It was described as a minimum-security correction facility for women. In fact, it
was a prison farm run by the state. Not as bad as some places of incarnation, but not a
nice place.
My name is Kathryn Skaar. Skaar is pronounced like a disfigurement. Scar. My
maiden name is Catlow. I married a man by the name of James Skaar and took his last name.
I killed James Skaar and that is why I’m at the Wedgwood Penal Farm for women. Most
everyone I know…knew, called me Kat. For a while, I was Kat Catlow then Kat Catlow Skaar
and then suddenly I was known as inmate number W5438123.
I was told during my orientation that the name Wedgwood came from the original
owners of the farm. I was also informed that the farm consisted of nearly five hundred
acres. The farm produced beef, pork, poultry, and vegetables.
I reported in at Wedgewood early on Monday and spent the next six days in solitary
confinement and orientation classes. The classes were instruction mainly on what not to
do. The what-to-do didn’t take nearly as long as the not-to-do portion.
I could have summed up the orientation in a few minutes. Don’t give anybody any
trouble. Do what you are told to do with no back-talk. Work, work, work. Don’t even think
about escape because it was impossible and I would most likely be shot and killed and the
farm’s hogs would eat my dead body.
My instructor was a short neat woman of indeterminable age. Somewhere between
thirty and sixty was my best guess. She chain smoked while telling me the rules of
Wedgewood. Ironically one of which was no smoking except designated places.
The inmates worked during the day under the watchful eyes of guards on horseback.
There was no perimeter fence, but at night all the inmates were confined in one area with
a high chain link fence. There were two barracks-like houses for the nearly one hundred
inmates. I would be assigned to building number two, bunk twenty-two.
The first two nights I was at Wedgewood I cried myself to a fitful sleep. Something
happened on the third day of orientation. I got mad; really angry at everything and
everyone who was involved in my downfall, including myself. However, not as mad at me, as
the others. The anger came as a result of my instructor asking me what I had done to end
up at Wedgewood Correctional Farm.
“I killed my husband,” I said to her. “I took a cricket bat and I beat him to
death.”
“You must have been really pissed-off,” she said. “What on earth is a cricket
bat?”
I explained that cricket was a bat and ball game that had originated in England,
but was played in a lot of other countries. I told her that the bat was wooden and a
little over three feet long including the handle. It was blade shaped and a little over
four inches wide. It was heavy and made a dandy weapon.
“Damn,” she said. Her name was Lois Brittle. “We don’t usually get murderers here
at Wedgewood.”
“I wasn’t convicted of murder,” I told her. “I was convicted of manslaughter in the
third degree. I should have been given a medal.”
“Want to talk about it?” she asked kindly. I wasn’t sure if it was kindness or just
being nosy.
“No I do not,” I answered her and immediately started telling her the awful story.
***
I met the man who would become my husband at a fraternity party while attending
college. He was tall, cool and as good-looking as all get out. I fell for his charm like a
rock. James was in his last year of college and his employment was assured by the family
business.
His family owns Skaar Enterprises. Skaar is a multinational diverse company. The
primary business is arms. Not hunting guns, but military weapons. They have manufacturing
plants in twelve countries as well as Americas. The patriarch of the family was James’
grandfather Alton Skaar. The old man died just after James and I were married. The mantle
was passed to James’ father and two bachelor uncles. Thomas Skaar and Roger Skaar are the
uncles. Chandler Skaar is James’ father and CEO of Skaar Enterprises.
I knew that James came from an affluent family, but I had no idea of just how
wealthy they really were. Also, until later I had no idea how evil they were. All of them,
James included.
After a whirlwind courtship, we were married in the college chapel. A weeklong
honeymoon and then to the Skaar Compound. The compound will take some explaining. There
are three huge houses clustered together on nearly fifty acres of manicured lawn and
grounds. The whole place was surrounded by a high electrified fence and at night packs of
vicious dogs were turned loose to roam, to seek, and to attack anything or anyone who
dared enter.
