When Women Rule

This is for darling Megs with love

1

Lance CPL Liz relaxed contentedly on her bed in the correctional officers' dorm. She had now been working in her lowered status at the principal men's prison for six months and enjoyed being outside in the warm weather. She liked the crisp white short-sleeved blouse and tight black shorts that the c.o.'s wore, along with their medium-length shiny black boots and the impressive short black whips they carried on their utility belts.

Men sentenced to the prison for re-education in the Women's Republic spent most of their days working outside in the fields since this was a warm weather post. There was a lot of work to be done if the crops were to be successfully grown and harvested and the c.o.'s were expected to make sure that no laziness on the part of men would be tolerated.

Liz well recalled the first time she had had to use her whip on a recalcitrant male. A youngish man in his 20s had been assigned to weed a section and he decided to hide between the tall rows until Lance CPL Liz came upon him. She snapped her whip right on his backside to wake him up and then ordered him to drop his pants for punishment.

He rose as if to challenge her and Liz quickly told him that if he was going to resist, he'd find himself in solitary for two weeks. He dropped his pants, disclosing the pink panties that the prison required of all inmates, and at Liz's motion, slid those down his hairy legs.

Liz told him to grasp his ankles and she proceeded to whip his bare bottom rather harshly. She saw the red stripes emerging on his pale bottom cheeks and his screams as the whip descended repeatedly. Liz stopped and rubbed the whip under his front so that it touched his now erect penis and scrotum. "Yes," she said softly, "if you misbehave, I will certainly whip that little thing of yours, so wise up and do what you're supposed to do."

She immediately noticed the effect on the young man, whose name was Larry. She ordered him to pull up his panties and then his trousers. "Now hand me your book," she ordered. He reluctantly surrendered the black plastic notebook. Liz took it, found a fresh page and entered with her black pen, "Prisoner observed slacking on job and whipped moderately on bare bottom. Three points."

Back in the dorm, she enjoyed recalling how she had proceeded to produce good results in her sector. Men knew not to slack off for she was everywhere. As she lay there contemplating the pleasures of her existence, her friend Jill came in and lay down on the next bed.

Liz knew that Jill, who was still a PFC, had a streak of cruelty that belied her fair, demure features. Jill took advantage of what she had learned at the Skills & Methods course the women c.o.'s all had taken. There, the lesbian instructors taught the new c.o.'s how to torture recalcitrant males. Liz realized that some men deserved this, the idiots who failed to understand that women were now in charge.

But Liz did not like to administer the kind of humiliating treatment the course had recommended. Jill enjoyed putting men in her sector who misbehaved into diapers for several days, making them forego toilet privileges and refusing to allow them to be changed for extended periods. Jill also had obtained a good supply of buttplugs that she made some men wear one all day and come to her for release so they could use the toilet. And often she made them use the open holes out in the field while she watched them do their business.

There were no specific prohibitions about sexual behaviour among the staff. Of course, intercourse with inmates was prohibited but the Republic Council had not agreed on whether to regulate the private behaviours of these "gallant girls who are on our frontlines" as the description of the c.o.'s read.

Liz knew that she and Jill would be alone in the dorm for a while so she was not surprised when Jill quietly joined her on her bed and began to rub her knowingly in various sensitive places. Jill's clever fingers insinuated themselves under Liz's black shorts and inside the black panties beneath them which hid Liz's luxuriant black-haired bush. The noncom was getting quite wet under Jill's expert ministrations.

Liz wondered as she felt herself getting ever closer to a Jill-induced orgasm why the PFC was so delicate and skillful in approaching Liz sexually but showed a distinct cruel streak in dealing with the male inmates. For example, Jill had required several of the inmates in her sector to wear the new "cock caps" that had been designed as a punishment device. The c.o. snapped the cap over the glans of the offending inmate and a prong held the cap inside the urethral opening.

The c.o. retained the key to remove the cap, as attempting to pull it off without using the key was likely to inflict serious urethral injury. The men being punished had to ask Jill to unlock the cap each time they needed to urinate and of course, release by orgasm was not attainable while the cap was being worn.

2

Liz started to recollect her earlier days in the organization:

It had taken me some time to adjust to just being a c.o. at the camp. I had been in charge of everything and then the administration at the capital had changed and word came down that I was to revert to my scheduled position.

The new Major was a small woman who had only a few words to say to me. They had moved all of my things out of my large office and I was back sharing a double and had a locker. I figured I had better make the best of it so when she asked to see me, I told her I understood that these changes occur and that I would perform my new job with as much effort as I had always put out. I said I knew she would have her way of doing things and that if she ever wanted anything from me, I would do my best to provide it.

