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L - Jealous Wives United - Chapter 5: Jennifer Prepares

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Jealous Wives United - Chapter 5: Jennifer Prepares

Submission Date: 2003-11-29 By: L [Bi] [General Warning] [Minor] [Nullification]

In the male-scarce America of 2051, an epidemic of extramarital office affairs leads angry wives and homemakers to unite and settle accounts with the pretty, 20-something single "Yuppie" career girls who tried to steal her husbands at work. These outraged stay-at-home moms soon trim the clitoral threat down to size and take their clippers to a few other provocative appendages as well.

[This is a fantasy of 100% fiction, set many decades in the future. Any similarity between its characters and actual persons is purely coincidental. All scientific claims of life extension are also invented.

And much thanks to Old Softee for the kind comments on this series.]

Jennifer Spencer sat alone in a Grooming Center cubicle. Her bare right foot was propped up on her knee. She pushed aside a strand of her shoulder-length blond hair so her blue eyes could concentrate on her nude sole. She had just finished soaking her feet in peppermint oil and was now carefully applying a pumice stone to the underpads of her toes. She was struggling to remove any hints of the calluses that were a chronic result of the too-snug pumps and chafing nylons mandated by Eun Lee.

Managing the contradiction between the Korean girl's uncomfortable shoe-size prescriptions and her insistence on "immaculate" feet was one of the many dilemmas facing prisoners. Yet, it was a dilemma the women had to tackle to keep their tender vaginas off the Habanero Horse. Eun, who had appointed herself arbiter of all things below the knees, was quick to prescribe the Horse to remind every prisoner that a pretty face and prestigious college degree didn't excuse the tiniest callus or corn. Eun championed a "victimized" child's right to tickle "flawless" home-wreckers' feet. And she had made a few vaginas burn like fire to drive home that point. One taste of the Horse was usually enough to inspire a prisoner to attend assiduously to the condition of her toes and soles.

Jennifer worked on her feet with extra intensity this morning. She'd been notified that her nemesis, Trish Kelly, would be arriving to collect her living "spoils" of war. Thus, Jennifer would soon be moving from the general prisoner population to enslavement in Trish's household. She would become Trish's chattel, to be used as a maid, babysitter, or whatever Trish wished.

Or worse. As one of the many poems that Valerie Chang had posted on the prison walls, a triumphant New Jersey wife had contributed the following:

IT'S SO JOYOUSLY SWEET

TO FINALLY WITNESS A HOME-WRECKER'S DEFEAT.

AND SEE HER MARCHED NAKED AND IN CHAINS,

TO THIS HARD-AS-NAILS PRISON AND ITS MANY PAINS.

YES, DELIGHTFUL DEVICES HAVE BEEN DESIGNED TO ADDRESS THIS OFFENSE.

THESE ARE IMPRESSIVE MEASURES TO MAKE A HOME-WRECKER WINCE.

HAIL TO THE MASTECTATOR! CHEERS FOR THE SCAPEL! BRAVO TO THE HORSE!

LET THE DISCIPLINE TAKE ITS RIGHTFUL COURSE.

BUT THE HOME-WRECKER'S DEFEAT IS NEVER COMPLETE,

THE HUSBAND-STEALER IS NOT TRULY BEAT,

UNTIL SHE FINALLY BECOMES THE WIFE'S MEAT.

YES, WE WIVES HAVE LAWFUL CLAIM TO THIS MEAT,

AND, WHERE THE HOME-WRECKER'S TENDERS ARE CONCERNED, TO CUT AND TO EAT,

TO DINE ON HER CLITORIS, LABIA, AND MILK-FILLED TEAT.

YES, WE'VE EARNED THE RIGHT TO LAY BEFORE OUR HUSBANDS AND CHILDREN THE FULL BOUNTY OF HER TENDERS,

TO LET THEM TASTE THE WOMANHOOD SHE SO PAINFULLY SURRENDERS.

AND TO LET THEM BENEFIT FROM HER NAKED LABOR AND THE SWEAT OF HER BROW,

AND ENJOY THE CREAM MILKED FROM HER BREASTS LIKE A COW.

SUCH IS OUR TRIUMPH! SUCH IS OUR RIGHT!

SUCH IS THE REWARD DUE US HOMEMAKERS WHO'VE FINALLY WON THIS FIGHT!

In her bones, Jennifer felt the truth of this taunting poem. Even considering the degradation Jennifer had suffered in Penal Dairy, she still blushed at the thought of having to submit to Trish and the added perils that could entail. The prospect of becoming Trish's "meat" shamed her to her core.

And in the Dairy, the term "meat" held an even more literal and ominous meaning. As the poem implied, "meat" was slang for the labia, clitoris and breasts - also known collectively as the "tenders." This "meat" was the wife's property in the most literal sense of the word. For all practical purposes, a home-wrecker's "tenders" enjoyed no more status than supermarket cuts.

And Jennifer knew her tenders would be at risk from the first moment of her service to Trish. The victorious wife had the right to cut them off as trophies at any time. The wife essentially owned those appendages. And it was a prisoner's solemn duty to "honor" the wife's "amputational" rights. To emphasize this, Valerie had posted a short poem where the prisoners slept. Every morning and evening the prisoners saw this:

TO SERVE THE WIFE

IS TO HONOR HER KNIFE

FROM LABIA TO CLITORIS TO TEAT.

YOUR TENDERS ARE FOREVER FORFEIT

YOUR DUTY IS TO RESPECT THE WIFE'S AMPUTATIONAL RIGHT,

TO YIELD GRACEFULLY TO HER KNIFE'S BITE,

TO SURRENDER YOUR TENDERS WITH GRACE

AND, IN HER HOME, TO KNOW YOUR LOWLY PLACE.

BEING RENDERED CIRCUMCIZED AND TITLESS FAILS TO ERASE YOUR SHAME.

DISGRACE WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR MIDDLE NAME

BEFORE THE WIFE YOU SHALL ALWAYS BOW,

AS HER SLAVE, HER CHATTEL, AND IF SHE WISHES, HER COW.

As the day of Trish's arrival had grown closer, Jennifer became tormented with anxiety about Trish's intentions. Would Trish choose to cut? If so, when would she choose to cut? And what would she chose to cut? And how would she choose to cut it? Every prisoner about to be transferred to the wife was tortured by such questions.

The horrible possibilities had made Jennifer's breasts and labia ache into the night. Aching tenders were a common phenomenon for prisoners about to be transferred to the wife.

