The story continues. Read the previous chapter by Posy Churchgate here
From the centre of the prison Sarah led me out through a barred door whose crash echoed through the prison as she slammed it shut behind us. A woman in a blue dress knelt and scrubbed the floor with a cloth, a large metal bucket beside her. She looked up as she saw us approach. I saw the face of a woman prematurely aged, probably ground down as much by her life before prison as by the rigours of Holloway.
“A prostitute” said Sarah “and a very regular visitor. She likes it here don’t you Mavis?”
“Yes Miss” said Mavis in a grating East End accent,
“Carry on. I have told you before, I want to see big circular motions. That floor has to gleam.”
Sarah kicked the bucket over and soapy water flowed over the floor that Mavis had just carefully brought to a shine.”
“You’re very clumsy Mavis. If that happens again you will be spending a week in solitary.”
“I’m very sorry Miss” mumbled Mavis, bowing her head. I saw a woman who had no more fight in her, who had been broken by prison. I could only hope that Spencer-Harrington would be humbled in the same way.
We walked on down the wing to another set of bars. As we passed through the door Sarah said
“This part is a bit quieter. There is only one prisoner in here, Catherine Spencer-Harrington.”
We carried on down the wing. Sarah went up to the final cell on the right, peered through the spyhole before unlocking the door and going in. I followed her.
Catherine Spencer-Harrington, in a blue prison dress, sat listlessly on the bed, gazing empty eyed at the green painted bricks of the opposite wall. She appeared not to notice us.
“On your feet!” shouted Sarah.
Spencer-Harrington stood up, slowly and reluctantly
“Name and number!”
“I am Miss Catherine Spencer-Harrington, daughter of..”
Sarah slapped her fiercely across the face with a gloved hand.
“You are 46895 Harrington you worthless….”
“Permission to correct you Ma’am, my name is Spencer-Harrington, my family has owned most of Sussex since..”
Another fierce blow landed on her cheek. She jolted back and rubbed the cheek.
“Only respectable people have double-barrelled names. You, Harrington, are a common prostitute, a danger to public morals. For all your airs and graces you are no better than Mavis Bristow who is in here again for soliciting on the streets of Bethnal Green and is currently on her knees cleaning the floor of D Wing. That’s where you belong, Harrington, on your knees doing menial, degrading tasks. Now tell me again your name.”
The two blows had done their work. Spencer-Harrington bowed her head and said quietly
“Prisoner 46895 Harrington Ma’am, serving two years for running a bawdy house, living off immoral earnings and conspiracy to corrupt public morals.”
I looked around at the dismal cell, its brick walls painted in sickly green, no furniture but an iron bedstead with a thin mattress and a moth eaten blanket. There was an enamel chamber pot on the floor and I noticed that she had already piddled in it. The place stank.
“You have a visitor Harrington. You know Miss Ranson I think?”
She nodded and I could see fear in her eyes. I was her Nemesis and I had returned for my revenge.
“Kneel before her.”
Spencer-Harrington approached and knelt before me. I thrust her head beneath my skirt and used my other hand to lower my knickers.
“Now” I said, “lick my cunt just like you used to do in the war.”
She began to lick, I felt her tongue push against the pubic bone, then felt it move up, felt its hard muscle pushing against the slit,felt juices flooding my cunt as the arousal grew within me. As I dilated, as if to receive the penis I never wanted to have, she pushed in like a snake, pushed backward and forward before moving on to take my labia between her lips and suck. I began to rub my clit. I came quickly.
Sarah pulled Harrington-Spencer out from under my skirt and dragged her over to the chamber pot.
“Thirsty work isn’t it Harrington? You need a drink!”
She pushed Harrington’s head down so that her face was no more than an inch from the smelly yellow fluid.
“Lap it up like a cat!”
Harrington-Spencer did not respond at first so Sarah pushed her face down into the piddle and she began to lap it up with flicks of her tongue. I watched with fascination. Her face was contorted with anger and hatred at this new humiliation.
“Meeow!” ordered Sarah.
Catherine lapped up some more piddle, lifted her head and said quietly
“Lap up some more!”
She lowered her face into the bowl again and lapped and lapped before Sarah pushed her face down into the piddle again, holding it down for twenty seconds. It bubbled and fizzed as she struggled for breath.
Sarah seized her hair and pulled her head up. She gasped for breath.
“I have had enough of your airs and graces, Harrington. You are going to learn to obey. If you don’t life is going to get even mote unpleasant for you. Do you understand?”
We left the cell and Sarah slammed the door. I thought I could hear Spencer-Harrington sobbing in the cell.
We made to walk back to the main wing but as we passed the next cell Sarah pushed me into it, and slammed the door behind her.
“And you Ranson are a filthy pervert. You should be in her too. One day you will be and when you are my prisoner the fact that we once had intimacy will count for nothing. I will make every day a misery. . Now take your clothes off”
I hesitated, unsure I had heard correctly.
“Strip Ranson! You’re in prison. You do as you are told!”
Shaken by the sharp tone, I complied. I laid my clothes on the bed and looked nervously at her. She puled on her leather gloves, stretched them tight over the knuckles and I saw in her eyes a glint of sadistic delight. I had seen how she broken the haughty Harrington-Spencer. I was afraid and began to quiver. She grabbed an ear lobe and pulled me towards her.
“On your arrival here you will be stripped and inspected. I will start with your ears.”
When she had looked inside my ears she prised my mouth open.
“Your teeth are even worse than they were the last time we were intimate. No wonder your breath smells. You disgust me Ranson. I could vomit at the very thought of you.”
I said nothing, bowed my head.
“Bend over and part your bum cheeks”
As I did this I knew what was coming. I felt a gloved finger sliding up my back passage.
“Need to make sure you’re not hiding contraband up her don’t I Ranson?”
She slid the finger backwards and forwards followed by a second and a third. I had stopped struggling. I needed this to be over quickly. I had no more energy to fight. Sarah Holliday was that terrible thing, a sadist who unerringly spots the weaknesses in her victims. She had broken stronger women than me. And I was broken. I was hers to abuse and violate at her will.
As I relaxed I felt her whole hand go in, ball into a fist. I was struggling to hold back a scream of pain. But it was soon over. She withdrew roughly and I collapsed sobbing onto the bed. Sarah laughed demoniacally and left, slamming the door behind her.
I was aloe in a cell in Holloway. Naked in the cold. I pulled the grubby blanket round me for warmth. I dozed off and lay on the bed for I don’t know how, long. I woke up to the bang of the door opening, Sarah walked in followed by Mavis Bristow carrying her bucket.
“She’s all yours Bristow.”
“Thank you Miss” said Mavis and curtsied.
“All high and mighty aren’t you?” she said to me in her vile Cockney accent. “But you ain’t nuffink in here darlin’.”
With that she emptied the bucket of water, dirty with the filth of the wing, over my head. She put the bucket over my head and hit it hard. The loud metallic clang reverberated through my head. They both laughed.
I came round in my room at the school. Mary Rushworth had grabbed my shoulder and was shaking me awake.
“You need to come quickly Miss Ranson. Coningsby-Firth and the French girl have run away!”
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