Chapter 3
Bertha Starr lived on the prison grounds. She had a private bungalow with all necessities, plus two hundred a month salary. For her, it was more than enough. It was everything, She had her well-ordered world, and she could shuck it like a half-opened oyster, Inside, there was virtually everything to betray her temperament and unusual tastes: magazine photos of beautiful, ridiculously feminine women in all sorts of demure, coy poses; one huge picture of a woman being brutally whipped by a loutishly indifferent man. The only emotion in it was that of unspeakable terror in the woman's eyes. In the far corner hung a braided bullwhip from a nail. It didn't take any psychiatrist or astute intellect to figure out Bertha's tastes. They didn't call her Big Bert for nothing, She was big. Five feet eleven inches is big for man or woman, and when that height is supplemented by bone and muscle and bitchiness, it is awesome.
Bert had never made it on the outside. He'd been a waitress in a dozen joints, a bouncer in a gay bar, a laundress-all limited jobs; limited in the sense that she could go so far, and no farther.
Being a guard was different, The thing she had going with Phineas Plane, the warden, was too damned good to believe. After two years, she still didn't quite believe her good fortune. She had a bevy of chicks, and she was the undisputed rooster! In a State prison, one would think that such things were impossible. Theoretically, they were, but life is not theoretical. And Bert had an understanding with Phineas, and between the two of them, they each got what they wanted.
They were both here for the same reason.
Different routes, different acts, but the same reason. Bert looked at her watch and saw that it was after ten. Lights had been out in the cells for over an hour. Regulations stated that off-duty guards had no right being in the blocks. But Bert was in no way connected with regulations. She sat up on her bed nd reached for her boots. They were high, shiny black ones, and her face drew down into a frown when she noticed a scuff mark. One of those damned chicks, she thought contemptuously. Carefully, she wiped the mark clean with a handkerchief and yanked the boots on. She stood up. Now she felt tall, much taller than before. As she completed her dressing, her sense of power heightened, and when she stepped out into the cricket-filled "night, she lit a cigarette and flipped the match behind her.
It was like having your own stable full of fillies, she thought. You had some nice, tame ones you could always count on, and the couple of wild ones who just didn't want to be ridden.
Cindy Martin was a wild one. So was the new bitch, Sue Sills, the pretty one who'd given her the lip. But I'll get them, she said to the night. I'll get 'em if I have to make 'em drop-I got lots of time, more time than they have, that's for sure. Her boots crunched the ground as she walked across the field toward ths gate, and she mulled over whom she would select for tonight's "dessert." Cindy and Sue were out for the time; they were special projects, and besides that, Sue had to be shook up a little. If she got a good earful tonight, maybe she'd crack sooner.
She would crack.
Sooner or later, they all did.
She had lots of time.
Hell, it had to be Hannah. Of all the broken-in gals, Hannah had something none of the others did. She had that scared look, that sumptuous body that begged to be beaten. Bert's heartbeat quickened as she walked through the gate, waving absently to the guard. When she got to her block, her footsteps rang echoingly down the corridor. She could hear snores and faint sounds of breathing as she walked past the cells. The corridor was dimly lit; at any point along the wall, she could hit a switch and throw everything into utter darkness.
She came to Hannah's cage, and stood in front of it, with her muscular arms on her narrow, but still womanish hips.
The pretty redhead shrunk in a corner, her eyes widened, doe-like.
"Ready to play, Hannah?" She laughed shortly, and turned the key in the lock. Sue watched, horrified.
She watched the door open, and Bert walk in. Then everything was plunged into total darkness. She could see nothing, and could barely hear, except for breathing, and occasional curses from Big Bert.
"Don't you wanta play, Hannah?' Sue heard Bert ask, "N-no, I don't! It ain't play in', what you do," the girl stammered. Sue's heart ached for her, "It's a goddamn game," Cindy whispered to her from below. "They come on pretty real."
"Well that's too bad, kiddo. Bert needs a workout." Bert hated the darkness; she couldn't see the terror she knew to be in Hannah's eyes, and she couldn't see, but could only feel, her leather-it ruined, limited the effect.
It was better than nothing, though. Much better.