But despite the laws sanctioning amputations, single girls initially entered prison in a state of denial on this matter. They simply couldn't believe that "everyday housewives" would go that far. Stay-at-home moms sliced vegetables and beef, not labia! Homemakers diced onions and carrots, not women's teats!

But the young bacheloresses soon learned the truth of what they faced. The alleged life-extending benefits of tenders had become gospel in America's suburban kitchens. Eager to fortify the health of their loved ones, America's homemakers proved quick with the blade. Stories of wives triumphantly slicing clitorises and labia on cutting boards next to the scallions and cucumbers were legion. Such recipes even began to appear in cooking magazines and on the Internet. At cocktail parties, wives traded recipes for tit and debated the merits of baking versus deep-fat frying labia. Much to the horror of Jennifer and her fellow prisoners, Suzy Homemaker had proved eager to serve the home-wrecker's tenders to her family, and in creative ways.

Jennifer hoped to forestall this fate by measures such as carefully grooming her feet. It was one of the many ways to show Trish respect. As part of this transition process, Jennifer knew that the Chief Matron would be presenting her for her new owner's "inspection." This would occur at the Turnover Ceremony. Examination of Jennifer's feet could always be part of that event. Valerie Chang placed no restrictions on what could be inspected or how thoroughly it could be inspected. The Dairy guaranteed its slaves to be "fully trained" and in the "peak" of physical condition for delivery to the owning wife.

Consequently, Jennifer could face immediate punishment if her behavior or appearance displeased Trish in any way. In matters of etiquette towards the victorious wife, the home-wrecker could never be too careful.

In recognition of Jennifer's upcoming big day, the matrons who normally drove the beauty like a dumb cow to the milking stalls had instead given her extra time in the Grooming Center. The matrons expected Jennifer to groom herself to a "T" for Trish Kelly. After all, Jennifer's physical appearance and performance at the Turnover Ceremony would be as much a reflection on the Dairy as her. The matrons prided themselves on the "taming" effects of their iron discipline on proud young beauties.

Jennifer was simply glad to have access to the Grooming Center at a less hectic time. During the peak hour, which was 11:30PM - Midnight, the Center was packed with prisoners frantically filing and pumicing their feet and sculpting and polishing their toenails to get ready for Nanny duty or a rumored foot inspection. The matrons jokingly called it "the sole searching hour" because one could see rows of women examining the bottoms of their feet, checking for anything that needed attention.

Jennifer had spent many a frantic evening in the Center getting her soles smooth for Nanny Tickle so the children wouldn't report her. Her sense of urgency about such matters was high. Indeed, she worried more about her feet than she had ever fretted over an executive briefing in her previous life.

But the techniques for erasing the calluses from one's soles were never covered in Jennifer's highly-ranked MBA program, nor were the fine points of corn trimming and controlling the odor of one's nylon stockinged feet. Such issues had no bearing on stock prices and returns on investment. But now, in a prison hosting children whose favorite game was tickling the prisoners' feet, these matters were of daily concern. Avoiding a date with the Habanero Horse depended on it. The well being of the prisoners' vaginas depended in part on keeping their soles and toes smooth and their stockings fresh.

From Jennifer's training and overheard stories of other prisoners' experiences, she already sensed what she might be facing in her upcoming meeting with Trish. The experience would undoubtedly be humiliating and possibly even traumatic. The first prison meeting with the wife could be an emotional, explosive affair.

A Turnover Ceremony was a formal event with four main purposes. First, it was the wife's first opportunity for a one-on-one meeting with the woman who tried to steal her husband. It was the wife's first chance to see the "intruder" reduced to her nude (if that was preferred), enslaved state. Unless the wife preferred otherwise, it was customary to strip the home-wrecker totally naked for this event.

Though the thought of being paraded naked in front of Trish shamed Jennifer, another part of her realized that her nudity could deflect some of Trish's rage. Sometimes wives were partially mollified by seeing the home-wrecker stripped of her garments and adornments. After all, suits or dresses could trigger angry memories. Workplace attire could prove dangerous reminders of their husbands' affairs. Jennifer had no desire to make the experience any worse for herself than necessary. If Jennifer's nakedness could take the edge off Trish's rage, then so be it.

Clothes or no clothes, the second purpose of this occasion was to afford the wife her first chance to freely vent her feelings towards the home-wrecker, in whatever fashion she chose to vent them. These expressions could range from exultation and triumph to outbursts of rage and acts of vengeance against the home-wrecker's tenders, or some of both. Every wife was different in her reactions.

But Jennifer knew she would have to graciously endure almost anything Trish threw at her. Depending on the degree of Trish's fury, she could engage in only verbal insults. Or she could progress to physical abuse. Based on other slaves' experiences, the physical abuse could range from a simple slap to the face to pinches to the nipples and labia, or even punches to the breasts and outright kicks to the vagina. All this had happened at one time or the other. And there could be cutting too. Nipples and clitorises had been cut, bitten, and torn off in the heat of passion. Jennifer might have to hold still for a partial or full circumcision. Wives had been known to become that emotional.

Jennifer would have little choice but to endure the attack. She could only cling to the hope that any cutting by Trish would be limited to her nipples or labia. Slicing away one or more vaginal parts usually quenched most wives' initial rage. The slave simply had to muster up the grace to endure this storm. But if the slave became unpleasant, the cutting could progress to her tits. Jennifer wanted to avoid a date with the Mastectator at all costs.

The third purpose of this Turnover Ceremony was for the wife to examine her new slave from head to toe. Jennifer knew that she would have to be prepared to display every inch of her nude flesh -- from the soles of her feet to her follicles -- for Trish's inspection and critique. Out of sheer orneriness, wives had been known to scrutinize their new slaves' bodies as if they were tomatoes in a supermarket. They had been known to check hair, makeup, teeth, tits and nipples, vaginas, anuses, underarm and leg shaving, pedicures, and soles of feet.

If Trish's children had visited the Dairy and enjoyed the foot tickling games, Trish might closely scrutinize Jennifer's feet. Jennifer knew she might have to answer for every single callus, corn and heel scale.

Nonetheless, Jennifer hoped Trish would proceed rapidly to the inspection step. An inspection, however embarrassing, was often a less agonizing substitute for an angry assault.

Fourth, the Turnover Ceremony was a demonstration of the slave's unconditional submission to the will of her owner and her family. Jennifer would have to be prepared to kneel, kiss shoes, obey any order no matter how humiliating, and use subservient forms of address towards her owner and her loved ones. It would be "Mistress Kelly" or "Ma'am" for Trish. If Trish's children were present, it would be "Little Mistress" or "Little Master" depending on their gender.

