Prison authorities in the United States and in Europe, never
admit that corporal punishment forms part of the culture of women's
prisons. Nor does it, officially. But what girls do, as their own
punishment code, is another matter, as Todd Mallanson describes in
All Girls Together. The girl in question, known as Rusty to her
fellow inmates, was nearer thirty than twenty. She had a tumble of
red curls to her shoulders, pale skin, and soft brown eyes, and light
freckles. She also had "a stocky prettiness with the seductive
fullness of figure which comes after pregnancy but before the
flabbiness of middleage." On the one hand she could throw a violent
redhead's tantrum but she could also be soft and gentle. The hard
cases among the other girls thought her too ladylike and were
prepared to take her down a peg or two.
Even the other girls found her voluptuously sexy looking in her
dark brown bikini, the pale sheen of her smooth, softly covered young
body contrasting with her "carrottop" hair and the deep brown of
Rusty's knickers and bra. Her breasts showed a soft milky fullness
and the fat pale moons of Rusty's arse handsomely filled the brown
bikiniseat. Unfortunately for her, it seems she was rather shy about
her body, which put her in a minority of one of the gaolhouse. Long
before, when she had taken the kids paddling at a pool, she had spent
most of the afternoon bending to assist them, wearing a bikini as her
costume. Only when the time came to go did she realise that workmen
on a building site had not laid a brick all afternoon! To her
blushing embarrassment she had had her back to them and they had been
admiring her bending rear view, broadened by childbearing, all the
time. They had made no attempt to move round to the front, being
interested in the redhead's arse most of all, and in imagining what
they would do to it if they had her detained in such a posture!
The inevitable trouble came when the girls were locked up for
long periods in their cells. One of Rusty's cellmates informed the
young redhead that she should take her pants down so that they could
have fun together. There was no suggestion of love or affection, and
Rusty gave a shocked refusal. She was then told that as a new arrival
she was the "bitch" of any girl who chose her and was not allowed to
refuse. By force of arms, she was positioned and brought to the boil.
In her fury she complained to the warden, and her attackers were
awarded several months' loss of remission.
After thus, the carrotty-curled housewife with her stocky
prettiness, was in real trouble. Two hardcase girls, Sonia and
Pauline, left her in no doubt what was coming, with their reference
to Rusty being "too sore to sit down for a month," or Rusty's arse
having "more stripes than Old Glory."
Knowing that, when her sentence was served, she would be going
back to her man, Rusty kept herself as pretty as she could, even in
the gaolhouse. On Saturdays the girls had most of the time to
themselves. In the afternoon, Rusty had bathed and was sitting in her
cell, wearing the brown bikini, her hair in curlers. Brunette Sonia
and fairhaired Pauline appeared, telling her that they were to make
sure she stayed put until Monica, the cellblock butch, gave her what
was coming to her. When she reached for her clothes, they were taken
away, Sonia remarking that it would "save trouble" if the redhead
remained in her swim wear.
Rusty continued oiling herself, ready to lie in the sun that
streamed through the cell window. From time to time her pretty face
with its freckles, dimples, and brown eyes, met the gaze of the
others. Her hands moved nervously over the soft pallor of her plumply
appealing thighs. She asked to go back to the washroom. Sonja
indicated the china bowl in the cell. Self consciously, Rusty
explained that she had some sitting to do. Sonja pointed to the same
object. The young redhead stayed put, though shifting in her seat
quite a bit. Then she got up and went across to the bowl on its
stand. Blushing angrily under the eyes of the other two, she settled
her broad pale hips back, not able to put her full weight on the
precarious rim of the white bowl on its stand. When she straightened
up, Pauline aimed a quick backcheek smack. Monica, the cellblock
"ruler," called from the corridor, warning Pauline to stop, and
adding that the twenty-eight year old redhead housewife would be
"getting plenty of that later on."
According to the prison scandal, the time chosen for this was
twenty minutes when the wardresses' patrol took them out of earshot,
at about 10 P.M. The doorway of the cell was crowded with watching
girls as Monica and her two lieutenants, Sonia and Pauline, entered.
With the curlers out of her hair and the red curls clustering in a
pretty mane to her shoulders, Rusty looked full of feminine appeal.
But she threw a wild redhead tantrum when the three women tried to
grab her. It evidently took several more to subdue her and put her
where Monica wanted her. Rusty was kneeling on the bed with its
tubular metal frame, her hips raised as she knelt right over the
smooth tubular bar of the bed head, palms on the floor on the far
side and wrists firmly secured against the solid metal of the legs.
One of the revealers of the scandal remarked that, even with the
brown bikini briefs still on, Rusty now showed the same kind of
"backside invitation" which had kept several workmen idle while she
bent over the kids in the paddling pool! One of the commentators
added that Rusty was the sort of young woman who soon attracted male
followers by this means. To see her, with her gingeryred curls, the
ripe fullness of her figure, wearing rather tight blue trousers as
she pram pushed up a long steep hill, would soon have an appreciative
gentleman deciding that his way lay in the same direction! Oddly
enough, he would make no attempt to overtake her, walking a few yards
behind for a slow half hour. As she laboured forward over the
pramhandle, the blue trews tightened on her experienced thighs and
hipswell, the tight seat moulding the seductively full rounding and
rolling of Rusty's bottom!
Not surprisingly, it was suggested that during this enjoyable
follow on Rusty might seem to her admirer like a pretty young
broodmare toiling in harness. As he contemplated the seat of beauty,
it was also suggested that the fantasy would transport Rusty to his
imaginary stables. At the start of a long circuit through ornamental
gardens, Rusty bent forward as over the pramhandle, but this time
between the shafts of a one seat garden carriage with jingling
harness. There would, of course, be certain differences. The tight
blue trousers, pantyhose, and Rusty's knickers would lie discarded at
the starting point, as the gentleman took his perch on the carriage.