"Ain't hall as much fun in the dark," Big Bert muttered audibly. "Take it off." She snapped it out as a terse command, and you could hear the rustling of clothes. Big Bert moved surely through the dark and laid her hands on two ripe breasts; they heaved, rose and fell with the heartbeat of life inside them. Pungent woman-odor emanated from Hannah's body, stirring Bert with an unchecked lust.
Nipples stirred with involuntary response against her palms, and she stroked them in return-stroked them slowly, deliberately, and Hannah lay in her bunk, gasping, hoping, panting under the slow, calculated caresses. She no longer thought in terms of man or woman: only in terms of sex, of fulfillment of some kind, any kind. Living behind bars away from men did not permit her to assume that she'd have anything like normalcy. So a hand stirred her nipples into torrid excitement. The hand knew what it was doing. It was enough.
More than enough!
"Ahh," she breathed, "ahh yes," and leaned back, fully relaxed under the cat-like, stroking hands on her naked, burning flesh, moving slowly over her hillock-like breasts, down her smooth belly and over her thighs, stirring her moistly into fiery passion.
Big Bert had never loved her like this before, she thought dreamily. Never had her lover been so tender, so humane, so seemingly conscious of her pleasures, Bertha felt her victim's languor. She did not think of Hannah or any of the others as lovers, only as victims who must do her bidding or suffer the consequences. And Bertha was good at consequences. If she could do nothing else, she could certainly do that. Hannah was relaxed, warm with passion stirred into life by Bertha's caresses; unsuspecting, unthinking. That was the time to get them.
"Now!" she uttered with a hoarse sound, and Hannah flinched violently in reaction to the sudden kick of Bert's boot in her ribs. It was steel-toed, steel heeled, and whacked sharply, cruelly into her flesh and bone. Desperately, she rolled toward the wall and clawed at it, as if her nails would tear down solid concrete and steel, knowing all the time I shoulda known that bitch'd pull something like this as the kicks rained down on her faster and faster.
She knew Bert was virtually inexhaustable.
She had to play the silly game if she wanted to stay alive, and Hannah definitely did want to stay alive, even with the life she had to live. Anything was better than dying-anything, she told herself stubbornly.
She heard Bert grunting evenly in the dark. It was a satisfied, amiable grunt, like that of a male bull dismounting from a cow. There was no trace of fatigue or strain in the sound. Hannah knew Bert could go on forever and ever, until she was a mass of broken bones and bloody skin.
So she had to play.
Play damned quickly.
"Master, have mercy!" she shrieked softly, "have mercy, please!"
" 'Bitch, you don't deserve it!" Bert grunted back and gave her another swift, less violent kick, and stopped altogether.
Hannah lay on her bed, panting.
Waiting for the next kick.
"You're so strong, I'm so weak," she whimpered, "be kind."
"Get off the bed," Bert told her. Hannah, out of experience, hopped quickly off, knowing what was coming next. "Bend over and put your hands around your ankles."
Even in the dark, she could not fool Big Bert, she thought dishearteningly.
For a moment, she pictured her buttocks from Bert's point of view, and that made them infinitely appealing-naked, exposed, thrust invitingly toward the whip. Later, perhaps, if she were lucky, she would have some salve to relieve the welts. They would be welts that would show for perhaps an hour, then disappear. Bert used a cloth whip soaked with water; it did not cut. Or scar.
It just inflicted merciless pain.
The first blow was light, teasing; it hit her and licked bare skin almost tauntingly, and then came with more snapping force and at greater speed. With an effort, Hannah held on to her ankles, knowing if she let go of them she would bolt in mad, useless panic around the small cell with Big Bert whipping her without letup. And she would laugh. The laughing hurt more deeply than the kicking and the whipping. Yet there was a morbid sense of security, even pleasantness, in Bert's presence. Bert would take over for her. No prisoner dared lay a hand on her or even raise a tone of voice to her. And she would get extra food, an extra blanket if she asked for it, anything that Bert could reasonably give to her.
So there was strength in that leather-clad giant of a woman. Wretched, painful strength, but strength, strength that gave Hannah security, however expensive.
Bert was leather.
Leather was strength.
Strength was painfully wrought pleasure and peace of mind. After several careful weeks of conditioning, Bert had brought Hannah to this totally unconscious way of thinking, if indeed it could be called thinking at all.
