Contents

 

One ~ The departure.

Two ~ The snack.

Three ~ The stopover.

Four ~ Fashion parade.

Five ~ Tight grip.

Six ~ Chocolate lollypop.

Seven ~ The inspection.

Eight ~ New home.

Nine ~ Father Essex.

Ten ~ Sinful Soul.

Eleven ~ Cleansing sins.

Twelve ~ Sore butt.

Thirteen ~ The collar.

Fourteen ~ Beige Jodhpurs.

Fifteen ~ Julie's plan.

Sixteen ~ Cruel treatment.

Seventeen ~ The Puppy suit.

Eighteen ~ A dog's life.

 

Chapter One ~ The departure.

 

Hopefully, I was taking my last walk along landing 5B. All the women in their cells jeered at me, shouting 'You'll be back, Bella. We'll be waiting for you. Eat my pussy before you go...' Virtually every woman on the landing shouted a crude or insensitive remark at me. They were the reason why I never wanted to set foot in a prison again.

Mathews, who was escorting me out, grinned down at me. "See how popular you are..."

When the barred gate closed and the locks engaged, I finally believed I was being released from the stinking young offender's institution. I had spent one and a half years of my life in the smelly, rat-infested building. A day hadn't passed when I wasn't climbing the walls with frustration.

I was dressed in the clothes I arrived in - a pair of denim shorts, a scruffy blue t-shirt and a black cotton jacket. No clothes had arrived, so I was stuck with my motheaten outfit. They were summer clothes and included a pair of blue ankle socks and black shoes. It was the middle of January, so I hoped my aunt had bought a coat for me.

The route to the departure suite (What a fucking name!), took ten minutes because we had to pass through five separate security checks. "Finally getting rid of you, Heh, Junior?" one screw asked as I waited with Chief Officer Mathews for the lock to disengage.

My escort was a giant woman. On countless occasions, my head had been clamped between her thighs while I sucked and lapped her huge pussy. She called it office duty. I willingly crouched under her desk, with my head between her thighs because it guaranteed me protection from the filth that occupied most of the cells on my wing.

"She'll be back Florrie. Little violent cunts like this one can't resist trouble. Can you Junior?"

The screws had given me the nickname, Junior, because of my youthful looks and petite size. I was at a huge disadvantage being only five feet tall and weighing a mere 100 pounds. I eventually did what I was told to do by Mathews, after dozens of beatings. She thought she had tamed me, but I like to think I wised up when I saw how cruel fellow prisoners could be to a weaker inmate.

"I won't be back," I replied defiantly.

Both women scoffed, then we moved on. Mathews grabbed my arm and shook me. "Junior, you'll never survive eighteen month's licence. Not in a million years. Whatever scheme they've put you on will find out what a lazy little cunt you are."

"We'll see..."

When we passed through the final gate, I was almost free, but the chief warden didn't release my arm. She steered me toward the release and reception desk, behind which a woman I knew well was standing.

A middle-aged man was standing at the desk who I didn't recognize. He looked me up and down. "She looks nothing like the photograph."

The desk officer looked surprised. "Haven't you ever met her?"

"Nah, couldn't get away from the farm. My wife Sandy organized her stay with us. I'm just the taxi driver."

He seemed pissed to have driven down from his farm which was located in the Suffolk countryside. I only knew a handful of facts about the man. His name was Arthur Holland. He owned a farm and had agreed to give me a home during my eighteen months' probation.

I was granted a licence on the condition I lived with the Hollands. Anything, I reasoned was better than the stinking Bromley young offender's institution.

When Mrs Holland visited me, she showed me his picture and told me he was always busy on the farm, hence his absence. Well, he had turned up but there was no sign of his wife.

My first impression of the scowling figure was disappointment. "Hello Sir. Where's your wife?"

"Junior, pay attention," Mathews snarled shaking my arm.

The desk officer leant over and eyeballed me. "Name and number?"

"Arabella Wilson and I aint got a number anymore."

The officer pointed her pen at me. "Wilson, you'll have a number until your sentence is complete. What is it?"

She picked up a small plastic bag which contained all my worldly possessions. Unnecessarily, I reeled off my prisoner number. She checked the label on the bag and was about to hand the bag to me when Arthur grabbed it. "I'll take that," he growled. "Have you finished with this little brat?"

"Sure, but we'll keep a bunk ready for her return," the desk officer replied with a smirk.

Her name was Olga and was one of Mathews' closest allies. She was a brutal screw and liked to hurt inmates like me. Her speciality was wet towels. Whether it was flicking them or thumping me with them, she didn't stop until I was screaming my head off. I still had bruises from our last encounter.

Mathews reluctantly let go of my arm. Arthur led me to a black guy standing by the main exit. I had met the probation officer several times and made a deal with him so that he recommended me for early release. The man had a thing for me, and I was prepared to suck his dick.

On the last of our meetings, Henry Lloyd read me the riot act, while Mathews and another officer strip searched me. It was how she paid the governors and probationer officers when she needed a favour. I was high up on their list of 'must see' inmates.

