Collared Slutgirls

Parked in the prison parking lot, Regina looked over her notes one last time before she went in for what she hoped would be the story that would make her career.

It had taken some work to get her editor to agree to let her make the trip to the Yatesville Women’s Prison, as he wasn’t convinced the story would interest the readers of their small weekly newspaper.

But the story of the university chain gang had been big news six months earlier, she’d reminded him, and a follow-up story would be perfect. Their paper just happened to cover the county where the women were incarcerated, so why not take advantage, re-ignite the story before the national media swooped in again?

So here she was, about to head into one of the few women’s prisons left in the slave states and discover what actually went on inside those gray walls.

Once she left her car, she was surprised how quickly she was ushered into the warden’s office. It took longer for her to walk across the parking lot in her heels than it did to be cleared by security and soon she was sitting across from the warden himself.

“Ms. Vaughn, welcome to Yatesville,” the warden said.

“Thank you, Warden,” Regina said. “As you know, I’m with the Calhoun Register and we wanted to do a little tour of your prison, really let our citizens know what goes on inside these walls.”

“Yes, I think that’s a wonderful idea,” the warden said. “We are funded by the taxpayer, after all, so they should know what they’re paying for.”

“I’m so glad you feel that way,” Regina said. “Before we start the tour, can you give me an idea of what your prison does and why it still exists in our current criminal justice system?”

“Ah, you’re wondering why we need a women’s prison when most female criminals are just enslaved, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes,” Regina said. “Most of the women’s prisons were shut down or converted to male prisons decades ago when the slave laws were instituted. So why does this prison exist?”

“Well, we’re not the only one left in the nation, after all. We’re part of a network of about a dozen women’s prisons across the nation, used to incarcerate female prisoners for a handful of reasons. For one, we exist to house prisoners deemed too violent for the slave population outside these walls. You wouldn’t want a murderer out there, even on a leash, would you? Or a poisoner making their master meals in a kitchen?”

“No slutgirl has ever attacked their master or initiated any violence that wasn’t ultimately proven to be in protection of their owner or an innocent free person, though,” Regina said.

“True, but that happens in part because we separate the bad apples out to begin with,” he said. “We also imprison women sentenced for financial crimes, on occasion. Embezzlers end up here as a way to, in a way, pay back the money they stole, usually when the amount was so high a slave auction could never hope to erase such a debt through the woman’s sale price.”

Regina nodded, scribbling furiously in her notepad even as her recorder took in the warden’s comments for future use.

“And then there are women who end up here to meet the quota on our chain gangs,” he added.

“And that’s where the university girls come in, right?”

“Right. Our prison maintains multiple chain gangs of prisoners who are sent outside the walls to work on various civic projects. Our girls have built highways, schools, bridges, courthouses and much more. Of course, we have to bid on these projects like any contractor, but it is felt using prisoners of the state to build state property is suiting for women who broke the law.”

“But how is it decided to send women here rather than the auction block?”

“Well, coming here doesn’t mean they won’t eventually reach the auction block,” the warden said. “Aside from the violent criminals, most women sentenced here only stay for a limited sentence, say 10 years or so. Once they’ve done their part on the chain gangs, they are then sent to a slutgirl facility and processed for sale, at which point they were join the slave population outside these walls, just like any other woman taken up as a slutgirl.

“As for how they’re chosen, that’s usually up to a judge, but high-profile cases or cases where the woman committed a crime against public standards often end up here. Shoplifters go straight to the block, but armed robbers come here, for instance.”

“So, tell me about the university girls,” Regina said.

“Well, I’m sure you followed the news at the time,” the warden said. “But, to sum it up quickly, a team of women’s lacrosse players from our state university were traveling through Yatesville on the way to a tournament when their bus stopped here for gas and a bite to eat.

“While here, these 12 co-eds decided to take a picture in front of our town’s main tourist attraction, that is to say, one of our chain gangs. We had a team of a dozen jail sluts out doing some work near the courthouse, digging some ditches to lay new pipe and cable for an addition to the building scheduled for completion next year.

“Taking pictures of the chain gangs is common, of course, but these girls got a little too close, I’m afraid and when one of them backed up a little, they bumped into one of our prisoners and knocked her down into the ditch.

“Thankfully, she was uninjured and the chain between her and the other prisoners was long enough that her fall did not send the entire coffle with her. But this was nonetheless, in a legal sense, interfering with government property, so the entire team was arrested and tried. Once convicted, it was felt appropriate by the judge that they serve the same role they interfered with, so they were sentenced to a 10-year stint here.”

“Not a lucky break,” Regina said.

