How I Became the Submissive of My Cell

Everyone has heard stories about what goes on behind bars, and I want to tell you mine.

The chains jingled against my ankles as the bus crossed the open countryside toward the prison where I was going to spend an entire year. The view was beautiful and I wanted to commit it to memory second by second, because it would be the last I would see for a long time. The meadows melted into the distant hills; sheep and cows grazed as if no problem in the world could reach them.

I also saw a bird of prey that glided for a few moments and then plunged with perfect elegance to catch its victim. How I envied that solitary bird, utterly free, untouched by the miseries of this world.

Soon the hills gave way to the walls and razor wire of the prison. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to hold on to the images I had just seen, and then turned to look at the rest of the inmates.

I felt a shiver. They all had tattoos and piercings, and they chatted among themselves as if they had known each other all their lives.

I felt completely out of place. I was the only one who hadn’t opened her mouth the entire trip. I was sitting there in my flowered dress, my brown hair falling down my back, trying to keep my composure despite the shackles.

Was the mess I had gotten myself into really worth it?

My son had been growing marijuana in the shed at home. I didn’t know it, but I took the blame to protect him: he was about to finish his medical degree and a criminal record would have ruined his future. He was going to do great things, unlike me, who was still nothing more than a clerk at a disreputable IT company. What did I have to lose?

That was the first thing I thought. If I had known exactly what I was going to lose, maybe my decision would have been different.

The bus braked hard and we were ordered to get off in a line.

This would be my home for the next twelve months. I looked around: bare gray brick, bars everywhere, barbed wire. I had seen it a thousand times on television, but nothing prepares you for the moment when you are standing there, chained, knowing that as soon as that huge door closes, this will be your life and you will have to live with it no matter what.

It’s strange how, as soon as you walk down that corridor and the rest of the women stare you down, your stomach turns, your head clouds over, and the only thing you can think is: survive. Nothing more than survive.

It isn’t the time you spend inside that changes you, but the exact moment when the doors close behind you and you move forward among women who spit at you and insult you while cheering for the ones who return for reoffending.

From that moment on I knew I was the outsider. Looking at the others, I found no one like me. I had the typical Catholic upbringing: Mass every Sunday, I even taught catechism at the parish. I got married at twenty-three and had never had sex before marriage. I was nearly forty and still as prudish as ever.

***

One of my clearest memories is of that cold, damp, oppressive room where they left me. I stood there, not knowing what was going to happen. I saw a desk and a couple of chairs, and I assumed it would be an interview or some paperwork. How wrong I was.

The door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered blonde figure came in.

—Come on, we don’t have all day, you know? —she said, looking me up and down.

—What? —I asked in a whisper, utterly innocent.

—I need you to strip before I send you to your cell. Can you hurry up? I have thirty other women to check and I need to be done in an hour —she said as she came closer and pulled the strap of my dress down, as if she wanted to help me.

I was an adult woman and I didn’t need to be undressed by an overweight female officer who looked like she had stepped out of a wrestling team. Even so, I undressed with her help. I didn’t dare protest. She was determined that I should do it as quickly as possible. My face burned with shame when I saw a second woman appear as I was taking off the last garment.

I was completely naked. You have no idea what went through my mind; but if you have any imagination, you can figure it out.

She bent me over the desk and ran her fingers along my spine, from the nape of my neck to the base of my buttocks. Slowly, she inserted two fingers into my anus, stretching the skin, trying to look inside. I shuddered when I felt her trying to push more in. To my horror, after a shove, I think she got four fingers in.

I didn’t dare look. Then she turned me face up on the desk and spread my legs. After feeling my hardened breasts, she slid her hands down to my cunt. I took a deep breath and held it while she positioned herself looking straight between my thighs. Then she thrust her fingers into my sex, opening me fully, examining the inside.

—You’ll have to wait there. I knew you were going to be trouble —she said, bringing my face close to hers for an instant before leaving the room.

