A Lesson in Imprisonment Ch. 01

This is weird, Sara Jennings thought, as she walked down the hall of George Washington Senior High School. Her principal sent the building sub to her room, and asked her to come down to the office immediately, and bring her purse and jacket. And the closer Sara got to the office, the more nervous she became. Did something happen to Jon? Please God, she thought, don't let anything have happened to him on the Friday of our anniversary weekend. She couldn't get this frightening image out of her head – the poetic injustice of a car wreck, or God-knows-what on the night they were celebrating their fifth anniversary.

She nearly passed out when she walked into Gail Johnson's office and saw Officer Sandy Mills, the school's resident cop, standing next to Gail.

"Hey Gail, w...what's going on?" she nervously asked. "Is everything OK?"

"Officer Mills has a few questions for you," the principal said, not answering her question.

Sara's heart was beating out of her chest.

"Did something happen to Jon?" she stammered.

"No, um, not that I know of," Officer Mills said, looking quizzically at the principal, who shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh, thank God!" Sara said, collapsing down into a chair. "The whole way down here, I was worried this was something serious!"

"It is serious," Mills said. "Darius Smith was in your class until recently?"

"Yeah, he was," Sara said. "Sweet kid – it's such a shame he's been in such trouble. I loved that kid. I know you had to kick him out once he hit 18 with no credits, but..."

Mills looked at Gail Johnson, who frowned as she met the officer's eyes.

"Yesterday morning, Darius made some pretty serious accusations, Sara. We were questioning him about his whereabouts at the time of a B&E last Thursday afternoon, and he claimed he was, um, with you," Mills said.

"He might very well have been," Sara said. "I had been helping him out with some troubles in his personal life, talking after school, and stuff."

"I don't think you heard me right, Sara. He said he was WITH you. Sexually, with you," Mills said.

Sara laughed. "You don't seriously believe that... do you?"

"Sara, we have Darius' phone. We have a number of calls between your phone and his, calls made throughout the day and night. We have another student confirming that you were alone in your car with him that night, and we have dozens of students who say that your treatment of him was, at the very least, special. Do you see what I'm getting at here, Sara?" the officer inquired.

"I think I do," Sara replied, beginning to get a little scared. "But I don't know why he would say that!"

"Neither do I," Mills said. "But the evidence was enough for the county prosecutor. Sara Jennings, you are under arrest for violation the State Student Protection Act."

"Under arrest? Sandy, what... I mean, how..." Sara's voice trailed off, as Mills read her Miranda rights to her.

"... do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?" she heard, and Sara answered, "Yes, but..."

Mills walked toward her.

"Sara, please turn and and place both of your hands against the wall."

Sara did as she was told, and the panic began to creep in. This was real. This was happening. But it couldn't be. Could it?

Mills grabbed her right arm, pulled it behind her back, and snapped a handcuff on. She took her left arm, wrenched it back, and cuffed her. Sara reflexively tugged at the cuffs, and started to cry. Her crying became more desperate, and her breath more ragged as Mills led her toward Gail's door. Sara begged Gail to call Jon, and the principal just spat out "You disgust me."

The school bell rang for a change of classes as Sandy guided Sara out of the office, and into the main hallway. Sara could hear the gasps from the students, and could feel their stares burning into her. She lowered her head to avoid eye contact, and noticed to her shame that, with her arms bound behind her back, her little boobs were quite prominent. Mills guided her out to the squad car, and helped her with a sort of controlled fall into the backseat - balance was tricky with no hands, and the four-inch "fuck me" heels she'd worn in anticipation oh her date with Jon tonight.

Mills closed the door, and drove out of the parking lot toward downtown. Sara was mentally numb - she couldn't even process what was going on. How could a student she tried so hard to help lie so convincingly? Had she been a fool to help these kids?

The cruiser slowed down around the Police Headquarters, driving down a ramp to the building's sublevel, with Mills checking them through a drop-gate, and over to a parking spot next to a dimly lit sign that said "CITY LOCK UP." Mills parked the car, and came around to Sara's side to open the door. The smell of exhaust and cigarette smoke was overpowering. She stuck her hand under Sara's arm and pulled her up. "C'mon," she said.

