The Warden looked idly at the three files on his desk. He was vaguely interested in what fresh fish would be on the menu for his institution. Lately, the pickings had been a bit slim-too many programs to divert drug users into other settings-but he could hope.

He opened the top one-Tamika Greene, from the Bronx, part of a ring that shoplifted merchandise from big box stores and then returned it for cash or gift cards that they sold on line. She had no record, so her boyfriend and his cousin, who both had been inside a couple of times, let her take the rap for four years, instead of the ten they might have gotten. She was 19 and looked younger. The Warden knew some clients who would likely appreciate her after she was properly trained. He made a note to thank Judge McAdams for that one.

The Warden shook his head at the second one-the file said 43, but she looked 10 years older. Roberta Devers had been in and out of prison, starting back twenty years ago, mostly for drug possession and sale. This time it was five years for breaking into houses. He wasn't sure what he'd do with her. The high class clients wouldn't want her, but if her skills were good, she might earn her keep at the truck stop out on the highway. He'd give her a trial spin himself and see. He'd have to pass word to Judge Brewster not to make a habit of sending more like her.

It was the third one that really caught the Warden's attention. Barbara Moore, 35. Even her mugshot looked OK, so she probably would be very nice in the flesh. But the real prize appeared as he scanned down the page-she was an ex-cop, busted for conspiracy to hack into the NYPD database after she had left the Force.

That should have gotten her probation or a couple of months in the county lock-up, but old Judge Pennyworth had really come through on this one-two years!

But something rattled around the dark spaces of the Warden's brain. 'Barbara Moore, now, where do I know that name from?' He turned to his computer and typed the name into the search bar. "Holy fucking Jesus Christ!" the Warden exclaimed out loud as the hits scrolled down the screen. This was the cop from that crucifixion case in the Bronx! The one who had been crucified herself and then her partner Goldblum or Goldstein or something had caught the bad guys.

This was the motherlode-Christmas and your birthday rolled up into one. He could have clients lined up from here to Buffalo for a turn with ex-Detective, now Inmate Moore. He picked up the phone and hit a button. "Bernie, would you please come here? Thanks," he said.

Matron Bernice Armstrong was the Warden's right hand, a powerfully built lesbian around 40 years old, who, he was sure, spent her off hours arm wrestling men down at the local bikers' bar. "What can I do for you, Warden?' she asked as she barreled through the door without waiting to be invited in.

"I want you to call me as soon as the new inmates arrive."

"It's that Moore girl, isn't it?" she cackled.

"Yes, Bernie, and don't tell me you aren't interested in her also," he replied.

Matron Armstrong smiled, something she didn't do very often. "You know me too well just like I know you, Warden. We're two peas in a pod when it comes to hot girl flesh."

The Warden laughed. "That we are, Bernie. Now you call me when they get here. Don't forget."

"No sir, I won't. You won't miss a thing."

And the Warden had to admit that Matron Bernice Armstrong was true to her word. He watched through the one-way glass as she escorted Moore into the tiled room where strip searches were conducted on new inmates and following any visit they received. He could tell Moore was scared, though she put on a brave face.

Then that order that the inmate had to know was coming yet still caught them by surprise-"Kindly strip!" Despite the gratuitous pretense of politeness, that was when it got real for them, when they knew they were no longer the woman dolled up for court, the ordinary citizen, free to go shopping or to be taken to dinner, the wife, the girlfriend, the mother, the daughter. No, this was the moment when they learned that they were criminals, outcasts from society, trash to be disposed of at the whim of their keepers.

"What? Everything?" Moore replied. Questioning an order-that would cost her, as she would soon find out. But her act of defiance was doomed. Soon, like all the others, she submitted and began undressing, first the jacket, then the skirt then, after a moment's hesitation, the shoes, before she began slowly unbuttoning her blouse, hurried on by Matron Armstrong's impatience.

She stood in her bra and panties, looking thoroughly embarrassed and miserable. Did she really think she would be allowed to keep those? A few shouted words from Bernie disabused Moore of that notion. She removed those two undergarments as though they were toxic and stood totally naked, trying vainly to cover herself.

