THE GIRL IN THE SHOWER

                            by

                         Joe Doe



There were close to 50 naked women in the shower -- lathering, 
scrubbing, rinsing.  But Warden Don Walker was focused on only 
one.

She was a cute little redhead, standing in the corner, very 
assiduously scrubbing her lovely auburn hair.  At 31, she was 
a bit older than some of the others, and her breasts were A-cup.  
But she had a pert round bottom, a slender waist, and a fearsome 
blush as she showered under the warden's watchful gaze.

The little redhead was still fresh enough to blush.  The warden 
liked that.

Bull Watson, the 6'5" chief guard, wandered over to make small 
talk with the new warden.  "See anything you like?" he teased.

"That redhead in the corner," Warden Walker said, nodding.  "How 
did she get here?"

"Her car, to begin with.  She was arrested for multiple mechanical 
deficiencies.  You know -- insufficient washer fluid, subversive 
bumper stickers, frayed upholstery....  Funny thing.  Said she was 
driving around town lost all day after her phone battery died.  I 
don't know how Scully didn't pick her up; he must have fallen 
asleep at the doughnut shop again.  Anyway, she actually strolled 
right into the Sheriff's office and asked for directions.  Stupid 
bitch!"

"I don't know.  She looks smart," the warden said.

"She looks butt-naked," Watson allowed.  "Still, Little Foxy 
argued her way out of all the bogus charges we brought against 
her.  Guess she's some sort of fancy lawyer back East.  Anyway, 
the judge finally gave her two six-month back-to-backs for 
contempt.  She don't look so clever now."

Warden Walker smiled.  He knew the story of the redhead's 
incarceration.  He had actually been in court that day, 
dropping off a fruitcake his wife had made for the judge.  
He had watched as the fiery lawyer had demolished the 
bogus charges against her, flustering the judge (who was a 
political crony rather than an actual lawyer) with her legal 
acumen.  

The judge's final sentence for contempt had been awarded in 
panicked desperation.  Quite unfair, of course, but he slammed 
down the gavel and nearly ran to his chambers.  The look on Red's 
face as the bailiff locked the cuffs around her wrists was simply 
priceless.

Though he knew the story, he asked the guard for a recap, because 
he never tired of hearing it.  

He had been there, too, when she had been brought in for 
"processing"; he was giving several VIPs a tour of the 
prison at the time.  His male tour group had enjoyed 
watching the pretty redhead put her feet into the stirrups 
and spread her legs wide for the matron's rubber glove.  He 
had enjoyed it, too, particularly since her pretty face was 
almost as red as her fiery red bush.  "A burning bush, all 
hot and juicy," he had joked, as the men laughed, and the 
prisoner twisted helplessly on the matron's probing finger.

Had it really been necessary to delouse her?  Probably not, given 
her freshly-scrubbed appearance and the amount of cash in her 
purse.  But delouse her they did, after her shower, of course, 
laughing as she sputtered and choked on the chemicals being sprayed 
on her hair, under her tiny breasts, and up between her legs and 
bottom cheeks.  The men had stood far enough away so that the 
stench of the delousing agents was only mildly distressing.  The 
foxy lady lawyer was not so lucky.

She would be deloused again, of course, at the end of the week.  
Delousing all the dirty little bitches under his control was one 
of the weekly rituals in an institution governed by rituals.  If 
the girls ever did get lice, it was from the seedy customers at 
the cheap truck stop brothel where the warden made them work as 
part of work-release.  But they were regularly deloused anyway, 
to reinforce the fact that they were dirty...unclean.

Warden Walker missed his wife, Beth.  He loved her dearly, but she 
was impossibly prissy, refused to give blowjobs, and, in all the 
time they had been married, had never granted him access to her 
bottom.  Missionary sex, once a week, on Fridays, was all his 
"good girl" wife could manage.  It had all become so routine, so 
predictable.  

In truth, he had been relieved when he found out that she wasn't 
accompanying him on his 30-day tour as Warden of Honeypot Prison.  
She didn't really encourage his infidelity, but they had an 
understanding: what happened in the prison stayed in the prison. 
She worked in the prison system, too, had been a warden herself, 
and knew of Honeypot's reputation.  She realized that her husband 
would have to become "involved" in the ways of the prison, simply 
to maintain his credibility with the men he would be commanding.  

He hadn't fucked any of his prisoners yet, but he was surely 
enjoying looking.  And he was particularly enjoying looking 
at the little redhead.


Her hair finished, she began to lather her breasts, and Warden 
Walker smiled as her nipples hardened under the spray.  She 
hadn't always been so thorough.  Yesterday she had turned away 
from the warden when she noticed him ogling her in the shower.  
He had spoken to one of the matrons, who had slapped her bare 
bottom good when she stepped out of the shower, before sending 
her back in to "scrub it clean."

She was scrubbing it clean now; was she ever!  Breasts, bottom, 
between the legs.  Better yet, she was letting the warden watch, 
turning and posing so he could watch her caress herself.  She was 
blushing, too, of course, and from the pained look on her face he 
could tell that she was humiliated beyond words.  But, even after 
only a few days in prison, she was smart enough to do as she was 
told.