When she came back, she was carrying a bucket and something small at the tips of her fingers.

—Stay where you are. I’ll tell you when you can move.

I clenched my buttocks with all my strength while she seemed to push something inside my ass with her fingers, shoving it as far up as possible.

—Now stand up and hold it. When you can’t take it anymore, use the bucket, understood? —she shouted.

—Yes, ma’am. Understood —I replied weakly.

But I didn’t understand it, not at all. I was going to find out very soon.

She made me stand in a corner while she watched me, alert to every movement. My stomach started growling and I felt dull cramps in my lower belly. I began to pace around the room, and at that dreadful moment I was struck by a sudden, uncontrollable urge to go to the bathroom.

I ran toward the bucket, clutching my stomach, rocking back and forth, letting out what the enema had put inside me. I had to stumble away almost on all fours. My insides hurt terribly and I felt degraded to the very core. I crawled into a corner, wrapped my arms around my knees and rocked myself, trying to ease the pain, while I watched the woman inspect what was in the bucket, lifting it and examining it closely.

I was so disgusted I wanted to vomit. They threw me a horrible blue jumpsuit, I got dressed in a hurry, and I got out of there following another officer to my cell.

***

That first night I did nothing but cry; I sobbed from dusk until dawn and the breakfast bell rang. The following weeks I walked, talked, ate, showered, and even went to the bathroom with a certain degree of normality.

There was a group of women in my wing who, during free time, while we watched television or played pool, laughed at me and bothered me, calling me a prude.

One day, the group’s ringleader grabbed my hair and dragged me toward her.

—Watch yourself, princess. I’m keeping an eye on you —she whispered to me.

I was so scared that from then on I hardly left my cell. I didn’t realize that was exactly what they wanted.

One afternoon, when I was alone, a group of about six women came in and surrounded me. I felt panic. The leader, whose name was Reina, came over to my bunk and sat beside me.

—We can do this the easy way or the hard way —she said, winking at me.

I knew perfectly well what she wanted. I had heard the rumors and the stories about those who didn’t obey, so I lay back slowly and accepted her advances.

She put her fingers in my mouth and I gagged at first, until she took mine into hers and sucked them tenderly. I followed her example; I didn’t want to upset her. I sucked the tips of her fingers eagerly while her other hand began to travel down my body.

I felt it pass over my breasts and slide down my belly. I breathed slowly when she slipped her fingers between my thighs, barely brushing me. I moved closer to her, she leaned in to kiss me, and I kissed her back.

The sensation was incredible, but then something rebelled inside me. I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t belong in that place, I didn’t want to do that. I pushed her away. One of her friends lunged at me and pinned my shoulders to the bed. I tried to kick and struggle as much as I could, but another one spread my legs, took a sheet from the bunk above, and tied my ankles to the posts.

The restraint was so tight it hurt my skin, and in that instant I knew my first option, obeying, would have been the wisest. I writhed and resisted as much as I could while they stripped off my jumpsuit.

One after another, they did whatever they pleased with me. At first they made me lick one of them, a tall woman whom I later came to know as Marlene. Eating her cunt disgusted me; I had never done anything like that and the mere idea repulsed me. But I did what they told me, partly because I was tied up and feared for myself if I refused, and partly because when she licked me, it felt strangely good.

The second time they came to my cell I kept my cool. I didn’t resist as I had before and, I must admit, it was a much better experience, although that night I was their slave and got no pleasure of my own: they made me pleasure them. I knelt on the floor when they told me to and used my tongue and fingers until I left them exhausted.

I still remember Marlene bending over me so I would lick her; she spread her legs so wide that, laughing, she started pissing on me. My jumpsuit was soaked. I felt like a human toilet, used, mistreated, humiliated.

It became routine. I couldn’t say whether I hated it or enjoyed it; I think it was a mix of both, to be honest. Time went by and the sessions got longer and more intense. They used me in a thousand ways: from picking up the things they threw at me while I crawled across the floor like a dog, to following them on my knees, pressed against their heels.