They walked in through the City Lock Up door. It was harshly lit with fluorescent overhead lights; an old pay phone with bail bondsmen's phone numbers plastered around it was the defining feature. Except for that door... that giant steel door next to a thick, bulletproof window behind which some guard sat idly. Mills pushed a doorbell, and soon there was a loud, electric "BZZZZZZZT!" as Mills pulled open the squeaky door. She led Sara through into a small room. Sara nearly jumped as the big metal door slammed behind them. In front of her lay a horror show.

As Sandy Mills put her sidearm in a small locker, Sara drank in the sights and deafening sounds of the sally port. In front of her was a massive, cage-barred door – a stereotypical jail fixture. Behind it were two long corridors, apparently each lined with cells. Her gun stowed away, Sandy called through the bars "OK, let us through," and the guard pushed a button, and the barred door mechanically groaned as it slid open.

Sandy walked Sara through to a long counter, and turned a bunch of paperwork over to the processing clerk. The clerk sleepily fingered through the papers, signed a few, stamped a few, and pulled out a couple of forms.

"Name?, first, middle, and last," she barked

"Sara Marie Jennings"

"Age?"

"26."

"Address?"

"5226 Cedar Road, Washington City."

"Are you now under the influence of, or in possession of, any drugs or alcohol?"

"No."

"Are in possession of any weapons or dangerous materials?"

"No"

The officer took each of Sara's cuffed hands, and ran them over a scanner for electronic fingerprints.

"OK, Mills, bring her over to the intake cell," the processing officer said.

Mills walked Sara down a hall a little bit, across a yellow line on the floor reading "FEMALE STAFF ONLY."

The noise was overwhelming. Shortly past the line was what had to be a holding cell, Sara thought. It was filled with women, guilty of God-knows-what. At first, Sara didn't hear words – just noise. But pretty soon, she realized that the stuff being yelled was directed at HER.

"Look at that classy bitch! You're dressed up too fiiiine to be in here, sugarbaby!," one voice shouted.

"Don't look so sad, baby! We're gonna treat you just right!" amidst howls of laughter.

To Sara's horror, Mills wheeled her left into a cell just across from the holding cell. The door buzzed and slid open, and the processing officer was waiting there for them.

"Ms. Jennings, I am Deputy Smyth. I am required to search you and photograph you as part of your processing into the Washington County Lock-Up. Please place your feet on the yellow marks," she said, gesturing toward the floor. Sara placed her feet on the yellow, painted footprints, about shoulder-width apart.

"I am going to unlock your handcuffs. Do not in any way resist me, or make any moves I have not ordered you to do. Do you understand?"

"Y...y...yes..." Sara stammered through tears, as she began to realize what was coming.

Smyth unlocked her hands, and ordered her to place her hands on the wall. The hoots and hollers from the holding cell intensified. Smyth began by patting Sara down from the arms down along her sides. Even though Sara anticipated how this was going to go, it still came as a surprise when Smyth's hands cupped her breasts, squeezing them roughly. Her nipples were already hard from the cold, and they had always been very sensitive to touch. For reasons she couldn't explain, the danger and fear in this situation seemed to bring them to a pointiness she'd never before seen. As Smyth's hands worked down toward her crotch, Sara began to cry a deep cry, snuffling and snorting through tears.

"Ma'am, I have neither the time nor the patience for your hysteria," Smyth said, spinning her around. Follow my orders quickly, and quietly, or we're gonna have to do this the hard way."

"Just do it, Sara," Mills said, a hint of empathy in her voice. "Don't make it worse."

Smyth took a cardboard box off the desk, and dropped it in front of Sara.

"Jennings, remove your blouse."

Sara's crying intensified again. In her nervousness she could barely function, and she fumbled as she unbuttoned her sheer, ivory blouse.

"Speed it up, miss. I don't have all day!" Smyth said.

The pressure just made it harder for Sara to operate. She was shaking as she undid the last button, and Smyth grabbed the blouse and tore it away from her body quickly, revealing her dainty lace-and-satin push up bra.

"I'm not warning you again," Smyth said. "Now, get out of that skirt."

Sara reached behind herself and tried to work the zipper. She tugged and pulled, and cried, and couldn't get it to release. Smyth, frustrated, had seen enough. She grabbed Sara by the shoulders and spun her to the bars at the front of the cell. Smyth seized Sara's right hand, cuffed it, and attached the other cuff to the bars, and repeated with a second set of cuffs on her left hand. Sara's hysteria was at fever pitch.

"I gave you plenty of chances," Smyth spat out. "Now we'll do it my way."

