SCENE IN A PRISON CELL

copyright: Lesley Tara, 2010

WARNING: this story includes woman-to-woman coercion, violence, rape and murder, with an inter-racial theme of black-on-white dominance. It is entirely fantasy, and is not meant to suggest that anyone behaves like this in reality. IF THESE THEMES ARE LIKELY TO OFFEND YOU, PLEASE READ NO FURTHER.


You frighten me. You frighten me from the moment I first see you, as the guard shoves me from behind and I stumble forwards into the prison cell. The guard is like you, a muscular and tough-looking African-American woman, at least ten years older than me. She gives me a hard slap on the ass, and says in a tone of gloating sadistic humour: ‘Well, I’ll just leave you with Josie here, to get acquainted’, adding with a cruel laugh: ‘I bet you two just get along fine!’ The guard slams the steel cage door across behind me and then strolls away, her message quite clear: there will be no help for me here, I am entirely at your mercy – and I doubt that there will be any of that.

As I look at you, I am paralysed by fear. I have just arrived at this penitentiary, with its terrible reputation – how will I ever manage to survive for two years in this hell-on-earth? I was foolish, impulsive, naive – but I don’t deserve to be here! I was fresh out of college, only 21 years old, and in my first job. Yes, it was stupid to have an affair with my boss’s husband, and it broke up their marriage when she found out – but her revenge has been terrible, she has destroyed my life. She framed me to make it seem that I was stealing money from the company; somehow she got into my private accounts and passed the money through them to some offshore bolthole, and I never noticed it happening. When the auditors traced it, everything pointed to me, had my thumbprints all over it, and I had no chance, no chance at all. In fact, so hopeless was my position that in the end I went for the offered plea bargain and said I was guilty – oh, how that evil bitch must have laughed when I confessed to a crime that I had never committed!

And now, here I am, starting my sentence – and totally out of my depth. I am pretty, I know, and I look young, sweet and innocent, partly because I’m a classic natural blonde with slightly yellowish straight hair and striking blue eyes. I am around average height at five feet five inches, and I have a good body that I’ve always been proud of; my bust is shapely with firm, thrusting 30D breasts, I am quite slender with a narrow waist and my ass juts out pertly behind me – it looks really hot in tight jeans or a mini-skirt.

This environment is so alien to me, as you are. I was never, ever in trouble with the police or the law before this – I’m a nice middle-class girl from a safe and prosperous (nearly completely white) suburban neighbourhood, a graduate from a good college; I was captain of the cheerleading squad at my high school, and homecoming queen, all the boys wanted to date me, all the girls thought I was super-cool, always so smart and fashionable … oh, God! I am near to breaking down in hysterical tears, that all seems so remote away now, part of another world … what kind of place is this, what will be my fate here?

The guard told me very little about you when she was bringing me here – just enough to make me feel sick with apprehension. She said that you were on a life sentence, and that you had murdered ‘a white cunt just like you, darling, so you’d better watch your manners!’ I was surprised that they would put a new inmate like me in with such a hardened prisoner, but now I realise that it is quite deliberate, that I am being given to you like a lamb for the slaughter.

You seem to be around thirty or maybe a little more, and you look real tough, as hard as nails. As African-American women go, you are quite black – I guess a central African ancestry, far back in the slave days (which I suspect you have neither forgotten nor forgiven). Your rich dark skin gleams like polished mahogany, you have a broad flared nose and full lips which are just now compressed in a harsh line, your expression contemptuous. Your hair is quite thick but cut short – all in all, you look like my worst nightmare: an older, black, bull-dyke lesbian.

