Master Sergeant Roger Allen approached the sobbing nineteen-year-old with a smirk on his face. How he loved breaking in the new girls! Yes sir. She'd only been a "non-consensual guest" of Edgarton Correctional for a little under thirty minutes, but already the attitude of the freshly-convicted lanky brunette who was now blubbering before him had improved TREMENDOUSLY. He had the young lady in what he liked to call the "inspection" position: standing with her hands behind her head, fingers laced tightly together, her feet just over shoulder-length apart, eyes trained straight ahead, and wearing not a single stitch of clothing.
Allen had personally supervised this one while she had stripped, making her fold and re-fold each item of her forfeited clothing to his satisfaction, before placing it in the plastic box he had held open for her. When she was down to only her underclothes, those brown baby-faun eyes of little Miss Leah Stanford of Cherry Hill, New Jersey, had pleaded with him, her shoulders shaking as she had wept and searched his face for the faintest possibility of reprieve, but Roger had remained unswayed from his duties. "You WILL. REMOVE. Your BRASSIERE!" he had bellowed at her in a commanding baritone. He was not concerned in the slightest whether or not this girl could detect his arousal, as she immediately reached her hands back to her shoulder-blades and began to struggle with the clasp of her Maidenform, fumbling with it, in her eagerness to obey him, as awkwardly as any inexperienced teenaged boy. After graciously accepting from the prisoner her fallen-away bra and admiring, for nearly a full minute, the contrast that her lightly freckled arms and shoulders provided for those absolutely gorgeous, gently swaying breasts ("KEEP! Those HANDS! At your SIDES!" he had commanded, while he ogled her), he had at last decided the time was right and reached, himself, for her waist. Her little pooch belly writhed helplessly, trying in vain to shrink back from his touch, as his thick fingers spidered lazily around to the sides of her hips.
He feigned exasperation, as if he had been forced to take over the distasteful job of undressing her by the girl's own ineptitude. But of course, he ALWAYS removed their panties himself--ALWAYS. With his many years of service as a correctional officer, Master Sergeant Allen now considered himself a connoisseur of the unclothed female body. And this was undoubtedly his favorite part--how every new girl seemed to stiffen the same way--her thighs locking together, those clenched little female fists shooting outwards in a reflexive display of shocked, powerless indignation--when he finally ripped down her underpants, dragging them in one well-practiced motion to well below her knees. And then it was like clockwork, how the shoulders of the now completely naked girl would slump, tears of defeat streaming down her cheeks as he made her step awkwardly out of her own panties, then bend down to retrieve and formally present them to him.
Master Sergeant Allen moved towards the sobbing but now successfully undressed girl--who, not ten minutes earlier, had been cursing, spitting insults, and demanding to speak to a supervisor--so close that his crisply pressed uniform shirt grazed against the convict's light brown nipples. Personal boundaries were not such a big deal here at Edgarton, and the officer was pleased to note that it now seemed every little bit of young Miss Leah was eagerly standing at attention for him.
As he stared relentlessly into inmate Stanford's large, swimming eyes, her hands suddenly lost contact with the back of her pretty little head and flashed downwards. She wobbled before him in pigeon-toed subjugation like a child desperate to pee, her fingers splayed out just a few inches south of that cute little belly button, in a pathetic attempt to fashion a makeshift understudy for the expensive pair of silky underpants he had so recently taken away from her.
"Ah, ah, ah!" His voice sounded playful, but his eyes were cold steel. She couldn't avoid sucking in his cologne in huge desperate gasps, his face so near that she could feel the little flecks of his saliva landing on her cheeks as he scolded her. "We will have none of that, little Miss Bashful Bush! None. Of. That!"
He cocked his head, their noses actually colliding as he grinned at her like some maniac clown checking to see if she had truly understood the joke.
"You will get back. Into inspection position. *NOW!*"
Her hands shot upwards to grip the back of her skull again, seemingly without any input from her own brain, as if the electrical signal compelling their movement had come directly from the man's voice.
"Good girl, Leah," he said, acknowledging her obedience with a self-satisfied smirk.
