Chloe in Prison Ch. 10

"Know what this is?" Dawes enquired.

. "A clamp Sir," I whimpered.

"A clamp of sorts," Dawes said. "It's called a speculum. It's used for medical examinations to clamp women open. Usually it is used inside the vagina: now where else do you think we might use it?"

"In the mouth Sir," I mumbled, almost choking on my tears.

"The mouth?" said Dawes. "Sometimes I think you are the stupidest prisoner in here. What on earth do they teach you at that University? No, don't bother to answer, we're wasting time: lie on your back."

Dazed, I did as she told me.

"Now draw your legs right up, and thrust your bottom in the air. High as you can: point that stinking little hole of yours at the ceiling."

I did as she ordered, and watched as she put on a pair of latex gloves and smeared lubricant over the speculum. Having done that she parted my buttocks, and I felt something cold probing my anus, then sliding inside me.

It finally dawned on me what was happening. But relief, intense relief that I was not after all going to have to swallow the turd was quickly replaced by a new disgust, along with almost total disbelief. Then everything was eclipsed by the painful sensation in my anus. Dawes was squeezing at the handle of the speculum; some sort of ratchet mechanism was operating, for I felt myself being stretched open. I gasped: Dawes gave me a scathing look:

"There's a long way to go yet," she said.

Bit by bit, one ratchet at a time, the terrible steel tongues were separating. All the muscles in my back passage fought against it, clamping down on it and trying to expel it. At one point I managed to squeeze it out maybe half an inch, but with an 'O no you don't' Dawes pushed it right back inside me.

I felt as though I was giving birth through my bottom. I felt as though one more squeeze would tear me open. Then somehow the speculum was locked in place, and nothing I could do would shift it.

At last Dawes stopped. Then she picked up the turd from the top of the bucket and her hand disappeared from sight behind my bottom.

"One more should do it," she said.

I felt my ring being forced open a fraction more. Then I watched, mesmerised, as Dawes slid the turd inside the cylinder formed by the tongues of the speculum, and I felt it come to rest somewhere deep inside my cavity. Suddenly my muscles closed: Dawes had collapsed the speculum, and at last my anus was allowed to constrict again. I felt it close around the steel: it was painful, but it no longer felt as though I was being torn open.

At once my muscles set to work to try to expel the turd that had been inserted inside me, but Dawes had an answer to that. Holding the speculum in place with her elbow, she rummaged inside the holdall and took out a belt with some strands of fine twine attached to eyelets positioned around it. She fastened the belt around my waist, just above my hips where it could not slide down, then attached the other ends of the twine to some fixing points on the end of the speculum.

"There," she said: "that should keep you in place. Lower your legs and stretch out."

I lowered my legs. I was uncomfortably aware of the fullness in my bowels, and the stiff steel speculum now held in place in my anus. My muscles closed on it, and it moved very slightly downwards, then would go no further.

"That should stop you opening your bowels when you're not supposed to," said Dawes nastily.

She took off the latex gloves, folded them inside out and replaced them in the holder.

"Right" she said: "time to get down to business: we've wasted half an hour, but hopefully you've learned a lesson."

"Yes Sir," I said.

She stood up, put the holdall on Rose's bed, and took off her belt, skirt and knickers.

"As you may have worked out by now," she said, "it is the tradition in this prison for the Wardens to make all the new prisoners service them. This teaches the prisoners their place. Officer Hardiman has already visited you I believe?"

"Yes Sir," I said.

"Today it is my turn. In a moment I'm going to sit on your ugly face Littlehayes, and you are going to pleasure me until I tell you to stop. Is that quite clear?"

"Yes Sir."

I tried to prepare myself mentally -- but it seemed Dawes was in no hurry.

"You hate me, don't you Littlehayes?" she said, fixing her hard eyes on mine.

"No Sir," I protested.

"Don't bother lying," Dawes said. "Your type has always hated me. Prim, stuck-up little bitches with their long blond hair and their tight little arses, flouncing off to their piano lessons and their ballet classes, boys buzzing round them like bees round a honey-pot. They hate my guts and I hate theirs. Do you know what they used to call me at school?"

"No Sir."

