Unknown - Framed and chained

She let the warm water pour down over her head and body, then reached for the soap and began running the slick bar up and down her chest between her breasts.

One of the guards reached over and turned off the water suddenly.

"Don't waste water, slut," the woman said, "Soap up, then shower off."

Amy said nothing, turning her red face away.

"When a guard says something to you, you answer her, slut," Dolores snapped.

"I… l'm sorry," she gulped.

"You say, yes, Ma'am, or no, Ma'am. Understand something."

Both the guards twisted their batons around inside the young woman's guts, turning her yelps and cries to screams of agony. Dolores began pumping her baton up and down in Amy's rectum, delighting in the thumping of the tip against whatever was at the end of her anal tube.

Amy shrieked and sobbed, her head thrashing, her body shaking and twisting as the two big batons jammed up into her belly repeatedly. She was on her toes and still the two women forced the batons higher, punching the hard wooden batons into her with cruel force, pounding them deep into her body, impaling her.

"What a buttery little asshole we got here," Dolores grinned, watching the hard baton sliding furiously in and out of the teenager's rounded asshole.

"This cunt is too tight. Got to work it open," the fat woman said.

"Hell, girl," the black woman sniggered. "It'll be worked open soon enough. This little whore is gonna have half the town between her legs in the next few weeks."

Amy didn't even hear them for her own misery and pain and horror. She continued to struggle helplessly as her asshole and pussy were cruelly raped by the big nightsticks, not knowing or understanding why she was being treated so cruelly.

Finally the two women pulled the nightsticks free and Amy was flung backwards into the shower stall. She fell on her ass and crumbled there, curling up in a ball and sobbing as she clutched her aching pussy and asshole.

"Now you're all clean, honey," Dolores grinned. Meghan was handcuffed as she was led down the narrow hallway. She was still completely naked as the sheriff led her out the back of the building to a waiting police car. She looked around helplessly, but it was late at night and nobody else was around.

The sheriff forced her into the back of the police car, then got in the front and started it up.

"Where are you taking me!" she gulped.

"Shut up, slut. You talk when I tell you to."

The sheriff drove out of the alley and then out into the street. He drove for only a minute or so before turning down another alley and parking.

He led her out of the car and up to a steel door. There he pushed a doorbell and waited.

Amy looked around again, but there was nobody else in the dark alley. She trembled in cold and fear, unable to understand what was going on.

The door opened and a small old woman appeared. She looked contemptuously at Amy, then backed up as the sheriff led her into a dank smelling hall, up a flight of wooden stairs, then down another, larger hall.

She was pushed through a curtain and found herself at the front of a courtroom. The sheriff led her up in front of the bench, where a judge in black robes sat.

She felt a flush of hot embarrassment as the man eyed her naked flesh, but with her hands cuffed behind her she could do nothing to hide herself.

"What ya got, Al!" the judge asked.

"Caught this slut with drugs," the sheriff said.

"He's lying!" Meghan cried.

"Order in the court," the judge glared, thumping his gavel down.

"But I didn't do… Ungghhhh," she gasped as the sheriff slammed his fist into her belly. She doubled over, but the sheriff held her arm, keeping her from dropping to her knees.

"Now then, how much drugs did she have!" the judge asked.

"Over ten pounds, Judge."

"Hmph, I hate drug smugglers," the judge scowled. "She got a record?"

"Yeah, Judge. She's got a record long as your arm. Convictions for prostitution, arson, assault, drug dealing, drug smuggling. You name it, she's done it."

"I… I haven't!" Meghan gasped, trying to straighten up.

"Shut her up," the judge grunted in irritation. He looked down at some papers on his desk as the sheriff turned Meghan towards him and slammed his knee right up into her cunt. It hit with such force she was actually lifted several inches off the floor before dropping back and falling to her knees.

She coughed and choked as waves of nausea and dizziness swept over her. The sheriff shifted his grip to her hair, gripping it tightly as she moaned and tried to put her head down between her legs.

"Career criminal," the judge sniffed. "Well, what the hell, twenty-five years sounds about right."

"Sounds good to me, Judge," the sheriff said.

"Prisoner got anything to say!" the judge asked. Meghan was still to sick and dizzy to even hear him.

"Got nothing to say," the judge muttered. He signed a paper and handed it down to the sheriff, who folded it and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he pulled Meghan to her feet by the hair, ignoring her cry of pain as he led her out of the court again. She was driven through the darkness for about half an hour, then the car stopped and the sheriff pulled her out. He led her across a dirt yard and into a large concrete building, down a cold stone wall and up to a desk where a man sat.

"Cute," the guy said.

"Yeah, new meat," the sheriff said.

"Name!"

"Meghan Smith. Age 18. No relatives. Twenty-five years."

"Gotcha," the man said, writing things down.

A fat woman came and took Meghan away, leading her down the hall to a small room where she was deloused, then made to shower. Finally she was a tight orange jumpsuit and, strangely, a pair of high spiked heels to wear and then handcuffed again.

She was led to an elevator, then up several floors and onto a floor with thick, plush carpeting and woodgrained walls. The woman led her up to a door and knocked.

"Come," a male voice said.

The woman, a guard of some sort, opened the door and pushed Meghan into a large, richly furnished office. A middle aged man with gray hair sat behind a big desk.

"I'll call you when I want you," he said.

"Yes, Sir," the guard said, backing but and closing the door.

The man got up and came around the desk to look at Meghan more closely.

"My name is Warden Thompson," he said. "You will call me Sir. When I speak, you will answer, yes, Sir, or no, Sir. Do you understand!"

"Yes, Sir," Meghan said miserably.

"Now I don't want to hear you tell me about being not guilty, about being falsely imprisoned, about being abused or deprived of your rights. I don't give two shits. Understand!"

"Yes, Sir," she gulped.

"I'm running a business here. I take the people I'm given and get them to make money for the county while they serve their time. The men do hard, manual labor out in the fields planting and harvesting crops, doing road-work, cutting trees, and clearing land."

"The women do sewing work, laundry, and assembly line work for twelve hours a day, seven days a week. They sleep four to a cell, just like the men, and have two meals a day, just like the men."

"You, however, are a different class of people entirely. You're one of our high earners, a special."

He moved closer, then ran his hand over her tight breast. The jumpsuit was so tight it strained across her mammaries, and her nipples were clearly visible through it. He stroked her breast, then pinched her nipple as he smiled down at her.

"We make a real big profit from our special girls," the warden said.

His hand went to the zipper running down the middle of the jumpsuit and slid it slowly down between her breasts, down her belly and abdomen to just above her crotch. He pulled the sides apart to bare her breasts and gazed at them admiringly.