The Prisoner Within

I stood up, smoothing my jacket and skirt down, trying to hide the fact that my heart was pounding inside me. The trial had lasted two weeks, the longest of my life, and the jury's deliberations just three hours.

My solicitor and counsel were both supportive; telling me they expected me to be acquitted of the charge, but deep down I had my doubts. After all, my own husband was convinced I had done it and had started divorce proceedings.

I don't know what made him turn against me. Perhaps it was just the magnitude of what had happened to our family. The police had been aggressive in targeting me, supported by medical and forensic experts, and eventually the CPS. Between them, they had gotten to him; the seeds of doubt had been sown. Before long, everyone who I thought I could count on was convinced too.

I had lost my parents in a car crash four years earlier, and had no other family on my side, and my friends turned against me as well.

The second between the judge asking the jury for their verdict, and the foreman delivering it, seemed to last forever. When the word "Guilty" came out of his mouth, I collapsed in tears.

I can barely remember the details of the next few hours. My legal team prepared for the sentencing hearing, which was scheduled for that afternoon. The best I could reasonably expect was five years, but as I had pled not guilty, a sentence of fifteen or more was deemed more likely.

Standing there in the dock again, my heart was still racing. The judge walked into the courtroom, her long black robes flowing behind her.

I was taken.

All I can remember clearly from that short session were the words of the judge as she put me away for life.

I had just about managed to compose myself when two bailiffs came to collect me, accompanied by a security guard from the company who would be taking me to the prison. To my disbelief, they produced a pair of handcuffs, which they snapped round my wrists before leading me out of the cell.

Rain was lashing down as I was taken from the van and into the prison. It was a short walk, accompanied by a guard from the security company and a pair of prison officers. I was taken into a receiving area. I stood there watching as a guard stood in front of me and began rooting through my belongings.

"You won't need most of this," she said as she pulled out my clothes and toiletries. "We'll be issuing you with standard prison clothing."

"Oh," I mumbled, "OK."

With that, I waited as my bag was largely emptied before it was handed back to me. I was taken into another room. I was asked my clothes and shoe sizes, before being handed a pile of prison issue clothes, and told to enter a small room.

I entered the room, small and in need of a coat of paint. The room was stark, the only furniture was an old GP surgery style examination bed, and a little medical style cabinet, the only feature of the table were the two boxes of nitryl gloves. Two female Prison officers followed me into the room. One was rather old, I would guess mid 40's, and quite butch looking, the stereotypically butch gay woman I suppose. She seemed to have a slight attitude, arrogant. The other officer was much younger than me, about 25 if that. She was slender, and out of her uniform could look quite feminine. However, her large baggy white blouse and shapeless trousers did her no favours, didn't do any of them any favours.

The younger one spoke, short and to the point "Undress please." She commanded.

"What here?" I asked, uncertain.

"Yes." she replied.

She went on to explain whilst a degrading internal search was rare, all clothing was to be removed and searched before being returned to the owner. Mean while the new prisoner was expected to change in front of two witnesses to ensure contraband wasn't being smuggled in.

The room descended into silence before the older one spoke "At your convenience please." emphasising the word convenience.

I stripped removing my skirt and blouse, as they watched on with lecherous looks. I stood in my bra and knickers, before the younger one spoke.

"Don't be shy; I've seen naked females before." Her tone was harsh, brutal. But I felt their eyes on me. As I unclasped my bra, I felt the stares intense further as if they were deciding I. If I was fuckable.

"Turn around" one ordered, and I complied.

"Now part your legs and lean forward touching your toes." Again, I did as they asked their comments humiliating to the extreme.

"Nah, she hasn't got anything up her bum. Look how tight it is, but she's never even fucked a finger up there."

I felt my face redden with anger and embarrassment.

The other replied "I wonder who will be the first? That Jane slut?"

They both giggled, "get dressed please" as my old clothing was removed from my view.

I walked over to the pile of my uniform, and proceeded to put the clothes on. The bra and knickers were both navy, and there was a shapeless grey tracksuit, black socks and a pair of trainers. None of it was new. Everything was faded, the knickers, bra and socks all frayed and the trainers battered. At least they all appeared clean.