The possibility of Trish being accompanied by her offspring created an extra source of anxiety for Jennifer. It was common for wives to bring their children to the Turnover Ceremonies and even permit them to participate in the slave's inspection and abuse. It was the wife's way of intensifying the home-wrecker's humiliation. The Chief Matron fully supported the practice.

Refusing to submit to this treatment was not a slave's option. Indeed, it was dangerous to resist. The Chief Matron's antennae were extra sensitive to any hint of ungraciousness towards a child. For that reason, Valerie and the other matrons watched these ceremonies like hawks, and they were quick to punish any off-putting behavior on the part of the slave.

Hence, the presence of children at a Turnover Ceremony was always a minefield. Jennifer knew she would have to traverse it gingerly, on her tiptoes, if she was to minimize her trauma.

Jennifer endured many sleepless nights wondering about Trish's likely mood and her children's personalities. Would Trish be calm or breathing fire? Would her kids be shy or bratty? Would Trish restrain them or egg them on?

Of course, Trish was Jennifer's prime worry. She hadn't seen the redhead since Trish had taken the stand against her at the Tribunal. But, during Jennifer's secret affair with Trish's husband Ethan, she'd met her rival at an office party and suspected she had a temper. Jennifer had also sensed at the time that Trish suspected Ethan was having as affair.

But Jennifer hadn't worried about Trish's opinion at the office party. Back then, Jennifer assumed Trish's temper would be more of a worry for her husband Ethan whenever he filed for divorce. Never in Jennifer's wildest nightmares did she ever expect to see Trish again, much less end up as her slave.

Jennifer knew even less about Trish's children. She simply inferred from her disastrous affair with Ethan that little children were very much a treasured part of the Kelly household. Thus, they could appear at the ceremony. Jennifer just didn't know how many.

Embarrassed about his straying, Ethan had been vague with Jennifer about the number of children he'd fathered. Nevertheless, Jennifer had been concerned about the issue. As the affair progressed, she wondered if she might wind up as a stepmother to his brood.

Of course, that was another time, a time when Jennifer could almost taste the prize. As Jennifer worked on her calluses, her mind wandered back over the events leading to her ruin, as well as her painful adjustment to imprisonment.

It started with an email from Ethan canceling a lunch date. He had never missed a lunch, much less cancelled one in such an impersonal fashion. After a few more such cancellations, Jennifer realized that Ethan had suddenly gotten "cold feet" about his straying. Ethan eventually left Jennifer out in the cold, with the curt explanation that "this isn't a good idea for either of us."

Jennifer, the pampered and stunningly beautiful daughter of a wealthy New England family, was furious. She had lost much precious time in this futile quest.

In her frustration, Jennifer began to consider retaliation. And her chance came with her next affair. He was a widowed higher-level executive. She influenced her new love interest to have Ethan laid off and give her his job. Jennifer used her youth, charm and stunning looks to play hardball in the world of corporate love-triangle politics.

Jennifer took swift revenge on Ethan because she'd been accustomed to getting what she wanted in life. And she also honestly felt she'd earned "victory" by virtue of her sterling record of academic and social accomplishments. Jennifer's honors were many. They included selection as Most Likely to Succeed and captainship of the women's field hockey team in preparatory school, selection as Debutante of the Year, and her stellar academic performance in college and graduate business school.

But like many single, affluent professional women of 2050, Jennifer faced a frustratingly tough market for eligible young males. The epidemic had reduced the ratio of eligible young men to females to ridiculously low levels. As a result, the "husband hunt" was no longer a casual, let-things-happen-as-they-may part of life. Finding a mate had morphed into a Darwinistic, dog-eat-dog race against the clock even for the prettiest and most accomplished young single women. When Jennifer entered the workplace, she thought she had an advantage. She quickly learned that plenty of other single beauties like were competing with her in the hunt.

Because older married men were far more plentiful than their younger unmarried counterparts, Jennifer had joined thousands of other 20-something single women to search in that direction. The "law of the jungle" soon governed the pursuit of a mate. As a result, a war of attrition developed between many of America's single women and the older stay-at-home wives whose husbands seemed vulnerable. "Keep him if you can" had become many 20ish single girls' attitude towards the beleaguered 30-40ish wives.

The Homemaker's Revolt changed all that. "Home-wrecking" become a crime worthy of unprecedented forms of punishment, punishments reminiscent of ancient times.

The Tribunal deputized a cadre of wives to arrest Jennifer. They seized her at the peak of her career. The arresting party found the beauty in a penthouse conference room at her firm's Manhattan headquarters. She was "wowing" a group of executives with a new marketing plan. Jennifer saw a promotion to junior VP coming out of that meeting.

Then, Jennifer's ambitions crumbled as the matrons unceremoniously unplugged her laptop and began shackling her wrists and ankles. Sputtering with disbelief and indignation, the young woman tried to pull away. A tough-looking matron with a razor threatened to strip Jennifer naked and slice off her nipples if she didn't cooperate. One warned, "We'll march your ass out of here in the nude with your titty nozzles pinned to your ears if we have to!"

Jennifer froze with shock as the women finished binding her.

Soon, the matrons were leading a stunned, red-faced Jennifer down the carpeted halls. They pulled her along by a chain attached to her bound wrists, like a captive of war. A small sign had been hung from her neck. It read JENNIFER SPENCER, AGE 25, ACCUSED HOME-WRECKER.

All along the way, Jennifer's older married female coworkers gathered to watch the humiliating procession. Because Jennifer had enjoyed ties to a powerful manager, the 30-40 something married women had fumed in silence. Now the women either smirked or outright applauded her downfall. Some of her married coworkers walked beside her and shook their fingers accusingly in her face. Others got physical. One smacked her wool-suited rear with a ruler. Another slapped her face. They all cheered to see another home-wrecker, one more "threat" to the sanctity of marriage, toppled.

Jennifer spent a week at the Tribunal standing at attention in the dock with several of her pretty associates, including Cheryl Wellington. The women had all been arrested and were tried as a group. They were kept standing out of respect for the plaintiff wives, who unanimously demanded that the home-wreckers be denied normal comforts.

Day after day, the defendants stood with their toes scrunched in their high heels. As their stockinged feet tingled and burned in their shoes, they listened to hour after hour of damning but often exaggerated testimony by their coworkers and finally the wives. Everyone in the corporate hierarchy, including secretaries and mailroom clerks, seemed to have something incriminating to add to the case. Sometimes their testimony strayed into areas having more to do with class envy than husband stealing. Secretaries and filing clerks complained about "snooty, know-it-all college girls and MBAs." Hispanic cleaning ladies complained about rich, sheer-stockinged Anglo women who made jokes about their accents. The "accused" had to stand on their aching feet and listen silently to it all.