“The law has no place in its consideration for luck,” the warden said. “So, would you like to take that tour?”

“Yes, please,” Regina said. “Is it OK if I take pictures? I brought a camera but the guards said you would have to decide if it was acceptable to use it in the prison.”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Vaughn, take as many pictures as you’d like,” the warden said. “We have no secrets here in the prison.”

The two walked out of the office and through a guard checkpoint into the prison proper, where warm woodtones and framed pictures disappeared in place of cold stone and iron bars.

“Here is Cell Block 1,” the warden said.

Regina’s eyes scanned the long hallway, with small, barred cells on either side. Each cell, she noticed, was probably half the size of a cell in a men’s prison, leaving each prisoner with little room to move around. There were no beds in each cell, either, just a simple pallet in one corner, while the usual toilet was absent, just a drain in the floor of each cell.

The prisoners looked at Regina absently, but on seeing the warden, quickly knelt, knees spread wide, hands clasped behind back, heads downcast. The prisoners, she noted, wore distinctive uniforms, which did little to disguise their naked charms. Each girl wore a vest which flapped wide, drawing more attention to her tits than if she’d been nude, while the skirt each wore was so short it would flash her bare ass and pussy with almost any movement. The girls also wore simple pillbox hats, which kept their hair out of their faces. All of the garments were patterned in the traditional black and white stripes of a cartoon prison outfit.

“I guess I thought they’d be naked,” Regina said.

“Oh, they are a great deal of the time, but officially, these prisoners are still free women, or at least, they are not yet slaves. So they are given official uniforms to wear out on the chain gang or in their cells.”

Regina lifted her camera and snapped a few pictures, doing her best to take in the near-naked women and their spartan cells, marching endlessly down the hallway.

“How many women do you house in the prison?” Regina said.

“About 1,000,” the warden said. “Roughly half of those are permanent residents due to violent crimes, but we house them in the sex cells downstairs.”

“Sex cells?”

“We’ll make that our next stop.”

As they walked farther down the hall, Regina noticed the prisoners would relax their position as the warden passed and his watchful eye was no longer on them. Their stoic faces also relaxed and several girls smiled at the journalist as she snapped a few more pictures, one girl going so far as to wink.

“The prisoners don’t seem too upset to be here,” Regina noted as they left the hallway.

“The new arrivals often aren’t happy at first, but they settle in quickly,” the warden said. “They are not mistreated, after all, and although they have to work hard, they know they are paying for their crimes. Deep down, they feel they belong here, I think.”

Another checkpoint was passed and Regina asked the warden another thought on her mind.

“I noticed all the guards were men,” she said.

“That is intentional,” he said. “Early on, the prison had an all-female staff, but the guards kept neglecting their duties. Eventually, we realized they were committing crimes to get sentenced here themselves. The final straw was the first warden. She got caught embezzling funds but she did it so clumsily, it’s almost certain she wanted to get caught. She was sentenced to a 20-year sentence here and seemed far happier in a cell, I’m told, than in her old office.

“For the last few decades, then, it’s been all-male staffing and it’s worked out much better. The prisoners respond faster to commands from men. And, of course, it’s much easier for male guards to give the prisoners their mandated sex breaks.”

“Sex breaks?”

“Yes, on the chain gangs, the jail sluts are required to take a break from work every few hours and during those times they have a sex break, or a rape break, as some call it. The guards fuck the prisoners thoroughly during that period.”

“And the prisoners don’t complain?”
“Complain? In less than a week, they go from objecting to begging for the sex breaks. Much of the reason for their compliance lies in their wanting to earn more sexual favors and be provided with an additional session or two.

“Now, here are the sex cells. These are our violent offenders, so even though they are chained and behind bars, don’t get too close to any of the prisoners in here, Ms. Vaughn.”

They were ushered in behind a heavy steel door by a guard and Regina’s eyes widened as she took in the scene.

In many ways, the cell block downstairs was no different than the one above. The layout and dimensions of the cells were identical to those she’d already seen. But here, the prisoners were naked and heavily chained, with shackles on each limb keeping them from moving far from their position on the floor of their cell.

Most of the cells had more than occupants, too, but the other person in each cell was not a second prisoner, but a man. Some were guards, but others were men in business suits or even casual wear. All were fucking a prisoner and the ravished girls were howling in a mixture of outrage and pleasure as they were forced to cum from their state-mandated sexual service.

Regina began taking pictures as fast as she could, focusing on the naked sluts, most held down on hands and knees, and their faces, some contorted in reluctant pleasure, some screaming obscenities, others smiling broadly as they were used as nameless sex toys for strangers. Regina kept taking shots, doing her best to ignore the sudden heat in her loins or the stickiness she could feel in her core.