It was close to midnight, and my cellmate was asleep in the top bunk. I slid my bag under the bottom one. There was a lamp fitted to the wall beside my bed and I used its light as I made up my bed. Too tired to put my clothes away, I took my trainers off and climbed into the bed. The cell was cold, and despite the tracksuit, I shivered under the scratchy blanket.

I woke the next morning to the sound of my cellmate exercising. A blonde, she was about 5'5 in height and well toned. She was squatting against the wall raising her hands out in front of her, dressed simply in her knickers and a bra. She was toned muscular and bony, her ribs and shoulder bones were particularly prominent. Yet she had a figure, the curves that most men would appreciate. I didn't know how to introduce myself, but she showed no interest in me. A little while later the cell door was unlocked and opened. She straightened up and picked up a fresh set of clothes from her bunk before walking out wearing only her underwear.

I hurriedly grabbed a set of clothes for myself from the bundle on my bed and followed her out. A clock at the end of the corridor said it was just after seven o'clock.

It was a long walk to the bathrooms and the communal showers, and I felt uneasy the whole way. The other inmates were talking among themselves, and every so often I could make out my name. They knew who I was, and what I'd been convicted for, and they didn't hide the fact that they didn't like me one bit.

The whole shower area reminded me of my old secondary school's changing rooms. It was badly lit, there were cracks in the sinks and tiles, and plumbing looked like it belonged to another era. We were herded into the showers by four prison guards, and I stood at the end of the row, waiting for the water to turn on. When the water came, the spray was surprisingly powerful and hot, though it was preceded by a terrible groaning from the pipes. It wasn't long before the whole area was fogged with steam.

I was soaping myself when I felt someone grab my arm, and I struggled as I was dragged into the centre of the stalls. I shouted for help, but the two guards who stood just a few yards from me looked on impassively.

As I stumbled through the mass of bodies, I tripped over an outstretched foot and slipped to the floor, landing hard on my front. I felt my ankle turn under me and I grunted with pain as I felt someone slam her knee down into the small of my back and crouch down over me. She grabbed the hair on top of my head and lifted my face up so I could see a group of three inmates looking down at me, laughing. They were all mature inmates in their 40s and mothers, large and brutal looking. They barely spoke, and when they did, the language was foul brutal, full of swear words.

One of the women then kicked me full in the face. There was nothing I could do to protect myself as she slammed her instep against my nose and mouth as I lay there, sprawled on the floor, struggling to get out from under the immensely strong woman who was pinning me down. The ache across my face

Suddenly my face was smashed to the floor. A new wave of pain enveloped my head as I felt my nose crunch under me against the off-white tiles. Opening my eyes, I saw the water under me was now coloured red with my blood.

The inmate who had started the assault climbed off me, and I felt her deliver a heavy kick to my side before leaving me.

The showers stayed on for a few minutes, and curled up on the floor as the twenty-nine other women largely ignored me. I was sobbing as I clutched my face, trying to protect myself from the occasional kick which was directed at me. I couldn't believe what was happening to me. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours earlier that I had been a free woman, yet there I was, at the mercy of a group of violent women, and the guards who were there to protect me did nothing.

I felt the showers turn off, and the other women filed out. Once I was sure I was alone, I struggled to my feet and limped out of the stalls. I picked up my towel and wrapped it round myself. This time I was left alone by the guards and the other inmates as I tried to wash the blood off my face, standing over a sink.

It was a few moments before I dared look at my reflection in the mirror. My nose was still bleeding, as where my gums from where my teeth had bitten into them during the assault.

I could hear the rest of the inmates laughing and joking in the changing rooms.

My life had become a living hell. Since coming to Holloway prison just over two weeks ago, I had been harassed, humiliated, abused, attacked, and even beaten up in the showers. The other female inmates detested me, hated me for my alleged crime. They hissed"baby-killer" whenever I walked by.