The deputy yanked down Sara's plaid skirt, and a cheer erupted from the holding cell, where the girls were now treated to a front-row display. What Sara wore beneath there was intended solely for her husband's enjoyment this evening – and to be on display... well, imagine yourself in this situation: A white satin garter belt holding up white silk stockings, and a skintight white satin thong. Smyth unhooked the bra at the back, then took a knife out of her belt and cut the shoulder straps. The 32B bra's remnants were thrown in the box for inspection. Next, she tugged Sara's panties off. Her garter belt quickly followed.

The guard left Sara there, chained to the bars, as she inspected each piece of clothing to make sure there were no weapons or drugs. While she worked, the women of the holding cell catcalled, and Sara steadfastly stared at her toes as she sobbed, unwilling to look up and see the jail women ogling her body.

"C'mon, Little Tits! Stop crying! We're gonna have fun!"

"Looky that pussy! Shaved bare!"

"Classy little bitch! You ain't better than any of us!!"

And then there was a different voice.

"Mrs. Jennings? Mrs. Jennings?"

Sara looked up.

"Mrs. Jennings – it's me... Megan Wasserman..." came a meek voice.

Sara cried more. How much more humiliating could this be? A former student – from last year? - seeing her naked?

"Mrs. Jennings, it's gonna be OK..."

The other inmates laughed more, and the taunts became more personal.

"MISSUS Jennings, we're gonna make you, baby. You gonna taste it today, baby!"

Mills had seen enough. No matter how big a pervert Sara Jennings was in having sex with a student, this was getting dangerous. She pulled her pepper spray off her belt and stormed out of the processing cell to the holding area.

"Who wants some?" she yelled. "Shut your fucking mouths, or I'm spraying down the whole cell! Sit your asses down!"

The inmates recalcitrantly went back to the big wooden benches, and continued to laugh – but at least the taunting seemed to have ended.

Meanwhile, the processing guard seemed to have finished her work. She uncuffed Sara from the bars; "Get your fucking clothes back on," she muttered, and Sara gladly put on her now-tattered clothes. No sooner had she slipped her heels back on, and Mills had snapped her arms back and into the cuffs again. Mills talked to her quietly as she locked the cuffs on Sara's wrists.

"Am I going to get a phone call?" Sara asked.

"Eventually," Mills said. "This place is packed this afternoon, and it's going to get worse tonight - holiday weekend and all. For now, you're going to holding. Take my advice. Do not fight anyone off in there. They will destroy you. Just roll with whatever happens. You got me?"

Sara tearily nodded her assent, and Mills took her out of the processing cell to the holding pen. There was applause from the hookers and dope fiends in the big cell as Mills unlocked the door. "Everyone stay sitting down until the door closes again, or I will seriously fuck you up!" Mills yelled. She pushed Sara to walk in the door, then slammed it shut. "Jennings, back up to the cell door and I'll uncuff you." Sara walked backward – gladly. She didn't want to turn her back for a second on the criminals ahead of her. She felt Sandy unlock her wrists, and then yell "Be good, bitches, I'm keeping an eye on you!"

Sara was on her own.

She walked toward the bench where Megan Wasserman was sitting.

"Hey, Mrs. J," the 19-year-old said. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not sure," Sara said in a monotone. "I've been accused of sleeping with a student..."

"My God!" Megan said. "I'm so sorry..."

"How... why... how did you end up here?" Sara asked.

"I got pulled over for speeding this morning, and I had about a quarter pound of weed. They're charging me with felony possession... I'm not too worried..." Megan said.

A powerfully built woman in her 40s came over toward them. When she spoke, Megan recognized her voice as being the loudest of the catcallers.

"Hello there, MISSUS Jennings!" the woman said in a loud voice, to snickering from throughout the cell. "How are you doing today?"

The woman pushed Sara closer to Megan to make room on the bench to sit. Sara refused to answer her, and the woman put her arm around Sara, craning her head in close.

"Listen here, you stuck-up rich bitch. I'm Angel. This is my cell, and my jail. And you're my property now."

Angel's hand cupped Sara's left breast, and massaged it through her sheer blouse, working the cup of the tattered bra down.

"Your little tits, your pussy, your ass, your mouth, all of it belongs to me, got me?" She pinched Sara's nipple for emphasis. "You got me?"

"Yes," Sara whispered.

"Good!" laughed Angel. "Then we're gonna have a good time here tonight!"

