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Wendy wasn’t a bad girl - just a bit wild.

She had always been a handful to her parents, but the firm, loving had of her Daddy on her bare bottom (sometimes supplemented by his supple leather belt) had kept her mostly on the straight and narrow path. But, her Daddy had died three years ago when Wendy was just fourteen years old. Since then, her mother had tried to give Wendy the guidance that she sorely needed, with only sporadic success.

Now, just several days shy of her eighteenth birthday, Wendy found herself in her first really serious trouble. She had been out with two of her closest friends, Judy and Sheila, just hanging out at the local AandW in their home town of Boonesville, when two handsome, rugged looking guys sat down with them and started to flirt with them. Wendy welcomed the attention and flirted right back, while Judy joined in, in her own quiet flirtatious way. Sheila was too shy to say much and mostly just sat there and blushed at the teasing by the guys.

Finally, the two guys stood up and said, “Come on, let’s go for a ride. We’ve got a fast, hot convertible outside and you girls would look just great in it.”

Wendy instantly agreed, as was her style – leap first and look later. Judy needed some prodding by Wendy, but also agreed. Sheila, to everyone’s relief, begged off saying that she had to be home soon and her father would come and pick her up. (After all, who needed a fifth wheel?) So, Wendy and Judy hopped in the bright red convertible - Wendy in front and Judy in back - and off they went for a ride in the wooded hills which surrounded Boonesville.

They were having a terrific time, laughing and drinking beer, throwing the empty cans the hapless cows which regarded them with Larsonesque disdain. All was right with the world. Wendy had just schooched over towards Dwayne, who was driving, putting her arm around his shoulders while thinking that those long sideburns were really quite sexy. Then her life, as it then was, came screeching to a halt with the wailing of the siren and the flashing of the red, white and blue strobe lights of the quickly approaching Buford County Sheriff’s car.

Wendy only learned the whole story at the police station while she was waiting for her mother to come and bail her out. The bright red convertible was hot in more ways than one. As it turned out, Dwayne and Junior had stolen the car in neighboring Jackson county about two hours before they appeared at the A and W. Worse still, the car belonged to Erline Crosby, the wife of Boss Crosby, the virtual dictator of Jackson County. To top it off, Mrs. Boss Crosby’s money was missing from her wallet in the glove compartment of the car and that money had been found on Wendy’s side of the front seat, down between the cushions. Wendy stood accused of stealing the money. Added to this was a charge of joyriding and one of resisting arrest. (Wendy took exception to being put in handcuffs by the sweating, pawing Sheriff.) Judy was only charged with joyriding, while the two guys faced a string of charges. They’d been around some it seems and were “well known” to the police. They also had several warrants out for their arrest in various counties. We can wipe the guys out of our minds now as they were only the instruments of Wendy’s impending disaster.

Wendy’s trial was separate from the others as she was, when the crimes had been committed, still a juvenile under Georgia law. The others were all eighteen years old or older and were tried in adult court. Wendy was given a free lawyer as her mama was destitute. (She had to put the deed to the house up as collateral for Wendy’s bail.) The legal aid lawyer seemed more interested in staring down Wendy’s blouse or up her skirt then in her protestations of innocence. For him, this was an easy and quick $500.00 with the possibility of a brief grope of his client if he was lucky. He wasn’t and Wendy’s rebuffs of him only added to his desire to get this case over quickly and to move on to greener pastures. Eventually, he convinced Wendy that, as she was a first-time offender and a juvenile, the court would go easier on her if she admitted her guilt and asked for the mercy of the court. Her initial reluctance was overcome by her desire to get it over with and to get away from this sleazy, dandruff-suited lawyer. This was her second error in judgment.

