CHAPTER 1

 

The delicious-looking blonde gunned her powerful four by four into the broad sweeping drive of her house. After a last deep thrust of the engine she switched off and slammed the door with an expensive clunk, the bleep of the alarm soon followed - you couldn't take chances in this day and age.

For a moment she gazed proudly at her new car and her fairly large house, reminding herself of the virtues of a good and powerful job in Government, before she let herself in and called cheerily to her husband.

Life was good for Rachel. She was a drop-dead gorgeous woman on whom many male eyes lingered, drinking in her doll-like face framed by ash blonde hair with a delicious figure which cried out to be unpeeled. It was said by many that she had film star looks and had indeed often been likened to one. Not only was she incredibly easy on the eyes but she had brains and a sparkling personality to match. But rather than the silver screen, as a result of a good education, she had by the modest age of twenty five secured a middle management policy position in the UK Customs and Borders Agency. And having married last year her handsome boyfriend, Dean, she didn't believe that life could get much better for her.

True, in her opinion England in the first quarter of the 21 century seemed to have been going downhill these last few years and she often longed to live abroad. But there were maybe signs that the laws were toughening a bit so that criminals and the like would begin to regret breaking them. And her conscience was clear, she always did her bit, speaking out when she thought things were wrong.

That evening she lay snuggled against her husband's broad chest, her lush nude curves straining against him as their mouths locked together in deep kiss of passion, tongues entwined. His hands were holding the smooth flexing cheeks of her bottom as he thrust into her, filling her deliciously just as his tongue filled and explored her willing mouth. Her legs and mouth were open to him as her hands tightly gripped the hard mounds of his buttocks, pulling him in deeper to the hot depths of her sex.

After they gasped to a climax she lay contented in his arms, pressing her lushness against his hard muscular frame. Across the bedroom the television remained on and ignored. But gradually Rachel's interest returned to it, a documentary about one of the new super prisons opened nearby in Kent to cope with the growing crime rate. Such things were loosely connected to her job. Although the prison was funded from somewhere abroad Rachel and Dean were in broad agreement that something needed to be done about getting tough with criminals, who deserved all they got, Rachel all too often cited.

The documentary was speculating on whether it was a good idea to virtually let foreigners run these places with little supervision or restriction; but why not she thought, snuggling closer to Dean, pressing the hard buttons of her nipples against his hairy chest. In her job she had to tow the softly-softly party line all too often. At least someone was prepared to use a bit of the short sharp shock treatment rather than treat everyone lightly.

Needing him again, she leaned forward to start suckling and nibbling his nipples whilst her fingers curled around the rapidly enlarging length of his penis. She and Dean had returned from a Saturday night out with their friends; Alice and her husband Mark, also their policeman friend Dave with his wife. And three glasses of wine in the Chinese restaurant had as usual turned her a bit out of character and into a wanton woman. She sighed contentedly as his hands found her boobs and bottom whilst his male hardness grew to brush and stab her belly.

 

***

 

Several thousand miles away another person scanned the same television programme at which Rachel had previously been looking with interest. But he was also trawling databases of existing and future potential inmates for that prison he owned. Rich and powerful, but also rather large and ugly, the man of mixed Arabic and Negroid descent was a lot less pleasing to the eye than Rachel. How could either of them know that within weeks two such different people would be connected by something a lot more tangible and menacing than a television programme!

 

***

 

"Look, it-it seems that the authorities may be taking further action after you and Alice took part in that demo a few weeks ago; I know it was peaceful but....." Their friend, Dave, who was also their local policeman, looked rather embarrassed when he called round socially a few evenings later. "They photo-matched your and Alice's identities to being connected with customs jobs and it looks like they may want to make examples of you under the new crack-downs. I'm sorry."

"But the demonstration was only about tougher sentencing, the anti-immigration crowd sort of took it over," Rachel felt as if a hole had opened in her stomach. It might have been a bit reckless of her to go on any demo in her position but it seemed so harmless and she had firm views on crime and punishment. "OK I might agree a bit with what they said about immigration on the demo - but we left when things got a bit ugly and ..." yet Rachel's words trailed off recalling the warning from her boss in the Borders Agency not to become involved in such demonstrations in case they ran out of control - and how she thought she knew better.

 

***

 

First came the temporary suspension from work of her and her friend Alice, who was also her deputy in her office, whilst they faced retraining. To begin redeeming themselves would apparently require her written apology and a retraction of any views she might hold against complete open door immigration. That was a high horse too far and she jumped on it, strongly objecting and refusing to go along with it; she had principles she decided. Then within a few days the authorities had dredged their databases and found evidence of her and Alice on some right-wing demo when they were university students. It was enough in the current society for them to be branded criminals.

They had a choice of a formal trial and probably losing their jobs whether found guilty or innocent. Or accepting a short rehabilitation sentence for a few weeks and then continuing with their careers. After much soul-searching she and Alice reluctantly decided to accept the rehab option. After all, she always said, most people got such early release from prison that it was hardly worth them going. She and Alice would probably be back at work in a couple of weeks, wouldn't they?

