A woman experiences prison discipline
by Katie Hammond
I slowly opened my eyes looking at the dim light in the corridor in front of me. I immediately recounted the events of yesterday, but the reassurance that it was just a bad dream wouldn’t go and as I opened my eyes fully my view only confirmed that it did actually happen.
I looked at the bars surrounding my single bed. Well it was actually a cot which I was lying in, situated in the middle of a small grey and white window-less room in a prison sickbay, the door removed for security purposes. Straight in front of me is the corridor which leads off to around a dozen or so more rooms exactly like the one I was in.
I reflected that on most mornings in the last seven years my first few seconds of thought was; ‘did this really happen to me?’ How did a married thirty-five year old educated middle-class woman come to find herself in this predicament, you may reasonable ask.
It’s a long story, but I was once a surveyor for a local council and as standard practice I had deferred expenditure so it was incurred in the next financial year. However unlike previous years, when my predecessors had done the same thing, there were consequences. Unfortunately there was a serious outbreak of legionnaire’s disease at the council swimming pool which I was responsible for and very sadly two elderly gentlemen died. I was charged with two counts of manslaughter and on 9th April 1998, aged just twenty-eight, I was convicted of both charges by majority verdict and received a twelve year prison sentence. I can’t remember much from that day other than that I thought it was the end of my life and my mother screaming from the public gallery as the judge said: “Take her away.”
It wasn’t the end of my life, of course, and I had managed to study and learn new skills during my time in prison, but it was hard. I was all too aware that I had missed countless birthdays, hen nights, weddings, holidays and just life in general, but especially my niece and nephew growing up. Of course the families of the two men that died were in my thoughts.
Thankfully there was light at the end of the tunnel and last December I had been moved to a semi-open prison in preparation for my release in April 2006. Strange as it may seem, I had only been in trouble in the six months I had been at this prison. The previous seven years in the more regimented prison I was at gave you less scope to slip up. Just to confirm this, I placed my hands under the white sheets, reached down for my buttocks and very lightly squeezed them, and then brought my hands up to my face. I could still smell the coconut oil from the after-spanking cream. I hadn’t slept well and was still very tired. Being a Saturday morning, I thought the nurses might not tell me to get up yet so I rested my head back on the pillow and soon drifted off back to sleep, recalling the events of yesterday in minute detail.
I had awoken the previous day in my own cell or ‘room’ as they are euphemistically known. Today was going to be different, I thought, as I prepared myself for a shower followed by breakfast. I had been put on report on Monday for ‘fighting’ and today was my adjudication in front of the governor. I had never been in any trouble during my time in prison and it was so disappointing to have to go through this now, especially given I hadn’t done anything wrong in my opinion. I also considered it very embarrassing as a grown adult to be subjected to such a puerile process, but that was like many things in prison and I didn’t have a choice.
My adjudication was at 11.00 am so I had to work beforehand. I was a library, garden and gym orderly and assisted the members of staff with these activities. This week I was working in the library. I was happy with that and liked the work and the two ladies that run it. The library manager, Mrs Wilson, was off this week and that was even better as it left me with Miss Saunders.
Tessa Saunders was young, twenty-three in fact, and had just graduated from University after studying English. I think she is planning to teach abroad but I was told she was on a pretty good wage so was considering her options. I got on really well with her and thought if circumstances were different we could have been friends, but there are boundaries here and I’m sure we both felt it best if they were kept to. She had told me off a couple of months ago for poor timekeeping and I’m sure that would have been much harder for me to accept if we were both on first name terms.
In Mrs Wilson’s absence, Miss Saunders was my personal officer so I was sure she would be accompanying me to the adjudication. After the shower and breakfast I walked to the library and got there with five minutes to spare. Entering the library, I could see Tessa at her station explaining something to a prisoner or ‘student’; yet another example of a fashionable euphemism.
I looked at Tessa; she was tall like me and, also like me, had dark hair and big brown eyes. Slim and attractive, I have to admit I have always got a bit jealous of people that either hold her attention or make her laugh. Yes, basically I’ve got a crush on her. During the whole last seven years, not once have I ever had a lesbian encounter or even thought about one, yet this girl did things to me and I can’t really explain it.