The Warden stared, taking her in from head to toe. 'A nice package,' he thought. Well-formed tits, a nicely trimmed bush down below, clean, no tats or piercings, something one rarely saw among the jailbirds these days, even the first timers. The clients would open their wallets for this one, that was for sure, but the Warden would allow himself a little taste first. He was pretty sure Bernie would want one also, not to mention the more dominant inmates. Hell, when they were done with her, Moore would beg to be allowed to satisfy a Marine squadron after getting it on with a women's rugby team as a warm up.

For the moment, Bernie would have to satisfy herself with sticking her thick, mannish fingers into Moore's cunt and asshole, which she did with evident relish on her face. Then she gave Moore her inmate's t-shirt and let her put her panties back on, before escorting her out and bringing Devers in.

The Warden watched her strip. She was very different from Moore-saggy tits, tattoos on her feet, thighs, arms and butt, with a couple of nipple piercings as an added bonus. Nevertheless, he found something intriguing in her completely nonchalant attitude to the entire proceedings. He'd need to interview her in private before deciding what to do with her.

Finally, the matron brought in Greene. She just looked like a scared kid, which was what she was, started crying when Bernie ordered her to strip, but did so fairly quickly. She had a nice body, large on top, which didn't appeal to the Warden that much, but a lot of clients liked that. Only a few small tats on her butt and neck. He could get some value from her.

As Bernie escorted Greene out of the search room, the Warden walked down the corridor to the orientation room where all three of the newbies awaited his introductory discourse. He steeled himself to look stern before entering.

The three new arrivals stood in a line, clad only in t-shirts and underpants, one of the male guards flanking the group at each end, Matron Armstrong standing in front of them, a scowl affixed to her face. Hearing the door open, she shouted "Stand at attention for the Warden!" The inmates straightened up, doing their best imitation of a company of soldiers.

The Warden approached, standing in front of each of them, Greene first, then Devers and, finally, Moore, looking them up and down from head to toe, their gaze meeting his, then lowering in submission.

The Warden stepped back. "All of you are here in the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women for one simple reason. You are unable to follow rules. Our job is simple-to change that, to turn you into law-abiding citizens. While you are here, you will obey all orders, whether they come from me, Matron Armstrong or any of the guards or inmate trustees."

"At first this obedience may be reluctant on your part, coerced by force where necessary," the Warden continued, pacing back and forth in front of the women, whose eyes followed him like tennis fans watching the ball in a long rally. "You may disobey because that has been your habit of many years, perhaps your entire life. Here, unlike on the outside, you will be punished for that disobedience. That may seem harsh, but it's for your own good. Eventually, obedience will become habitual; you won't need to think about what to do, you will simply obey."

The Warden stopped in front of Barb. "For example," he said, staring coldly at her, "When ordered to strip-look at me when I'm speaking to you, Inmate Moore-what is the appropriate response?"

Barb appeared a bit taken aback at being singled out. She appeared to be thinking about what answer would get her in the least trouble. "One should say, yes, Sir or yes, Ma'am."

The Warden slapped her across the face, not hard enough to do any real damage, but hard enough to impress upon her the gravity of her situation. Barb flinched and stumbled, then regained her balance. "Look at me," the Warden warned. He could see the fear in her eyes. "Words are all well and good, Inmate Moore, but actions are what matters. So, I will ask you again, what is the appropriate response to an order to strip?"

"To strip, Sir."

"Very good, Inmate Moore. You are a quick learner. I see how you made detective." The Warden could see Devers and Greene staring at Moore. It was clear they hadn't known she was a cop. Given the way rumors spread in prison, by the end of the day, every inmate would know Moore had been a cop. He suspected that would make things rather difficult for her. But he had business with her first.

"So, Inmate Moore, would you say that 'What? Everything?' and 'In front of them?' would not be good choices as to how to respond?"

"No, Sir, they wouldn't," Moore replied. She looked as though she knew something unpleasant would be coming.

"Very good, Moore. You've figured out what to say. But the lesson needs reinforcement. The response must be automatic, not needing any thought. Strip, Moore!"