Now, after pain and fear, she awaited the next blow with a quietly anticipated pleasure-wasn't she crud, a convict, and well-deserving of punishment?
"You stinkin' con," Bert grunted in the darkness, and when the cotton belt hit her hip, Hannah moaned. Bert smiled, knowing what had taken place. They all make in the end, she thought with savage glee, and hit Hannah more and more until finally her wrist began to ache. When both wrists ached, she quit.
"I'd love to see you," Hannah whispered from her prone position on the floor. "I'd love to see your power, you goddess in leather!"
Bert swelled with passion.
"You know your place?"
"Yes. I must please you, I'll do anything to please you," Hannah whispered huskily. Bertheardher crawl forward, felt Hannah's arms embrace her boot-clad legs.
An expectant shiver went through her.
"You know what I want," she said, her own voice husky. Hannah knew. From repeated experiences, Hannah knew, and now Bert shivered again as she felt a tiny, strong, womanly hand loosen her Sam Browne belt and unzip her tight slacks They fell over the tops of her boots, "Yes, you know," Bert said tremulously, "you sure know, baby," and now warm, willing, hopeful hands grasped her bare buttocks and pulled her forward while she stood straddle-legged in the middle of the cell floor. She was powerful, ruler of the roost, resplendent and feared in her black, shining leather.
Hot with lust, as beaten, humiliated lips caressed her into hot, frenzied passion, she made her hips work deliriously back and forth against the searching, willing, pleasing red moist lips.
Hannah heard horrible names.
Names directed toward her; humiliating, vile names that rained down on her ears while her lips danced and played frenziedly over warm, hungry flesh. The humiliation was complete. She knew Big Bert was happy with her, and would care for her, protect her against tomorrow, the next day, and maybe even the day after.
Then she would pay again.
She would go on paying until she got out of prison, if she ever got out at all. But she would eat. She would have clothes. She would have special privileges. She would not be worked to death, harassed to tears as would that stupid jerk, Cindy. .No.
Hannah knew how to .play it. She played it the only way you could play it with a mean dyke like Big Bert.
Sue got up the next morning when the whistle blew, red-eyed and headachy from lack of sleep. Toward morning, she had dozed fitfully, only to awaken in a cold sweat. For even though she hadn't seen the spectacle between Big Bert and Hannah, their voices and the sounds they made hadn't left much to Illusion. All down the corridor on both sides, she heard the woman cursing Hannah. "Dyke!"
"Whipping-boy!"
"You got it wrong," another cackled, "Hannah's the sweet little girl, ain't you, baby?"
These voices came from the next block, the one Bert was not in charge of. The one she was in charge of remained silent.
She'd get to them all sooner or later.
All of them except for Cindy and Sue. Both women shared the silent, hostile determination not to give in to Big Bert, let her make their lives as miserable as she could. They would not submit to such torture and perverted appetites.
A few minutes after the whistle blew, Big Bert came down the corridor, her trusty opening cell doors for her. As soon as their doors opened, each prisoner stepped out and stood in line in front of the door, until little by little, they were lined up all the way down the corridor.
They were on their way to breakfast. They marched in total silence. Big Bert absolutely required silence. Anyone who talked would not forget about it for the rest of the day.
They ate in silence.
They walked back in silence.
After they were back in their cells, Cindy told Sue: "Now we, get a half hour to make our bunks and brush our teeth and stuff. Then we go to work."
"What do we do? I mean what kind of work?" Cindy asked.
"In the summer, we all plant corn. The men do all the heavy diggin' and stuff. We just plant. And Big Bert sits under a nice, shady tree with a nice cold jug of water and smiles while we sweat. It's a ball."
"Sounds like it."
"And baby, don't let that bastard catch you standing up to stretch your back. It's curtains, then-specially if it's you or me." Cindy smiled conspirationally, and Sue warmed under it. She became more determined than ever to hold out against Big Bert's sick lust. Even on her second day in prison, Sue realized that she would give up an irretrievable part of her humanity if she ever gave in to Bert.
"What do we do in cold weather?" she asked Cindy.
"Haven't lived through summer yet," she said, "I don't know. I only been here a couple of weeks myself."
It seemed incredible.