I sat down and carried on with my work from yesterday and a couple of minutes later Tessa came up to my desk, smiled at me and said: “Hi Martine, ready for the adjudication at eleven?”
She nodded back and added: “Good, I’m taking you. We will leave here at five to.”
I tried to suppress a smile and replied: “Yes Miss.”
The time soon came and Tessa shut the library. We took the two minute walk through plain institutional corridors to the Governor’s office. Tessa knocked and we walked in. Sitting behind the desk of the well-appointed room was Mrs Reynolds, a slim blonde woman in her mid-fifties who looked good for her age but thought she was still far younger and loved flirting with the male members of staff. She had a reputation of being strict and had implemented a uniform for the inmates, being a smart office type blouse and skirt which had replaced jeans and track suit tops in an effort to turn the women into ‘ladies’; an uphill battle in most cases, I reflected.
To her right was Mr Greenford who had reported me on Monday. He was an ok type of guy and in all honesty hadn’t had much option other than putting me on report. Mrs Reynolds motioned for Tessa and me to take the seats in front of her desk. She then introduced a dark haired girl sitting at another desk to her left, already jotting in a note pad. “This is Miss Pritchard who works for the probation service and is assigned to this adjudication for training purposes. She has also been assigned as your probation officer.”
I looked at Miss Pritchard; smallish in height, dark, shoulder-length hair nearly black in colour and dark eyes. She looked foreign, possible even Asian, despite her British surname, I thought.
“Ok, let’s get the formalities over with. Your full name, prison number, date of birth and age, please,” said Mrs Reynolds, looking at me.
“Martine Laura Gavin, C8017289, fifteenth of December nineteen sixty nine. I’m thirty-five, Miss,” I replied.
Mrs Reynolds continued. “Ok, I want to get this out of the way as quickly as possible, but I understand you want to plead not guilty?”
I nodded and Tessa added on my behalf: “That’s correct.”
Mr Greenford, a tall stocky man aged around thirty with brown hair and blue eyes, started speaking but continued to sit.
“On Monday 8th August 2005 I broke up a fight in the gym between Martine Gavin and Shanice Taylor. There was no bodily injury to either party. I then put them both on report. The fight started after Miss Taylor verbally abused Mrs Gavin over her attire and appearance and then proceeded to try and remove an item of Mrs Gavin’s clothing. There is no doubt in my mind that the instigator of this incident was Miss Taylor.”
Mrs Reynolds thanked Mr Greenford and then asked for my version of events.
I explained: “As a gym orderly, I entered the gym ten minutes early in order to prepare the equipment for circuit training, which I knew was happening from my timetable, but I found that the gym mistress wasn’t there.”
Mrs Reynolds interrupted. “Who was the gym mistress that day, and was there any member of staff in the gym when you arrived?”
I continued. “It was Miss King. Mr Greenford and some young offenders were also there chatting in the corner.”
Mr Greenford squirmed in his chair as Mrs Reynolds told me to carry on.
“I walked to the far corner of the gym where the equipment store is. I took my gym skirt off and started putting the mats out and then started constructing the climbing frame. I finished the climbing frame and then started wheeling the wooden vault benches out. While I was doing this, Shanice Taylor came up to me and started saying things like who the hell did I think I was dressed like that. Just because you’re tall and pretty, Martine, stop showing off.”
Mrs Reynolds sensing my growing embarrassment at recalling this event nodded as encouragement to continue.
“I replied that I wasn’t showing off to anyone. Shanice then said: ‘Why do you always take your gym skirt off then?’”
Mrs Reynolds said: “And what was Shanice wearing, Martine?”
Mr Greenford interjected: “Like Mrs Gavin, Miss Taylor was wearing her Physical Education kit but elected to continue to wear her gym skirt once in the gym as is her right.”
“Carry on Mrs Gavin,” Mrs Reynolds instructed.
I continued. “Shanice then told me I was a total slag for walking around in gym knickers and that I deserved a slap. We were face to face by that time. Just as I thought she was going to hit me, Rachael Bland came in.”
Mr Greenford interjected again. “Rachael Bland was another gym orderly. She came in and I saw her walking over to Martine and Shanice, she then came over to me and asked me what I wanted her to do. I then told her to assist Martine.”