She dismissed me without a further word. I think she was jealous of me. I do have nice auburn hair and a commanding look. Now I was just a guard again, and I shared a room with Jill. This was all right as Jill did not tease me about having been in charge. But our rooms were little better than the prisoners' cells. We had an open sink and toilet and I would wake watching Jill sit on the toilet and pee.

Jill mentioned to me that there was a prisoner who seemed to be eyeing me. I grinned at her and told her we should see what we could do to make it worth his while. I summoned him to me and told him he was slacking off. While I tawsed him, and not that hard, I had my hand down the front of my leather shorts. It felt quite nice getting myself off while I punished him. I could see the enmity in his eyes as I punished him and he could see what I was doing.

Later, Jill did her thing. She bent over so the top of her underpants rode up over her shorts and I saw him totally fixated on her. Jill is a very attractive blonde but he was focused on that little edge of panty.

"369!" I intoned into my lavaliere microphone. "Come here right now!"

He slowly walked over to me. "You were staring at her," I said, pointing to Jill, who looked up like she had known nothing and glared at him. "What were you staring at?"

He muttered that he was just looking at her and I told him he was getting himself in way deeper by not telling me the truth. I had been watching, of course. "You saw some of her panties, didn't you?" I said sternly.

He sheepishly nodded. Jill stared at him like he was a total pervert which he probably was or he wouldn't have been here. I ordered him to strip from the waist down. He realised it was crazy to resist so he complied. I laughed at the small penis that hung down, he was not even erect.

Then I reached into my tool bag and pulled out a pair of special pink ruffled panties. "You will wear these all day," I told him. "Then you will report to her and ask her to spank you for being so rude as to stare at her panties."

He grimaced and I softly said, "You will learn to do what we say here. Lean over that bench." I took my tawse and stuck it between his cheeks. "Spread those cheeks now." Then I drew it back and hit him right in his anal crack, several times.

I then handed him the panties and watched as he put them on. The other men had gathered and stopped work to watch and I ordered them back to work if they didn't want to end up wearing punishment panties too.

Then I called 369 over and told him that he had better be careful. It was my understanding, I told him, that any man who was disciplined more than three times in a week--we kept records and my punishment of him would be entered in the daily log--would be sent to the new commander for special treatment. I smiled at him and said, "When I was commander, men never learned what that special treatment was until it was...too late. You don't want to be sent there."

3

The prisoner also recalled that initial meeting:

I began to think I would never get used to life in this damned prison camp. It was bad enough having being sent there on some trumped up charges, bad enough having to work away all day long under the supervision of such attractive female guards, but what seemed to make it worse was the seemingly continuous punishment meted out by these sadistic bitches. They almost seemed to go out of their way to manufacture an excuse to crack their straps across my backside. Why they were picking on me, I don't know, but it seemed that at least two of them had it in for me, the auburn haired one, who seemed to take particular delight in having me bent over for a dose of her tawse, and a blonde-haired one, whom I came to understand was called Jill.

The darker haired bitch had already given me a dose of her strap, allegedly for slacking. I hadn't been, of course, but there was no chance of appeal. We just had to accept whatever these bitches decided to dish out. It was all so unfair. Hell, when I get out of here, I'm really going to pay them back, make them suffer. As it was, however, it was me who was doing the suffering, on a daily basis. Every morning, I wished the Bitch wouldn't be on duty and it was a relief if I found her arrogant face was not on view. All too often, unfortunately, she was there and all too often, it seemed, I was the focus of her attention.

Then the blonde, Jill, started provoking me by leaning over and showing the top of her panties. Dammit, I couldn't help but look - it's been so long since I've been with a woman, after all and these bitches don't even let us have our own relief: that just gives them another excuse for punishment. So the sight of the underwear got me going again, but not for long. I should have known the Bitch was watching me and even though I stole only a quick glance, she was on me in a flash and had me with my thin cotton trousers down yet again. This time there was the added indignity of having to wear ridiculous pink frilly panties which she produced from her bag. First, though, it was yet another taste of her strap, except this time, I had to spread my legs, while the Bitch whacked me right on my bottom crack. Oh that hurt so much, the sadistic cow.

While it was still throbbing wildly, she made me put on the ridiculous panties, seeming to enjoy my obvious embarrassment. I looked at her with my darkest glare, but of course, as usual, I could do nothing about it, having to suffer the additional indignity of the attention of the other prisoners. At least if I was being singled out for special treatment, it kept the Bitch off their backs, they would be thinking.

Now she's got some new evil twist; something about three punishment reports in a week and I'd be sent to the commander for special treatment. My spirits fell even further at that. I didn't know what she meant by "special treatment", but I could be pretty sure it would be no tea party. I had already had two punishments that day, let alone that week, and the way the Bitch kept picking on me, I didn't see there being any prospect of escaping another one. My evident discomfiture at the news only seemed to inflame the Bitch even more as I saw her hand slip down the front of her shorts again. I knew I had no hope.