Too late, the nature of that retraining became clear when the official letter came. It was daunting. 'You will be escorted to HM Correction Centre Gillingham on 10 June,' it had read- which was in just two days' time. This was one of the new foreign run short-sharp-shock super-prisons she had recently heard about. 'You may bring a family member and there will be a police escort. Expect a complete strip search and an enema on arrival,' the awful letter had continued.

Rachel's heart sank. She knew little of the new facility beyond what was in the documentary the other week; no-one seemed to have exact details of it. They were just somewhere to heap the growing mound of prisoners, and with the public pendulum swinging back against too soft sentencing plenty of blind eyes were turned. Rachel just hoped that the flood of uncontrolled immigration would be the next thing to slowly change even though she knew that a certain amount was healthy for the country; if only the authorities would cater for the necessary infrastructure to cope she thought. Yet she realised glumly, rather than worry about lofty ideals she now had the more pressing problem of her grim future.

With a sick jolt she recalled a Muslim woman living in her area who worked in the prison. Ashanti was her name she remembered. She often saw her gliding down the road fully veiled and Rachel ensured that she kept out of her way. That was primarily because she had once checked up on her employment status and although she had recommended the woman's deportation back to Iraq, her boss in the agency overruled it. Hopefully, thought Rachel, the woman would be unlikely to recall that incident if she ever came across her during her rehab.

CHAPTER 2

 

The prison gates were large and daunting. Rachel felt a deep pit of fear opening in her stomach as she Dean, Alice and Mark walked through them and they crashed behind her. The two couples were accompanied by Dave wearing his police uniform in his professional capacity.

Rachel felt a pang of fear and anger as they were greeted inside by two female guards in long black burkha robes so that only their brown eyes and olive skin surrounding them was visible. Ominously the robes bore the logo 'HM Correctional Facility Number 3 - Gillingham - Respect.' That form of dress always intimidated her but she tried to swallow her fear; she had to. She always found it so unsettling when people wore such things in the street and it rankled that they did so in her own country, changing its complexion far more than she thought appropriate. Now she realised for the first time that she would be under the control of such 'foreigners.' She couldn't prevent the shiver of discomfort from washing over her, realising that she would have to learn to accept such things, and quickly, because these women were in charge of her, had power over her. And worse, she saw that both women carried short crops in their belts, the short wooden handles ending in a short bunch of knotted leather flails. She assumed they were just part of a ceremonial uniform or something.

"Follow," one of the women threw imperiously over her shoulder as she led them along various long and gloomy corridors, deeper into captivity. Although much of the building was new, its purpose wasn't - there used to be an old Victorian prison here. The smell of confinement, fear and suffering seemed to be ingrained in the monotonous brickwork.

After passing through several heavy doors which the second guard locked behind them they found themselves in a large room with whitewashed walls, mirrors and a tiled floor. It looked like a reception area containing amongst other things a row of tiny cubicles, metal tables and cupboards, and things which looked like whips with long wooden handles in a rack but which Rachel preferred not to even try and guess the true purpose of.

After signing some lengthy official prison paperwork which blurred before her eyes the smaller of the robed women handed Rachel a transparent plastic bag and pointed to one of small cubicles.

"Please completely undress in there, everything, all jewellery, off too; all to go in bag and put this on," she pushed a tiny white surgical type gown into her hands. "Then back out here quickly now," the woman clapped her hands as if she was a child.

"Please... you want me to put on just this and come out again...?" Rachel had assumed a discreet examination and search by a doctor in private. But this was all happening in front of her husband, and Dave and the others.

"Of course, you've got nothing we haven't all seen before, nothing to be too proud of, eh. Now hurry before you get in trouble girl," the robed guard swished aside the curtain and gently pushed her inside.

Rachel felt ashamed and frightened as she closed the curtain behind her, taking a deep breath in the tiny cubicle to try and regain her composure. Then she reluctantly began undressing with shaking fingers which didn't seem to want to work properly. The thin strip of curtain between her and the woman outside, her husband, and the others, the world outside, was a poor physical barrier. Taking another deep breath she finally slid off her tiny panties and put the sexy garment in the bag; she'd never felt less like sex. Naked she felt incredibly vulnerable, but the cubicle at least allowed her the privacy of hiding her terror from Dean, giving her time to try and paint a confident smile on her face for his benefit when she had removed her clothes. And it was just as hard having to give up her watch, pendant and rings, all of which had happy memories of her life.

The hospital-type gown was ridiculous, humiliating. It was open at the back and the cords to tie it were missing so that unless she continually awkwardly clutched it around her, her back and bottom peeked out. Taking an unsteady breath she swished back the curtain.

Rachel didn't know where to look as she tried to hide her quite obvious nudity under the flimsy garment from the wardress and the others. And her poor friend Alice looked to be in a similar state, unable to prevent herself giving continual and enticing flashes of boob, bottom and thigh to all and sundry.