Mrs Reynolds then asked Mr Greenford: “What was Mrs Bland wearing?”
“She was in the correct PE kit as all the ladies were,” replied Mr Greenford, slightly defensively.
“But was she wearing a skirt I mean, Mr Greenford?” Replied Mrs Reynolds, a little impatiently.
“No, Mrs Bland took her gym skirt off as soon as she entered the gym, which she is permitted to do,” said Mr Greenford.
“Ok, so you have some women choosing to take their skirts off for Physical and some leaving them on,” stated Mrs Reynolds.
Mr Greenford smiled slightly and said: “Yes, that’s exactly how it is and it has caused a few problems.”
“In what way”? Enquired Mrs Reynolds.
Mr Greenford cleared his throat and said: “Well, the ladies that take their skirts off are regarded by those that don’t as, erm, how can I put this, well, slappers, so to speak. Those that keep their skirts on are regarded as slightly unfeminine and, by implication, lesbian. In truth there is also some jealously of women that can pull off wearing gym knickers from those whose physically appearance would make that far more difficult. This case boils down to the fact that Miss Taylor was jealous of Mrs Gavin’s attractiveness and used Mrs Gavin’s choice of not wearing a skirt as a reason to attack her.”
I took a quick sideways glance at Tessa who momentarily returned my gaze. I knew she wanted to smile but obviously couldn’t.
I thought about Rachael for a second. She was in her later twenties, married and had just had a baby. Mid height, dark hair and dark eyes, she was well spoken and would be the last person you would have expected to be in prison. She was recovering from a broken leg, so spent most of the time in the gym as an orderly. She had been released from prison earlier this week and I hoped everything was going well for her.
“Ok, continue please, Mrs Gavin,” said Mrs Reynolds.
I quickly came out of my daydream, stopped smiling and replied: “I asked Rachael to carry on putting the mats out while I continued to square up to Shanice. I turned my back to Shanice to return and help Rachael, and she then pulled my gym knickers down. I turned round and pushed her back, pulling her hair at the same time. I was so angry that I pushed her over, lost my balance and I landed on top of her. Mr Greenford came running over and pulled us apart. Several girls came over and held Shanice back from attacking me again. Rachael came over and helped me pull my pants up. Mr Greenford then put us both on report and we were led away.”
“Ok, I’ve heard enough. Is Rachael Bland still around?” Said Mrs Reynolds, directing her question at Miss Pritchard.
Miss Pritchard said: “No, she was released on Tuesday but I’ve got her mobile number here.”
It always surprised me how little Mrs Reynolds appeared to know about the day to day running of her own prison. Mrs Reynolds took the piece of paper, dialled the number and then pressed a button on a black speaker on her desk. The phone rang and after about ten seconds it was picked up with an anxious ‘hello’.
“Mrs Bland, this is Mrs Reynolds from HMP Finchmere. You’re on loudspeaker. I am conducting Martine Gavin’s adjudication.”
Rachael was understandably surprised and Mrs Reynolds asked Rachael for her version of events on Monday. As Rachael then gave her version of events, I could hear the background noise of office phones ringing, people talking, occasional laughter and printers and coffee machines whirring. She had obviously already returned to work and I wondered if anyone was overhearing what, to them, must have been a totally bizarre conversation.
After Rachael had finished her explanation Mrs Reynolds asked: “Mrs Bland, did Shanice Taylor say or do anything to you?”
Rachael instantly replied: “No, Miss, not this time, but she did give me a bit of attitude a couple of times.”
“Any idea why, Rachael”? Asked Mrs Reynolds.
I could tell Rachael was a bit hesitant as she continued: “Well Shanice and a number of the other girls used to want to pick on me and Martine in particular because they thought that we were much more attractive and feminine than them, and they thought we were stuck up because we are married and have more money than them. It was kind of weird but they were basically jealous, especially of Martine’s looks, the fact she was married and got a lot of attention from the other inmates and staff.”
Mrs Reynolds thanked Rachael for her time and turned the loudspeaker off. She looked at me and asked me to stand. I gulped as I stood up and my right leg started to shake a little with nerves.