When she appeared in juvenile court, she pleaded guilty to

all three charges. Then the judge, after accepting her pleas, astounded her with his sentence. After obligatory lecture, he said to her, “Little Miss, you’re headed off on the road to ruin, but I think that there’s hope for you if you get the right, firm guidance you so apparently need. I therefore sentence you to nine months detention in the State Reformatory for Girls in Valdosta.” Upon hearing these words, Wendy gave a shriek and fainted dead away. (She later learned that the judge was a cousin of Boss Crosby.)

She came too in the holding cell while her mother tearfully

peered through the bars. After a brief goodbye, Wendy was handcuffed and leg-shackled to two rough-looking teenage girls and was loaded into the Sheriff Department’s van for transportation to the reform school. She cried all the way to Valdosta, greatly annoying the other two girls who promised her that if she didn’t stop snivelling, they’d help to make her stay in “The Valley” (as it was known fondly by both staff and inmates) on which she’d never forget. It seems that they were regular guests there. Wendy tried, but got the hiccups which only made it worse.

While Wendy is on her way to “The Valley,” perhaps we should take a moment to describe our heroine in a bit more detail. Wendy is 5 feet, 3 inches tall, with shiny black hair cut fairly short for that part of the U.S. Her eyes, when she isn’t crying, are a sparkling, mischievous green (At the moment, they are a blurry red.) Her body can only be described as pert and compact. Her breasts are not too big and not too small, but just right, and pert. Her legs, while short, are well-proportioned, sleek and nicely muscled (they are not pert). Her bottom is her best feature - she has been told many times, especially when she’s wearing her Boonesville High cheerleaders outfit. It isn’t just pert (which it is), but well rounded with each buttock fully and separately defined with dimples on each side and two dimples at the top, just where her bottom cleft ends. Her buttocks ride high on her small body and, when she walks, they seem to have a life and personality of their own. Finally, her face. When she is happy (which she definitely isn’t just now) she has a beautiful smile which can light up a room and melt your heart. Her face somehow manages to be sweet and innocent while also revealing a certain devilish lack of respect for authority.

Back to Wendy, who is just now arriving at the main gate to “The Valley.” After the van was waved into the compound, it stopped at a building marked “Reception.” Wendy and her two new friends were herded into a windowless room. All three found it difficult to walk with their hands and feet shackled to each other. Amazingly enough, the other two girls had finally fallen silent, their cocky grins replaced by nervous ones - trying hard to look casual, but only succeeding in looking like the teenage girls that they were. Somehow, their change in attitude only served to heighten Wendy’s anxiety.

While their shackles were being undone, Wendy noticed that there were three adults in the room - two women and a man. The man, Superintendent Kramer, began by announcing who he was followed by a brief, tough guy talk on how they were in his reformatory now and would play by his rules or suffer the consequences which, he assured them would be swift, severe and extremely painful. He then introduced Chief Matron Faskin and Guard Clarke and left the room

Both women glared at the now quaking girls and, finally, Chief Matron Faskin ordered, “strip naked, NOW!!” Wendy jumped at the harshness of her voice and opened her mouth to protest, but, when she saw that the other two girls were already half-naked, she, too, began to shed her clothes.

Once they were all naked as babies, the Chief Matron snapped on a pair of surgical latex gloves and approached Wendy and said, “Open your mouth.” Once Wendy had complied, The Chief Matron probed in her mouth with her fingers, searching for contraband. She next ordered Wendy to raise her arms over her head and inspected her underarms with her now wet, gloved fingers. Despite her terror, Wendy almost began to giggle as she was quite ticklish. Somehow she overcame the urge as the Chief Matron lowered her sights and said to Wendy, “Spread your legs good and wide and do it quickly.” Horrified, Wendy did as she demanded. The Chief Matron inserted a finger into Wendy’s bone-dry vagina and probed vigorously around inside. Wendy’s gasp and whimper were the only sounds in the room. Finally, the intruding finger was withdrawn and Wendy slumped a bit forgetting that there was yet another hiding place to explore. She was quickly reminded by the Chief Matron’s gruff voice saying, “Turn around, bend over and grab your ankles.” Oh, Lord, help me, thought Wendy, not that. Her hesitation was brusquely ended by a resounding smack to her left buttock delivered by the Guard who had appeared out of nowhere with a wicked-looking riding crop in her hand. Letting out a shriek, Wendy immediately turn, bent and grabbed her ankles, wincing at the pain as the skin of her left bottom cheek stretched and aggravated the already rising welt on that quivering globe. The Chief Matron rudely inserted her dry, gloved finger into that most secret and tightly contracted orifice which was now staring her right in her nasty face. The pain was breath-taking; Wendy had to struggle against her instinct to close her legs and to stand up. Instead, she channeled her pain and humiliation - yes, and her grief at her lost freedom - into her now continuous sobbing. And, if you listened very carefully, you could hear, under her almost uncontrollable sobs and the noises being made by the Chief Matron’s gloved finger, Wendy choke out a whispered, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