It was a nightmare; how so suddenly my life has changed, almost overnight. I often thought about my trial, the hostility in that courtroom, in the judge's eyes, as she so righteously pronounced my sentence. The click of the handcuffs. The long night ride to the prison through that torrential rain. How my heart fell at my first view of those gray walls that were to me my home...for life! I was given a small cell with a hard-bitten blonde, a cold, indifferent cellmate, and in those early days I tried only to survive.

The assaults continued well into the second week, before the inmates found another new inmate to tease, haunt, to make her life a misery. I was destined to be a loner it would seem, for the rest of my life. My cell mate, was polite, she taught me a few home truths about life inside, but otherwise she ignored me, not in a nasty manner as had others, but she made it clear that there was to be no friendship between us. At meal times, the other inmates would ignore me; there was a table, referred to as the leper colony, where those who were ousted sat. It seemed only reasonable that I should sit there, alone, as I ate my so-called food, watching my fellow inmates. It was one lunchtime that I first met Miranda, as she broke convention, and joined me at the table.

"You should take more care of yourself, Kate."

I looked up, as I toyed with the so-called meat with my fork...

"Yes, well those shower floors tend to be slippery."

I managed a slight smile as I joked about my own predicament, and somehow I suddenly started to feel more at ease with myself, and my future, though what my future would hold I did not have any idea.

"Well you should take care of yourself, and possibly find a friend, a protector in this place."

I looked up at her, examining her face. I wondered if she was serious about what she said. Miranda was a petite girl, standing at 5'2 or 5'3, but whilst small in stature, she had a presence. It turned out that she was, had been a martial arts fan, and was a black belt. As such, she was now allowed to have access to the gym and to help organise keep fit lessons for those who chose to use them. Her hair was shoulder length, and often in a pony. I had seen her around for a few days; having noticed that whilst she wasn't a member of the leper colony, she also often chose to sit outside the main group of inmates.

"What do you mean, a protector?" I asked, trying to sound as neutral, not-interested as I could.

Miranda smiled, as she looked at me, finished chewing her food, before she spoke.

"You are not popular in here Kate, with your conviction sentence. Half of these inmates are mothers, and so they have a natural distaste for the likes of you. I am in a position to help you become accepted, to become more involved in prison life. I have been inside for three years now, and still have another seven years to do, and if it wasn't for the gym, I'd have gone bananas by now..."

"But how can you protect me?"

"Come and talk to me in the gym... at 4 pm..." With that, she got up and left, leaving me alone and confused.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, a sports and recreational time for the inmates. I headed to the library, where I had found consul, and relief in the form of books, reading both reference and fiction. But that afternoon I was unable to concentrate in any book, as my mind wondered as to what Miranda's game was. One thing I had learnt already was that in jail no one gives anything for free.

I arrived slightly late, unable to find her office in the recreation complex. The area was deserted but with one or two prison wardens, who seemed to know of my appointment with Miranda, and guided me through to her office.

She sat at her desk alone, in her sports attire, looking somewhat different to the issued garb called a uniform. I knocked softly.

"Please come in and take a seat, Kate."

I sat opposite her, slightly well not nervous but at unease, filled with apprehension, as I wondered what Miranda wanted. As she wore her sports kit, the crop top outlining her curves, her shorts complementing her form, for once in almost two weeks I looked at an inmate as a fellow female rather than a criminal, doing her, time no different from that which I found myself serving.

"I am guessing that you are wondering why you are here Kate?"

"Yes, "I replied. There was nothing more to add at the moment.

"Firstly, I guess I should tell you why I am in here."

I did not really see the need for this, but, well, I guess I was intrigued as to why she was in jail, so I just nodded, grunted as she told me her story, or rather a glimpse of her past.

"I used to run a little escort agency which doubled up as a front for prostitution. But one afternoon, the partner of one of my clients went home early, and found his wife... in bed with one of my girls. He happened to be a high court judge" she smiled softly. "And several other clients of mine were, maybe still are married to important people in government. This all came out in the police investigation, and so here I am. For making immoral earnings off prostitution or some bull like that, I lose 10 years of my life."

I just looked at her, stared at her in disbelief.