Mrs Reynolds then said: “Given what I have heard this morning, the instigator of this event was clearly Shanice Taylor who has a long record of poor behaviour and has now been put in segregation. Notwithstanding this, Mrs Gavin, I find you, along with Miss Taylor, guilty of the charge of fighting.”
The anger within me rose quickly. This was so unfair. I looked at her and almost shouted: “But Miss, she started it. It wasn’t my fault. It’s just not fair.” I was close to tears of anger.
Tessa stood up and put her arm around me.
Mrs Reynolds said: “I understand how you feel, Mrs Gavin, but please compose yourself. Your behaviour in prison has been very good, so please don’t spoil it now.”
Tessa sat back down and Mrs Reynolds continued.
“Fighting is a serious charge, Mrs Gavin. However, I can use a certain amount of discretion and the minimum punishment I can impose is ten spanks, or if you do not accept that, an additional six months on your sentence.”
I immediately pictured Mrs Reynolds whacking me hard with a cane, the humiliation and the pain almost unbearable, but another six months would be awful.
“I will take the spanks, please Miss,” I said as the tears started welling up.
I felt angry, humiliated and scared, and ashamed. ‘How could this be happening to me,’ I thought. ‘I’m a grown woman, not a naughty schoolgirl.’ Thank god none of my friends or family would ever know about this.
Tessa stood up and held my hand and arm. Mr Greenford also stood up and held my other arm. Mrs Reynolds and Miss Pritchard got up and walked out of the room. As we followed them along the long corridor I noticed as soon as anyone saw Mrs Reynolds they stared at her quickly, adjusting their posture to look busier as they then looked at me. It was obvious I was in trouble as I was being frogmarched down the corridor.
“Where are we going, Sir” I asked Mr Greenford.
“Just face your front and keep walking, Martine. You’ll find out soon enough,” came the somewhat terse reply.
Miss Saunders and Mr Greenford both continued to hold my arm tightly. I wondered why they needed to, seeing as I was no more likely to try and escape as any other of the unrestricted prisoners around me. We came to the end of the corridor and walked outside. There, we passed the games courts on our right. I could see a couple of women around my age playing tennis. The instructor was wearing a gym skirt, the prisoners wearing sports briefs. It was clear for all to see who was wearing the metaphorical trousers. A young girl then overtook us from behind on her run towards the tennis courts, also in her PE kit. She wasn’t wearing a skirt and her white prison knickers could be seen peeking out of her black gym knickers. ‘Yes, they really were skimpy,’ I thought. Maybe Shanice did have a point.
As we continued in the direction of the portacabins I could see Mrs Reynolds in front of me on her mobile. We had to be going to one of the portacabins, I thought, as only the prison wall and then freedom was beyond these sets of temporary huts. The education wing was now built but the portacabins had stayed as the discipline offices and some admin offices were now being refurbished and the cabins had been given a new roll. Tessa and Mr Greenford still held me tightly as we climbed the small wooden steps up to the door of the portacabin, the door sign marked in black writing: ‘Temporary Discipline Office 1.’ I glanced over to the next cabin and was slightly unnerved to see a blond curly haired woman starring back out at me. She looked shocked, probably an admin worker who had no contact with inmates, I thought.
The ‘Discipline office’ was completely bare apart from half a dozen stacked plastic chairs which Tessa then asked me to pull out. Mr Greenford closed the venetian blinds on each of the four big windows. There was a knock at the door and two orderlies wheeled in an ambulance style trolley bed with a pillow at one end. Mr Greenford wheeled it into the centre of the room and applied the brake. One of the orderlies gave him a sign which read: ‘Strictly no entry Disciplinary Taking Place’. Mr Greenford dismissed the orderlies and stepped outside, putting the sign up on the door. The curly haired women was probably even more shocked by now, I thought. Mrs Reynolds and Miss Pritchard were sitting in front of me and Mr Greenford to my right, I could hear Miss Saunders fiddling in her handbag behind me.
By now I was confused and worried. I was expecting just to have to stand up and be caned by Mrs Reynolds, but I wasn’t sure that was what was going to happen.
“Don’t look so worried, Martine. Mrs Bland went through exactly the same thing,” reassured Mrs Reynolds.
I looked at Miss Pritchard. She had said almost nothing so far and had been writing almost constantly. She returned my gaze but neither frowned nor smiled.
