Disclaimers: This story is my own original work and may not be reproduced, either electronically or in print except for personal use. All disclaimers, title, author, and copyright must remain on the copy
Content Warnings: The story touches on subjects of an adult nature, including sexual abuse, sexual scenes, violence, and strong language. If you would be offended by this, or a minor, please stop here and find something else to read.
Creative License Warning: The story is Quasi Sci-fi, women-in-prison B movie silliness, just to warn you. The story is based on this wild dream I had last night. The story shouldn’t be too long (Giving Muse a stern glare) **sigh* Why does the Muse insist on writing two stories at the same time? Bad Muse, bad!
“Debbie! Get your fucking ass in here! Do you hear me?”
Debra could hear him alright. She remained hidden under the filthy canvas covering the old air buggy, not daring to even breath hard. Her old man tossed his empty beer bottle against side of the garage as he stumbled around in the dark, trying to find her.
He was drunk again. He had begun drinking during the game, but as he downed one beer after another, his attention went to his old game. The one she hated. He would touch her, playing with her hair, running his beefy hand along her back, and as his stupor worsened, he would rub against her. Her stomach clenched at the idea of his touching her again but she had no one to turn to. She had no friends and no relatives other than him.
She could go back in that house, she just couldn’t. She couldn’t go to the Patrol, they’d just bring her back home. Again. ‘White colonial trash’ she heard them mutter last time. Then he beat her within an inch of her life. Then he took her anyway.
No one could help her.
So she’d help herself. She waited until he stumbled into the crumbling prefab dome house and slipped out towards town. There was only one way to get away from him. Death or jail. She’d take jail any day.
It was so simple. She broke into the home of a wealthy Colonialist and beat him up with a cricket bat that she had found in his shed. Then she robbed him. She left him in good enough shape to summon the Patrol and walked down the street, still carrying the weapon she used. They stunned her and tossed her into a cell. She was safe from him.
Duster watched the final shot of the Psi-ball game and held out her hand, demanding the credits she had won on the bet. The disks were quickly placed in her palm. No one welched on the Duster unless they had a death wish. She grinned around her burning cigarette and pocketed the credits.
“Nice doin’ business with ya Squirrel.” She turned away and headed back towards the Rec Center. Someone whistled appreciatively. Turning around, she spotted a crowd gathering eagerly at the perimeter fence. Must be a pretty piece of fresh meat. Curious, Duster headed for the fence, shoving aside anyone tall enough to block her view.
It was close to the time for the guard shift change and someone new was with the group.
“Wooeee, look at those titties! And that ass. Come to mama!” one of the women shouted at the guard. The rest hooted and whistled. The woman ignored them of course, but her stride became stiffer.
Duster had to admit she was fine. Petite, with curves to spare on an athletic frame, a cap of dark hair, and a baby face. She’ll never last, Duster thought, mentally giving her a week. She was just too tiny to intimidate a bunch of hardened criminals. They’d eat her alive within days. Duster chuckled, thinking they’d like to do more than eat her alive.
The guards left their view so the leader of the white gang strolled away.
She didn’t lay eyes on the guard again until the next day, during their yard time. She was walking next to one of the oldster guards, Marlene, whose fat gut was barely contained by her too tight uniform. The old bitch was pointing out the worst of the lot. Of course, Duster was number one. Marlene loved to humiliate people but Duster didn’t care. She stood there, bored, as the bitch gave her brief prison history to the newcomer.
“This here is Duster, leader of the largest white gang. Got sent here for beating up one of the Counsel members, the stupid shit. She thinks she’s one big bad ass, don’cha Duster? Think you can whip anyone.”
The newcomer spoke for the first time. “She doesn’t look like she lacks brains Marlene. And every bully knows there is someone out there bigger and tougher than they are.”
“Aww, sweet thing,” Duster drawled. “In here, I AM the biggest and the toughest, even if I’m not the tallest.” She grinned, giving the pretty young woman a smile. The woman gave her a smile in return, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She took a step closer to the gang leader, looking over her sturdy compact frame. Duster stood to her full height of 5 foot 9 and looked down at the sweet piece of fluff. Then hit the ground with a thud, never seeing the blow that struck her.
Before she could recover, a boot was pushing down on her chest.
“There is always someone bigger and tougher, and…my name is Sandra, not ‘sweet thing’.” the new guard said with a saucy grin. She stepped away and the two guards walked away.
“Damn it Duster, are you gonna let her get away with that? She put you down!” Squeaker hissed.
“Uh huh,” the stunned gang leader muttered, then her face beamed with a lopsided grin.