Angel got up and walked over to the rest of her, I don't know, gang? And with that, Sara and Megan were left alone - marked women. The two sat there, almost huddled together, for what seemed an eternity. A big female guard came to the cell door.

"Jennings!" she yelled.

Sara stood up.

"Get over here, ass up to the bars, time for your phone call," the guard said.

Sara walked over, and turned around with her hands behind her back again. Her wrists were quickly bound, and the door opened with the standard warnings to the rest of the riff raff about sitting down. The guard took her to a small cubicle near a room Sara could only think of as 'mission control,' with big windows looking out on the women's cellblock. Her left wrist was uncuffed, and the cuffs were attached to an eyebolt on the desk.

"You got five minutes to make your call," the guard said.

Sara dialed her husband's cell phone. It was now half past six. He had

to be worried about her, had to be wondering where she was. But he

didn't answer, and she got his voicemail.

"Honey, it's me, I'm... I'm in the county lockup downtown at the police station. THere's been an accusation, and they are holding me here, and you need to get me out soon, I love you honey, and please, please come get me out of here..."

She hung up the phone, crying again after hearing Jon's voice. The guard came around the corner, cuffed her again, and took her back to the holding pen. It was weird how quickly you learn the rules; as soon as she was shoved in the cell door, she instinctively backed up to have her wrists unbound. Sara was quickly changing from a confident young teacher, to an obedient, submissive inmate. She slinked over to her place on the bench, where most of the women were chowing down on the jail food.

"I saved a plate for you," Megan offered.

"I can't eat right now," Sara said.

"I know what you mean," Megan said, her mouth full of mystery meat. "It was the same way for me my first time."

"First time?" Sara said.

"Yeah, I was in once before for drugs," Megan said. "My mom and dad made me stay the night down here before they bailed me out. It wasn't too bad. Seriously, they should be in any time now after dinner to issue us uniforms and send us to our cells for the night."

About an hour later, a cop in a white shirt came to the front of the holding pen.

"Listen up, ladies!" she said. "This lock-up has reached capacity tonight. And with the long holiday weekend, we don't have a judge to hold initial hearings until Tuesday. So to manage space, we're moving some of you around. The following inmates charged with felonies will report to this side of the cell immediately. Bechstein. Cameron. Fletcher. Ingraham. Jennings. Smith. Wassermann.

Felony?!, thought Sara, as she and Megan walked over to the bars on the opposite wall.

"You know the drill. Turn around so we can cuff you to get you moved," the boss cop said.

Sara stood there, her hands clasped behind her back, waiting – and then getting – the familiar jerk of the arms and clasp of cold steel. The guard ordered everyone else to remain sitting, and then two other guards opened the cell door, and ushered the women across the hall to the processing cell. Once the seven women were in side, the boss guard spoke.

"Ladies, this place is full-up. Since we can't get a judge until Tuesday for bail hearings, you seven are being placed in state custody for the weekend at the Pinecrest Correctional Facility in Monroe. These deputies," she said, motioning to the back, "...will be preparing you for transport."

Transport? To Monroe? That was at the far west end of the state, by the coast? It was at least three hours by car? And for the first time, Sara saw a hint of panic in Megan's eyes. The guards took all but one of the girls to a long, railroad station-style bench on the far wall. "Alison Bechstein?" the guard asked the remaining girl, who nodded. "If you need to urinate, do it now," the guard said, motioning toward a toilet in the corner. The girl went over, awkwardly got her pants down with her hands behind her back, did her business in front of everyone, and another guard helped her up.

When the guards got her back to the middle of the room, they reached into an orange canvass bag that jingled like a Christmas sleigh. A guard unlocked the girl's cuffs and ordered her to put her hands on her head. They wrapped a chain around her waist, and padlocked it. Then, a pair of handcuffs were woven through a circle in the front, and the guard lowered her arms, and clicked her hands in. A second deputy was on her knees, shackling Alison's legs, and then running a chain from the leg shackles up to the waist chain.

"Back to the bench, seat number 1," the deputy ordered.

Each woman was similarly processed, and the closer they got to her, the more Sara panicked. This wasn't just a pair of handcuffs – this was total, restrained bondage.

"Sara Jennings?" the guard asked. Sara stood up, and was escorted over to the toilet. It was hard to both pull up her skirt, and ease down her panties – and harder still to get the panties back up. The guard, showing a little mercy, helped her pull them up – then, smirking, gave an extra tug at the front creating an uncomfortable little pussy wedgie.