“Take your skirt off, Gavin,” came the ominous command from behind me.
I turned my head over my shoulder.
‘God, Tessa, please don’t do this to me,’ I almost cried in anguish.
She ignored my anguished look and just nodded. I turned back to face my front and undid the button on my skirt, pulled the zip down and stepped out of it. Miss Pritchard stood up and held out her hand. I gave my skirt to her. I was praying now that Mrs Reynolds would get up with the cane and just get it done.
Tessa then just said: “Knickers.”
I again turned my head around to face Tessa. This had to be a joke, I thought.
She returned my glare and said: “Take your knickers off NOW, Mrs Gavin!”
My hands reached for my functional but skimpy white cotton prison knickers and I pulled them down in one go. Again Miss Prichard had her hand out. As I gave them to her, it was without doubt the most embarrassing moment of my life. At that moment I wanted to die.
I closed my eyes until Tessa said: “Jacket, shoes and watch.”
I took them off and again gave them to the waiting Miss Pritchard. I stood there standing in my white blouse bra and dark hold ups.
“OK, Martine, up onto the bed on your tummy,” said Mr Greenford.
If I was going to be punished, of the three of them I would have chosen him as I felt sure he would be the most lenient, and he was a man. Naturally I didn’t like being told what to do by anyone, but it was somehow easier to have a man in authority over me, especially when compared to the young female trainee prison officers we sometimes had. The only exception to that was Tessa, of course, although I wasn’t thinking that at the moment.
I climbed up on the bed and slowly shifted forward until my head rested on the pillow.
Tessa was now standing at the side of the bed and said: “Martine I want to be closer to your bum. Just wriggle up to the side a little bit, please.”
I did, but thought it wouldn’t make any difference at all.
Tessa then pulled my blouse up so my buttocks were fully exposed. The air conditioning was on and the chill was immediately felt on my bum, sending a slightly erotic signal to my brain that the essential protection of my modesty offered by my skirt and knickers had gone.
Mrs Reynolds stood up and announced: “Ok, Miss Saunders and Mrs Gavin, let’s get this done.” I noticed a small bluebottle had landed on the wall next to Miss Pritchard and wondered who would have wanted to be a fly on the wall in this room now.
Tessa asked: “Ready, Martine?” snapping me out of my thoughts.
I turned again, looked at Tessa and noticed she had a small black leather spanking paddle, gulped and replied quickly: “Yes, Miss.”
This was followed by a swift rebuke of: “Face your front, Martine,” from the young Miss Pritchard. I quickly turned my head around, rested my head on the pillow and waited.
I could hear Tessa softly breathing out and in a split second it came.
I drew a breath and suppressed an ouch and adjusted myself slightly. It was hard, but the pain wasn’t unbearable. It was just unusual, or unique even, as this was the first time I had ever been spanked, even as a child. That first spank just reinforced how vulnerable I was, and I tensed my bum in anticipation of the next smack.
“One,” said Mr Greenford as he announced himself as the counter.
The second one was harder and again towards the bottom of my buttocks, on both cheeks. I breathed out slightly and closed my eyes for a few seconds. I looked at Miss Pritchard who returned my stare before continuing writing in her notepad.
The third was yet again harder still, and I let out an involuntary: “Oowww,” before regaining my composure.
I tensed each buttock individually and placed my head into the pillow. I wondered what Tessa was making of the fleshly orbs dancing below her. The next SMACK came after a few seconds and was on my left buttock only; it was slightly lighter than the third and I was grateful for this respite.
I let out an “Ahhh” as an almost grateful response. I say ‘grateful’ as even during this stressful experience I was starting to feel some enjoyment from getting spanked. I had given up complete control of my body to someone else. That in itself was a joy but the fact that it was Tessa was starting to become mind blowing.
The fifth landed on my right buttock and was even a little softer than the last one. My head was starting to enter another place and I wanted her to spank harder again. I really was starting to enjoy this and again I breathed out again with an exaggerated: “Arrg.”
I got what I wanted. This was the hardest of the lot and right in the middle of my bum across my cheeks. I tensed my cheeks against the delightful stinging pain.
