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The Foundation
14
Exhibit A
Judge Maxwell surveyed the courtroom before sinking into her seat while the usher struggled to silence the court. The House of Justice had been crowded for the past thirty minutes, the boisterous spectators eager for a sight of the defendant. As an uneasy silence descended Maxwell finally let her eyes fall on the accused standing, legs splayed, before the bench. Pamela had introduced a demeaning invention, chaining their ankles to two bars so that they laboured to stand, increasing their distress and their sense of submission. The accused now stood directly in front of the judge’s bench with their back to the courtroom and the lawyers, allowing Daphne an intimate view of the tender quivering bodies as she condemned these young girls to years of sexual slavery. Pamela knew how to satisfy Daphne’s needs.
The outfit had been Daphne’s idea, a jet black sling bikini with only a skimpy covering for the vagina. She could see the succulent pubic mound yearning to escape the tight confines of the stretched fabric, and she could not avoid a furtive stroke of her loins. Pamela had added a cruel touch by soaking the outfit before the walk in the sun, so as the fabric dried it shrank, leaving the prisoner in agony as the lining sliced her holes. A double dose of Kiriko had also left her shuddering with sexual tension as she stood before the bench. The prisoner, having stood before the empty judge’s seat for the last hour, was sweating, leaving her toned body glistening in the sunlight.
Rosa really only had herself to blame. She was no more than a backwater turnkey who owed her post as sheriff to Daphne’s generosity, yet she demanded a share of the profits of The Foundation. Also, Rosa had come to bore Daphne as a lover, especially now that she had met Pamela, whose brown hair and light skin exuded East Coast elegance. Pamela and Daphne were gentry, while Rosa was, as Pamela so aptly noted, “just a peasant with a badge.” Daphne was impressed by Pamela’s work on Rosa. She was no spring chicken these days, but her breasts were impressive and her toned legs accentuated her reshaped rear. Daphne allowed herself another stroke of her damp knickers, but no more.
The case began, and the court official read out the charge of possession of cocaine. Pamela was the first witness. She glanced at the former sheriff swaying to hold her balance as she recounted how, during a visit from a number of respectable Harmon citizens, the former sheriff was found to have inserted a quantity of cocaine into her anus.
“I find it difficult to believe that such a large consignment could be concealed on her body.”
“Your Honour, not on her body, in her body.”
Judge Maxwell leant forward.
“I doubt that a package of that size could be inserted into anyone without causing considerable damage.”
“I can assure you, Your Honour, the defendant has experience of … accommodating significant loads in her anus from her days as a prostitute.” A wave of angry shouts surged across the court room at the revelation of Rosa’s career as a whore. Pamela could not resist a smile at the raucous effect of her malicious lie.
“I am not convinced. I need proof that the package will fit.”
A shiver of excitement ran through the room when the spectators realised that Judge Maxwell insisted upon the former sheriff stuffing the bag of cocaine into her anus.
She motioned to Sheriff Jensen, who did not need a second invitation to wrench the straps from Rosa’s fragile costume and leave her standing naked before the courtroom.
“Do we have Exhibit A?”
The court usher brought out the package, taken from a police storeroom in Houston six weeks before to be inserted into Ortiz only moments before the arrival of the delegation. The women in the court gasped at the size of the stash.
“That’ll never go in there.”
“You’d be surprised at these whores. They’ll do anything for money.”
The entire court leant forward as Jensen took the package from the court official and laid it on the table.
“Allow me.” Pamela left the witness box to stand by her prisoner. “I can assure you that it came out. I will, Your Honour, show you that it can return.”
A nod and a smile from Judge Maxwell set Pamela massaging her fingers into Rosa’s anus, returning to the tender intimate parts as she had visited so often over the past six weeks. Rosa began to moan, gasping for breath as the prison officer’s fingers began to prise apart her anal muscles as her hips swayed back and forth to the rhythm of Pamela’s abuse. A minute of pounding won her sufficient access for all five fingers and soon her knuckles were disappearing into Rosa.
“I think, Miss Clayton, you should show the good people of Harmon the depth of this young woman’s depravity, and the scale of the problems you face at the Foundation.”
Sheriff Jensen freed the ankles and Pamela spun her prisoner around to allow the audience a view of her hand disappearing into the former sheriff. Gasps of astonishment blended with shouts of encouragement for Pamela and outrage at such disgraceful behaviour from a former law officer.