You have been sitting motionless on one of the two beds in the cell since I arrived a few moments ago, regarding me with a hostile, stony glare. I babble something in an attempt at friendship, giving my name and introducing myself, but it just bounces off you, ignored completely. Now you slowly rise to your feet and walk towards me, and my stomach gives a sickening lurch. You are taller and heavier-built than I realised when you were sitting down – you must be nearly six foot, I think. You are not wearing the same uniform that I have been given, but something better and more comfortable, perhaps not regulation issue. Your short navy blue skirt and plain white singlet top show the well-defined muscles of your legs, arms and shoulders – you look like someone who works out a lot. Your breasts are quite big as well, I can’t help noticing that, as they swing as you move – despite their size (which I’m guessing is maybe 34E or 36D), it is clear that you wear no bra under the vest, and your nipples are clear points in its thin cotton fabric.

Still without a word, you come to stand right in front of me, quite close. You see that I am trembling and you savour my fear, your lips curling slightly in hungry anticipation. Suddenly, you grip my pony-tail (all that is left of my lovely long blonde hair, after the guards in the reception unit sheared most of it away) with your left hand, and force my mouth against yours. It is not really a kiss, there is nothing of affection or love in it all – it is more like oral rape, a conquest and seizure of the booty. My lips are pressed apart; as I open them to utter a protest, your thick wide tongue plunges into my mouth, your lips mash heavily against mine and I feel your hot breath. Oh! – this is disgusting, awful! I have never been with a woman, never wanted to or thought about it, certainly not since some early-teenage messing about of the kind many girls get up to.

Instinctively I jerk away, manage somehow to pull my face back from yours, and I’m about to start a wail of protest and refusal … but you don’t give me any opportunity. I don’t see it coming, and from nowhere you right fist slams into my gut, exploding the breath out of me. You release my hair as I collapse to my knees in front of you, clutching my stomach in agony, bowed over with my forehead almost on the cold concrete floor of the cell. As I gasp for breath, you speak for the first time – cold, cruel and callous:

‘That’s better, learn your place, bitch! And I don’t need to know your name, you stupid white cow – from now on, your name is Cunt, and you’ll answer to that and do what I tell you, or I’ll make you suffer so bad that you’ll beg to do anything I want, no matter what.’

Cold shivers of terror are running through me – I am completely in your power, locked into this tiny steel and concrete cage with you; no one will help or save me. Your physical size, violent aggression and dominant personality have so easily broken my will to resist. Tears run down my cheeks, and my shoulders heave in silent, shuddering sobs. You pull my chin up with one hand, and then slap me viciously across the face with the other.

‘Stop snivelling, Cunt … and learn your first lesson!’ To reinforce your message, you slap me again, and I am stunned, my law-abiding middle-class self is too shocked at being the target of such violence to be able to do anything to resist. I am where you like to see white blonde bitches: at your feet, on their knees, shivering with terror, pale-faced with wide horrified eyes that are pleading soundlessly for mercy, which is an item you don’t carry in stock.

You command me to kiss and lick your feet – you have a pair of slip-on canvas shoes, which you kick aside. This is so humiliating, if I do this it will be such an acknowledgement of my submission to you – but what else can I do? You are so much fiercer and stronger, I would have no chance in a trial of physical force – it would be futile to try, I would only get badly hurt and the end result would be the same. And so, with salty tears dripping onto the floor, I bend over and kiss each of your toes, and lift each foot to suck on the big toe.

You smile with relish – breaking this feeble white cunt is going to be so easy, it’s almost a pity that she’s not resisting some more (you had fun beating the shit out of the last one for nearly a week, until she finally collapsed in surrender). Still, I am the type you most like to dominate – white, blonde, pretty in a girlish way, a middle-class college-educated career woman who wouldn’t look at you twice outside of these walls, but whom you will make into your abject sex-slave, one of your harem of fuckababes whose cunts belong to you, even whilst you loan them out to all the other African-American dykes and guards who want a piece of their pretty little pussies. You are always ready to add another blonde to your stable, to force her into lesbian submission and turn her into a pussy-eating slut. You have a deal with the guards (the Chief Guard being your lover), and they bring you the youngest, peachiest white women to subjugate, knowing that you will crush them without mercy.