I thought about Shanice Taylor calling me slag and saying I deserved a slap. Well I was getting one now and loving it. I actually wanted Tessa to start saying: ‘You’re such a slapper, Mrs Gavin, aren’t you? You’re loving this spanking, you bitch.’ I was almost starting to forget that this was a professional environment, albeit in a prison.
Again, it was hard across the middle of my buttocks as I tensed each cheek. I remembered how brave and unaffected I wanted to present myself to Tessa, but as I started to enjoy the spanking I forgot about this and could only think that she must know I’m loving this, the thought turning me on with humiliation of it.
I felt a lighter tap on my right buttock.
Before I had a chance to think about it, another SMACK landed on my left buttock.
Tessa, who had remained totally silent during the spanking, then said: “Ok, last one, Martine.”
I picked my head off the pillow so I could execute a deliberately husky and submissive: “Yes, Miss,” to Tessa, and I made it obvious that it was just for her.
There was a slight delay for some reason as Tessa took a step back. Then I heard a swoosh, then W-H-A-C-K, the paddle connected hard with my primed derriere.
I let out a: “Arrgghhhh! God,” clenched my fists and punched the bed while gently pushing my pelvis into the bed to relieve the pain. I had reached my limit and could not have subjected myself to another one.
“Please Miss, no more,” I said as a symbol of my defeat and surrender to Tessa’s authority.
Mr Greenford then asked me: “Are you ok, Martine?”
“I’m fine, thanks Sir,” I answered honestly.
“You can cry if you want to,” he said.
I looked at him. “No Sir, I just want to go to sleep,” hoping I would be let off working in the library this afternoon. My bottom was sore but I felt great, light headed, almost euphoric.
Mrs Reynolds picked up her mobile.“Sickbay”? This is Mrs Reynolds speaking. Please prepare for one patient.”
I imagined the nurses jumping to attention, and after a delay Mrs Reynolds spoke into the phone again.
“Yes, it’s Martine Gavin. After-spanking care required.”
I held my head in dread. I had always managed to avoid going to the sickbay in this prison for two reasons. Firstly, the beds were actually ‘cots’ and described as such with metal bars on all four sides. Secondly, the rather bizarre rule was that you weren’t allowed to wear any clothes in the cot. I hadn’t slept in a cot since I was a toddler and having to do so naked was even more humiliating. The contented happy-like state I was in disappeared.
“I’ll take her hold up’s off,” announced Tessa as I felt her fingers grip on the top of my right leg before a swift pull removed my right hold up in a matter of seconds, before the left leg was done seconds later.
Tessa then asked me to sit up on the bed and I knew what was going to happen.
She then said: “Blouse.”
I undid the buttons and wriggled out of it before giving it to Miss Pritchard. I looked straight at Tessa and wondered if she wanted to do this to me.
She looked straight back at me and said: “Bra.”
I reached behind my back and took it off, offering it to Mrs Pritchard. Mr Greenford told me to lie down and then covered me with a bed sheet. A young nurse and two medical orderlies arrived. One by one, Miss Pritchard, Mrs Reynolds, Mr Greenford and finally Tessa departed without further word to me.
The nurse greeted me with a smile and the orderlies pushed me along on the trolley. I was wheeled out of the portacabin and back towards the main building. I didn’t want to look at anyone now, so I closed my eyes and thought of Tessa and how perhaps I had let my feelings get slightly out of hand, so to speak. I liked her and I think she liked me. However, it was an artificial situation. I have never even called her by her first name; it was always Miss and Miss only. I wasn’t a lesbian and neither was Tessa, as far as I knew. In fact, she had only recently got engaged and I had long been married. How could I face her ever again in the same light after she had stood over my bum for five minutes and spanked it? I made a decision not to think about Tessa any more. I was due to be released in less than a year and would begin a new life.
We arrived in the sickbay and I was wheeled to the room at the end of the corridor. It contained an adult cot, a bedside table and four plastic chairs next to the side of the bed. The side of the cot was lowered down and I slid across from the trolley bed onto the cot with the help of the two orderlies. The young nurse then pulled a sheet over my back and told me someone would be with me soon.
