6.
I really wasn't prepared for my arrival at the Newtown Correctional Facility for Women. I had imagined it, of course, as a kind of adventure ... a revealing look at another world ... a place that I might somehow make better by my very presence. Why not? I'm a former cop after all. I might even write something revealing that I could smuggle out to Stan. Or, if the place just turned out to be boring, perhaps I would write the great American novel? Such romantically idealistic notions were, however, quickly dashed.
After being forced on arrival to strip and endure a humiliating body cavity search at the hands of the Matron ... who was built like a Sherman Tank and blessed with the intimidating name of Armstrong ... while a lecherous pair of male guards looked on, and then given nothing more than a threadbare t-shirt to wear, I was marched, along with the other two new arrivals, to a room with 'Orientation Room' stenciled on the door. There we were lined up, shoulder to shoulder, flanked by the two male guards, and told to keep quiet. Moments later the door was flung open and Matron shouted "Stand at attention for the Warden!"
I quickly formed an instant dislike for the man as I watched him strut back and forth and listened to him harangue us about obedience ... never one of my strong points. And my dislike turned to loathing when he singled me out for harassment in order to make his point, and then slapped me hard across the face when I didn't get it right. By the time he was finished with me, I had stripped naked for him and was, at least in my opinion, quite subdued and compliant. But it wasn't over yet.
“A bit of hesitation, Moore, but better. Nevertheless, there was your earlier questioning of an order and that must be punished. You will all follow me for a little demonstration of what you can expect for any failure to follow orders immediately and without question.”
I was accordingly hustled off by the two male guards to the so-called 'Disciplinary Unit', where I was shoved through a door labeled 'Punishment Room 1' and promptly strapped face down over a wooden contraption that left my tight little ass exposed and defenseless to the punishing bite of the heavy leather strap wielded by Matron Armstrong.
As the Warden, the two male guards and my two fellow inmates gathered around, the Matron set out to live up to her name.
“A dozen, Warden?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Prepare yourself, Moore,” she warned, raising the strap over her head.
"Oh Shit!" I hissed through gritted teeth as I steeled myself for the coming impact of leather across my bared ass cheeks. And come it did, with a resounding smack that echoed off the walls, stung like hell and left me gasping for air.
The second one hurt just as much as the first and was delivered with such force that the wooden contraption to which I was strapped shuddered and shook despite being bolted to the floor.
Clenching my fists and closing my eyes, I waited for the third, and then the fourth.
I lost count soon after that, as much of my attention was devoted to squirming, bucking and screaming my head off.
When it was over, I was released. I stood up shakily, twisting around to take a rueful look at what damage had been done. My poor smarting ass had turned an angry shade of red.
"Lesson learned, Prisoner Moore?" said the Warden, catching my eye.
I nodded and responded meekly, "Yes, Warden."
"Good, now ... Matron ... take Prisoner Moore and her companions to their cells," he ordered, and left the room.
Matron tossed me my tee-shirt and kinis. I slipped the tee over my head, but decided to go commando for the time being ... I couldn't bear placing anything against my throbbing tush.
We were led from the 'Disciplinary Unit' to a long corridor lined on both sides with cells. As before, the occupants of the cells banged on the bars and shouted insults and veiled threats as we passed by ... apparently word had already gotten around that I was an ex-cop, and the inmates were making it clear that I was anything but welcome there.
Devers and Greene were deposited in cells along the way, but they continued on with me almost to the very end of the corridor before opening one of the last cells, and shoving me inside. A moment later the cell door slammed shut behind me.
I glanced around, eager to take in my new ‘home away from home’, The cell was designed to hold three prisoners. There were three fold-down bunks, attached one above the other on one of the side walls. In the back was a cracked and filthy-looking commode and a stained sink. Against the other wall stood a small table and a chair with a broken leg. The walls were painted a depressing green and large patches had peeled away. A bare light bulb, encased in a metal cage, lit the space from the ceiling.
The cell's other two occupants, who had been looking through the bars as I approached, had retreated to the lower two bunks as the cell door was unlocked and opened. They followed me warily with their eyes as I entered the cell and stood awkwardly near the table.
Deciding to take control of the situation and, above all, not to appear in any way intimidated, I cheerily said, "Hi, I'm Barb. And who might you be?"
That was met with stony silence ... no, let's call it sullen hostility.
"Well, it's been a tough day already, as you can imagine," I continued. "I gather that top bunk must be mine, right?"
No answer. Instead they rose slowly from their bunks and alighted on the floor, then with lightning speed, grabbed me by the wrists and violently slammed me back against the wall, stretching my arms out to either side and pinning them tightly in place. The broken chair lay on its side in the middle of the floor.
The one on my left, a tall dirty-dishwater blond with broad shoulders, short-cropped hair and missing teeth, hissed in my face, "You don't speak to us, pretty girl, unless we speak to you ... got it?"
The other one, who was dark-haired, short and heavy, with a decidedly less than intelligent looking countenance, as well as reeking of sweat, chimed in with a "Yeah!"
"And we'll take these, thanks very much," said the first woman, snatching my kinis from my outstretched hand and holding them up to the light appraisingly.
"Yeah!" said the second.
“So, we hear you’re an ex-cop ... a famous one?” continued the first one.
“Well ..” I began.
“Well, it may just interest you to know that a couple of our inmate sisters say it was you that put them in here ... something to do with a hanging caper? Remember them?”
