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Retribution and Fall's Creek Women's Prison

By: Rollin Hand
Published By: DT Publications
Copyright: Published by DT Publications, 2013.
Six Chapters / 20,195 Words
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A pair of novelettes containing collectively over 20,000 words, Retribution and Falls Creek Women's Prison present a darker vision of the world of spanking and BDSM erotica. At heart both novellas are romances with protective alpha males who love and discipline their women with equal fervor. But these are crime novellas and criminals can be pretty bad actors. 

RETRIBUTION features Brenda Starling, ace reporter for a newspaper in Portland, Oregon. Brenda is on to a story, one that involves sinister abductions of young pretty females coupled with painful and humiliating judicial type punishments. Who is doing this and why? Brenda is determined to find out, heedless of the risk to her personal safety. This does not sit well with her photographer boyfriend who will not hesitate to discipline his headstrong girlfriend when the need arises. And as Brenda's investigation brings her closer to the truth, she discovers that the hunter may have become the hunted. 

FALLS CREEK WOMEN'S PRISON features Connie Bright, a rookie police officer with a mission--enter the notorious women's correctional facility undercover, as an inmate, and discover the criminal enterprise being run on the inside. But it is 1955 and corporal punishment for inmates is very much the norm at Falls Creek. A date with Black Betty, the notorious prison razor strap, is something to be feared and avoided. On top of that, there is the tough as nails inmate, Tall Mary, known to all as Big Momma, the ruler of the cell block. It is not wise to cross her for as all the inmates know, momma will spank. As the true nature of the crime inside the walls becomes clearer, Connie is faced with a question--who is in on it, and worse, who can she trust to get her out?


Part 1


           Brenda Starling blew through the newsroom of the Tribune like a force of nature. The former red haired beauty queen (Miss Oregon runner-up 2006), was indeed a bona fide star in the newsroom--she was their top investigative reporter. George Smithson ran his hand through his hair as he stared at the wake she left, snapping orders at staff, demands for computer research, yelling for her assistants—not to mention observing the marvelous twitch of her hips in the figure hugging skirt. As her editor he often had his hands full with her. And the problem was, she was damn good. She had a nose for a story like no one else, and an unflagging drive to root it out. Now she had a source on one of the biggest stories of the year, if it was true. A woman who had confided in her, recounting a frightening and lurid incident.


           She’d been abducted, but not by aliens, although it was so strange it might have been aliens. It was horribly embarrassing as well as scary and painful. Which was one reason she hadn’t come forward, hadn’t gone to the police. By chance Brenda had heard the story from a woman she’d met through a friend while drinking in a downtown bar. The woman had confided in her and had told her an unbelievable story about a friend of hers being abducted and then punished in a rather intimate and embarrassing way before being let go. Brenda pushed her for details and finally she had given Brenda her friend’s name---and an introduction. With a promise to keep her name out of the papers the friend had agreed to an interview.


           The woman, a rather nice looking young executive type named Carol, told Brenda she had been grabbed while walking to her car after a workout at her gym. She worked out regularly and had never felt that the parking lot at night was dangerous, but that is where they had grabbed her, bundled her into a dark van and thrown a hood over her head. She had been taken on a long ride to a dark cabin, a rough place with log walls and no windows. There had been a heavy wooden door to the outside that was locked. It had been quiet, like it was way out in the woods. No road noise. Except that she could hear the sound of running water, like the structure sat next to a babbling brook. For a day nothing happened. She had shouted for help but no one answered. There was no one there in this place but her. They had left food for her---and water, but for an entire day she heard no one.


           The next morning they came for her. There were two of them, wearing black leather and masks. One was a woman. The outfit made her look like some sort of weird Catwoman character, like from a comic strip. But it was all too real. She had tried to fight but she was overcome. Her hands were bound behind her and a blindfold placed over her eyes. She was marched, one person on each arm, and taken to a different place. They walked. Into a structure. Up some stairs, down some stairs. She sensed being in a large room. Then they took off the blindfold.


           She was standing in front of a bench, like in a courtroom. It was otherwise a just a room with dark wooden walls but she saw cameras set up like they were about to film something. There was scary looking apparatus. Frames that looked to be designed for restraint, like old time stocks and a block with fastening straps. A figure in a hooded robe sat high above her behind the bench. The figure looked menacing though she could not see his face. She remembered what he had said to her though, like it was yesterday.


           “You are here,” said the voice, “for retribution. Cooperate and it will all be over soon.”


           She’d said, ‘wait a minute---who are you? What is this?’ but the hooded figure had commanded her to be silent. She’d been genuinely afraid. These people were obviously nuts.


