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.
He bent down, leisurely examining the soft skin just below her submissively raised arms, smooth where she had no doubt shaved them this morning in preparation for court. He moved in close and inhaled deeply, like a man showing his appreciation for a pie that has been lovingly baked for him and him alone. What did she use...Secret? Degree? Maybe Dove Advanced Care? Whatever she had put on today was working; she smelled delightful, though of course they hadn't designed a sassy girls' fragrance yet that could mask the underlying scent of fear now emanating from the nineteen-year-old's naked body. Roger thought of it as the "Edgarton perfume," and for however long they had the misfortune of being locked inside here, none of the girls ever completely lost that scent. Or at least, not whenever he was around.
"So," he said, touching the shoulder of the sobbing girl lightly as he circled her, allowing his eyes to sight-see unhurriedly now that Leah Stamford was again graciously exhibiting all of her abundant charms. "I see I need to review with you, inmate, some of the rules of your new home."
Still gripping one of her shoulders, he almost gently pressed against the other, turning the attractive brunette so that she could now present her naked backside to him. And what a beauty it was too! Wide, round, and firm--so perfectly feminine! The sergeant couldn't help but let out a low whistle of appreciation. God, he loved women! Like an emboldened suitor, he took the young lady's left hand in his own much larger one and raised it so that her arm was pointed straight up over her head. Leah was instantly again a child, being led by an adult through a large crowd.
The impact of his hand as he smacked the nineteen-year-old's bare bottom cracked loudly off the walls in the small room, though Sergeant Allen was as of yet only using a fraction of his strength. But the large meaty hand kept connecting, again and again, and soon Leah was moaning and twisting her nude body desperately, in a vain attempt to somehow protect herself without defying the man in any way. Instead she began hopping and dancing in little half-circles for him, immediately jettisoning the fervent resolve she had clung to over these last few weeks, that whatever cruelties might be awaiting her in this place, she would do nothing in here to betray her dignity. She hurled that resolution aside for now, with some dim hope flitting across her mind that she might be able to retrieve it later.
"Please! Please! PLEASE! PLE-HE-HEEEASE! STOP! Ow-HOWWWW! PLEE-EASE!"
As if in response, he took her thin arm in a vise grip, yanked the naked girl roughly over to a metal chair, and in one fluid motion was able to seat himself and pull her stumbling forward across his knee. She felt him firmly plant his left hand, just above the curve of her lower back, then gasped as Master Sergeant Allen brought down his open palm, now with ALL of his considerable strength, to meet the large pale valentine she was being made to offer him. Her bare legs stiffened outwards in shock; then she squealed as he began to rhythmically smack her defenseless backside with the same amount of terrible force. The sobbing teen kept meekly trying to cover her behind with her free hand, but her seasoned disciplinarian would smack it away easily and continue, with a seemingly endless stamina. The girl bowed her back and howled, alarmed to hear the mounting desperation in her own voice, as the fire engulfing her buttocks and upper thighs was stoked mercilessly by this man, made to burn ever more ravenously, until it was simply far beyond her ability to endure. Over the lap of this perfect stranger, a man to whom she would normally never even have spared a second look, Leah now rolled rapidly from hip to hip while scissoring her legs, providing a front-row, private viewing, as she performed for him a seemingly wildly enthusiastic and determinedly lewd hula dance. She could feel herself beginning to panic, dimly aware that some critical breaking-point in her psyche was being neared Two minutes ago, she had been bitterly ashamed of the tears which had streamed down her face since her arrival here, having promised herself, in the tension-filled days between the end of the trial and her sentencing, that she would not cry. She had been dismayed to discover how easily this man could swat away her affected brashness and rebellious posturing, to reveal the miserable young lady underneath, filled with terror and self-recriminations over the stupid decisions that had brought her to this place.
