Sent to a women’s prison by a vengeful and powerful politician, our heroines get in trouble for slacking off on the hard labor, and are punished with a little extra humiliation:
Continuing the motions of hoeing, Gail frankly watched Emma grasped Grace’s hair and pulled forward and down. “Bend well over, honey,” she invited.
The unfortunate girl had no choice but to obey. A moment later her head was between Emma’s ample thighs, her neck held as in a vice. Her bottom was reared, her legs were rudely kicked as wide apart as their chain would allow. Gail began to guess what was in store.
But she had underestimated the resources of the Prison Farm. From the bag, a gleefully grinning Thelma produced a huge tuft of what appeared to be ostrich feathers spouting from a sizeable rubber prong. She also produced vaseline.
Grace struggled and protested. But to no avail. She was held. The operation that would degrade and render her ludicrous before her fellow prisoners went competently forward. Admittedly, it was done with reasonable care. The ugly protrusion entered its warm sheath under skilful guidance and practiced hands. But to a girl who had never been spread it would be agony. Its frontal knob would ensure the sphincter muscle’s firm retaining grip upon the mockery of a bird’s plumed tail. But it would be bitterly painful to the girl within whose rectum it found refuge. The beastly work was concluded when Grace’s handcuffs were removed so that the sack could be discarded to leave her nude, and then locked back on her wrists with an extra tight grip. Scarlet faced, she stood in her plumed nakedness, uncertain what to do.
“Reach round and pull it out if you don’t like it, sugar,” Thelma suggested cheerfully.
For a moment Grace stood, undecided, off balance, not knowing. Then, following a natural instinct, she did the wrong thing. She reached back to tug the intruding alien thing from her body.
The laughter was not limited to the merriment of the wardresses. Most of the captive girls found it hard to keep a straight face. Even the agonized Gail could appreciate the comic absurdity of what she beheld. No matter how she tried, Grace could not reach the thing she sought. The handcuffs tight upon her wrists defeated her. She could touch a fingertip to a feather. But could grip nothing with sufficient force to achieve her purpose. With or without permission, she would have no choice but to wear her badge of shame.
Blushing vividly she picked up her hoe. Tears of chagrin bedewed her eyes…
Excerpted from Strange Captivity by F.E. Campbell.
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