"The Toad. That's what they used to call me. What do you think of that Littlehayes?"

It struck me as very fitting. But I said:

"That's awful Sir: that's cruel."

"They are cruel," said Dawes. "Cruel and stupid. Too stupid to recognise a real woman when they see one. Well do you know what Littlehayes? I'm glad. I'm glad you all hate me, because it makes what I'm about to do so much more enjoyable."

With that she took off her belt and her skirt, followed by her huge navy knickers. For the second time I had an eyeful of her mound, the great wedge of trimmed pubic hair, the fleshy layers of labia like the strata of a compacted cliff.

"You can start by cleaning out my anus," said Dawes, preparing to squat on top of me. "Keep going until I tell you to stop, and work your tongue inside as far as you can -- got that?"

"Yes Sir."

"And I'll tell you now I didn't bother to wipe it this morning. So much better when some little bitch who hates my guts does it for me."

She lowered her fat arse down over my mouth, and spread her buttocks. The smell was strong, almost overpowering. I daren't open my eyes, daren't look at what I was licking. Instead I braced myself and got on with it. She tasted disgusting: worse than a real toad would, I thought: but I licked and puckered my tongue and dutifully pressed it as far into her ring as I could manage.

"That'll do," she said abruptly. She shifted her position so that my mouth was in contact with her vagina: the taste and the smell were if anything even more unpleasant.

"Now suck me off," she said.

In contrast to Hardiman, Dawes was loose and fleshy, and I ran my tongue around her complex folds.

"Stop tickling me," she barked. "Don't you know how to suck?"

So I sucked her labia right into my mouth, closing my lips around the loose flesh, drawing it in, releasing it. This seemed to get her going: she started grunting; I kept on sucking; she grew wetter and wetter, her stinking juices were running down my throat and over my chin. I closed my lips over her clitoris, and began flicking with my tongue, which drew the first unwilling expression of pleasure from her, a muttered 'fuck Christ'. I flicked and sucked for all I was worth, and ran my hands over her fat and pimply buttocks: until suddenly she let out a long drawn-out sound, like wind escaping through a tunnel, and I knew she had come.

I let my lips and tongue fall still. Dawes leaned forward, and took up some of her weight through her hands which she pressed onto my mattress. Her belly sagged down over my face. Every breath I took I seemed to be breathing in the smell of her flesh, of her sweating, toad-like body. Freed from the need to lick and suck, I became aware once more of the uncomfortable pressure in my bowels, and the alien cylinder clamped into my anus. I wanted to shit. I wanted this grotesque woman to go away and leave me alone, leave me in peace to use the bucket.

But Dawes wasn't finished yet. Breathing hard she heaved herself back upright and sat on my face once again. Again I was forced to lick and suck: my tongue scarcely felt as though it belonged to me; I was slowing down; my lips would hardly work; when to my intense relief she came off again.

This time she seemed satisfied. She leaned forwards almost crushing my face under her stomach; and eventually rolled off me.

Minutes passed whilst she recovered. At last she started dressing again; when this was done she looked at me almost as though she had forgotten my existence. She reached for the black bag, and I wondered if I would have to remind her about the speculum, or -- and a frightening thought came to me, that perhaps she was going to leave me like this and return later, or maybe even tomorrow. My face must have expressed something of my anguish, for she finally acknowledged me and said with an unpleasant smile:

"You don't look as though you enjoyed that."

It wasn't a question, so I didn't answer. Dawes looked at me meditatively, and ran her finger under the belt that was holding the speculum in place.

"Now you know what happens to stuck up little bitches who think they can come into prison and shit whenever they feel like it."

"Yes Sir," I said.

"Do it again and I'll leave you like this overnight: understand?"

"Yes Sir."

To my relief Dawes untied the cords which fastened the belt to the speculum, then yanked the tongues clean out of my bottom.

"Clean that, then you can use the bucket," she said.

The removal of the speculum had left the way clear for the turd that had been contained for so long to escape. I had to use all my willpower and muscle control to keep it in place just a few minutes longer. I ran the tap over the speculum, tried to wash all the brown traces off its shiny surfaces, and finally dried it on my own towel. Dawes looked at it, sniffed at it, screwed up her face -- but returned it to the holdall.