Daphne, having enjoyed watching Pamela working her fingers into the prisoner, wanted to see how Rosa reacted to enduring brutal sodomy in front of the entire town, a cruel violation that would now condemn her to fifteen years of sexual slavery in The Foundation. Daphne had observed many convicts as she issued their sentence. There were groans of resignation, the occasional gasp of surprise and the odd glare of resentment. Now she could witness Rosa, naked and in chains, standing before her while suffering anal rape from her bitterest enemy. This was humiliation and degradation beyond endurance. Daphne could not resist a smile and a fleeting cuddle of her vagina as Pamela raised Rosa’s left leg to power her fist further into her enemy.
Pamela held up the white package to the audience before it began the journey into Rosa. Pamela lifted her prisoner onto the table and laid her legs in a straight line running from toe to toe. The last six weeks at Pamela’s hands, and her baton, ensured that Rosa was fully flexible, and she lay flat against the wood as the package disappeared between her buttocks. The room was silent, with only the rippling sound of the plastic bag and the occasional grunt of displeasure from the prisoner.
“How are you getting along Miss Clayton? Do you need a hand?”
“I’m nearly there, Your Honour.”
A minute later, as Rosa growled in pain through her gag, Pamela stood up from the table. She brought Rosa to the judge and displayed her anus to confirm the evidence.
“Show the people. They have a right to know the truth about their former sheriff.”
She brought Rosa to the bar, and in one swift movement she spun her around and thrust her head towards the floor. Exhibit A was now no more than a faint white stain in Rosa’s pink hole. Shouts of abuse for the sheriff followed the outraged gasps of the people of Harmon. Judge Maxwell eventually restored order and demanded that the defendant walk one mile with the bag in her anus to demonstrate that she was capable of retaining her drugs long enough to distribute to her contacts.
Pamela guided Rosa from the House of Justice with an anal handle, an adaptation of the baton Rosa had used to steer degraded and abused prisoners on their humiliating parade through the town after their convictions. Now it was Rosa who was forced to walk three times around the town square, followed by a strident crowd shouting abuse and threats. Some of the women approached for a slap and a kick, but the prison officers saved Rosa from most of the assaults. Thirty minutes after leaving, Rosa returned to the House of Justice, accompanied by an incensed entourage of mothers, patriots and respectable citizens, all outraged by the sheriff’s crime.
Rosa was shackled once more between the ankle bars, where she remained for another ten minutes until the door behind the bench opened and Judge Maxwell returned to her court. Sheriff Jensen confirmed that the defendant had walked at least one mile with Exhibit A in her anus, and the package remained within her orifice. Judge Maxwell wrote a few lines on her paper, set down her pen and weaved her fingers together before bestowing a stern, disapproving look at the defendant. She turned to the jury and asked them to carefully consider their verdict, silencing the shouts from some citizens for an immediate conviction.
The deliberations lasted for more than two hours, mainly because the jurors were able to enjoy lunch at the county’s expense once their discussions stretched beyond eleven thirty. During luncheon Rosa remained chained to the bars with Exhibit A in her anus and by the time Daphne returned to her seat to hear the juror’s conclusions, her body was covered in sweat and her legs rippled from the strain of the evidence wedged into her body. The jury’s verdict brought cheers from the audience and Judge Maxwell’s sentence of fifteen years was barely audible above the abuse heaped upon the former sheriff.
Daphne concluded the hearing with a call for greater vigilance for the sake of Harmon’s children and echoed the audience’s condemnation of the flagrant abuse of power by a trusted public official. Her final words were an expression of thanks for Pamela Clayton, who enjoyed the gratitude of the town for her prompt action.
Pamela led Rosa from the House of Justice to the waiting prison truck. A neck brace was fitted around her throat and attached to the rear bumper. The truck rolled away and gathered speed, forcing Rosa to sprint with her mouth gagged and her hands cuffed to the neck brace. She was accompanied on her tour through the town by a few of the local men, who issued slaps with their hands and swipes with sticks to send her naked, shackled and barefoot on her way to fifteen years of sexual slavery. However, by the time the truck had rolled through the town to arrive at the dirt track leading to the prison, Rosa was alone.
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