Frankly, the place was sinister to me. I hated it from the very first day we moved
there. We moved into the center house with Chandler Skaar. There was no Mrs. Chandler
Skaar. James’ mother died many years earlier. With the exception of the servants, I was
the only woman living at the compound. I was the only white woman.
The three brothers were as alike as three peas in a pod. They looked alike and they
spoke in the same upper crust manner with a phony British accent. All the men, James
included, were Anglophiles. None of them appreciated my cockney accent, but other than
that, if it was British, it was okay.
The cook, a short portly man was English and frankly he couldn’t cook worth a
tinker’s damn. I was subjected to steak and kidney pie, and Black pudding that is made
from dried pigs blood and fat. I found out that bangers and mash is just sausage and
mashed potatoes. There was a lot of roast beef, barely cooked, and a lot of lamb and
mutton. My favorite was spotted dick. Not a venereal disease, but a really nice dessert
pudding.
Much of the food stock was imported from England by a company employee on a company
jet. Some of it was precooked so all the cook had to do was attempt to heat it or chill it
as the case may be. I was required to attend the formal or semi-formal dinners held at
the main house, but most of the time I managed to escape the compound long enough to get a
supply of eatable food.
After about three months of being confined at the compound, the dinner conversation
started with them asking James if I was in the family way yet. The dinner conversation
usually ended with James being told he was the last of the Skaar line and they were
counting on him to impregnate me and get at least one son to carry on the family name. I
got so sick of hearing that crap I wanted to scream. Of course I didn’t, I smiled
demurely and put up with the shit.
One night while James was off on a junket to Europe, Uncle Thomas Skaar decided he
would do something about the lack of a baby. He came to my room and abused me. It was done
in what he thought was a civilized manner, but it was abuse none the less.
I was just emerging from my nightly shower wrapped in only a towel when he barged
into the room. I was shocked speechless when he jerked the towel from my body, threw me
onto the bed, and fucked me.
When he ejected his sperm in me, he held me still for a while. I was nearly
hysterical.
“Now, don’t carry on so,” Uncle Thomas said. “You simply needed a fresh supply of
Skaar semen. James is falling down on the job.” The crude man used his fingers to push his
seed deeper into my vagina. He laughed and said he wanted to give his swimmers a good
start. The rotten son of a bitch had the gall to kiss me before he left the room.
For a long time I lay there in shock at what happened. Then I ran to the bathroom
and squirted my pussy full of spermicidal cream. I knew that James was under family
pressure to have an offspring, but I did not intend to get knocked-up any time soon so I
kept a supply handy. I was taking birth control pills but I wanted to take no chances.
I walked around all the next day in a fog. I couldn’t believe what had happened to
me. That evening when called to dinner I declined and stayed in my room.
“Miss,” Mary the Jamaican maid said sticking her head in the door. “I brought you a
tray.” Naturally, Mary had a British accent. She was a light skinned black woman. I told
her I wasn’t hungry, but I changed my mind when I saw it was fish and chips. To me that is
one meal the Brits do right.
Mary left me to eat alone and I hadn’t any more than finished than Uncle Roger
appeared. Yeah, raped again.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Uncle Roger said carefully removing his pants, folding them
neatly and putting them on a chair. “This is for the good of the family. Please do not
resist me.”
The Skaar men were all older than dirt to me, but they were incredibly strong. Of
course, I resisted, but he overpowered me and had his way. James had been away from our
bed for over a week, but that wasn’t an excuse for my orgasm. It came from out of
nowhere. Suddenly I was twitching and jerking and there it was. A blinding climax with
that dirty old man.
My orgasm seemed to spur Uncle Roger on. He redoubled his efforts and I came for
the second time. I was so involved with being fucked I didn’t hear James’ father come in
the room.
“A hot blooded wench, what?” Chandler said watching his brother fuck his
daughter-in-law. “Let me take the fillie for a ride, Roger.”
The next thing I knew Chandler Skaar was fucking me. He was almost as good as
Roger and he was doing me well. He added his load of sperm to what his brother put in me.
Then who should arrive but Uncle Thomas…
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