           He pointed at her. “You have wronged someone. You have committed a serious infraction against this person. For this you will be punished, just like the others.”


           “Who? What did I do?”


           “If you think, you will remember,” said the figure in the robe. “A rather childish act, I think. So in return you will receive a child’s punishment.”

           He addressed the black clad woman. “Miss A,” he said, “put this young woman across your knee and spank her--- hard. Make it very thorough. She should have trouble sitting comfortably for a few days.”


           The woman called Miss A had smiled at her through the mask. It had been chilling. She had watched her drag a chair over and sit down. Then she had motioned, seemingly grinning. Carol had been frozen to the spot. But the man had grabbed her shoulders and pushed her over there, and Miss A had yanked her face down over her knee. Then she had felt her pants being taken down, baring her bottom. She remembered the feeling of lying over the woman’s knees, bare and vulnerable. She had felt the woman’s hands on her bottom, patting, squeezing, as if testing her bottom cheeks for what was to come. It was humiliating to be in such a childish position, but the woman was strong. Then crack! Whack! Smack! The black clad woman had commenced to spank her with hard stinging smacks. The spanks landed all over her bottom---right side left side, right across the crease. It stung. The pain intensified, her bottom getting hotter and hotter as crisp spanks rained down relentlessly. Her eyes watered up. The woman had been wearing leather gloves that had made her hand feel like a paddle. The woman was powerful and could really spank hard.


           Carol had cried and shrieked. Tears had rolled down her face. But to no avail. She was handcuffed and helpless. It went on and on---the smack of the woman’s hand and Carol’s wails. She admitted that finally she had broken down and bawled like a child who’d been spanked by mommy. It had just been too much. After an eternity of hot stinging pain it had stopped, and she had been placed on her feet.


           Afterwards they had put a hood over her head, shoved her into a car and had dumped her out in an industrial area of abandoned warehouses. She’d finally made it to a phone and called a friend—the one in the bar.



           “Do you know why anyone would want to do this to you?” Brenda had asked. The woman, Carol, had said she didn’t know. None of it made sense. Brenda persisted. “Have you made someone angry lately? A jilted boyfriend? A co-worker?” All that seemed a bit extreme for the typical dust ups that occurred between people all the time. And the punishment---a spanking, just like you’d give a recalcitrant child. It seemed calculated to humiliate as well as hurt. A blow to one’s pride. And she remembered something else.


           “Wait. You said, ‘just like the others’. That’s what he said, right?”


           “Yes,” said Carol. “But I don’t know what it means.”


           “But you still don’t know why they kidnapped you?”


           Carol shook her head. “I’ve tried to think of everything. I mean, I did cut someone off in traffic last week. He honked and I shot him the finger, but…”


           “That’s pretty much of a stretch,” acknowledged Brenda.


           “It was one of those black limos---you know, all tinted glass. He seemed pretty upset. Followed me for a while. It was starting to creep me out.”


           Brenda raised her eyebrows and made a mental note to herself. She told Carol to call if she remembered anything else. Anything at all.



Falls Creek Women’s Prison

Part 1          


           Summer 1955


           They came for her just after the lockdown that was ordered because of the riot in the laundry. Two beefy matrons opened her cell and grabbed Constance Bright, one on each elbow. “Warden wants to see you”, was all the explanation she was given before they marched her off, and none too gently either. She could hear some disturbing murmurs.


           “She’s gonna get it now….Lordy me…”. There were whispers, vague suggestive mumblings through closed doors that she heard as they roughly frog marched her down the hall of the dorm-like housing unit of the Tennessee State Correctional facility for women known as Falls Creek.


           Connie heard them but she wasn’t worried. In fact she wore a half smile as if she and she alone were privy to some secret, and didn’t care about the ominous chatter. She wasn’t worried because, in fact, she was an undercover investigator for the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. She had needed to see Warden Hopkins and Ned Baines, her control officer, to report that she was close to a breakthrough in the case. The fight in the yard had given her the opportunity. Nell Cloony, the inmate that she needed to befriend, got into a shoving match with Maude Jones, a rival. Nell had been getting the worst of it until Connie had stepped in and shoved her away. The resulting melee brought guards running, and in the scuffle Connie swung an elbow that accidentally connected with the jaw of one of the matrons. It may have broken teeth because the matron fell to the ground howling in pain. It was worth it. Before they separated the combatants, Nell looked Connie in the eye and whispered, “Thanks, sweetie. You’re ok.”