“Because our violent offenders cannot be trusted in public, even in a chain gang, they pay their debt to society here in the prison as fucksluts,” the warden said evenly. “Male visitors to the prison can pay a fee to fuck one of these girls and enjoy a bit of incarcerated pussy. We make a lot of money in this wing, which, between that and the contracting fees we earn through construction projects, helps keep taxpayer costs down to maintain the prison in other ways.”

“And all of these girls killed or attacked someone?” Regina asked.

“Yes, I’m sorry to say,” the warden said. He gestured at a middle-aged woman who was squealing as a fat guard thrust his cock in and out of her pussy, her howls barely disguising the sucking sounds of the repeated action in her wet cunt. “This prisoner killed her husband and his brother, for instance, with an axe.”

“And I’d do it again, too,” she yelled. “Oh, yes, fuck me harder, you bastard! Punish me!”

Regina knelt outside the cell, well out of the woman’s chain-reduced reach, and took several zoom shots of her cum-covered body.

“And this girl is a new arrival, just 21,” the warden said, pointing to a slim Asian woman who was writhing in the grasp of a man twice her size, her face contorted in mixed pain and pleasure as she panted her way through a thorough anal rape. “She poisoned her parents when they threatened to sell her into slavery. They survived, actually, but she still earned her ticket to the prison.”

“Oh, god, please, don’t stop,” the woman said as her rapist slowed his pace and slapped her ass with a laugh. “I need more cock. Please, rape me, sir! Rape my slutty little ass!”

Soon she was cumming wildly as the man increased his pace and flooded her rectum with his own cum.

“They seem to enjoy their sexual service,” Regina said.

“Well, I’ve never seen a woman in here who didn’t,” the warden said. “But we don’t begrudge them the pleasure. They’ll never leave these walls again, so it’s not too much to allow them a bit of joy in their incarceration.”

They walked up a different set of stairs, back into the main prison blocks, and the warden led Regina to another door.

“You, of course, want to meet the university girls, as the news dubbed them,” he said. “Well, you’re in luck. They’re about to head out to work on the chain gang. I thought you might ride with them, interview them on the way, then get some pictures of them on the job site.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Regina admitted.

They went through several doors and suddenly were on a loading dock, where a dozen girls in the scanty prison uniform, chains connecting their ankles together and to one another all down the line, were being ushered into a marked prison van.

“One more for you, boys,” the warden said. “Guest, but she wants to ride in the back. Make sure to bring her back in one piece, OK?”

“Will do, sir,” one guard said with a smile. “Step this way, ma’am, and we’ll be on our way.”

Soon, Regina was locked in the back of the transport van with the former college athletes. She felt conspicuously overdressed compared to the prisoners in their flapping vests and nearly-non-existent skirts. She also felt a weird disconnect as she watched these women, who six months ago were filmed weeping as they were convicted and led away, laughing and joking like the young women they were, as if they were still on that trip to a lacrosse match rather than forced prison labor.

Regina cleared her throat and the nearest two girls turned to look at her with welcoming smiles.

“So, I’m a reporter,” she said.

“Oh, you want to interview us,” a tall blonde said. “Well, I’m No. 11484. This is No. 11486,” she added, gesturing at the petite ginger across from her.

“So, you go by your prisoner numbers?”

“Yes,” the redhead said. “We lost the rights to use our names when we were convicted.”

“But, for my own records, what were your names, then?”

“I was Blanche Turner,” the blonde said.

“And I was Greta Harris,” the redhead added. “It’s weird to say it out loud, actually, We don’t even use our names in the cellblock when none of the men are around. Easier just to keep using the numbers, so we don’t slip up at the wrong time.”

“So, you were quite upset when you were convicted,” Regina said. “But you don’t seem too unhappy now.”

“Oh, no,” 11484 said. “I’ve never been happier.”

“I mean, we were unhappy at the time, yeah,” 11486 said. “We had certain expectations for the future. But we made a mistake and we have to pay for it.”

“You don’t think this is a bit of overkill for an accident?”

“Miss, having worked on the chain gang ourselves now, that accident could have been much worse,” 11486 said. “We could have hurt 10789, the prisoner we bumped into, or even worse, killed her if she’d fallen on her pickaxe or that ditch had been deeper. We were careless and stupid. We earned our places here.”

“So, what is prison like?” Regina asked.

“Well, it’s prison,” 11484 said. “We are kept in those narrow cells and we are told when to eat, when to sleep, when to work, when to bathe, sometimes even when to shit. But that’s true of women who are collared, too, and statistically, some of us would have worn one at some point.”