Then there were the kids. Each morning, dressed in their designer suits and heels, the shackled young women were led to the courtroom through a gantlet of taunting wives and their stocking-snapping, hair-pulling children. Each afternoon, those same high-heeled feet, now aching and burning from the standing, were marched back through the same gantlet. The wives made no attempt to restrain their little ones from pulling at the defendants' nylon hose and peeking under their dresses. Of course, the defendants' shame at having to endure this handling was unspeakable.

After the Tribunal and her conviction on all counts, Trish found herself being bused to the Dairy along with her colleagues. Each woman had a metal tag hanging from her neck stating her full name, crime and age. Chained hand and foot and looking out through the barred windows, the young women were speechless at how quickly the world had turned.

The group's arrival at the prison was the next culture shock. The new prisoners were greeted by shouting, threatening, cursing matrons who formed the women up like boot-camp recruits and marched them into the facility. Their handlers offered no niceties and minced no words in their demands for swift obedience.

Cutting off tenders was a common theme in the matron's threats. Jennifer's jaw dropped in disbelief when she heard one matron vow, "You prissy college girls! What kind of marching is that? I'm gonna nail you Yuppie princesses' pussy lips to the wall if you don't keep in step!" Another matron shouted, "Speed it up ladies! If you don't move your Yuppie asses, I'll fishhook your damn clits and pull you inside by them!" Another shouted, "Either you women look sharp or my kids will be dining on Tit Roast tonight!"

The crudeness of the matrons' language had left Jennifer shell-shocked and filled with dread of what horrors might await her behind the walls. She felt lightheaded with alarm as she entered the Dairy's gates.

Jennifer's first preview of the utter degradation of prison life came early and with the force of a slap. The matrons led the new prisoners by a huge room with windows. Jennifer immediately recognized it as a Child Care Center. The facility appeared normal in that it was filled with small children and strewn with the usual toys and comic books. There was even a brightly colored slide and a sandbox.

But those mundane items were hardly noticeable amidst the other activities that left Jennifer red-faced with dismay and embarrassment. When Jennifer looked towards the center of the room, she saw ten very attractive prisoners stripped to their thongs. The women lay with their bare feet propped up on a kind of railing. Their feet were in a uniform posture, with the soles turned up and the toes splayed. The women's pumps and stockings lay akimbo near the rail. A little boy and girl were playing tug-of-war with one stocking.

But the tug of war wasn't what made Jennifer's heart leap with consternation. It was what was being done to the prisoner's feet. Under the watchful eye of a lovely Asian matron, a semicircle of small, giggling children sat at the women's exposed soles. They were very busy tickling the women's foot bottoms. The kids were using fingers, feathers, and electric toothbrushes. They worked these implements up and down the women's soles and between their toes. There were so many children doing this that they had to reach over each other's shoulders to get at the feet. They seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.

At that point Jennifer noticed the matron supervising this game. It was her first sight of Eun Lee. The pretty, slender Korean American girl was observing this game of Nanny Tickle with her arms folded. Jennifer noticed that she was watching the prisoners more than the children. Her dark, almond shaped eyes darted back and forth from the women's feet to their faces. Knowing Eun's gaze was on them, the prisoners were struggling to smile and keep still in the face of the assault.

Eun looked up to see the shocked faces of the new prisoners. She glared at the newcomers as if to say, "What are you looking at? Do you women have a problem with this?"

Jennifer immediately sensed Eun would be a difficult customer.

But Nanny Tickle wasn't the only shock. On the left side of the room Jennifer witnessed an even more mortifying sight. Two prisoners, both totally nude, were wrestling on a mat. An audience of giggling, clapping little boys and girls sat around the perimeter of the mat watching this contest.

Jennifer suddenly realized the object of the match. The women were trying to pluck out each other's pussy hairs. The two women writhed and struggled as their fingers furiously snatched at each other's crotches. The two women were so engrossed in their struggle that they seemed to have forgotten how candidly they were exposing themselves to this little audience.

Jennifer would eventually learn about this game, which was called "Plucky." Eun had devised the humiliating contest as a form of punishment. This day she was employing it to penalize prisoners who were unable to maintain their composure at Nanny Tickle. The first to lose all her pubic hairs at Plucky would be made ineligible for the Masturbatoreum for four weeks. The winner would be ineligible for only two weeks.

After a few days on Spanish Fly, Jennifer would learn the importance of earning time in the Masturbatoreum. But at this moment, her vagina was dry and puckered with alarm.

The right side of the room held an equal shock for Jennifer. It contained a series of circular playpens where infants in jumpsuits merrily crawled and played. It was a normal scene, except for one thing. Female prisoners were stationed hip-to-hip around these playpens. Wearing only thongs, stockings and heels, the women were bent over at the waist with their hands clasped behind their heads. Their naked, milk-gorged breasts tipped with long, erect nipples hung low into these enclosures. With obvious difficulty, the prisoners were holding their heads erect. Their faces were frozen in smiles.

The infants played happily within these circles of hanging teats. Occasionally a baby would crawl up to suckle from one of the breasts. Others stared curiously at the dangling abundance. Others pushed and pulled at the big titties with their tiny hands to see them sway. The pushing and pulling sometimes caused the women's nipples to drip milk onto the plastic mats. Occasionally, a matron would reach in to sponge away the drops.

Other infants played with rattles and blocks, ignoring the dangling breasts as if they were part of the scenery. Jennifer could see that these surroundings were familiar to these infants.

In another area, Jennifer saw prisoners hanging their nude breasts into the cribs of newborns. Some infants suckled at the nipples. Others slept, oblivious to the teats waiting above them. Breasts hung "at the ready" for the needs of all.

Jennifer noticed that Matrons carefully patrolled this incredible scene. They beamed at the children but were stern with the bare breasted prisoners, prodding the women to dangle their teats lower. The women winced at the strain on their lower backs as they bent down further into the playpens.

At that point Jennifer assumed she was in the middle of a too-vivid nightmare. But after pinching herself, she blushed to realize that this was all very real and would soon be her world.