It was now worse that she was practically naked whilst those in control of her were more than fully dressed, anonymously so. She stood holding the tiny gown around her, aware of Dean's grim face and Dave blushing, shrinking back as one of the robed guards took away her bag of garments. The woman's eyes flicked over her obvious curves to ensure she wore nothing but the inadequate gown.

"Ring," the woman pointed to her expensive engagement ring, grabbing her hand so that her covering fell away to expose her. She blushed furiously, pulling it back around her.

"It- I'm afraid it's been on too long, too tight to remove."

"You address me, all female guards, as 'Miss' male guards as 'Sir' from now. You both understand?"

"I, er..." she was both angry and shocked at this happening in front of the others. She guessed it was being done just to create an impression of strictness - as required under the new regime - and mainly for the benefit of policeman Dave. Hopefully things would be more relaxed, she thought, when they were settled in.

"Well girl?"

"Yes Miss," she and Alice whispered through clenched teeth, shamed, deciding it was better to grovel a bit. Yet it was cringe-worthy having to address a foreigner and someone who she guessed despised them, so utterly respectfully. It was almost a complete reversal from the role she undertook in her immigration job.

"Good, don't forget or you get punished." The guard spoke in a matter of fact tone as if that was the most normal thing in the world, as if they were schoolchildren. "Now we try soap to remove ring, otherwise husband have to sign to say he accept risk of you still wearing it in prison, maybe losing it."

She and the guard played tug of war with the ring after the woman had soaped her finger. Actually it wasn't that difficult to slide it off. Rachel just hadn't wanted to part with it because of its sentimental value; something to remind her of love in a place of evil. Flushing she remembered a sexy night of passion and romance with Dean when she had first worn it on their engagement some years ago. Presently her biggest problem was in trying to keep the gown around her as her finger was yanked back and forth.

Now the ring was gone, handed to her husband with her clothes, handbag and her other things; her whole life in effect.

"Time to go Mr Parfit; say goodbye to your wife, you too Mr Hazel," the other robed guard announced.

She desperately clasped Dean's comforting body one last time uncaring about her gown falling slightly to spill her lushness as they kissed so tenderly. She wanted that moment to go on forever. Then the guard's hand was on Dean's arm.

"Please, time to go now - right now."

Tears misted and distorted her vision as they parted and he and Mark were led away. The door closed solidly behind their husbands almost as if a chapter was being closed on that part of their lives.

"Now we get down to business, you learn how things will be and the proper respect for those in authority. Gown off, lean against wall, legs and arms wide ... wider," demanded one of the guards.

"Please..." she looked from the robed figure to Dave.

"Do it -now or you be sorry," the woman's voice was cold and crisp. And thankfully she saw Dave turn discreetly away.

Miserably Rachel obeyed, wishing that their friend wasn't still present as she began to unpeel her last flimsy covering to leave herself absolutely naked. "I'm sorry to have to delay you during these formalities officer," the woman's voice drawled, indicating that she couldn't care less, "or indeed to inflict on you an unpleasant sight - if nude women are not your thing," she added disdainfully as her cold eyes swept over the two pink, trembling figures. "It is as you know necessary for me to sign for only the prisoner's body. All other things have to be returned to the family."

Rachel felt hot and sticky after she had slid off the silly gown to lean against the wall, legs slightly apart, unable to meet Dave's eyes, as he turned back to answer the guard. He looked embarrassed but also rather excited as he pretended not to look at both lush bodies posed so enticingly. And certainly Alice, despite being a couple of years older than she, had a body to be proud off too. Brown hair fell to her smooth shoulders, her large boobs looked to be still firm and she had a stomach nearly as flat as hers, and a shapely bottom. However, if her friend's feelings were similar to her own she probably wasn't feeling too proud of such assets right now, maybe wishing she was fat and frumpy and less likely to attract the attentions and possibly envy of these beasts.

"Legs wider apart, you've nothing to hide here girl," the guard lightly patted her bottom, and then did the same to Alice. "They look clear. I'll spare you witnessing the unpleasantness of the full body search. If we find anything I'll notify you," she turned to Dave to finalise the paperwork.

"Thank you officer, you may go now," the other guard dismissed Dave handing him the completed forms. "These two are now our property, our responsibility."

Now Rachel wished Dave wasn't going. Although she stood shamed and humiliated before him, she knew he was a friend. She turned her head away from the wall, her eyes wide and silently imploring him not to leave her in this place. But the system had to plod on and as he gave a last strained smile before he closed the door she knew that she was now alone - with enemies. Although she had no time for economic freeloaders, she began for the first time to realise how some of the genuine refugees might feel on arrival in England alone and without friends, without anyone. But her treatment now was surely so much worse than they ever received she thought.

"Are you thick girl? I gave you no permission to move, face towards the wall again, nose touching it," the guard shouted brutally cuffing Rachel's head to jar her brain.

"Ow," the exclamation was torn from her with the unexpected blow. This was certainly not how anyone should be treated. Her shame was beginning to be swamped by a greater fear as to what might lay ahead.