           It had been tough as a “new fish” for Connie to be accepted and trusted. She was young and cute, an innocent looking girl with dark hair and looks vaguely reminiscent of a young Elizabeth Taylor. She had tried to get close to Nell, but the older woman had been suspicious. Connie had some information that Nell knew how the drugs were getting in and how they were being used. She thought Nell might be close to the other mystery as well. There was a criminal enterprise being run from within prison walls, but what was the nature of the crime ring that used the prison as a base? If she could gain Nell’s confidence, she might be able to break the case. Only the Warden, his assistant Nadine Leffert, and Connie’s boss, Baines, were in on the operation. Warden Hopkins suspected that some of the matrons were part of the network. What they had needed was a covert operative on the inside.





           Connie had always wanted to be an investigator. Having a college degree and having gone through the police academy she had thought that she would work her way up to detective in no time. It helped that she was pretty. She had dark hair styled in curls that framed a round attractive face and big brown eyes. But it was 1955 and modern as the times were, women were still relegated to the back office and paperwork. So she had landed a job with the TBI, the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. TBI was responsible for the investigation of crimes that had an impact on the state and which were beyond the capabilities of local law enforcement. In this job she had thought, finally, a chance to be a detective.


           And it had helped that she had become enamored of her chief, Ned Baines, a bachelor in his early forties. Connie herself was much younger. She was 23. But Ned was handsome, smart, ambitious, and he liked Connie. The romance had simmered for a time, but things now looked like they were moving in a more serious direction. Ned was smart enough to keep it under wraps. After all, this was 1955 and she was his subordinate.


           Ned had thought she was smart as well as attractive and he had taken an instant liking to her. She was short, cute and had quite a figure. She favored tight skirts in the office and most male heads swiveled when she walked by to view her hips twitching sensuously from side to side. So Ned had been seriously attracted to her, and the pair had started dating shortly after she had come to work. But now, as delightful as she was, this new investigation had fired her up to pester Ned about working on it as an investigator. Her idea was crazy and dangerous. She had floated the idea of going in as an undercover investigator. “I could pose as an inmate,” argued Connie, “then I could see what was going on.” She knew that if she pulled this off, she would be promoted to investigator—where the action was.



           Ned had been given the job of investigating Falls Creek, the women’s penitentiary. There were rumors of a thriving drug trade inside the prison and worse. Some racket was being run through the prison, but its exact nature was unknown. There were rumors that matrons there had been bribed and that powerful crime interests were keenly interested in the criminal enterprise being conducted. There were also rumors of the involvement of a powerful local judge. The whole mess stunk. But Ned was determined that there was no way his new girlfriend was going to be allowed to go in undercover. It was preposterous.


           “The answer, Connie, is no.” She had folded her arms and stamped her foot, but Ned was adamant. “As your boss, Connie, I’m telling you it won’t happen.” Things were a bit frosty after that, at least for a while.


           Ned had started by interviewing Warden Earl Hopkins. Hopkins had been at Falls Creek for only two years, replacing Clint Ramsey who had been bumped upstairs to deputy chief of corrections. Ned had been impressed with the man. Hopkins had been brought in as a reformer who would set the prison on a course to fulfill what he saw as its main mission, rehabilitation. But there were powerful forces at work opposing that modern view. Those were mainly the rank and file at the prison. For now, strict discipline was still the rule at Falls Creek.


           It was at the meeting with Hopkins, his deputy warden Nadine Leffert, Clint Ramsey, deputy chief of corrections for the state, and Bill Brosnan, Ned’s boss, that things had gone off the rails. Connie had pestered him to let her sit in. He did need someone to take notes, so he had given in, much to his regret. They had begun by brainstorming ideas as to how to retrieve intelligence inside the prison.


           “The usual stool pigeons have all gone silent,” complained Hopkins.


           “It’s true,” said Nadine. “Our usual sources are keeping their mouths shut.”


           Then Connie spoke up. “I have an idea,” she said.


           Ned did not like Connie jumping in, not one little bit. He had to head this off at the pass. “Miss Bright, could you go and get us some coffee?” asked Ned in a reasonable tone of voice. Connie knew what he was doing. He was trying to cut her out. She shoved her chair back and flounced into the kitchen, seething, while the two TBI men, Nadine Leffert and Hopkins’ boss, Clint Ramsey, continued to talk.


           Connie stomped into the kitchen, furious at having been dismissed to go fetch coffee like some waitress in a diner. I’ll show them coffee, she thought. She came back with a tray but then disrupted the meeting by slamming the coffee pot and cups down on the conference table. The pot tipped over. Coffee was everywhere.