"What's her work assignment, Bull?"  the warden asked.

"She's helping out with administration, reading contracts and shit. 
Your secretary says she's real smart and saved us a bushel of money 
on the food contracts on her first day."

"I'm sure she did.  But our little redheaded Princess isn't going 
to volunteer for truckstop duty to get out of reading contracts, 
is she?  What else we got?"

"We got cotton-picking down at Bueller's Farm and rock-breaking at 
the quarry.  And they're digging out and re-tarring the parking lot 
at the boys' school."

The warden laughed.  "Yeah, I was out there a couple of days ago.  
They dressed the girls kind of skimpy for tarring, not that the 
boys seemed to mind. They were all hollering and hooting at the 
girls while they were spreading the tar.  Yeah, let's move our 
little princess out of the office and let the boys have a look at 
her.  She's kind of stuck up, and a little humble pie might do her 
some good."

"You got it, boss.  Where should we move her when the tarring is 
done?  Back to the office?"  

"Naw, move her to the quarry.  Let her build up a stink.  She got 
a roommate?"  

"They put her in A75 with another new fish.  Some college girl who 
claims she was studying something called error-ganic chemistry.  
They get along pretty good."

"Move her.  Put her in with fat Bertha."

"That old dyke?  Why?  Bertha will eat her for breakfast."

"Let's make her want some privileges.  She's too comfortable 
bunking with Snow White.  But don't worry; I think it will be 
HER doing the eating, not Bertha."

"It will soften her up for the truck stop, all right.  After 
munching Bertha's rug, sucking on all those ding dongs will 
be a piece of cake.  You want a piece of her, then, I guess?"

"I sure do," Walker said.  "I'm going to enjoy that sweet little 
mouth of hers -- and her little butthole, too.  I'm going to do 
Little Red every which way from Sunday.   But I'll let her learn 
some tricks down at the truck stop for a couple of weeks first, 
let her learn proper technique.  That way when she gives it up, 
it'll be nice and sweetly done."

"Well, you'd better hurry.  You're only going to be here a couple 
of more weeks."

Walker smiled.  The redhead turned to show him her luscious bottom, 
still pink from the previous day's hand spanking.  He moved in for 
a closer look as his scrumptious captive lathered her crotch for 
his amusement.

"No, that's the good news," he said, speaking loudly enough for the 
girl he was ogling to hear.  "I was supposed to leave at the end of 
the month, but I've been extended for an entire year.  That will 
give me plenty of time to enjoy the merchandise."

He chuckled as he exited, not bothering to look at the redhead in 
the shower, who was now frozen with fright.   

She had told him she was taking a leave from the Bureau of Prisons 
so she could go with him to his new assignment.  But then she had 
backed out the last minute.

When she saw him in court, he hadn't even seemed surprised.  She 
had expected to get sentenced, of course, but, when the time came, 
and she was actually facing a term of confinement at the notorious 
Honeypot Prison, her survival instincts had kicked in, and she had 
fought like a tiger for her acquittal.  Not that it had helped her 
any.

It was all a part of the fantasy, of course.  In prison, Beth 
could finally be the bad girl her husband desired, free of the 
"good girl" restrictions that made her sex life so boring, 
especially for her.  After all, what choice would she have?  

But she did have choices.  She knew that, if she kept her head down 
and worked hard she could avoid the degradation of volunteering to 
be a "trucker fucker" as the guards called it.   She could avoid 
doing all those nasty things he wanted her to do.  

She knew she wasn't going to volunteer for the truck stop.  She 
could hang on; she wasn't going to break.  She only had to last 
a few more days before her husband's assignment ended.  Doubtless 
he would figure out some way to "transfer" her then.  If only she 
could make it a few more days....

And then the announcement came, his words still ringing in her 
ears: "I've been extended for an entire year.  That will give me 
plenty of time to enjoy the merchandise."

Plenty of time to enjoy the merchandise.  Plenty of time to enjoy 
her, and to watch others enjoy her as well.  Sweet!

		******************************

Two hours later, Beth was tarring a parking lot in the blazing 
heat, with a dozen 18-year-old boys hooting that they could see 
her "little titties" through her sweat-soaked t-shirt, while 
others complimented her on her "nice round ass."  She was hot and 
humiliated, and her muscles ached from the exertion of spreading 
the tar with the heavy mops.  A YEAR OF THIS?  She knew she would 
never make it.  

"It might not be so bad at the truck stop," she said to herself.  
"They price the girls low, but that's just because there are so 
many of us.  I'm sure if I work hard, I can compete."  Her butt 
cheeks tightened as she thought of the price of not meeting quota: 
her pimp's strap accross her bare behind.  

"Hey, Ginger!" one of the boys shouted.  "Nice ass!  Keep it 
jiggling while you work, girl."

She clenched her teeth.  No, she just couldn't take it.  Which left 
only one question.

How soon could she audition for the pimps at the truck stop?



Edited by C. Lakewood