CHAPTER 1

 

The woman, who was blessed with stunning looks sufficient to make many men drool, looked nervous and uncomfortable in the back of the unmarked van carrying her into the city. Her excellent figure was more like a teenager's than a woman in her thirties. With large green eyes in a doll-like face, framed by shoulder length blonde hair, she looked out of place in the dirty, smelly vehicle. She sat alongside a large, obnoxious drunk and an ageing prostitute. Caroline's 36b breasts heaved in anxiety beneath her tight black jumper. She sat on the hard wooden bench, the only seating the van possessed. Her long legs, encased in figure-hugging jeans, were tucked under it. A trickle of sweat made its irritating way down her tense face but she was unable to wipe it away as her wrists were cuffed behind her, adding to her fear and vulnerability.

Caroline bit her trembling lip, trying to quell her fear, wishing she had managed to escape on the moving Channel Tunnel train with her husband Paul, their daughter and two friends. They had been planning this escape for months but no one could have legislated for the oil patch on the wooden foot step running around the outside of the carriage, the oil patch on the exact spot where her feet scrambled for purchase. She had been pulling herself onto the train at the time and the oil patch had sent her tumbling. Thankfully it had been travelling quite slowly. She had rolled onto the embankment, winded, unable to cry out, indeed too frightened to. She was left lying there watching the train fading into the darkness, taking her hopes with it. Her husband was facing the other way, looking after their daughter, blissfully unaware of her fate.

Now helpless, a prisoner in the van, she was beginning to doubt the benefits of her survival. England in 2030 was not a happy place; the authorities had racked down hard on those who flouted its strict laws or attempted to escape and further deplete a shrinking population. An example had to be made. Caroline wanted to be sick, she wanted to be with her husband on the train, in France, at home, anywhere but where she was.

The van came to a grinding halt and the doors were slammed open. The painful grip of the squat middle-aged wardress on her arm guided her, stumbling, from a courtyard into a large, grim, building with an imposing sign outside, 'Department of Correction'.

She was hustled down grim and endless corridors as if she were a dangerous felon. Her footsteps and those of the guards echoed ominously as she was taken further away from the world as she knew it.

"Turn, face the wall!" a guard bellowed. They had been brought to a forbidding, echoing, tiled cellar. Miserably she obeyed, not wanting to turn her back on the guard but not daring to disobey.

"Haah," she gasped as rough hands removed the iron bite of the cuffs from her slim wrists. It was good to regain the use of her hands, making her feel less vulnerable.

"Turn back!" She was even more reluctant now, not wanting to see her captors, those unfriendly people who held her fate in their hands.

"Strip naked!" shouted another guard, a large intimidating man of Arabic origin. His snarl revealed several blackened teeth to the three prisoners.

"Please..." Caroline pleaded with the wardress who was smirking at her. She was quaking at the horrendous order. It was beyond comprehension that she could remove her clothes in front of everyone. She looked at the male guards and the fat drunk. "Please is there a room? ...oooff," she gasped as the woman's baton painfully jabbed her flat stomach.

"No talking; none at all! I'm sorry you don't like undressing in public but you'll soon get used to it, girl - everyone does who breaks the law. Now clothes off, immediately, or it will be done for you!" she snapped, spraying Caroline's flinching face with saliva. "Watches, jewellery, the lot! I want you as naked as the day you were born; the shit you take off you place in a pile to one side."

The ugly old cow had called her a girl, yet she was a sophisticated, intelligent grown woman - but that counted for nothing in England these days. Shame coloured her pretty face as she began tugging off her jumper with trembling hands. She had to blank off her mind, make it numb, as she unzipped and wriggled out of her jeans. Then she unclipped her lacy bra, removing it before sliding out of her panties before the greedy eyes of the Arab guard and the smelly obnoxious drunk. She recalled pulling on the garments in the intimacy of her bedroom that morning, never dreaming she would be forced to remove them under such awful circumstances. The last time she had taken off her undergarments it had been with the assistance of four hands.

She recalled her husband's lips at her throat and mouth as his gentle hands helped her unclip her bra and slide off her knickers. Naked, she had been alive and vibrant in his arms, soft, yielding whilst at the same time acting like a wanton woman, reaching for his hard shaft of flesh to sink onto. Now, she was naked again - but under entirely different circumstances.

With trembling hands she unclasped her lovely expensive watch and necklaces and tugged off her precious rings with their memories. She was amongst people whom she would normally have crossed the road to avoid and now she was totally, utterly naked before them; standing in a cellar, shivering with fear and cold, arms crossed over her breasts.

"In a line, hands on head, give your full names, ages and address when I ask!" the woman ordered. She was holding a small voice activated computer.

Caroline tried to shrink away from the gross hairy body of the drunk beside her, his bleary eyes drinking in the lush curves she was forced to display as she assumed the humiliating pose before her hateful captors.

"Custody roll prisoners detained on the evening of 20th Sept - you first!" the female guard thrust her recorder at the drunk.

After he had struggled, with a bemused air, to recall the details and the sagging prostitute had provided hers in a bored, flat voice, the woman stood before Caroline.

"I, er..."

Crack!

"Hah," she stepped back in fear, outrage and humiliation, pressing her hand to her stinging cheek where the woman, seemingly picking on her, had given her a harsh, unexpected slap.

"I can't stand stuck-up cows like you, especially when they're stupid, too! Now listen, cunt, the computer won't recognise 'ers' and 'buts;' just give the facts, you stupid cow, now! Stand back here, hands back on head, stop covering yourself, you've nothing to hide," she sneered.

"C-Caroline Patterson, age 35 ... " She provided the remainder of the required details, trying to disguise the quaver in her voice and her fear, not wanting to display that before the bitch; trying to be brave - but failing miserably.