"Anyway Kate, I have arranged for you to sleep in my cell this evening. My previous cell mate was paroled last month, and no one yet has appealed to me as a replacement till now. You will spend the next two evenings with me, and if the feelings are mutual, I will arrange for you to move in permanently."

With a flick of her wrist, she ended the conversation with "that will be all."

I sat in disbelief as she returned to her duties. After a minute or two, I stood, and walked out, back to the wing. As I left the recreation building, a voice said, "I shall escort you to Miranda's cell, Kate," and almost in a trance I followed her to another wing, and was led to a cell.

Her cell was larger than my previous cell, and with two beds rather than a bunk. With the beds on the floor, space, was still limited however, but Miranda had been allowed to add a few touches to remind her of home, including some erotica on the walls, small pen drawings of nude female or females in erotic poses. On a small set of wall mounted shelves were several books. As I picked one or two of them up, the front covers were illustrated with female lovers. I briefly scanned the back page of one, realising it was gay literature. I dropped them back into the shelf with a shudder of disgust.

I looked around, before the cell door opened, and in came Miranda.

"Glad you found the cell, your basic belongings are over there." As Miranda pointed, suddenly I saw some of my belongings that I bought with me; I walked over to them, recognising my old toilet bag, seeing my hypo-allergenic items.

"But how, where?" I started to stutter.

"As I said earlier Kate, it's who you know, not what you know. Moreover, I can protect you, should you decide to cooperate.

I glanced at her, before looking through my items, my toiletry bag all present, as were my clothing in my overnight bag. They were nothing special, but I had bought with me a few items to remind me that I was a woman, and not a villain, a criminal.

It was time for evening meal, and Miranda and I left her cell for the food. As we sat together and made small talk, I felt more comfortable with Miranda than anyone else in the prison, but still something didn't feel right. I soon found that I must wait before the plan became apparent, and the waiting did not go on for long.

Miranda and I spoke a lot that evening, about all sorts of topics, and I was starting to feel I could relax somewhat, but at the same time also found myself slightly on edge. I suppose I suspected Miranda had an ulterior motive for her kindness, I just did not know what that might be.

Soon, the doors were locked, and we were entombed in the cell for the evening, a habit I had not yet developed was to ensure my bladder was empty before door closing time. So as Miranda and I chatted, I soon started to feel that burden, that pressure that could only be relieved by using the primitive camping style toilet in the room, which we would have to empty before breakfast.

I stood up, from my bed, headed to the bucket, feeling Miranda's Stare as I l dropped the shapeless slacks and my cotton knicks, and soon I sighed with relief, despite her glare as I peed.

"I never could fathom why some of my clients wanted my girls to pee on them, or vice versa."

"Pardon?" I gasped.

"I used to think it was perverted, but having been in this tomb, I can start to see the arousal they feel."

I looked at her in disbelief, as she suddenly brought up sex, and kinky sex at that!

"But I will have to wait a while before I get to practice it for real." Miranda said as she burst into a soft giggle.

I watched on, staring with disbelief before I started to wipe away, and to dress again.

Miranda continued to talk. "Some evenings, I like to get what few clothes out that I have and wear them for an hour or so before bed time, help me to remain who I am, or maybe what I was?"

With that she jumped up, and removed her coarse blouse, and shapeless slacks, kicking them under her bed. Her bra and knicks followed, standing nude before me with no obvious embarrassment what so ever. Miranda was, is about 5'2 5'3 with shoulder length dark brown curly hair. Her complexion was rather dark, suggesting her Caucasian line had encountered Mediterranean stock. Her eyes were hazel, and her facial complexion was dark. Her figure was curvy, her breasts started with a soft gentle swelling, curving downwards to expose her firm, uplifting breasts. Her areola were large and brown, with prominent nipples. Under her breasts, her body curved inwards to her waist, before majestically curving outwards to her firm but plump bum cheeks. She was toned; her muscle definition was soft but prominent, like mine. However, Miranda's muscles were from regular exercise, mine had formed from being the mother of a rapidly growing baby. Her abdomen whilst taught was not showing the 'six pack' often worn by athletes.