******

A couple of months had gone by and our Wendy was slowly adjusting to her new life; she always had been adaptable. She had only been disciplined a couple of times for minor infractions of the rules. The days at “The Valley” were long and arduous. They were up at 0500, out in the fields working until 1700 with a brief break for lunch in the fields. Then, after dinner, an hour for clean-up, a brief period to watch television and lights out at 2100. This routine was only broken on Sunday when, aside from the mandatory church attendance at 0900, the day was hers to do want she wanted.

One of the ways by which Wendy survived her ordeal was to use her fertile imagination to cut herself off from the harsh reality around her. she imagined a future life with a husband and children, a small house near Boonesville and a little bit of land for a garden. And, while still, technically, a virgin, she dreamed of her boyfriend Leroy (who had since forgiven her for the brief “fling” with Dwyane), and what they used to do together in the back seat of his old Chevy. Of course, she saved those type of memories for when she was alone (or as alone as she ever got with three other girls sharing her room). That was the best that she could do as no girl was ever truly alone in “The Valley.” Often, if she was sure by their regular breathing that the other girls were asleep, she would accompany her reveries with a long, slow and languorous session of masturbation. These sessions produced in her the only true peace she felt and the subsequent release provided for her a profound and restful night’s sleep. Little did she know that her night in May that this, her only pleasure and release, was to prove to be the source of her most severe punishment and of the most humiliating episode of her short life.

It was Wednesday night, May 17th to be precise. The day had been one of those mid-May days in southern Georgia, when the temperature had soared to 92 degrees and the humidity had come in over the ocean many miles away carrying the smell of salt and summer along with the moisture. While the weather had, at first, exhilarated the girls working in the fields, by mid-afternoon, the sun and the heat had made everyone cranky and disputatious. By the end of the day, their thin cotton smocks had clung stickily and, yes, provocatively to their young bodies. Wendy noticed that the Superintendent, Mr. Kramer, was hanging around the fields a lot now that the days were hot. His greedy pig-like eyes, set in his fat jowly face, were watching the girls like a cat watches a mouse. He made her very nervous, giving her a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, especially when his darting eyes settled on her pert little body.

At the end of that May day, Wendy finally received a letter from Leroy. He wasn’t much for writing and it had been three weeks since she had heard from him. In it her told her in his halting, fractured syntax way about what he was doing and how he and their friends missed her. He closed by assuring her of his fidelity (not exactly in those words) and of his affection for her. She had received the letter at mail-call at 1900 and, by lights out, she had re-read it several times. As the lights went out and she settled on to her small narrow iron-framed bed, she thought of Leroy. She was on top of the covers and sheet as it was still 78 degrees out and sticky - there were no fans in their room, let alone air conditioning. Despite the open, barred window, it was too warm for even a sheet. It was, as Neil Diamond once said, “so hot you could hear yourself sweat.”

