Chapter 10
It was as well for Beth Calhoun's peace of mind during the two days and nights that she was compelled to remain in the isolation ward cell that she was not aware of the minor rebellion which took place in the refectory the very night which marked her first as a prisoner at Keston Women's Reformatory.
Alma Burbage had seen a chance to make a little profit in her commissary, and so she had been buying cheap frankfurters and sacks of kidney beans as summer fare for the luckless inmates. These came out as hotdogs and baked beans, but the problem was that the frankfurters were mostly made of cereal and the beans were tasteless and particularly unimproved when served with a sourish, cheap tomato sauce which had been also purchased in quantity because of a special discount which came via a dividend check which came to her personally and addressed to a private address outside the prison.
For Alma Burbage, like Head Matron Flossie Durkin, maintained a separate establishment for the purposes of mail and occasional orgies during a weekend when, as chanced once in a while, a few of the girls who were already designated as "femme bitches," were allowed to prove their zealousness to serve by offering their voluptuous young bodies for the personal pleasure of Alma Burbage and Flossie Durkin and such others as the two might decide to invite. Dr. Marsha Andrews had also her own little cottage about two miles from the reformatory, but she was most wary about orgies, because there was always the danger of blackmail and ultimate retribution. At most, she would take one girl whom she could trust, swearing her to secrecy with all manner of dire penalties in the event of treachery. Moreover, she was more selective and since, as we have already seen, her esoteric and resourceful Pagination surpassed even that of Alma Burbage herself or of Flossie Durkin-who preferred outright brutality to finesse-she preferred to pick and choose as she had done with Jacqueline Blee.
And so, on the very night that Beth Calhoun was to sob herself to sleep in her windowless cell in the isolation ward, at suppertime several of the prisoners protest the sloppy meal which was ladled out to them as they passed in line before surly-looking, fat cooks, under the vigilant supervision of all the matrons.
No sooner had the prisoners got to their tables, at a concerted signal, they lifted their tin plates and flung them down on the floor and then began to drum on the wooden tables with their coffee mugs, chanting, "We won't eat slop-we won't eat slop!"
So violent was the outburst that Alma Burbage hastily directed Flossie Durkin to turn on one of the powerful water hoses, and the result was that at least a dozen girls were felled, one of them suffering a broken arm. But the ringleaders were rounded up, and there were two particular girls for whom Alma Burbage had harbored for some time now and especially vindictive hostility. She was delighted to see that they were among those caught in the net after this melee, and promptly made arrangements for their punishment.
This punishment took place the following noon, before any lunch was served to any inmate. At the very front of the refectory, a large cleared space had been made and two gymnasium horses had been brought in, with heavy leather padding and heavy leather buckling straps.
Alma Burbage now ascended the little podium, and taking the microphone, addressed the prisoners through the loudspeaker system, which ran throughout the refectory and other chambers throughout the building and could be controlled by a master switch from her own office.
"Before any one of you is given food today, girls," she said sarcastically, "I just want you to sit and see what is going to happen to Amy Porter and
Christine Jenkins. As you know, last night we had a disgraceful episode here. These two girls were chiefly responsible. They complained about the food. Now, you know that I, as superintendent, am always ready to listen to complaints if they are brought to me in a proper manner. But to stage what is properly called a near-riot, I absolutely will not tolerate. I rarely take if upon myself to order the public chastisement of a prisoner, but here and now I believe that such stern measures have been called for by these two unruly and unprincipled girls themselves. You will be served your luncheon meal after they have had their punishment. Carry on, Matron."
She thereupon seated herself in an armchair before which was drown up a little table on which lay a try with piping hot roast beef from a prime cut, a baked potato covered with sour cream, butter and chives, artichoke, a pot of excellent coffee and a brown betty pudding. Out of pure sadism, she began to eat leisurely, while four of the assistant matrons now dragged the two unfortunate young prisoners out of a door at the right and into the clearing towards the whipping-horses.
This time, two of the fat cooks themselves were designated as executioners, and this was also a subtle nuance of Alma Burbage's invention. These women were particularly incensed that their culinary offerings were so shabbily received, and they promised to give an exemplary account of themselves before all these others, who would then have to partake of their fare and would then, it was hoped, profit by the lesson.
Amy Porter was twenty, with straw-colored bobbed hair, a vapidly pretty face, and a spectacularly fine pair of titties, though rather boyish bottomcheeks by contrast. She was there for four years for assault with a deadly weapon upon a caseworker, because her illegitimate child had died and because in her grief she believed that the welfare agency was responsible for this death by not giving her funds, food and medicines in time.
Christine Jenkins was twenty-two, petite, with the figure of a young Venus, softly pale pink skin, huge dark brown eyes and long pageboy-styled chestnut hair. She was sentenced to three years for driving a getaway car for a boyfriend who had tried to rob a bank; since it was a first offence, she had been sent to Keston rather than to the State Penitentiary, though at the moment she would certainly have preferred the latter!
At Alma Burbage's side, the two girls were instantly stripped down to their bloomers, bras and stockings, their shoes removed, and then they were forced astride the horses, to which they were hurriedly strapped. Next, by another refinement of the superintendent, pails of warm water were doused over their bottoms so that the coarse cotton bloomers adhered to the flesh and molded it out like a second skin. The cooks where then handed leather paddles and told to proceed.
"Fifty spanks," Alma Burbage said as she swallowed a particularly bite of roast beef and then paused to watch the expiation of these two wicked culprits.
The cooks raised their paddles and brought them down with all their might. The wet smack of the leather implements on the doused cotton bloomers, under which was resilient and tightly-stretched girl-flesh, made an impressive sound, and Alma Burbage promised herself to repeat it in private for her own delectation. Instantly, piercing cries rose as the two victims tugged at their bonds, lifted their heads, their eyes wide and shadowed with suffering.
The implacable "Thivack-thuckkk-smackkk!" of the two paddles now filled the room, punctuated by the wild shrieks and babbled entreaties for mercy from both Amy and Christine. Christine seemed to suffer the most, frantically dragging at her bonds and twisting and wrestling against the ferociously biting, bruising shock of the leather paddle in her executioner's pudgy hand. The latter, grinning obscenely, relished her victim's suffering, and did all she could to increase it by pausing from time to time to yank the top of the soaked bloomers up higher so that the clinging material would bite into Christine's ass-hole.
By the time half a dozen cuts had been applied, both girls were nearly fainting, and by the end of the fifty strokes, both were half unconscious. But their torment was not yet over.
The cooks now retired and Flossie Durkin and Clara Henshaw took over. Drawing down the bloomers and exposing the swollen, dark-reddened asses of the two unfortunate young women, these vindictive harpies now proceeded to apply twenty strokes with a broad leather strap, which revived the consciousness of the two victims and drew from them uncontrollable, inhuman screams and maddened cries for mercy. Silent, trembling, pale, the other inmates of Keston watched, unable to take their eyes off those swollen, naked bottoms which lunged and twisted and bucked and jerked in the most salacious contortions.
When it was over, Alma Burbage, having finished her dessert and coffee, rose to address the prisoners again: "I trust that what you have just seen will serve as a lesson none of you is going to forget. Now lunch is going to be served. Take those two girls to the infirmary."