***

One day the change came. It was the first Monday of the month, my fourth Monday behind bars. I had heard that on Wednesday a new group of inmates would arrive, and for days I had been praying they would finally free me from all those humiliations.

That afternoon, Marlene came to my cell and sat on the bed.

—I know how humiliated you feel, and I’ve come to make you an offer —she said, looking me in the eyes—. If you’re willing to go through initiation, you can become one of us and help us enjoy the new girl on Wednesday.

I thought about it for a minute. The truth is, I was afraid of what they might do to me if I refused, but deep down in my head the idea appealed to me.

—What would I have to do? —I asked shyly.

—Let me give you a piercing, darling. You’ve seen mine and the others’. That’s how we initiate the new girls. We all started out like you, and you’ve shown that you deserve to be part of the group.

I took a deep breath and thought for a few moments: a piercing wasn’t forever; I could take it out if I stopped liking it. And I remembered how they writhed with pleasure when I brushed the bar or the ring with my tongue.

—Does it hurt? —I asked.

—Honestly, no. It’s a little sensitive for a few days, but it’ll make you smile when you walk.

—But it won’t go through the clit, right?

—No! It’ll be in the hood. You’ll have the same as me, a vertical piercing. Maximum pleasure, minimum pain, trust me —she said, smiling.

—All right. I’ll take the piercing —I blurted out, as if afraid I might change my mind a second later. I had already said yes and there was no turning back.

***

The next day, the girls came to my cell. Marlene was carrying the jewelry between her fingers and Reina had the needle and everything needed. I felt a huge knot in my throat as I let the jumpsuit fall to the floor and lay down on the bed.

Reina settled carefully between my thighs and began to tug gently at my clit. Later I learned that was to stimulate it and prepare it. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth as I felt her position the little tube. I thought it was already too late to back out.

To be honest, it wasn’t nearly as terrible as I had imagined. A brief sting, and before I knew it the jewelry was already in place. I looked down.

—Wow, it’s beautiful! —I said.

And as I looked at my freshly pierced cunt, I added:

—I’m very proud I did it.

Marlene was right: it felt so good. She knelt and licked it with the tip of her tongue. She explained how to care for it and then they left me alone, saying that the next day we would have the chance to choose a new slave and that it would be my turn, with a little help, of course.

I remembered what I felt when I got off the bus and walked through those corridors. This time I was on the other side and I was like all the others. I joined in the taunting and fit in perfectly with the group. In a place like that, the last thing you want is to keep being the odd one out.

***

There she was: I saw her as soon as she got off the bus. She looked exactly like I must have looked when I entered that world. I pointed her out to Marlene.

—Good choice, girl. Excellent choice. Just the way I like them, the innocent-looking ones —she said, and winked at me—. The more innocent they look, the dirtier their secrets are.

That night I lowered my fingers to my newly pierced jewel and touched myself. It felt amazing. I kept masturbating right up to the edge while I thought about that prude I had just seen get off the bus and everything I was going to do with her. Imagining her strip search and enema took me to the brink.

I had very intense dreams that night. I was becoming what I had once despised and I no longer knew what I wanted, or what turned me on more.

Did I envy the new girl and all the experiences that awaited her? Did I want to be myself again or did I long to have her as my slave and force her to pleasure me over and over?

I would force her over and over. The girl was called Clara, and Marlene was right: she turned out to have very dirty secrets.

Needless to say, after the first month, my twelve months flew by. Would I do it all again? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t change what I lived through. At the end of the day, it’s those things that make you who you are.

I have to stop writing now. Marlene will finish her shift soon and I’m supposed to be preparing dinner. Goodbye for now; I hope you enjoyed it.

I’ll wait naked for Marlene to surrender myself to her, because it’s what she wants and I am her submissive bitch. Later I’ll go to Clara’s cell: she’ll be waiting naked for me and she’ll give me all the pleasure I ask for, or she’ll be punished. That’s life in our prison.