You hate my type – you never liked smart-ass rich white bitches anyway, even before the events that brought you here. About seven years ago, you had a sweet young African-American girl as your lover, a cute little thing with great pointy tits, just fresh out of high school. She moved in with you, was hot and eager in your bed, a delicious piece of ass in every way. Then she got a job as secretary at a realtor’s and was seduced by one of the sales executives, a chic white blonde in her late-20s; the girl dumped you, and moved in with her new lover in the picket-fence suburbs. Anger and hate consumed you – and you took a sadistic revenge. One day when they came home after work, laughing and cuddling, you were waiting in the house; at gun point, you made them both strip naked, and then you forced your former girlfriend to tie the white bitch spread-eagled on the bed in which they fucked each other. Despite her pleas and sobs, you made the black babe lash her white lover across the breasts, stomach and legs – and up between the legs, right on her cunt – with a whip you had brought with you; the white cow was gagged with her own panties and tights, but you got off on seeing her eye-bulging stifled screams of agony, masturbating yourself and reaching a climax as you ordered the final strikes right onto the white bitch’s slit. Your former pussy-girl was so frightened that she did everything as you demanded, not daring to hold back on the force of the lashes, and she was quaking with terror when you dragged her by her hair to the side of the bed – her pain-wracked lover looked up in horror as you viciously stabbed the black babe in the ribs and guts several times, before letting her body slump to the floor.

It was then that the white bitch knew that she was going to die as well, and she struggled frantically but futilely in her bonds as you searched the house for what you wanted. When you returned, she whimpered in horror, for she understood at once. You had a long broom-handle, which you pushed into her bruised and bleeding vagina – after six inches were inside, you paused for a long moment, savouring her mewling begging sounds, and then you slowly rammed it home for another foot or more, until her body stopped bucking on the blood-soaked sheets and was quite still. You poured petrol over their corpses and set the house on fire, but eventually, a month or so later, the cops arrested you on DNA evidence and you were charged with double-homicide. However, the judge was a middle-aged African-American woman who was a closet dyke, and you had her sympathy as well as her admiration of your ripe figure; she ensured that you avoided the death penalty with a life sentence instead (and she visited you in the holding cells after the trial, where you had an opportunity to show your appreciation in a suitable manner).

I do not know any of this at this time, I can just sense the waves of anger radiating out from you and the harsh hostility of your expression, and with a plummeting heart I realise that I am going to be in for a very bad time here and that I have no choice but to let you do whatever you want to – I am so utterly in your power, just a human toy to be played with and thrown around.

After I have licked your feet, I look up at you tentatively through tear-filled eyes, hoping that this has been sufficient humiliation and assertion of your authority. But my heart sinks, for you stare down at me implacably, and I know that you have more, much more in mind, and that nothing will stop you. You grasp my pony-tail again and haul me to my feet – so fast that my best effort to keep up is not enough, and I give a sobbing scream from the pain as you pull on my hair – but no one hears me, no one comes to investigate.

Apart from underwear, my only piece of clothing is the standard-issue prison outfit – a plain and straight shift dress which comes down to just above my knees, with short sleeves and a square cut front, in cheap cotton, dyed in a medium blue. I am shivering as I stand in it, but that is from fear of you and not from feeling cold – if anything, it is humidly warm here, the air laced with the fetid smell of too many human bodies confined too closely. With one hand you keep the vice-like grip on my hair which is forcing me to stand on my tiptoes, and then with the other you suddenly seize one of my breasts through the thin material, mashing and mangling it in your broad ebony grasp, and easily batting aside my feeble attempts to protect myself. I am making a wailing sound of despair – now that you have begun an overtly sexual assault, I dread what it may lead to. Then you savagely pinch my nipple, and my head jerks back and a harsh cry of agony, fear and humiliation is ripped from my throat.

I am brokenly begging you to stop, pleading with you not to hurt me, but you are implacable and I dissolve into sobs as you hiss harshly at me that this is just the beginning, and that by the time you are done with me – you describe it as ‘breaking me in’, which sounds animalistic and horrible – my throat will be raw from my screams.