Jennifer then saw an example of the swiftness of Dairy discipline. Because Cheryl Wellington had been standing closest to the window, the children noticed her beauty. They yelled at Cheryl to come in and take off her shoes and stockings for Nanny Tickle. Cheryl merely looked at the children as if they were crazy. She couldn't believe the matrons would expect a grown woman to strip her feet at the command of a gang of 5-year olds.

A pretty little black girl finally ran out in the hallway and pulled at Cheryl's arm. The beauty indignantly yanked her hand away. The little girl pouted momentarily. Then the child dropped down to the floor and tried to pull up one of Cheryl's high-heeled feet in an attempt to remove her pump.

Still in denial, Cheryl lost her cool. She angrily pushed the child away. She couldn't believe that a mere toddler had such authority.

An enraged Eun saw Cheryl's defiance and screamed, "How dare you lay a hand on that black child, white girl!"

Eun then shouted to the matrons. "Teach that arrogant, home-wrecking bitch some manners! Flog her soles and Horse her!"

The matrons pounced on the stunned beauty like hungry tigers, unshackling her and stripping her naked. Then they held her naked soles up in front of the children and began beating them with a flat wooden ruler. One of the matrons said, "So, Miss MBA, you're too proud to be tickled by these kids? Well how do you like this bit of tickling, bitch!"

Cheryl tried to curl her toes forward to avoid the stinging blows to her tender soles. A matron quickly stepped in and yanked her naked toes backward until the balls of her feet were taut hemispheres.

Jennifer watched in horror as the thin wood cracked against her colleague's utterly exposed foot bottoms. The children watched the spanking intently, but without a great deal of surprise. Jennifer sensed they had witnessed this type of punishment before.

A few minutes later, Jennifer and her group were made to watch the most ferocious phase of Cheryl's punishment - the Habanero Horse. Jennifer was struck by the simplicity of the device. It consisted of a long, thick wooden rail set between two supports. But Jennifer also noticed some forbidding looking details. The rail had the shape of an equilateral wedge with rounded edges. The sides looked to be about 4 inches in length. One edge pointed up.

The matrons shackled Cheryl's wrists to a chain. The chain hung from a pulley attached to a heavy beam running across the ceiling. The matrons then grabbed her ankles and pulled them apart into a painful split.

Using the pulley, the matrons slowly raised Cheryl above the device, centering her crotch over the rail. Another matron donned latex gloves and began breaking hot peppers in half and smearing them on the top edge of the rail. Another matron tugged on Cheryl's pubic hairs and teased her labia with her index finger, taunting, "You didn't let the children tickle your feet, bitch. So we're going let them watch the Horse tickle this big hairy pussy crack of yours. And trust me, it will tickle."

Jennifer suddenly saw what the matrons had in mind, and it made her toes curl in her shoes with alarm.

Cheryl also began to get the picture and sobbed, "Oh for god's sake. Come on, please don't do this! There's no need to do this. I'm sorry, OK?"

The matrons slowly lowered the nude, spread-legged beauty.

At first, the children stood in front of a pile of Cheryl's clothes and watched. Then they slowly approached the Horse, gathering around the device and craning their necks to see. Jennifer noticed that the kids' eyes were glued to Cheryl's pubics as they slowly descended towards the rail. They giggled and whispered among themselves as her pudendum grew closer. Cheryl's face burned with shame as the little boys and girls gawked and pointed at her naked, spread pussy. The split had opened her vaginal crack, exposing the pink inside.

Jennifer was mesmerized by the unspeakable humiliation of her colleague. Even in her wildest nightmares, she never imagined such indignity could exist.

The children seemed to know something dramatic would ensue once Cheryl's vulva touched the rail. Cheryl's body also seemed to sense it, because her labia tightened and contracted as her vagina drew nearer to surface.

A second after as Cheryl's vagina met the rail, she was squirming and writhing like a worm on hot asphalt. The wedge-shaped surface of the rail was painful enough for a woman's vaginal crack. The pepper juice had Cheryl puffing like a locomotive and gasping, "Ouch! Oh god. Oh jeez. It HURTS! It's BURNING!"

Cheryl tried to lift herself off the rail by her wrist shackles, but the matrons quickly pulled her legs into full 180-degree split and lashed her ankles to side posts. Then they hung weights on her thighs. The near full weight of Cheryl's body was now focused on her vaginal crack. The agony between her legs soon had her drenched with sweat.

Eun stood nearby with her arm on the little black girl's shoulder. She smirked at the suffering Cheryl. "Hey white girl. I bet a foot tickling looks pretty good to you now, doesn't it?"

Cheryl gasped, sweated and writhed in her bonds in her futile struggles to lift her vagina from the burning rail. But she managed to reply to Eun with a hoarse, "Yes."

Eun said, "Do you know why your arrogant cunt is burning like fire, bitch?"

Cheryl moaned something unintelligible.

Eun continued, "Your cunt is flaming because you offended this child. So, you'll need the child's consent to be released from the Horse. Only she has the power ease the torment of your pussy."

Jennifer winced at the sight of Cheryl's discomfort. She felt as if she had been time-warped back to a scene in some medieval torture chamber.

Sobbing and wincing, Cheryl finally looked down at the little black girl and begged, "Please tell them to let me off, little girl! Pleeeze. I'm so sorry! I'll go in there and play your tickle game!"

The little girl was impassive. Eun smiled and patted the child's shoulder. "Take your time honey. Let the discipline play out as long as you feel it needs to. You don't need to rush for any white lady. She has only herself to blame for the agony of her big pussy."

Desperate for relief, Cheryl looked at the child and pleaded, "See? My shoes and stockings are off. My feet are bare like you wanted. Don't you want to tickle my feet? I have very ticklish feet!"

Much to Cheryl's consternation, the little girl simply walked up and began tickling the bottom of one Cheryl's lashed feet. Cheryl sobbed with frustration.

Eun laughed. "Well you asked her to tickle your feet!"

Only after Cheryl uttered several more pleas for mercy did the little girl nod her head for the matrons to release the suffering beauty from her scorching perch.

The matrons unlashed Cheryl's ankles and lifted her off the Horse. Then they lowered her to the floor. She quickly curled up in a fetal position, clutching her burning vagina and moaning. Cheryl pressed her face against her knees as her whole body shook with groans.

Jennifer could see that getting off the Horse did little to reduce her friend's agony. The juice of the peppers clung stubbornly to Cheryl's vaginal lips.

Eun stood over the gasping beauty and said, "Your pussy lips hurt don't they, white girl? Rudeness to children is painful isn't it?"

Sobbing, Cheryl nodded.

Eun smirked, "Would you like some relief?"

Cheryl, out of breath, nodded rapidly.