“Besides,” 11486 said, “it’s not all bad. We’re all together, so that’s nice. And the sex is wonderful.”

“Oh, yes,” 11484 said. “I thought my old boyfriend could fuck me, but that was when I was a free woman, not a prisoner. He had to hold back with me. The men here, they pound the shit out of us and it’s the best sex I’ve ever had. I mean, I cum like a freight train every time.”

“If they said we were free to go tomorrow,” 11486 said, “I’m not sure I could bring myself to leave. I mean, my cunt is basically addicted to cock now. I’m wet almost all the time, just hoping I’ll get fucked again.”

“I mean, it’s no wonder we’ll be sold into slavery when we finish our sentence here,” 11484 said. “By that point, after a decade as sexual labor sluts, we won’t be good for anything but slavery.”

“If it’s anything like this,” 11486 added, “I think I’ll like slavery just fine.”

Before Regina could ask another question, the van slowed to a stop and the doors opened, flooding the interior with light. The chain gang was led out, blinking, into the sunlight, and Regina followed carefully, her camera in hand.

It didn’t take long for the 12 girls to be issued shovels and pickaxes and set to carving out a furrow in the dirt at the work site, which Regina recognized as the future government building for the county. Regina snapped away with her shutter, wondering that 19-, 20- and 21-year-olds who once ran around with a lacross stick now were standing barefoot and nearly naked in a dirty construction lot pounding away at the clay with different tools in their now-calloused hands.

The jail sluts worked for about two hours when suddenly a guard yelled, “Sex break!” The prisoners didn't hesitate. While they set down their tools carefully, they did so rapidly, and then lined up abreast, falling to all fours with their heads low to the ground and eager, swaying rears thrust high.

There were less guards than girls, but that didn’t matter, as some of the construction workers from the civilian side of things joined in on the fun. Soon, all 12 sluts were singing out in chorus a song of ecstasy, their moans and squeals and yelps a symphony of rising lust. Regina zoomed in on 11484 as she began to scream out in pleasure, her body quivering as she orgasmed almost explosively. Two sluts down, 11486 was exhorting her guard to pound her slutty cunt harder and then thanked him for his efforts as she joined her sister sluts in shared orgasm.

Half an hour later, the tired girls were allowed to clean off with a wet washcloth, then given a small lunch, before they were ordered back to their tools and returned to work. They were sweating in the humid air, their exposed skin almost sizzling in the heat, and their legs, despite their best clean-up efforts, still showed the sticky evidence of their previous activities. And yet, as Regina squeezed her thighs together in sympathetic memory, the girls looked happy, talking and laughing as they worked together in efficient harmony.

That night, back home after a farewell visit with the warden, Regina uploaded her photos to the newspaper server and then submitted her finished story, one she was sure would have her awards-bound in no time. Yet as she drifted to sleep, it wasn’t of honors she dreamed, but of swinging a tool in unison with her sisters in chains before kneeling down to enjoy another joyous sex break in her prison stripes.

THREE MONTHS LATER

“Warden, the bus is here with the new prisoners for intake,” the guard said.

“Very good,” the warden said and watched impassively as the naked women were led off in handcuffs into the prison yard. Ten women stood there, nervous and frightened, unsure of the future that faced them. Then the warden smiled and approached one of the naked jail sluts.

“Ms. Vaughn,” he said in a conversational tone.

“Sir,” she said. Her long brown hair streamed down her back, rather than in the tight bun she’d worn it on her last trip to the prison, and her exposed breasts were larger than the warden had imagined when he first met her, the nipples tight and erect in the cool morning air.

“So,” the warden said as he consulted his intake papers, “you were arrested for interfering with a chain gang?”

“I’m afraid I got tangled in the chain when I was taking pictures of girls for a follow-up story, sir,” she said. “No one was hurt, but I was taken into custody for what appeared to be an attempt to tangle the chain and harm the girls.”

“Yes, that sounds likely,” he said at the clearly aroused woman who likely had never tripped over anything in such a way, until that convenient day. “So, Ms. Vaughn no more. Instead, you’re Prisoner No. 13523 for the next 10 years. You’ll be working on the chain gang and servicing the men for a decade and then you’ll be sold into slavery.”

“Yes, sir,” 13523 said with a wide smile as she rubbed her sticky thighs together in clear anticipation.

The warden smiled and made a mental note to invite her up to his office for the next sex break, now that he’d worked his way through the entire lacrosse team.

“Very good, 13523,” he said. “Welcome to Yatesville.”