“What is that silly assed grin for you idiot?”
“I think I’m in love,” she said with a happy chuckle.
“Ah man!” Squeaker bemoaned.
She shoved chunks of ice into the threadbare washcloth and gingerly laid it against her cheek. It had been her third fight in as many days. The vultures of the prison had smelled blood and out to be first in line when she fell. Word of her remark had gotten out of course—nothing stayed secret for long, but at first they had thought it a joke.
Then they noticed Duster was always polite with the new prison guard, never giving her any lip. Then there was the fact that none of her gang was allowed to either.
People began challenging her, thinking she had gone soft. Maybe she had. Duster crawled onto her bunk with a groan. Maybe she was going crazy. Why was she taking this shit when the woman didn’t even give her the time of day? But then her face appeared in her mind. Duster sighed. Even a glimpse of the woman got her heart beating so fast that she was sure she’d pass out.
She lost all interest in her fuck friends. She daydreamed of sweet kisses and snuggling. God, she had it bad. Sighing, she wondered why she was so obsessed with her. It wasn’t like they could even see one another privately. Sandra barely noticed she was alive. Now depressed, the gang leader tossed the soggy washcloth into the steal sink and turned out the light.
“You have a parole hearing in two days. Better pray that shiner disappears by then,” Johnson said with a grin. They both knew she’d be turned down anyway. Duster ignored the dig and continued on to the mess hall.
Two days later, she was met by Sandra and Preston. The oldster was instructing Sandra of the procedures on escorting a prisoner to a parole hearing. Duster already knew the drill. She stood still as they chained her in manacles then led her into a dura-glass stall. Beams scanned her for any hidden objects. Duster thought it was a shame they no longer did strip searches. She would have enjoyed it if Sandra had been the one doing it.
Once the scan was done, the door slid open. The next room began flashing red, activated by her eternal tracking device. The bypass code was punched in by the guard and the next door opened. Her thumbprint was taken as well as a retinal scan. Preston signed for her and led her to the compound to a waiting car. The prison didn’t have the budget for one of the more modern air buggies.
“Let’s get this over with,” Preston said with a bored tone. Duster was put in the back seat and buckled in. The door shut and the two guards got into the front. They checked out through the gate and they left the prison walls.
Duster sighed. This was the only time she saw the outside and it was dismal. The prison was located within a desert region and nothing could be seen but sand and red rock. Turning away from the scene outside the car, she stared at Sandra as she drove. Her face was passive, intent on the road. It was a nice face. Full lips, decent cheekbones, and tanned. Duster decided she must be of Mexican or Indian decent.
Caught up in her view, it took a moment to realize the car was out of control. Duster heard a and felt a large thud, then the impact of the car hitting something solid. She was wrenched hard against her restraining belt as the car crashed to a loud stop.
Stunned, the gang leader blinked and looked around. The swirling dust made it hard to see for a few seconds. Once it settled a bit, she was shocked to see the front of the car was almost gone completely. Sandra was either out cold or dead—and Preston was missing, the place he had sat was a gaping hole. The gang leader saw that the mesh between the seats was torn loose on the passenger side. It took a while to reach the belt release but she managed to flip the switch. She was still cuffed and manacled but she could maneuver. She yanked on the mesh, making the hole wider.
She forced her body through the opening, feeling the wire scrape her skin. Half way through, she thought she would get stuck. Bracing her feet against the seat, she shoved herself through, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. She could only lie there until she could breath again, the breath knocked out of her. She eased herself to her knees and pushed herself to her feet.
Looking around, the prisoner spotted the legs of Preston behind the car. Taking mincing steps, she shuffled over to him, then wished she hadn’t. He was dead, torn to shreds by the sharp rocks they had hit. She looked away and took a few steps away from him when she realized he had a key to the chains. Turning back around, she searched his bloody clothing until the small key was found.
A few minutes later, she dropped the chains onto the ground and headed around the car to check on Sandra. It took a moment to force the door open. She quickly checked for a pulse and muttered a thank you to God when she found a strong pulse. A quick look over convinced her that Sandra was suffering from at least a broken leg. She needed medical help. Duster reached over the unconscious woman for the radio, but it was out of commission.
Great. Well, at least she had a tracking device on her. After they were reported late, someone would come looking for them, using her beacon to find them.
It never occurred to her to use a sharp rock or knife to remove it from just under the skin and make her escape. Sandra needed her.
The inside of the car was getting hot. It wouldn’t take long for the interior to get over 110 degrees. Duster was worried she’d cause more harm than good taking Sandra from the car, but thought she ought to. Reaching around, she took the keys from the ignition. Maybe there was food and water in the trunk. Most vehicles had survival kits on Sigma Beta.