Eun frowned quizzically. "But how do you expect me to relieve your burning cunt lips? I'm not a magician."

The Korean girl then placed her finger to her chin and frowned. "Hmmm. I have an idea. Do you want me to cut your cunt lips off for you? I could cut them off and fry them up as a snack for this child you offended. She's never snacked on a white woman's labia."

Cheryl, her eyes wide with horror, shook her head rapidly.

Eun shrugged her shoulders. "You don't want me to cut off your cunt lips? Then I guess they'll have to continue to burn."

Cheryl sobbed and clutched her pussy.

Eun pulled a small plastic tub from a shelf and pried the lid off. She said, "Perhaps this child you offended will permit you to use some of this soothing ointment. But you must earn such relief. You must humbly beg her mercy for your white pussy."

Cheryl looked at the child and moaned, "Oh please little girl, give me some."

Eun snapped, "Did I just hear you say 'give me some'? That sounds too much like a demand to me. What arrogance! And the correct term for the child is 'Little Mistress.' Swallow your pride, white woman. Plead more humbly for the sake of your unworthy cunt!"

Cheryl took a deep breath and gasped, "Oh please Little Mistress. Please excuse my arrogance and grant ointment for my unworthy white cunt!"

The child looked up at Eun.

Eun smiled. "As you see fit honey."

Cheryl sobbed, "Oh please Little Mistress. Please grant relief for my unworthy white pussy!"

The little girl finally placed a glob of cream in Cheryl's hand. The pained beauty quickly rubbed the cool ointment over her pepper-drenched labia and clitoris. As the tension in her body gradually relaxed, she gasped, "Oh god. Oh yessss!!!! Oh thank you! It feels so much better. Much, much better! Thank you."

Jennifer held out her hand and begged for more jelly. The little girl scooped up another glob and plopped it in her palm. Jennifer sighed with relief as she rubbed the soothing ointment over her vagina.

Once Cheryl's moans had subsided to soft breathing, a matron prodded her to get up. Cheryl rose painfully and faced the little girl. The child had suddenly become a giant in her eyes.

Jennifer could hardly believe what she was seeing. A naked white woman was standing like a supplicant before a fully dressed black child. The once-conceited Cheryl Wellington had the demeanor of a big puppy dog, waiting to be led.

Cheryl made a move to follow Eun and the little girl back to the Child Care Center. A matron stopped her. "You should be so lucky, bitch. You'll be supporting plenty of tickle games later. Right now your feet don't look worthy to be tickled. Look at that corn on your pinkie toe. Anyway, Mistress Lee will soon be the judge of that. Put your shoes and stockings on and get back in the line."

The sight of Cheryl's agony sobered all the newcomers as to the importance of obedience, even to children. Jennifer could see that the Penal Dairy was "penal" with a capital P.

The women were soon in another room meekly undressing for the matrons. They were made to strip everything off except their stockings and pumps. It was to be the beginning of a series of examinations.

With their nylons rolled down to their ankles, the women stood at attention facing the matrons. On command, the new prisoners obediently held their bare tits up for inspection. A matron was soon feeling the ends of Jennifer's teats. She asked, "Have you ever lactated from your udders?"

Jennifer blushed and muttered, "No."

The matron pinched her breast. "That's 'no ma'am' bitch."

Jennifer quickly said, "I'm sorry. I mean no ma'am."

"Do you have any problem with your udders or milk glands that would prevent you from ever lactating?"

A crimson-faced Jennifer replied, "I don't think so ma'am."

After the breast examination, Valerie Chang entered the room and stood at a podium. She said, "I'm Valerie Chang, Chief Matron. But it's 'Mistress Chang' to you."

A matron interrupted, "Where are your manners, you rude bitches? Bow and say 'good afternoon' to Mistress Chang!"

The prisoners bowed and muttered the greeting. When Jennifer said, "Good Afternoon Mistress Chang" she felt as if she were a slave at the court of some merciless Asian queen.

Valerie continued, "Ladies, if you don't understand this by now, you soon will. You're not simply prisoners. You're slaves. The high-paying white-collar jobs you once held, your social pedigrees, your academic honors, and your lofty college degrees mean nothing here. Currently, each of you is the property of this prison. If the wives you wronged should chose to claim you at some point, you shall become their slaves. Whatever be the case, your tenders are subject to amputation at any time for your crimes. That means your inner and outer labia, your clitorises and your breasts. Get used to the idea."

Jennifer felt sick with dread.

Valerie went on. "Yes, even your udders can be cut off. What hangs from your chests is permitted to hang there solely through the good graces of the wives your wronged. But don't get too attached to your teats, because you may have to cook them for the wife some day."

Jennifer suddenly wondered when Trish would "claim" her and how much she would want cut off to quench her anger.

Valerie said, "We wives tolerate your home-wrecking udders only for the sake of our children. Remember, this facility is first and foremost a dairy. Our products are milk, butter, cheese and ice cream. And it all comes from home-wreckers' tits. So get this into your arrogant Yuppie heads. Your boobs have value only in the milk they can produce for our children's enjoyment and nutrition. They're no longer sexy titties to use in attracting our men away from us. Your teats are, to put it plainly, nothing but udders, milk bags. Yes, they're just so many milk bags to be wrung out. And we have the legal right to wring your home-wrecking knockers for all they're worth. Is that understood ladies?"

Jennifer and her colleagues blushed and replied, "Yes, Mistress Chang." The Chief Matron's tone invited no discussion.

Valerie continued. "Accordingly, your udders will be stimulated to lactate and will be milked regularly for our children's needs until you're delivered to the wives you victimized. Just thank your lucky stars that your teats have some continuing utility in life, for they'd be gone much sooner otherwise."

The Chief Matron then said, "One more thing. You'll notice that there are children here. These kids are the offspring of matrons and our guests. Every one of them has been affected in some fashion by a home-wrecker's crimes. Thus, it's your profound obligation to honor and revere these little ones. You shall venerate them from the tops of your pretty heads to soles of your feet. You shall never lay a hand on them, but you shall be sensitive and responsive to their every curiosity and whim. You can do nothing to the children, but they shall have every right to do what they wish to you. And it's your responsibility to accept it with good grace. Is that clear, ladies?"

Once more, Jennifer and her colleagues blushed and replied, "Yes, Mistress Chang."

In the next phase of the inspection, Jennifer and her colleagues were made to spread their vaginal lips and then their ass cheeks for the matrons' probing fingers. The roughness of the exams made Jennifer sweat and grunt. The exams left her anal and vaginal openings feeling painfully stretched.

