PENAL FARM FOR WOMEN - EXTRACT

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

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 fucked me. It was done in what he thought was a civilized manner, but it was rough.

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, fucked 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 and he quickly joined the fucking of Kat.

In all truthfulness, it wasn't abuse as such. It stopped being nonconsensual long before Uncle Roger was through. About the time of my first orgasm, I suppose.

The three old farts stayed in my room fucking me for several hours and again in the interest of honesty I confess I loved it. I must have experienced fifty nice orgasms.

Sex with multiple partners wasn't completely new to me. I had engaged in a few sessions of group sex before I met James. Being fucked by a trio of old men was something new to me.

After they left, I douched and used the sperm killing fluid twice because they had my pussy awash with their seed. For men of what I considered advanced years they certainly had produced a lot of cum.

Later, while lying in bed trying to go to sleep, I felt pangs of guilt. Guilt because I had enjoyed the small gang bang so much. I was, after all, a married woman. I had a duty to my husband. What would James say when I told him about his father and his uncles fucking me? Would I tell him? Should I tell him? Finally, I drifted off to sleep without coming up any answers.

The following morning I took a walk to try to clear my head. I strolled down the path behind the cluster of houses to the horseless stables. From the look and smell there hadn't been any horses kept there for a long time.

There was something sad about an empty stable. The absence of horsy sounds, the smell of hay and horse grains. Even the absence of horse manure. I had been raised around hoses and I love them. I got my first pony long before I could sit on it.

The stable building was made of sturdy oak timber and native stone. Some artisan had labored lovingly on the construction of the facility.

"Hasn't been horses here since my late wife passed away," Chandler Skaar said from behind me. I jumped in surprise. I thought he had gone into the city to the offices.

"It's a shame," I said after recovering enough to speak. "I love horses."

"Then you shall have some," he said. "Call around and locate some that you think will do. Do you ride?"

"Yes," I answered. "I used to ride a lot. Western, but not English style." I figured that would set him off, but he fooled me.

"I used to ride a bit," he said. "I also prefer more saddle than our English friends use. The horn on a western saddle was always a comfort to me. Something to hang on to, you see." We made a trip down the runway of the stable to the other end where we stopped.

"I got a call from James this morning," Chandler said. "He'll be in Liverpool for another week at least. He asked me to convey to you he misses you and longs for you. I told him I was sure you missed him also."

"Thank you," I said. "Why didn't he call me?"

"I don't know," he answered. "Busy I suppose. He is a very dedicated young man, you know." He removed his jacket and hung it on a hook. "I would very much like for you to suck my cock, Kathryn," he said calmly. He said it so blasé I didn't get it for a moment.

"While you suck me, you can think of what kind and how many horses you would like to have," he unbuttoned his pants and took out his dick. I couldn't help but note his fly had buttons and not a zipper. "Come here, daughter and pleasure me."

Well hell. What was I to do? He wanted his old cock sucked and there was no one around but me. So I went over, knelt, and gave him a first-class blow-job. Sucking cock is something at which I have always been proficient. Very good, actually. I think it is because I really like giving head. Most of the time I can climax from sucking a dick.

For an old fart, Chandler got hard quickly. He kept it up for a long time in spite of my best effort. Finally, I won and he emptied his cum in my mouth. I swallowed it like a good little daughter-in-law. He tucked his soft cock back into his pants and strolled away.

"You are welcome, you old dickhead," I said. Not so loud he could hear, but loud enough so that I felt better about it.

That evening we assembled at the huge dinner table. Roger and Thomas, with Chandler at the head of the table. I was sitting across from the uncles next to Chandler.

"Horses," Uncle Roger said as if we had been discussing it. "Jolly good. Be nice to have horses back on the place, what."

"Indeed," Thomas said. "Blooded horses, of course. I'm thinking of Anglo-Arabian horses."

"Yes, while I admire that breed of Arabians I prefer the Egyptian blood line," Chandler stated. "I have decided, subject to Kathryn's concurrence, that we should have Egyptian bred mares or gildings. What are your thoughts, dear?"

"Any old nag suits me," I said. Actually, I like the Arabian horses. My first actual horse was a quarter horse-Arab mix and I loved him.

"No stallions," Thomas said. "That is just begging for trouble."

"No, of course no stallions," Chandler said. "That is why I said mares and geldings, Thomas."

"Quiet right," Roger spoke up. "There are enough stallions on the place all ready, what."

"Speaking of that," Thomas said. "Chandler tells us you are quite adapt at fellatio, Kathryn. Good show."

"Fellatio?" Chandler said. "I did not use that word. I said she was a wonderful cocksucker. I meant it as a compliment."

"Fellatio is Latin for suck," Thomas replied unruffled.

"I took it as a compliment," I said. "Thanks, I have been told I was good, but it's always nice to hear it confirmed."

"While I find the subject of oral sex delightful, let us get back to horses for a moment," Roger said. "Should I contact a stockman?"

"Of course not," Chandler snapped. "Since its Kathryn's project she should select and purchase the horses. All we have to decide is how many to have her get."

"How many stalls are there?" Roger asked. "I haven't been anywhere near that stable since...well in a long time."

"There are twelve stalls," Chandler said. "However, I should think only a few horses at first. What do you say, Kathryn?"

"Yes, one or two to begin," I said. "Maybe more later." Hell I could play their silly game. The dinner ended with some spotted dick. I'm sorry to say I grin every time I hear it said. I can't help but visualize a big cock with spots.

"Perhaps we could have brandy in the study," Chandler suggested. "While we do that perhaps Kathryn will give us a demonstration of her oral skills." I was sure they didn't want a speech.

"Fellatio!" Thomas said excitedly jumping to his feet.

"Oral sex," Roger said and he got up quickly.

"Call it what you like," Chandler said getting up slower. "It's still just cocksucking. Come along, dear."