"All right," she said. "Get on the bucket and empty yourself."

Gratefully I positioned myself on the bucket, my back to the door, my hands gripping the washbasin. I could feel the turd getting ready to launch itself.

"Not that way, face the front," Dawes ordered.

I turned round, facing forwards. Dawes sat on the end of my bed, not two yards away, staring at me. At any other time I would have been so inhibited by this my bowels would have frozen. As it was I squirmed self-consciously. But the turd I had first expelled nearly an hour before had been waiting too long; it would not be denied; and at long last it slid out of my bottom and fell with a muffled splash into the bucket.

I let out a sigh of relief. My cherished plans for a long, comfortable, private bowel movement had been totally ruined; but at last I was empty.

The ordeal, though, had played havoc with the muscles in my anus: and to add final insult to injury, as the turd was released I farted loudly.

"Noisy little devil aren't you?" said Dawes scathingly. "I wonder Mason can stand you."

My cheeks burned with shame and embarrassment.

"Get yourself cleaned up then," said Dawes.

I splashed water over myself, and dried myself.

"Let that be a lesson to you," said Dawes; and with that she took her black bag and her hated presence out of the cell.

I splashed cold water over my mouth and face, and brushed my teeth. Then I lay on my bed and curled up into a foetus, like the day I had first been admitted. I was too numb even to cry. But I'd barely had time to draw breath before I heard footsteps tramping the corridor.

"No prizes for guessing what you've been doing you naughty girl," said Rose as the door clanged behind her. "My God, you look spent." She gave my thigh what was intended as a friendly squeeze: I didn't respond. I couldn't dissimulate, but I couldn't face speaking about what had happened, so I lay still and let Rose think I had rubbed myself senseless.

"Did you see Prana?" I managed to murmur.

"Prana?" said Rose. "Let me see: do we know anybody called Prana? No, I don't think so. Oh, wait a minute: little Indian girl with doe eyes and pert little tits, and an arse some people would give their right arms for: yes I saw her."

"Did you give her my message?" I asked.

"Yes, I gave her your message: "'Leave me alone and don't speak to me again' wasn't it?"

"Rose please stop teasing me," I said, holding back tears.

"OK, OK Chloe: what's the matter?"

"Nothing," I said. "I'm -- I'm just anxious about Prana. Did she say anything?"

"She said 'Please tell Chloe I miss her too, and I also look forward to showers'"

"Just that?"

"Just that Chloe."

"How did she say it?" I asked. "I mean, did she say it like she really meant it, or just like a polite formality?"

"Chloe!" said Rose. "She turned those great eyes on mine and she said it like she meant it. OK?"

"OK Rose. Did you notice what she was doing, who she was talking to?"

"No Chloe I didn't. Believe it or not I had other things to attend to. If you want to know I played ball. And yes, I can run about when the fancy takes me. And I feel an awful lot better for it."

"I'm sorry Rose," I said.

"That's all right Chloe."

I didn't want to dampen Rose's spirits. I tried so hard to keep my feelings to myself, to avoid giving anything away. But I really could not help it: I started to weep.

"Chloe: what is it?" asked Rose.

"Dawes came," I said.

And for the second time in three days I found myself lying in Rose's arms sobbing my heart out.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" asked Rose after I'd cried myself out.

"I can't," I said. "I just can't talk about it."

"That's all right Chloe," Rose said. She held me tight and stroked the back of my head. I felt as though I could stay like that forever.

But there was dinner to eat. Again I had no appetite, and forced the food into my mouth for the sake of the taste, any taste to dispel the taste of Dawes' arsehole.

Afterwards I lay on my own bed, and started to drift off into sleep, exhausted. I was aware of Rose's voice, reminding me we had to shave, but I couldn't summon the energy, and just drifted off again.

"Just lie there Chloe," I heard Rose say, "and I'll do everything." I was aware of a cold wetness between my legs, and Rose moving me around, but I was limp and barely conscious, and just lay there like a tired child being undressed and put to bed by her mother.

"Don't worry about me, I'll shave myself tonight," I heard Rose say.

"No," I protested, "you can't do that," but I must have drifted straight off again for the next time I half-woke the cell was in darkness.