When that part of the inspection was done, Eun Lee came in to stand at the podium. Jennifer took a good look at the Korean girl this time. Jennifer saw that she was younger and even more beautiful than the Chief Matron. Unlike most of the matrons, Eun seemed to be in her twenties.

The Korean American girl said, "In case I didn't introduce myself before, my name is Eun Lee. That's 'Mistress Lee' to you home-wrecking bitches."

Remembering the previous speaker, the prisoners promptly bowed and said, "Good afternoon Mistress Lee!"

Eun smiled with grim satisfaction. "You learn quickly, white girls. Yes, you'd better mind your manners with me, or I'll have tenders cut off in a heartbeat."

Eun's dark eyes traveled down to the prisoner's feet, then back up. "My job is rather specialized here. And some of you may remember me. You see, I used to work at an upscale shoe store near your offices."

Jennifer looked at Eun more closely. She suddenly remembered seeing someone like her at such an establishment.

Eun scanned the women's faces. "Nah, you wouldn't remember quiet little Eun. You were too busy with your cell phones to notice a department store menial like me. But ladies like you sure kept me hopping. Day in and day out, you had me running back and forth from the stockroom like some coulee to find the 'perfect' pumps. Yep, from 10 AM to 6 PM, I had to put up with your sweaty workaday nylonned feet, corns and calluses as I tried to fit you. Uh huh, that was I fighting to look pleasant as the musty odor of your nylons assaulted my nostrils. I had to deal with all that because some woman stole my father and milked our family of all our money. No. I'm not married. But I've felt the destructive power of a husband-thief."

"Then you home-wreckers got your due, and I landed a matron job in this delightful prison.

"My rookie assignment was to oversee Child Care. Of course, I was glad to help out any way I could there. After all, I felt so sorry for the kids having been victims of women like you.

"Well, it was in Child Care that I found my special calling, my niche if you will. I saw the children enjoying their tickling games. They called it Nanny Tickle. It was the cutest thing I'd ever seen, grown women having to sit still while children tickled them.

"But I saw the kids were tickling only the prisoners' underarms and ribs. Having worked in the footwear business, I wondered why they weren't tickling the women's feet as well. You Yuppies lead such pampered lifestyles. My bones told me your feet were ticklish as sin.

"Anyway I felt the children were entitled to tickle all the ticklish parts. So I ordered the prisoners to remove their pumps and hose."

Eun giggled. "You should have seen the women's faces when they heard that! You Yuppies and your dignity!"

"But I made the women do it. Then I saw that there were some issues. Many of the prisoners had sweaty nylons. I just knew their feet had to be stinky. Some had calluses and corns as well."

Eun wrinkled her nose and waved her hand back and forth over her nostrils. "Ewww. No, no, no! I think not. I may have had to put up with their musty stockinged feet when they were free women and I was a peon clerk trying to make a sales quota. But it was unacceptable in this prison, especially in front of the children! The women's MBAs and pretty faces didn't excuse that! The nation may have had a health care crisis, but I saw the Dairy had a foot-care crisis.

"Anyway, I was so offended by the disgraceful condition of the women's feet that I felt like sawing off their pussy lips as punishment. But I decided on the Horse instead. That's after I let the Chief Matron's daughter Kimi pinch their achy corns for a few minutes."

Eun held up a pair of carpet shears and smiled brightly. "But later I added these to my arsenal. I assure you, they do a very thorough job on even the toughest of corns. I've trimmed a few off with it in my time."

Jennifer looked at the big shears and felt her throat go dry. All the standing at the Tribunal had rejuvenated a large, painful corn on one of her pinkie toes. It horrified her to imagine the Korean girl using her crude shears on it.

Eun continued, "Anyway, I decided that no child should have to deal with such impertinent carelessness from you home-wreckers. So, I decided this prison needed some very high standards for your feet."

Eun calmly searched the women's eyes. "That brings me to you, ladies. I need to know if your feet will measure up my standards. Do they? Do you 'movers and shakers' of the corporate world have what it takes down there?"

Eun shook her finger, "You'd better! There's really no excuse for not being ready. There's plenty of information on our web site for prospective new prisoners. I added a whole page on feet."

There was an awkward silence. The new prisoners had been too stressed about the Tribunal to check the details of the Dairy's web site. And after a week of standing in court, the young women were especially ill prepared for this "requirement." Jennifer and her colleagues had been in their heels and nylons all day, every day, during the trial. Only the shock of seeing the Child Care Center and Cheryl's ordeal on the Horse had taken their minds off their aching, burning feet.

Jennifer worried about the condition of her feet as much as any. She was aware of the sticky dampness in the toes of her nylon stockings. It felt as if her hose had fused with her soles, sealing her pores. Her corn also throbbed. She was mortified to expose her hot, tired feet to the scrutiny of this stern looking Korean beauty. After all, the Asian girl had just sent Cheryl to the Horse over a foot issue. And Eun seemed to be in love with her carpet shears. Jennifer was terrified at the prospect of the petite young Asian woman with the big scissors judging her feet.

Eun smirked, "Cat got your tongues, ladies? Well then, it looks as if I need to inspect your sorry Yuppie hooves. I trust they'll not annoy me. After all, I'm not in the best mood today."

The Korean girl ordered the women to lie their backs on a long table, feet facing her. Then Eun began her inspection routine. She started with Jennifer, who was at the end of the row.

Eun looked down at Jennifer's nametag and snapped, "Ok Miss Spencer, raise your feet 12 inches off the table and hold them there."

Grunting slightly, Jennifer lifted her high-heeled feet.

Eun tapped the spikes of Jennifer's pumps. "About two inches higher, bitch. Don't you dare force me to crane my neck to view the bottoms of your feet!"

Jennifer raised her feet two more inches. She could now see Eun's almond shaped eyes just above the toes of her pumps.

Eun pried off both of Jennifer's shoes and looked at her nylonned soles. Jennifer blushed. Her stockings were obviously plastered with perspiration.

Eun brushed her nostrils against the balls of Jennifer's feet and then waved her hand in front of her nose. "Ewww. You're already rubbing me the wrong way! Your feet stink, you husband thief! How long have you been in these shoes? Were you too busy chasing someone's husband to change your nylon stockings?"

Her face crimson, Jennifer stammered. "I was at the Tribunal since early morning, Mistress Lee. I'm sorry, but they wouldn't let us.."

Eun cracked her hand across the soles of Jennifer's feet. "No excuses, woman! I have the sensibilities of children to consider!"