Soon was an hour, but I didn’t notice. My mind was in overdrive, the bitter sweet experiences swirling around my brain. I heard Tessa’s voice and thought I was dreaming. I must put get this woman out of my mind, I thought.
“Martine, are you ok?”
I looked up, it was Tessa. I almost laughed, but smiled at her.
“Yes, thank you, Miss.”
“Good,” said Tessa holding a small round container before pulling the sheet away. “I’m just going to rub some cream into your bottom, Martine.”
“Yes, Miss,” I replied, trying to disguise my glee. The cool milky substance contacted my red cheeks and Tessa started to very gently work it into my right buttock as I rested my head on my hands. Without a word she moved slowly to the left very gently pushing, squeezing and pressing my tender bottom. I couldn’t believe John and I hadn’t done this before I went to prison. It was divine.
Tessa touched my bare shoulder and said: “That’s it, Martine. Just stay on your front now and try and get some sleep. You’ve been a brave girl today. You know that, don’t you?”
“Thanks, Miss,” I said, genuinely touched by her compassion. She pulled the sheet back over me and said goodbye. I drifted into a light fitful sleep.
Someone tapped my shoulder and I semi-consciously heard: “Martine, Martine, wake up, wake up.”
I came around to find it was the young nurse from yesterday, or was it this morning? I got my bearings and realised I had been dreaming about the events of yesterday. Yes, that was yesterday and this was the following morning.
“What’s the time?” I asked.
The nurse replied: “It’s nearly half eleven and you have some visitors, Mrs Gavin.”
Then I remembered my best friend, Gemma, my sister, Fiona, and niece and nephew were due to visit. I sat up and pulled the sheets up to my armpits and brought my arms down, trapping the sheets. That was as respectable as I could get. They came in smiling and sat down on the seats to my right. They had all visited me in prison before, but of course never before in the sickbay.
“I’ll take the side of your cot away for you, Mrs Gavin,” said the nurse as she pulled a lever down and the side folded down under the bed.
As I thanked the nurse, I caught my friend and sister exchanging glances at the mention of the word ‘cot’. It was embarrassing and I had to compose myself slightly. After a couple of minutes of routine chat, Gemma asked me why I was in the sickbay.
Before I could come out with some excuse of recovering from flu, my niece Hannah said: “She was spanked.”
My sister was just about to tell her off for being ridiculous when my nephew, Oliver, picked up a tin from the bedside table, looked at it and said: “After-spanking cream.”
My face went bright red. “Oh, um, oh that was from the last patient here who injured her arm,” I stuttered.
“Yeah, right,” laughed Hannah before being told to be quiet by her mum.
After another ten minutes of chat, Gemma asked me: “You’ve got something on under those sheets, haven’t you Martine?”
I was tempted to lie but said: “No I haven’t, and Hannah’s right, I was spanked.”
They were of course shocked that this had happened to me, but it felt better to have told the truth.
Oliver exclaimed: “Jesus, what is this place?”
That was just about how I felt as well. I could see the nurse milling around in the corridor. She had given us far longer than our allowed forty-five minutes, which I was grateful for.
She then popped her head around the door and said: “Five minutes, Martine.”
I immediately stopped the conversation I was having with my sister, straightened myself up and looking straight at her replied: “Yes, Miss,” obediently as she turned away.
Gemma said: “I really can’t believe you just said that,” before she and Hannah burst out laughing, Hannah asking: “Is this some kind of dungeon?”
I rolled my eyes and smiled. It had been embarrassing today but better than trying to hide the truth, I decided. The five minutes were soon up and the visit ended. In under a year I would be able to spend as much time as I wanted with them or anyone else for that matter.
As soon as they left, the young nurse came in. “I’m just going to take a look at your bum, Mrs Gavin. Turn over please.”
I turned over and she then pulled the sheet away.
She continued: “Still a little sore; I’m going to apply some more cream, Ok?”
I felt this was unnecessary and didn’t really want anyone other than Tessa to put their hands on my bottom, but I didn’t have much choice, so said: “That’s fine.”
The cooling cream felt wonderful again and this young girl was good at applying it, so much so I didn’t care that it wasn’t Tessa. In fact I reminded myself I was trying to stop thinking about her. It was such a nice bum massage that I gave out a purr of satisfaction.
The girl laughed and said: “Ok then?”