"Right, I've checked all three of you on the State's central medical records and you have no medical conditions prohibiting the administration of punishment." The woman spoke as if dripping acid, reading from her small computer screen. "Remain quite still to be searched, feet apart, mouths open!" she barked out the next set of degrading orders.

Caroline's face was hot with shame and her hair was sticking to her forehead. She felt sick. She was attempting to blank off her mind and senses and to ignore the leering eyes of the Arab guard who stood right before her. He was ogling her breasts uplifted by her enforced posture. Beside her she saw the woman guard's hands move over the drunk's flabby skin, lifting his manhood; seemingly they took a delight here in shaming the opposite sex.

"Pretty little knickers, eh?" The brute picked up her dainty little garment, still warm from her body and sniffed it, then put that personal and intimate item of her clothing in his pocket.

"Please..." Caroline whimpered under her breath, feeling even sicker with disgust and shame.

"Don't worry, you not need them here." He leered at her exposed body. "Yes, a very pretty lady, a shame you wanted to leave your country without permission, but I glad you still with us now." The brutal looking Arab grinned again, revealing several gaps in his teeth. "It funny, not many years ago we were in trouble for entering this country illegally - now you in trouble for leaving it illegally - but now laws tougher - no nonsense. Maybe you get to enjoy our company and especially the company of me - Hamil, eh?"

"Please," she squirmed away as his dirty hands reached out to horribly fondle her jutting boobs. It was awful, degrading, how someone like him could just take her panties, grope her, and take such liberties.

"Back in line, exactly as before in five seconds, no moving, no talking - or something really bad will happen to you, my pretty English lady." His silken voice oozed cruelty.

Fearfully, reluctantly, the trembling blonde forced herself back to her posture of shame before the beast with hot glinting eyes. Such was her fear of this regime and these people that she dare not resist, no matter how repellent and shameful the touch.

"Mouth wider, wider, tongue right out." Putrid breath filled her pinched nostrils as, like a dentist from hell, he peered into her ridiculously gaping mouth, his uniform coarse against her nipples which had become erect with her fear. She had to fight against the ever-rising sickness as his hands slid through her hair like her husband's used to do, before sliding down her waist. She cringed as he casually rested his hands on her shapely hips, squeezing her eyes shut with disgust as he patted her bottom with total possession. "Now bend over, my pretty, and we'll check down there - keep your hands on your head," he emphasised as she reluctantly bent over to further expose her pert bottom to his gaze and fingers.

"Oooh," the cry was torn from her as he slapped the curve of her backside just as her husband did. But this wasn't an intimate act of fun in a darkened bedroom; this was a sadistic grope of lust by a horrid stranger, someone who had total power over her. She had to restrain the urge to unlace her fingers from her neck and slap his hand away, instead allowing him to horribly intrude into her deepest intimacies. It was vile, disgusting. She wanted to scream.

"Ughhh," she grunted again as a stiff finger slid into her sex, lovingly exploring her in a ghastly invasion of her body. Worse, it then curled into her tight sphincter. That was a touch she had always hated but now she couldn't just push away the offending digit; she had to simply endure as it twisted painfully and shamefully within her, filling her unnaturally.

"Good girl, not so bad, eh? Maybe you get to like it up there, eh? You keep no secrets from old Hamil, no! Up you get." The guard smiled as he playfully patted the delicious curves of her firm flanks, making her grind her teeth in suppressed rage and shame. "It late tonight, we get you locked up so - you can be dealt with properly tomorrow," he added ominously.

She stooped to retrieve her clothes but the guard grabbed her arm.

"No my pretty, you forfeit those when you be bad girl, this is what you wear now." He threw her a tiny white smock.

She was at least grateful for some clothing even if it only just covered her bottom. The trouble was that it would reveal it if she bent over and it was so low cut it showed most of her breasts jiggling freely beneath it.

"Please ... I..." She looked around for a phone. "I need to ring someone tell them..."

Crack!

The female warden's large hand cracked across her face to leave her ears singing and her cheek smarting; she was shocked by the assault but although rage boiled within her, she wisely restrained herself. .

"You contact no one, girl; those that need to will know of your arrest - and remember what I told you about no talking! Now hands on head whilst we confine you!"

Caroline stood meekly as ordered whilst the wardens handcuffed the other two prisoners. Then came her turn. She felt frightened and trapped as her wrists were again cuffed behind her.

"Oh no..." She shrunk back as the bitch produced an evil looking head cage which was locked in place around her neck. It had a ball gag on a spike which horribly filled her mouth to leave her cheeks bulging, preventing any speech. It was heavy, degrading, frightening. They were treating her almost as if she was a hardened and dangerous medieval criminal. She was totally helpless amongst these fiends, shivering vulnerably as they were marched deeper down within the confines of this terrible, terrible place.

Later she sobbed pitifully to herself through her gag. The head cage bearing painfully down on her slim shoulders was bad enough but now she was stooped in a tiny metal cell not much bigger than a wardrobe. It allowed her to stand up to look through a small, dirty grille but it was insufficient for her to sit without her legs bent and knees pressed awkwardly up to her chin. Her confinement was a devilish contraption which made every muscle scream with cramp, denying sleep; it was not really possible to sit, only to stand with any ease. She also had to share the tiny floor space with a tin bucket on which she somehow managed to squat awkwardly in the night to empty her fear-taut bladder. She wondered what would happen if there was some kind of emergency or fire; she would die down here, trapped and alone. She was a grown woman in her thirties, yet she broke down and cried like a baby, wracked by tears; fearing that she would never see her husband or daughter again.