Barb hesitated for a second, her mouth open, wanting to speak, but thinking the better of it. Then she reached down, grasped the hem of the t-shirt and pulled it over her head. She looked around, not sure what to do with it. Matron Armstrong snatched it from her hand, crumpled it up and threw it into the far corner of the room.

The Warden stared at her tits, feeling himself getting hard. Barb looked at him, hoping for a signal on his face, but there was none. She inhaled deeply and lowered her panties, stepping out of them and handing them to the Matron who drop kicked them into the corner to join the shirt.

"A bit of hesitation, Moore, but better. Nevertheless, there was your earlier questioning of an order and that must be punished. You will all follow me for a little demonstration of what you can expect for any failure to follow orders immediately and without question."

Matron Armstrong went to the door at the far end of the room and typed the code into the key pad. The lock clicked and she opened it. "You two follow me," she ordered staring at Greene and Devers. The two male guards each took one of Barb's arms, managing to paw her breasts in the process. The Warden followed behind, watching Barb's tight little ass swaying as she walked. His erection was becoming painful.

They passed through the door into one of the main corridors of the prison. They passed a row of cells, the occupants of which stood against the bars looking Barb up and down. Several wolf whistles rung out. "Do you like to eat pussy, newbie?" a voice called from one of the cells though it was hard to say which one.

"In a few days, she'll be eating pussy like it's ice cream at a county fair. Ass, too," another voice shouted.

Matron Armstrong rapped her baton on the bars of the nearest cell. "Shut up, unless you want to join her in the DU!" she shouted. The clamor quieted. Barb wondered what DU stood for, though she suspected she would find out all too soon.

The procession passed several guards, male and female, making their way down the corridor. They looked Moore up and down, leering at her nakedness. Finally, the group reached the end of the corridor and a door that said, "Disciplinary Unit". 'I guess that's what DU stands for,' Barb told herself. She knew that whatever awaited her in there wasn't going to be good.

The Matron unlocked the door and motioned them all in, locking the door behind her. Inside was a short corridor with several rooms leading off of it. The first room on the right was labelled "Punishment Room 1". Armstrong opened the door. "Inside, Moore," she ordered. The two guards pushed Barb inside, fondling her ass as they moved her forward. The others followed as Matron Armstrong closed and locked the door.

"Get her up there," the Matron ordered. "There" was a solid wooden contraption bolted to the floor, consisting of a platform that protruded from one end and a flat padded surface. The guards each grabbed an arm and lifted her knees onto the platform. They each grabbed an ankle and separated her legs such that her feet, the soles of which were almost black from having walked barefoot along the corridor, were shoulder length apart and hanging over the edge of the platform. They secured each of her ankles with the heavy leather straps that were bolted to the platform.

Then, they shoved her torso down, squashing her breasts against the padded surface and secured her wrists with straps attached to the sides of the apparatus. Barb couldn't help noting that with her legs spread wide, her pussy and asshole were totally exposed to anyone standing behind her, which included the Warden, the Matron, the two male guards and her two fellow inmates.

The Matron went to the cabinet at the far end of the room. Barb couldn't see everything that was hanging on the hooks in there, but what she could see was scary enough, including the implement the Matron selected.

It was a prison strap, like the one Stan had ordered, but the handle was thicker and the leather looked heavier and more supple from frequent use. Barb couldn't believe that in this day and age they would actually flog a naked female prisoner with such a horrible implement, but everything suggested that they would.

The Matron brought the strap over and laid the leather part on the padded surface next to Barb's face. "Check this out, Moore," she said grinning "And just imagine how this will feel when it smacks into that cute little ass of yours. They call me Strong Arm Armstrong and you're about to find out why."

"And you two," she addressed Devers and Greene. "You watch carefully and mind you obey orders or it will be you there next time." Then, she picked up the strap by the handle and moved behind Barb, adjusting her distance carefully so that the full length of the strap would impact Barb's buttocks.

"A dozen, Warden?" she asked. He nodded.

"Prepare yourself, Moore," she said, then twisted her body, raising the strap over her head, before untwisting and sending the brutal leather flying towards its target.