“Yeah! Remember them?”
“Ohhhh ...”
“Well, you’d better start watching your back, starting now, little cop girl. They’re out for revenge. And no one here gives a shit about that. Odds are you won’t last long in here. Accidents have a way of happening ... if you get my drift”
“Yeah, accidents!” chortled the short one.
“So, while we’re at it here, let’s have a gander at what our little ex-cop has to offer!” sniggered the tall one, pulling the front of my tee up over my breasts and holding the bunched fabric tight against my throat. "Well, would you look at that ... what do you think, Rodriguez?"
“Nice full titties,” tittered Rodriguez as she cupped and squeezed each of my breasts in turn. “And look at that cute little bush trim ... sweet, yeah?”
“Look!” I said, grimacing as the tip of a finger was rudely forced between my labia. “I’m a criminal locked up in this place just like you. My cop days are behind me. We ought to be friends!”
“Did i give you permission to speak?” snarled the tall one as she slammed her clenched fist into my midriff, knocking the wind out of me.
They both stepped back, allowing me to fall to the floor.
“Scum!” the tall one scoffed, kicking me viciously in the side as I lay curled in a fetal position on the cold hard floor, gasping for air.
“Yeah!” said Rodriguez, giving me a kick as well.
With that, they returned to their bunks. I remained where I was, lying on the cool concrete floor, arms wrapped around my belly. I stayed there for quite a while. Watching.
Eventually they both dozed off. In fact, the whole place became very quiet ... no sounds coming from anywhere up and down the corridor. Apparently, it was siesta time. My stomach growled. I was reminded of the fact that I hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was probably mid-afternoon. I also thought about climbing up into the top bunk, but I was afraid of provoking my less than friendly cellmates, so instead I crawled across to the far wall and sat hunched under the table, knees pulled up under my chin ... and cried.
They came for us a couple hours later. The guards strutted down the corridor rapping on cell doors with their batons, and shouting, "Everyone up. Get a move on it! Dinner time!"
Cell doors were unlocked and the inmates brought out into the corridor, where they lined up for the march down to the mess hall. I crawled out from under my table, only to be shoved aside by Rodriquez and the tall one.
"After us!" snapped the tall one.
"Yeah," Rodriquez added ... predictably.
I waited till they passed and then joined the line in the corridor, taking my place behind my two cellmates, and noting that the tall one was now wearing my kinis. The line moved, and I followed along ... down the corridor to a down stairwell. At the lower level, we entered the mess hall, which consisted of several rows of long tables and chairs, and a serving buffet from which inmates on kitchen duty ladled what passed for dinner onto tin plates.
I got my food and selected a place near the end of one of the tables, where I planted my bare butt on a cool metal chair, and kept my head down, hoping to minimize contact with the others, all of whom seemed to regard me with sullen, if not openly hostile, expressions.
Rodriquez and the tall one sat a few places down from me, and were soon engaged in animated conversation with some of the other inmates, all of whom kept glancing often in my direction. The tall one, I learned from listening in, was called Buckner. She did most of the talking, with Rodriguez joining in every so often, as usual, with a "Yeah."
Eventually Buckner got up from the table and headed for the serving line, ostensibly to get a second helping of whatever it was they had served us. I had only picked at what was on my plate, regarding it with suspicious caution. As she passed by me, she suddenly reached out and cuffed me on the back of the head ... hard enough to drive my face into my food.
That did it!
I jumped up, wiped the slop from my face, and charged after her, driving my shoulder into the small of her back, and knocking her headlong into the women sitting at the next table. Slowly she got up, face flushed with anger. Giving no quarter, I was on her in a flash. Using my police training, I took firm hold of one of her wrists, planted my feet, and threw her over my hip to the floor. With a roar, she jumped up and hurled herself at me. I sidestepped what looked like a cross between an enraged bull and a runaway locomotive, tripped her neatly and sent her sprawling over the length of a table ... plates, silverware and food flying in all directions.
Then all hell broke loose. The inmates were on their feet yelling and crowding around. The guards came running with their batons, the Matron close behind. Within seconds, Buckner and I were overwhelmed and taken in hand, arms pinned behind our backs ... glaring fiercely at one another.
"To the punishment rooms! Both of them!” screamed Matron.
“She started it!” groused Buckner. “Our little whore-cop shoved me. You all saw her do it!”
"Yeah!" said Rodriguez.
"Hey, wait a minute!" I cried. "She started it, not me! Buckner pushed my face in my plate!"
"Anyone see that?" asked Matron, casting her eyes around the room. Everyone looked at the floor, with the exception of the new girl, Greene ... the young, frightened one.
"I think I did." she stammered.
"Ok, forget the punishment room ... since we apparently have a difference of opinion here, we'll let these two bitches settle this in the same way it began ... with them fighting it out. Clear some space, everyone!"
Amidst a bedlam of scraping table and chair legs, and animated conversation, a sizeable space was opened in the center of the mess hall, with the periphery packed densely with inmates and guards eager to watch the show.
"Ok, strip you two!" barked Matron. "Everything but your panties!"
"But I don't have any panties!" I complained. "Buckner is wearing mine!"
"Well you can win them back, if you can. So listen up! Here are the rules. This is a fight until one or the other yields, no holds barred. Loser will spend the night in the 'hole'. Guards! Fetch some cooking oil from the mess so we can oil these two up to make it more interesting!"
All that police self defence training etc. 