As she lay on her bed thinking of Leroy, she began to unroll the film in her head which she had played so often - she and Leroy in the back seat of the Chevy. As the images danced and squirmed on the backs of her now closed eyelids, she moved her hand down to the hem of her simple, threadbare cotton nightgown, lifted it up to her neck and, with her right hand, she began to slowly stroke her mons as her legs parted. Her left hand strayed by rote to her right breast and her fingers caressed the now hardening nipple. She sighed and lost herself in the depths of her own mounting pleasure, oblivious to the world around her.

As her practiced hands brought her to that delicious, delicate point-of-no-return, just as she was making that usual, yet unacknowledged, decision to accelerate her stroking and quickly reach her climax or to hesitate a moment and let the rising tide recede a bit and then to let the pressure between her legs slowly build again, just at that crucial and most very private moment, the windowed door was flung open, the lights blazed on and a voice shouted out, “JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING THERE GIRL?!!”

Wendy froze in mid-stroke like a cockroach on the floor. Her hands, now stopped, stayed where they were. Her eyes flew open, blinking frantically against the harsh fluorescent lights, to see the Chief Matron and the Guard standing in the doorway. She was dimly aware that her upraised legs and widely spread knees gave them a splendid view of her open and wet vagina. Finally, the rush of adrenalin caused by this rude intrusion jolted her into motion. She closed and lowered her legs, pulled down her nightgown and pulled up the sheet, almost all in one motion. Trembling, she lay as still as road kill awaiting her fate as her excitement melted like a Georgia snowstorm.

The Chief Matron and the Guard marched into the room and stopped on either side of her Wendy’s bed. With a command of, “You’re coming with us,” they each grabbed an arm, yanked her out of bed and began dragging her out the door and down the hall. So swiftly did they act, that the other three girls had barely begun to wake up and to wonder what was going on around them.

Wendy, still a bit stunned, half-walk and was half-dragged

down the hall, her bare feet make a prescient slapping sound on the hard tile floor. Her legs were barely functional with their hormone-induced relaxation. She managed a weak protest saying, “where are you taking me?” and was reward with a curt, “shut-up you slut.”

Her question was answered as they pulled her through a doorway which was labelled “SUPERINTENDENT.” She was surprised to see that Superintendent Kramer was still behind his desk.

“Well, what have we here,” he oozed. “It’s Wendy, isn’t it?” he queried. The fact that he knew her name made Wendy even more anxious. After all, there were almost 500 girls in “The Valley.”

The Chief Matron and the Guard quickly outlined what they had witnessed, disgust (and, perhaps something else) dripping from their words. The Guard added her personal judgment of, “Pervert.” The Superintendent then had the Chief Matron go over, again, slowly and in minute detail, what she had witnessed. Clearly the story intrigued him.

When the Chief Matron was finished, he turned his attention to the trembling Wendy and said, “Well, girl, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Wendy, blushing deeply was mute.

“Speak up, girl,” he bellowed. “What caused you to perform such an abomination on yourself?”

Wendy remained silent, which only seemed to provoke him further.

“Well, girl,” he said, “we’re just gonna have to show you what we do to young sluts and perverts like you at ‘The Valley’. Part of our job here is to see that your are returned to society as a decent, upright young lady.” He continued, “I think that we need to teach you a lesson, a lesson that will come to mind each time that the devil tempts you towards self-abuse.”

The Superintendent motioned to the Chief Matron and to the Guard while saying to Wendy, “my girl, we need you jaybird naked for this lesson.” Wendy’s initial thought was to refuse, but, before she could even react, her wrists were taken a hold of by the Guard while the Chief Matron reached down and raised the hem of her nightgown over her head. Her wrists were briefly released long enough to completely remove the piece of cloth and were quickly grabbed again. Wendy was mortified as well as terrified. Aside from her Daddy, when he spanked or strapped her, no man had ever seen her completely naked before - not even Leroy. Oh, sure, he had touched her in her secret places and seen her bare breasts, but no man had ever seen what the Superintendent now saw.

Sensing her discomfort, he said, “Missy, don’t fret about me seeing you naked. I’ll see a lot more of you before the night is over.”