           “What the hell, Connie?” sputtered Ned, as they all fumbled to wipe up the hot liquid.


           “If I have to toss coffee all over the room to get your attention, I’ll do it,” she fumed. She addressed the others. “The only way you can find out what is going on inside Falls Creek is to have someone inside---and I can do it.”


           Everyone just stopped and stared at her for a moment.


           “I could pose as an inmate, be one of the prisoners. We could make up a story like I passed bad checks or something.”


           For a moment nobody spoke. Then Ramsey spoke up. “But you’re just a girl….it’s too dangerous.” Everyone talked at once. But after a minute, Nadine said thoughtfully, “You know, I think, uh, Connie may be on to something. We really don’t have a chance without eyes and ears on the inside. It might work.” Hopkins didn’t like it, but grudgingly agreed that they needed inside intelligence.



           Then to Ned’s dismay, Bill Brosnan agreed. “Perhaps Connie can learn something. I understand your concern Ned, but Connie is a trained police officer,” said Brosnan.


           Yeah, thought Ned, and a rookie and a spoiled brat who is determined to get her way. But Ned felt trapped. He had to go along with this scheme. 



           Later, after the meeting had broken up, Ned took Connie home.


           “Just what did you think you were doing today,” He said hotly, as they stood in her apartment. “You spilled coffee all over the table on purpose because no one was listening to you? I let you in on that meeting to take notes, Connie, not to run this investigation.”


           “It’s a good idea and you know it, Ned,” she said trying to cool him off. Then she tossed her head and sniffed, “Besides you were all ignoring me. I had to get your attention. Plus, they agreed with me.”


           Ned looked at her hard for a moment. Inwardly Connie squirmed. He had a glare in his eye that she did not like. “Well, that sure got everyone’s attention, Connie. Reminded me of a child throwing a tantrum. And so…” he said, rolling up his sleeves. Connie became alarmed.


           “What are you doing Ned, darling?” she quavered. Ned had a look of steely determination.


           “Well,” said Ned coolly, “I don’t like temper tantrums in a six year old and I like them even less in my employees. And, it seems my girlfriend has thrown a big one and behaved rather childishly. That won’t happen again, will it Connie?”


           “Uh, no Ned….look I’m sorry about the coffee,” she said nervously.


           “Well that’s good,” said Ned, advancing, “but, I guess it is up to me to  insure that it does not happen again.” Before Connie could react Ned grasped Connie’s wrist and tugged her toward the couch. Seating himself, he pulled Connie face down across his lap, unmindful of her sputtering protests and frantic wriggling. She shrieked, “No, Ned! Don’t you dare!” But he ignored her protests and pulled up her skirt to reveal a very shapely bottom clad in black silk panties and framed by a black garter belt and stockings. She realized with a shock that her boyfriend and boss meant to give her a spanking!


           “Connie, we are going to have new understanding,” he said, and raised his palm. Connie felt a hard splat! as Ned’s hand connected with her vulnerable fanny. Then he smacked her cute behind a few more times. It stung!


           “Yeow! No!” Smack! Slap! Splat! Ned began to lay spank after spank on Connie’s well upholstered seat.


           Connie squealed, “Ow! Ow! Ned! Stop!” She kicked frantically but Ned had her in a tight grip. The spanks continued to rain down methodically causing her ripe bottom cheeks to bounce. Then Ned paused. Connie thought he had stopped, and tried to rise, but Ned said, “Oh, no, Connie. We’re not done just yet.” He slipped his fingers into the waistband of her panties.


           “Don’t you dare, Ned Baines!” she shrieked, but it was too late. Ned pulled the panties down to her knees, baring her bottom. He stopped for a moment to admire the shapely globes, now bearing what looked like red handprints. Then he resumed the humiliating smacking. This time the crack of his palm was sharper and the spanks stung more. Connie tried to squirm out of his grip, but he had her pinned across his knee. Ned spanked steadily, and for the next several minutes the apartment rang out with the percussive sounds of his hard palm smacking Connie’s soft girlish bottom and Connie’s resulting cries. Connie’s delectable bottom cheeks danced and wobbled as Ned’s hard hand struck time after time. She wriggled and squirmed under the volley of brisk spanks laid on by Ned, and he observed that her bottom was taking on a red glow. She was now yelping with every sharp smack.


           “Ned! Ow! Please darling! Yow!” yelled Connie. But Ned just continued to pepper his girlfriend’s wriggling backside with brisk spanks. When she finally pleaded for forgiveness, Ned figured she had readjusted her attitude and he stopped.



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