And, however pretty the scenery, it was to be feared that once the
carriage was round the first corner, the young housewife would feel
the first light but menacing touch of the switch on her pale
backside!
Male fantasies may be more bizarre, but no girl was ever hurt by
a mere dream. Much more serious was the predicament of Rusty in
reality, kneeling protestingly over the bedrail to receive "justice"
from other girls. Alfred Perles, describing this situation in House
of Evil, recorded the perceptive comment, "It takes women to hurt
other women."
Despite the careful preparation, no time was lost once the
lookout girl gave the signal that the war dresses had gone on their
twentyminute "round" before lockup. Sonja was able to take her
quietening hand away, the luxuries of the women's penetentiary, even
Polaroid and cassette, were not concealed. Rusty's head twisted
vainly, her brown eyes bright with temper, her freckled prettiness
flushed with anger. Pauline took the white skinned redhead's bikini
pants down, so that Rusty's slightly fat young bottom appeared as a
pair of satin smooth milkywhite cheeks below the pale velveteen gloss
of her softly covered bare back.
Monica stood there, taking her time as she studied the plump
bottom of the redhead housewife, holding in her hand the fat, open
tube of toothpaste she had been about to use. Directing her attention
to Rusty's backside, Monica pressed forward until the girls in the
doorway guessed that something was up. Then Monica pressed her hands
together in a firm, steady movement. Rusty gave a frozen gasp at the
invasion of her privacy and then a shocked squeal. Her pale smooth
body seemed to contract every muscle. Monica took the instrument of
discipline from Sonia, and tossed onto the bed the flattened tinfoil
tube which was now an encumbrance.
The repeated click of shutters and the hiss of tape during the
next twenty minutes may have been merely the exaggeration of prison
scandal. The discipline was given with whatever was available, in
this case whistle cord, which Monica held with the two ends in her
hand with the rest forming a two-foot loop. Because of her position,
none of the strokes would touch the smooth white sweep of the
redhead's back above her waist, only a few tailends touched the backs
of her thighs. It was the mature white swell of Rusty's arsecheeks
which took virtually all the tanning. Being wellbuilt in that area,
she was lucky that the girl disciplinarians had a time limit. Some of
those who would do an extra year in gaol because of her complaints
wanted to "make it last all night" for the bending redhead. How they
could realistically have done this without putting her in hospital
they did not explain.
Monica's whistlecord swung with a long hiss and sharp thin slap
across the cheeks of Rusty's bottom. As the prettily freckled face
peered at the upsidedown world behind her, the onlookers saw the
milkywhite backside and thighs flex but hardly move. The hiss and
smack, repeated half a dozen times, ended the redhead's tantrum in a
sob of defeat. But even as the first scarlet curlicues of the loop
appeared, she remained desperately tense and still, as though holding
herself in check.
Monica evidently noticed this and decided to exert her
authority. She gave six whipping strokes, fast and hard, till the
plump redhead was jigging her behind up and down as if riding a race.
One or two were certainly bulls-eyes. A few more minutes of this
expert discipline and Rusty was singing loud and clear! Her behind
broke into an energetic gogo rhythm. In its trousered version, it was
the kind of bottom display which would have had her admirer following
her if she had pushed a pram to the top of Mount Everest. If he and
the workmen had been as fascinated as they seemed, what would they
have given to smuggle themselves into the cell for twenty minutes?
Once or twice, Rusty shrieked abuse, but Monica brought her to
heel very quickly, with the aid of the cord. The red curls were
tousled from twisting and turning her head, and she no longer
attempted the impossible task of holding herself in. As the dimpled
young redhead made the walls and ceiling ring, the cord whipped
Rusty's contorting bottomcheeks remorselessly. The powerful
fluorescent lighting caught a white sheen on the backs of her thighs,
the other girls chewed grinningly, the female odours overlaid by
peppermint in the wind.
Monica continued the discipline until the lookout girl gave the
warning. There was a scamper of girls to their own cells, Sonia used
a cloth to remove all traces of the incident, and as Rusty lay
facedown and pants down on her bed, the blanket was thrown over and
the radio turned up loud. The masculinelooking middle aged wardress
entered, wrinkled her nose at the peppermint air and possibly noticed
the heaving shoulders of the redhead who had buried her face in the
pillow.
Which was more cruel, the butch disciplinarian or the system
which callously allowed such goingson? Of course, the system did not
approve. Indeed it was appalled that a young redhead with all the
duties of home and kids to return to should have been turned into a
state of lesbian submission. Mind you, it was entirely in favour of
locking them up together until the young women were desperate even
for allgirl sex! And the system thought it a jolly good thing to lock
them up for long periods with one receptacle between several of them,
until they had to perform their most private acts under several pairs
of eyes.
Still, the system and the "responsible" authorities deplored
lesbianism and indecent bottomsmacking of this kind. By the way, that
same system is now making arrangements so that should Rusty lose her
cool and kill someone, she will be fried in the "chair" or topped by
the hangman, and the whole show will be televised in glorious
colourcoast to coast! Still, hanging or burning a girl isn't as bad
as smacking her bottom, is it? Not so long as the system does it!
The pretty, softly pale redhead never resisted again. She spent
two or three hundred nights with Monica, and almost as many days. The
tense look in her face was replaced by a smiling prettiness. In her
sexual deprivation, Rusty soon loved masturbation as much as Monica.
The system hates to admit it, but it is the state of affairs the
system brings about. Monica also seemed to know how to tend Rusty's
body in ways which no one had ever done. The redhead was too attached
to her man to turn a hundred per cent lesbian, but good looking women
whom she met after her gaolrelease evidently made her heart beat
faster.