This is a simple tale of just one of a number of prison compounds, it being the consummative female labor camp for young women. Tales from the bare front xv particulars of the reason for this small, isolated camp, why and how the young women became inmates, the politics, the time frame and even the nationalities of the prisoners and administrators are all irrelevant to my story.
An aborted escape attempt is dealt with. The torrent of rain beats down across the rustic metal roofs of the group of barracks in wavering sheets as the weather front pounds through.
Bright searchlights crisscross, scan the electrified barbed-wire fencing from the flat rooftops of the open windowed wooden towers spaced evenly around the compound as the last signs of daylight from the already dreary day have faded hours ago behind the vast forest of trees to the west.
The discipline area, its barb-wired enclosed inside perimeters are dominated by a group of wooden crosses mounted in a large sweeping circle. A like number of wooden Tales from the bare front xv and stocks are positioned inside the ring under the fixed rows of lights illuminating the entire pen. A good number of the apparatuses are occupied, mounted with the bodies of women prisoners tautly hanging or stretching in the weather, bare naked.
Pelted by the current cloudburstthe roped prisoners hanging from the crosses are soaked; their whip marred cold bare flesh glistening under the bright lights reflecting through the downpour.
A like number of women are tautly stretched on the racksfacing upward in the drenching pounding of the rain.
Also the recipients of the bullwhip, their reddened welts reflect the Tales from the bare front xv of water draining off their prone naked bodies. Exposed nude to the elements, this is just the initial day of their punishment, the second still awaiting them. Those prisoners also are receiving a lesser, but still uncomfortable camp discipline.
Again at dusk the work gangs will be paraded in front of the disciplined women still hanging, still stretching, rain or shine. Another head count as the returning prisoners are lined up, another bullwhip session in front of them for the unfortunates inside the pen before the work groups are released to their barracks.
Tonight though, the disciplined group in the pen struggles just to survive the dropping temperatures and torrents of rain along with the agony of their whipped naked bodies being stretched and exposed. Having just arrived at the camp after being officially notified of the escape attempts earlier in the Tales from the bare front xv, the Commandant parts, glances out the bamboo curtained window of the wood framed headquarters.
The rain pattering across the corrugated metal roof, its rhythm mixes with the fire crackling behind the grate of the fireplace dominating the back wall as he imperturbably counts the women in the punishment zone barely visible through the slackening rain.
He can sense the tenseness, the utter fear surrounding the black haired girl, close but not quite the same with the other, the brunette. What, just a few hours? Leaning back, rocking silently as the chair barely swivels he glances back and forth toward the pair of bound women bowing their heads in front of the desk. Glancing back toward the Captain then down toward the naked brunette prisoner to his left, he leans forward sliding his arms across the desk, his Tales from the bare front xv shuffling through the loose papers, finds her file, her photograph.
The chair stops rocking as his stern voice orders. Youthful, ripe firm breasts swaying, larger then normal for her slender frame, actually quite a bit larger as the round globes stand out above the washboard appearance of her ribcage, her curvy hips twitch as her loosely bound ankles twist above her muddy feet on the hardwood floor.
Her heart pounding, barely grunting while still glaring toward the fireplace through her matted hair she feels herself shivering, her bare breasts trembling.
Still soaked from her time in the pelting rain, the pain from the scrapes and bruises across her arms and legs from her romp through the brush and creeks are minor. The wrapped strands of rope though, wet and shrinking burns as it digs into her elbowsforcing her bare breasts to remain jaunting obscenely outward in front of everybody.
Moisture crisscrossing her naked flesh drips across her bare feet as he takes in her backside. Long athletic legs stretching upwards to her high rounded butt cheeks, the darkened slit between her thighs exposes just a hint of the puffy mounds of her labia.
Her elbows roughly jerked; again she feels her heavy breasts swaying as they spring from one side to the other. Eyes still glaring, but lowered, she senses the goose-bumps covering most of her nude body, as glancing across her symmetrical globes her eyes catch both areolas, nipples standing embarrassingly out, hard as rocks, their tan surfaces glistening under the swaying overhead light.
Lifting, twisting her by her bound elbows, she also grunts as her short black hair mats to her forehead, neck. Also drenched, slightly bruised, her flesh likewise covered with goose-bumps, her nipples stand thick off her heaving breasts as she makes her complete circle without stopping. One guard gripping their arms leads them toward the door, the other swings it open, shuts it behind them as they walk through.
Reaching for his riding crop, bending it between his hands before flicking it across his knee, he glances out the curtained window once again through the slackening Tales from the bare front xv. Stepping out the door onto the covered porch, slipping the hood up over his head as he glances toward the Captain, he mutters. Dodging the now vacant wooden stocks on either side of the steps, also used as corner posts for the railings on the edge of the wooden platform, they step through the torrents of water streaking off the rough metal edges of the weathered porch roof.
Carefully stepping down the seven wooden steps to the flat stoned Tales from the bare front xv encompassing the first few feet in front of the quarters they walk briskly out into the dark wet weather toward the wire enclosed pen.
Feeling the chill of the steady breeze as the rain pelts across their covered heads and shoulders they quickly close in on the barbed-wire gate. Swinging it open, stepping onto the submerged crushed gravel beneath their feet, past a couple Tales from the bare front xv crosses toward the closest rack with a mounted, drenched prisoner quivering in her bindings, the Commandant continues to reflexively flick the already wet crop back and forth across his knee.
Glancing across her young face, late teens at best, her tautly stretched body flexes in the straining ropes binding her wrists and ankles as her eyes stare pleadingly toward him. Sliding the tip of his crop around the overflowing puddle of water in her hollowed belly button, again the sense of power over the girl is stimulating as he can feel her stomach twitching through the crop.
Gazing into her watery eyes, down toward her heaving chest, he watches the firm round mounds of her breasts being pelted by the rain, the cold water stiffening her puckered nipples.