Eun picked up one of Jennifer's high heels. "You know, I think I sold you these pumps. And they were rather expensive items as I recall. Now here you are, a pretty and well-educated young businesswoman stripped of your pricey shoes, offending my nostrils with the stench of your nylons. How could you have the gall to show up here with such smelly feet, especially since there are children's sensibilities to consider? I should Horse your cunt for this outrage alone!"

Dramatic overstatement would prove a hallmark of Eun's style. Though Jennifer sensed this, she took no chances and blubbered, "Please don't Horse me, Mistress. I'm terribly sorry!"

Eun snapped, "Shut up home-wrecker! You should be profoundly sorry for such foot odor. The Horse is too kind for the stinky-footed likes of you. But I'll decide your pussy's fate when I'm finished examining your pathetic Yuppie dogs! I need to strip you down to your bare feet to see what gives here."

Eun grabbed Jennifer's nylons behind her heels and slowly drew them upward. The Korean girl wrinkled her nose as she watched the fabric peel away from Jennifer's soft, milky soles. "Ewww! More unpleasantness. I should have brought a chisel! Your stockings are plastered to your feet with perspiration. I've never seen such sweaty nylons!"

Jennifer's face burned with shame as the grimacing Korean girl lifted her damp stockings away from her toes and stuffed them in her pumps.

Eun's eyes traveled up and down Jennifer's moist, naked soles. Then she began to examine the underpads of her toes. Her slender fingers pulled each toe back and felt the pad.

Wrinkling her nose with disgust, she said, "I feel some hardness on your toe pads. You may have well shaped toes and feet, but they're quite callused here."

Eun roughly kneaded Jennifer's toe pads and sneered, "Callused feet in pricey pumps. It's such telling evidence of your overweening Yuppie ambition! You must have been running hard for a promotion, or racing to steal someone's husband. Most likely it was a little of both."

Jennifer was speechless with embarrassment.

Eun smiled derisively. "The truth hurts, doesn't it? Anyway, the tickling fingers of a child should never trip over the hardness of a home-wrecker's calluses. So, these calluses had better be totally gone from your feet before your first game of Nanny Tickle. Is that clear Spencer?"

Jennifer gasped, "Yes, Mistress Lee." She was now perspiring and breathing rapidly from the strain of holding her legs up. Her lower back ached from the burden.

The Korean-American beauty then snapped, "Now point your toes, home-wrecker!"

Fighting to keep her legs up, Jennifer pointed her feet.

Eun slapped Jennifer's heels and demanded, "Point your toes more sharply, woman. Don't force me to bend over to inspect your toenails!"

Jennifer took a deep breath and forced her toes into a severe point.

Eun's dark eyes scanned Jennifer's nails. Then the matron said sneeringly, "Your pedicure is an atrocity. Your cuticles are too long, and some of your toenail polish is worn off."

The Korean girl tapped the nails of Jennifer's big toes and snapped, "At Nanny Tickle, respect for the child begins with your toenails. When your toes are polished, they must be polished to perfection! The feet to be tickled must always have immaculate nails. That means a child should be able to see his or her face in your toenails. Is that understood?"

Jennifer nodded and gasped, "Yes, Mistress Lee." Her voice was now quivering with fatigue. She wondered how much longer she would be able to hold her feet up in front of this tough-talking young Asian woman.

Eun rubbed the knuckle of Jennifer's left pinkie toe. She frowned. "Does your rudeness never end, woman? You have big corn on this toe. It looks like your toe knuckle is simply large, but I can tell it's a corn, and a big hard one at that."

Eun sneered. "Your feet scream your guilt at every turn. Only overweening ambition and full-time husband-chasing would rub such a mountainous corn."

Eun slapped Jennifer's soles and snarled. "Corns make me see red. I hate three things in life - okra, Yuppie's stinky nylons, and home-wreckers' corny feet. And you've already offended me with two of these things!"

Jennifer stammered, "I'm sorry, Mistress Lee."

Eun ignored the apology and recorded Jennifer's shoe size. "Hmm. You're a Size 7-1/2 M? Looking at your feet, that seems to be a rather generous fit. There must be some air pockets between your leather and your nylon. That's very untidy. In this prison, we don't like big, ungainly 'comfort' pumps. Prisoners' feet must look as if they've been poured into their shoes. If you'll excuse my pun, I think a size 7-1/4 would be more fitting."

Bewildered, Jennifer looked up over her toes at Eun. "Oh Mistress Lee, please don't. My feet already ache from these shoes! They really do!"

Eun snapped, "Did I ask your opinion, bitch?"

Jennifer stammered, "No. I'm sorry Mistress Lee."

Eun began to knead and pinch Jennifer's corn. "You have the gall to come here with your smelly nylons and corny feet and then question my shoe-size decisions?"

Jennifer bit her lip as the pain overwhelmed her little toe. It felt as if the Korean girl was trying to tear her corn out by its roots.

Eun kneaded and dug her fingernails harder into Jennifer's corn. "Your job, home-wrecker, is to attend to your calluses and corns so that the children will not be offended by them. That's what you should be worrying about. The size of your high-heeled shoes is not your concern. You'll wear the pumps I prescribe for your feet and wear them with a smile. Is that clear?"

Jennifer, using all her strength to keep her feet up, gasped, "Yes Mistress!"

Finally, Eun released Jennifer's aching corn and ordered her feet lowered.

With a sigh of relief, Jennifer let her naked heels hit the table.

Eun screamed, "Have you no manners at all, bitch? How dare you let your feet drop like potato sacks! Don't even think of banging your bare heels in front of a child like that!"

Realizing her error, Jennifer muttered "I'm sorry, Mistress" and raised her feet again. Then, she slowly lowered them until her heels soundlessly touched the table.

Eun said, "That's better."

Eun continued down the line, stripping and inspecting each woman's feet. In every case, the Korean girl turned the new prisoner's face red with her vociferous denunciations of her foot grooming. The Korean girl raged at and threatened the women about their stocking-foot odor, corns, calluses, heel scales and inadequate pedicures. In the end, she swore to use the Horse, the carpet shears, clitorectomies, labia removal, and other drastic means if she didn't see "dramatic" improvement in the women's feet.

Jennifer learned a major lesson at this inspection. The children's love of Nanny Tickle had created a special minefield for prisoners. They could never underestimate the importance of "foot etiquette." Eun had made such "etiquette" a culture within a culture.

But there were many more surprising, humiliating and painful experiences, awaiting Jennifer during her journey into prison life.

[to be continued]