While I stood, legs apart, hands on the bunk, panties around my ankles, Mathews searched for contraband while Lloyd watched. The screws then allowed Henry ten minutes alone with me, just long enough for him to reiterate his influence with the probation board. Everything was conditional on whether I would perform for him once I was on the farm.

Henry had the hots for me. That was clear. He was from the same county the Holland's lived in, so would be able to visit the farm regularly to keep an eye on me. I wasn't surprised that he was interested in me because most of the other inmates were gross. Sometimes I wished my appearance was anonymous, but the truth was that I stood out from the crowd of inmates.

He gave me a list of the things that would get me sent straight back inside. Because of my gang related crime - a stabbing. I was forbidden to use the internet or have a mobile phone. I was forbidden to contact any of my old acquaintances. He told me I had to start a new life, in a new town, which was another reason the probation board approved my release to the Hollands.

"What do you think, Mr. Holland?" the probation officer asked. "I know that you haven't seen her before..."

"We'll see how the little runt beds in." He was in a grumpy mood, probably because he had to drive down and get me.

"She understands the terms, Sir," Henry said, then winked at my guardian.

"Huh, she'll be living with me and the wife on our terms. Don't you worry."

I wanted to say something, but I didn't want to fuck up the chance I was handed by the law - 50% on licence for good behaviour. I kept my nose clean and my tongue dirty. That was the deal inside with the screws. Perform and no accusations would be made against me.

"Put her to work, Sir. That's what she needs." Henry was actually sounding like a probation officer!

Arthur, who was over a foot taller than me, stared down at me. "The farm is automated but there'll be plenty of work for this squirt."

"Alright, I'll pop in tomorrow morning to see how she's settled in. I'll give you a buzz..."

"You won't see me unless you get there before six!"

That was it. Ten seconds later, we were outside in the cold January weather. It was freezing and windy, but thankfully dry. More importantly though, I was free, or so it seemed...

 

Chapter two ~ The snack.

 

Mr. Holland's car was a flash, dark green Range Rover which meant he had money. Money meant I could look forward to some luxuries for the first time in my life. Once we had crossed the icy institute's car park, I was surprised to see that there was a young lad sitting on the back seat. Arthur triggered the lock release and opened the back door.

I looked in to see the lad staring back at me. "Fuck, it's cold out here." Ahhhhh!" I cried when Mr. Holland grabbed a handful of my short hair.

"I'm the only one allowed to swear. You're not. Got it?"

"Y... Yes, Sir," I cried while clutching onto his huge hand. "I was only trying to make conversation."

"Get in and say hello to Tom." He let go of my hair.

I slid onto the leather seat and was grateful to get out of the cold. But I was overwhelmed by the size of the lad siting a couple of feet away from me.

I turned to face him. He was built like a giant redwood tree, tall and solid. "Hello, Tom, I'm Arabella. Everyone calls me Bella."

He studied me and licked his lips. "I'm Tommy. Everyone calls me Tom," he said in a low guttural tone.

"Tom has got his own ways. You'll get used to them, Junior."

"Junior?" He asked in a surprised tone.

"It's a nickname," I said to him. People in the prison gave it to me."

"Prison? You've been in prison?" He spoke slowly and deliberately as if he didn't understand his own question.

"Tom, don't worry about it." Arthur patted me on the head. "We'll call her Bella. Watch her for me."

"I will," he responded.

"What does that mean, Sir?" I asked the farmer.

"It means he's in charge of you until I say he isn't. Buckle up. We've got a two-hour journey ahead of us."

Arthur closed the door, jumped into the driver's seat and set off. As soon as the car had stopped twisting and turning, Tom moved for the first time. He released his seat belt and slid sideways to the centre section. After fastening the centre belt, he reached out and placed his large hand on my leg while gazing at me as though I was an angel.

"Um, Sir, Tom is getting friendly."

He adjusted the rear-view mirror so he could see my face.

"Don't worry, Bella, he wants to get to know you. While you're in his charge, he won't hurt you unless you give him good reason."

The lad lent against me and sniffed my face. "Um, okay, Tom," I muttered while trying to retreat as far as I could go into the corner of the seat. "It's a cold winter this year. Bad for the crops." I said the first farming thing that came into my mind.

I couldn't stop him from looking at me. "You're pretty," he muttered, then reached around my neck and pulled me out of the corner. "I like you, Bella."

His right hand moved up my thigh to the denim shorts. His fingers played with the front button then slipped under my t-shirt and settled on my tummy. He was a big lad with shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes. They were dull though, like the grey matter he had for a brain.

"I like you too, Tom. "I said trying to placate him. I rested my hand on his wrist. "Please, Tom, I'm very tired."

My efforts to stop him from lifting his hand under my t-shirt were ineffectual. He grabbed my left tit and gave it a squeeze.

"Your tits are smaller than the Mistress's," he said softly.

"Sir, Mr. Holland. Tom is going too far..."

He stared at me through the rear-view mirror. They were cold, angry eyes. "Bella, Tom wants a kiss, then he'll go back to his seat.