Sue thought that she was already hard-bitten, cynical-as though Cindy had spent all her life behind bars. How would Sue herself be at the end of two long weeks?
"Okay girls, get off your rosy little butts and let's go!" It was Big Bert. It seemed to Sue as if only minutes had passed since she'd last seen her. Bert was everywhere at once, and never left you alone long enough to regain your balance. It was going to be tough outside, the sun was well up in the sky, and the air was so muggy that Sue sweated between her fingers; the back of her palms were moist. Once, she had lain on a beach, and when the sun had become too hot, she had run into the cool, invitingly green-white ocean to cool herself.
Now, she was given a hoe, and told to use it. Idiotically, it had a handle too short to be used from an erect position. You had to bend about halfway over. Looking at it, Sue saw that it had been sawed off at the top. The saw-mark was fresh and white, still smelling of fresh-cut wood. It wasn't hard to figure.
Cindy had a short hoe, too, and all the others had long hoes. Without thinking, Sue turned toward the tree where Big Bert sat. Her long, powerful legs stretched in front of her, her boots shone even through the film of white dust, and her leather jacket was unbuttoned to reveal a white, sweat-stained blouse. How can she wear that thing In this heal, Sue wondered.
"Like your hoe, girlie? I picked it out special!" Bert laughed raucously, throwing her head back. "Better learn how to use it real fast." Sue turned away, and began digging in the row she had been assigned to by one of the trusties. It took something like ten minutes for her back to ache, and she reminded herself sternly of Cindy's advice: don't straighten up for nothin' if Big Bert's around.
Minutes seemed like hours. The pain in her back slowed her chopping-motions to all but a halt, until it became a choice between straightening and stretching for a moment or stopping work altogether. The latter notion was idiotic to even consider.
She straightened.
Relief flooded her muscles, and she realized that standing straight had never been so precious to her.
"All through for the day?" asked the voice behind her. Sarcastic. Nasty. Insinuating. "Think you're in a bank?"
Quickly, Sue bent down with the hoe again, and chopped at the ground furiously. Rage almost choked her, and she heard the others laughing appreciatively at Bert's clever wit. Only Cindy didn't laugh. She looked out of the corner of her eye and said "Damn it, I told you about that," and quickly turned away.
At ten o'clock, they called a water-break. Trusties stood near the lister-bag, handing out canteen cups to the lined-up prisoners. They were told to take half a cup and no more, partly for harassment, but mostly because of danger of cramps and heat prostration.
Sue's mouth felt like hot cotton, and she tasted the foulness of breath with a sharpness that comes only from thirst. Impatiently, she watched the line shrink until she stood closer and closer to the bag, and then she was standing in front of it.
The trusty handed her the cup, and she took a sip.
Suddenly, the cup flew from her hand and when she looked up she saw Big Bert leering at her.
"She don't need any water-been standin' up the whole time, haven't you sweet stuff?" Again the maddening, taunting cackle.
A sip and no more. She was thirstier than ever, would have been better off if she hadn't had any water at all.
"Back to work!" the trusties yelled, and-like sullen sheep, the prisoners all went back to the field.
Bert took a swig of ice water from a gallon thermos jug. Sue watched the cold, moist beads formed on the outside, and every gut in her body screamed for water.
Their eyes met, briefly.
"Hannah, would you like some nice, cold water?" Bert asked. Sue watched Hannah look around her for a minute-a long minute. Then, she sauntered over toward the shady tree and stood in front of Bert.
"Here," she said, and Hannah took the jug silently, and took a long, deliberate drink. Then, without looking at any of the others, she returned to work.
"And that's how you play it," Cindy said with a sneer, "See what it's all about?"
Sue was beginning to see.
"I'm dying of thirst," she croaked.
"Aw, hell, you'll have water at the end of the day. Maybe even for lunch. Just ask yourself, Sue, is it worth a drink of water? A lousy drink of water? Just ask yourself that over and over again, and you'll make it."
Is it worth it?
No, of course not, came the answer. Nothing' was, least of all a drink of H20. She told herself, as Cindy had told her to do, over and over and over again that it wasn't worth it.
She was still muttering it when they yelled time for lunch. Fortunately, she got a drink of water then. Bert watched her, then turned quickly away, and it no longer tasted like anything to Sue. Bert killed it.