She popped open the hood and found it, along with a stun rifle that she ignored. The kit contained two lightweight blankets. She looked around and spotted an area with a bit of shade. Duster spread one onto the ground and looked around, spotting some deadwood branches. She made a make shift umbrella by jamming two pieces into the clayish rock formation and tied the corners of the blanket to it. She placed the water and food containers in the shade and returned to the car.
She carefully lifted the unconscious guard from the car and took her to the shady area and put her down. Opening the first aid kit, she applied antiseptic to the bleeding cuts and bandaged them. Now for the leg. It seemed to be a clean break, but Duster knew enough that she couldn’t set it. She’d have to settle for bracing it. Looking around, she found some branches that could be used as splints. Glad the guard was out cold, she placed the sticks on each side and used gauze to tie it all together. Wiping sweat from her face, Duster knew Sandra had to be hotter in that heavy black uniform. She unbuttoned the shirt and spread the material, exposing her white undershirt. It was all she could do other than wait.
She opened the water container and took a swallow. Now that she stopped, the shock began hitting her. Exhausted, she laid down next to Sandra and drifted asleep.
Cold metal touching her temple woke her. Waking instantly, she opened her eyes and looked into the face of a wary Sandra.
“Um, Sandra? What are you doing?”
Sandra seemed confused too. Duster tried to reassure her.
“Sandra. Listen to me. The car crashed. Remember? I helped you out of the car and gave you first aid. I didn’t take your gun! I could have, you know it. But I didn’t!”
Her words seemed to make it through the cloud of confusion. The gun was put back into its holster.
“Why didn’t you take off? It was the perfect opportunity.”
“And go where? I don’t have anything waiting for me outside of the prison.”
“What about family? Friends?”
“Nope, no one. I’ve been in the prison since I was 15 and have a 20 year sentence.”
“Wait, since you were 15? Marlene said you beat up a Counsel member. I thought maybe you were in for a political reason, but at that age…”
“I didn’t have a bone to pick with him at all, He was just owned the first house in a decent neighborhood I came across.”
“But…what were you doing? Committing burglary?”
“Nope, trying to go to jail.”
“What?” Sandra rubbed her forehead, trying to figure it out.
“I was trying to escape from my father. I couldn’t think of any other way. One day, I decided I had enough and thought prison would be safer.” Duster laughed at the irony.
Sandra saw the prisoner’s face freeze and look away. It didn’t take much to imagine why such a young attractive girl would want to escape her father so badly that she’d commit a crime.
“You didn’t want to be a victim anymore,” she stated flatly, not mentioning her theory. Sandra felt her defenses melt away. For the first time, she saw Duster as a vulnerable human being instead of an animal.
“No, I didn’t,” she said in such a tone that it broke the guard’s heart.
Duster picked up the water bottle and offered her a drink, wanting to change the subject. Sandra pushed herself to a sitting position, feeling the pain increase in her leg. She noticed it was splinted.
“Great. I don’t have insurance yet. Oh well, this should be covered by the job.”
“Never had a job, so I haven’t a clue.”
“Were you injured? I see blood on your shirt.” Sandra asked, concerned.
“I got a few scratches crawling out, but nothing serious.”
“Sort of like that shiner you’ve been sporting?” the guard teased, brushing the back of her fingers along Duster’s cheek.
The prisoner stiffened. “Don’t.”
Sandra withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
The prisoner shrugged and looked away but not before Sandra saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I didn’t know you disliked being touched, I really am sorry,” she said softly. The silence became thick between them, then Duster spoke without thinking about it.
“I don’t dislike it, I just don’t want to crave your touch.”
“I don’t understand Duster.”
“I can’t have you, so I don’t want to know your touch. It would be just another thing to torment me at night.”
Sandra stared at the now blushing woman. Oh God, was Duster confessing what she thought she was? She didn’t know she felt about it, everything was happening too fast, but she had to know. Sandra placed her hand on Duster’s cheek and urged her to look at her. The strong woman looked at her with such depth of feelings then looked away, the tears escaping, embarrassed that she had said anything.
Unable to ignore her own growing feelings, Sandra leaned against the prisoner and wrapped her arms around her. It was too much and Duster wept from all her inner pain, unable to keep it locked away. Sandra stayed where she was, holding the powerful woman as she let it all out. Eventually, the sobs turned to hiccupping breaths. Sandra murmured soothing words and wiped away the tears.
The guard gave her a warm squeeze then sighed. “We need to talk, but I hear someone coming.”