“It’s really nice thanks,” I said sincerely as I buried my head in the pillow and closed my eyes, her hands working in circular motion on both cheeks. After ten or so minuets she finished and I nearly asked her if she could do it for longer but thought otherwise.
“Ok, Martine, for the rest of the day just rest on your front, ok?”
“Yes, Miss,” I replied, thankful I would get the chance to continue reading my novel. I turned my head on the pillow to face her and said: “How old are you?”
I don’t think I had ever asked a question like that so directly at a member of staff. She didn’t seem to mind and said: “I’m eighteen.”
“I’m old enough to be your mother,” I said jokingly.
“How old are you then?” She enquired.
“I’m thirty-five, Miss,” I said feeling rather childlike.
“Well, my mum had me at seventeen. She’s the same age as you. Any other questions for me, Martine?”
“Do you know if Mrs Bland was spanked?” I knew I shouldn’t have really asked, but she did provide the opportunity.
“Yes, she was. Who told you?” replied the teenager.
“Mrs Reynolds mentioned it,” I declared as she continued the conversation.
“And why were you spanked, Mrs Gavin?”
“I was put on report for fighting, Miss.”
“You’re a naughty girl then, aren’t you Mrs Gavin?” She said.
I simply replied: “Yes I am, Miss.”
She laughed as she walked out.
After hours and hours of reading my book, I was allowed to sit up on my bottom during my late lunch and, later on, evening sandwiches and tea, I was back again on my front thinking about my life and what it had turned into. The nurse came in and announced my ‘bedtime’, which basically meant the cot side was drawn up and lights out.
It was still early evening on this late summer day and as I lay there I thought about what I was doing now and what most thirty-five year old women would be doing tonight. Looking after kids, going out to restaurants and pubs with husbands and boyfriends, attending social gatherings and perhaps preparing to travel overseas or just chilling out at home with a nice bottle of chilled white.
Then I reflected on my past two days. I had been spanked, then put in a cot, called an eighteen year old ‘Miss’ in front of my friends and relatives. It was degrading. I then thought about the spanking and thought that the four people present would almost definitely have, by now, mentioned it to their partners when they got home, probably mentioning me by name. And what was Miss Pritchard writing about? No doubt details of the spanking, I guessed. Who would see it? I shuddered to think. Perhaps she would even change a few details and put it up on the web as a piece of fiction. Provided she changed the names I would quite like that, I thought. ‘God, why had life come to this, Martine,’ I asked myself, but of course I knew the answer.
Still laying on my tummy, I fully stretched my 5’10” frame in an attempt to exorcise the frustration from my body. I put my right hand on my left hand and checked my wedding ring was still there, and moved it slowly up and down my ring finger, reassuring me that I wasn’t dreaming and, despite what had happened to me here, I was still married and ultimately under the protection of my husband.
I put my left hand on one of the vertical cot bars in front of me and squeezed. Then my right hand reached forward and squeezed another bar. The frustration of the humiliating events of the past two days was almost bursting to get out. I then thumped the pillow with both and hands in sheer frustration of my situation. Why did it go so wrong for me? Why me? What did I do to deserve this? I thumped even harder before swearing at the top of my voice, all the tension of the past seven years was coming out.
The young nurse came running in and said: “What on earth is going on, Mrs Gavin?”
“I can’t explain it,” I said as I started sobbing, made worse by the fact I felt I had just let myself down.
The nurse put the side of the cot down, sat on the edge of the bed and said: “Come here, Martine,” and gave me a big hug as I sobbed uncontrollably in her arms. She gently rocked me and said: “You’ve done nothing wrong today, Martine. There’s no need to feel ashamed or regret anything. You need to let this out. We are all on your side here, Martine. Don’t forget that.”
I nodded into her chest and she continued.
“Mrs Reynolds, Mr Greenford, me and all the other staff think the world of you, and Miss Saunders loves you, you do know that don’t you?”
I calmed down and thanked her for that sweet gesture. She could have left me there until I shouted myself to sleep. I composed myself and promised to try and sleep. My head hit the pillow and I allowed myself one final thought. Does Miss Saunders really love me? Smiling I fell asleep.
to be continued.
© Katie Hammond 2016