the photographer finished, he signalled to the guards holding her.  They fastened her hands in front of her then fastened that bind to a chain which raised her hands above her head so her tip toes were only just on the ground.  She was now very frightened.

       “Just to make sure you know what will happen if you misbehave, you are now to receive ten lashes, which is part of the induction,” Baxter told her. “Commence,” he ordered the guard with the whip.

       She screamed out in pain and shock as the first lash landed on her pert backside, right on her raw branding.  The rest of the blows alternated between her back and rear.  She swung on the chain and wailed in pain.  By the tenth blow she was in tears.

       Baxter was pleased.  “Let her down,” he ordered.  Her hands were lowered and she collapsed to her knees physically and emotionally exhausted, still weeping.

       “Your uniform,” Baxter was again talking “is now to be issued. You receive only one uniform for your stay here, so look after it. Put it on.”

       The uniform was thrown to the floor.  Tabatha’s hands were released.  She made no attempt to resist – she now knew it was pointless.  Standing up, she shakily picked up and put on the first garment, a black bikini bottom which was a snug fit.  Next was a black bikini bra, which, like the bottom, was designed to be able to be removed if her legs and arms were bound.  Covering her body was a small plain grey dress.  It was sleeveless, was cut into a deep V so that her top was visible, and was cut high so that most of thighs were still visible.

       “Take her to her cell,” Baxter ordered.

Tabitha was escorted down to the cell block.  She couldn’t believe what she was experiencing – it was like entering another world.  She was taken along into this dungeon pass cells with hard-done-by women taking an interest in the new arrival passing their bars.

       The guards stopped outside a cell and one unlocked the door, and Tabitha was ushered in.  Once inside, she found her ankle being attached to an iron cuff, which she then saw to her horror was on a chain attached to a wall.  It was starting to hit her – she really was a prisoner.  With that, she found her hands being released and being left alone.

       The cell was small, nine feet by six, but what she didn’t know yet was that there would be up to four sharing these cells.  When it is said the Greenville Gaol had a theoretical capacity of thirty, it meant there were thirty beds – actual numbers were regularly double this.  There were two of these beds in Tabitha’s cell – two three-foot wide wooden planks that hinged away from the walls on chains in traditional prison style.  There was a tattered cloth pillow on each bed, and straw was strewn on the floor.  One side of the cell was entirely bars – there would be zero privacy for Tabitha for seven years.

       Tabatha sat on a bed and let a few tears escape.  She thought of her husband, who she wouldn’t see in seven years – she would be thirty-one when she next saw him.  She was just beginning to comprehend how her life had been ruined within twenty-four hours.

       At that moment, the door in the bars was opened.  Tabatha quickly dried her eyes.  Guards let in another prisoner, who waited patiently while her ankle was shackled like Tabatha’s, as if was a daily routine.  The new arrival was shorter than Tabatha, with scrawny straw blonde hair which once would have been luscious.  She was thin, with defined muscles in her limbs and a taut stomach.  She was wearing the prison uniform, minus the dress, and the underwear was showing signs of use.  Her face told a story of abuse, sorrow and fear.  As the guards left, Tabatha’s cellmate simply sat on the straw on the floor, brought her knees up to her chest and stared through the bars.  Tabatha wondered whether she had been noticed.

       “Erm, hello?” she ventured.  The cellmate turned her head.

       “Hi,” was all she simply offered in reply.

       “Er, I’m Tabatha – I’m new,” Tabatha said, holding out her hand.  She new it sounded pathetic as soon as it left her lips.

       Again the door was opened, and Tabatha turned to see what she thought was a titan of women entering.  She was taller than Tabatha, heavily built with huge breasts.  She was also only wearing the prison uniform underwear.  Her face betrayed that she was actually about Tabatha’s age, with boyish short blonde hair.  The new arrival waited until she was secure and the guards were left, then she turned to Tabatha and casually smacked her across the face so that Tabatha flew into the straw on the floor, near the other cellmate.  Tabatha clenched her burning cheek in pain and shock and started to sob.

       “That is my bed,” the aggressor said, without a pang of guilt or sympathy, and flung down onto the timber.  Tabatha was now lying near the first cellmate, who silently motioned for her to get comfortable and not retaliate, acknowledging Tabatha for the first time.  Tabatha tried to lie in the straw, but at that point the cell door opened again.

       This time a tall and athletic brunette entered, in full uniform, and was similarly restrained by the ankle.  She threw an unimpressed look at the two on the floor and settled into the other bed.  It was now that the first cellmate talked to Tabatha.

       “Tabatha,” she whispered, “I’m Kimber and I would get some rest if I were you.”