"Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..." The shrill scream rang in my ears and echoed down the hard corridor, embedding into every crevice and corner of the place. I tried to close my ears to it, but the knowledge and the memory fought its way back into my consciousness. I pounded my fists into the hard cot below me in frustration and anger as the screams rebounded down the long hallway, but there was no way to silence them. And they were all my fault.

It had all started a few months earlier. Federal marshals escorted me to Graingerford Federal Penitentiary, where I had been sentenced to seven to ten years. I had been found guilty of embezzlement from my former employer, and to tell the truth, I was guilty. The old hatchet-face who ran the small company barely kept his couple of dozen employees alive and tried every trick in the book to cheat them himself, but I suppose my attempt at retribution was no better. I skimmed a little bit off of each day's posting, and added it to the employee's payroll account. I'd managed to re-allocate nearly $10,000 to each employee over the last few years, and kept none for myself. But that's not the point. The point was, as I kept reminding myself, that I had several years to serve out my sentence, and then we'd have to start over. "We" being my wife Denise and I. No kids. No time for them. She was a fairly successful marketing consultant. Luckily, we'd had enough put away for her to keep the house and support herself while I was in prison.

I remember the long drive to Graingerford. She wasn't allowed in the government car, but had followed us all the way there, and was allowed to accompany me as I was processed though the paperwork and was presented to the warden. Warden Jackson. Somehow I mistrusted the sunuvabitch as soon as I saw him. Corpulent, wearing ill fitting clothes and reeking of garlic and bad food, he seemed little better than the 3500 convicts he oversaw.

"Well, mistah Palmer, ah see you have brought the lovely Missus Palmer along to say your last goodbyes", he cackled at us, winking and leering at me through his grimy glasses. I watched him look her up and down. It wasn't the first time I'd seen men mentally raping my wife. She's a stunning woman, almost 5'10" tall, with a lovely 36C-24-35 figure. She knows she looks good, and doesn't hesitate to trade that off for power and authority. She always wore short dresses or skirts to show off her legs, and sometimes I thought her blouses were just a little bit too sheer, or unbuttoned just a little too low, but I never said anything. Hell, I enjoyed looking too!

She drew herself up to her full height and returned his stare. Her icy gaze seemed to deflate the pompous ass for a moment, but then he recovered and turned back to me.

"Men in this facility do not have it easy, Mistah Palmer. Although there ah some 'white collar' crim'nals, such as yourself, he-ayh, a vast majority of the men are serving long sentences for far more violent and...", he hesitated, glancing at Denise, " ... ugly crimes – rape, murdah, sex-ual assault, robbery, car theft ... as we all know, the federal prison budget has shrank over the ye-ahs, and with so many vi'lent crim'nals, we find ourselves having to mix the non-violent offendahs, such as yourself, in with the ... less civilized ... part of the populace."

"I'm given a fairly free hand in how I run this place. We've had very few escapes. And most of them didn't survive the night, ah'm sorry to report. My guards are all hand picked. They know how to handle men like like Mr. Jonas here," he said, gesturing behind us. I turned to see the largest, meanest looking black man I'd ever set eyes on. He was at least 6' 8" tall, and probably weighed 350 pounds if he weighed an ounce. He had three pairs of shackles around his wrists, and two around both ankles. It was clear they wanted no trouble out of this guy. Two guards held shotguns at the ready.

"Tell Mistah Palmer what you're in here for, Mistah Jonas", the warden said, almost gleefully.

Several seconds went by before the black giant rumbled to life.

"Double murder and rape."

I heard Denise gasp below her breath.

" ... and how many women were you convicted of raping, Mistah Jonas?"

"Twenty three."

Another gasp, and I saw Denise's skin get a shade paler.

"And how long are you going to be a guest of this penitentiary, Mistah Jonas?" Jackson countered.

"One hundred and ninety-nine years." he rumbled.

"So you see, Mistah Palmer," he said, turning back to me and waving the guard and Jonas away, "We have all kinds of 'gentlemen' here. Most are, truthfully, little more than animals. If you would not like to become the 'friend' of Mistah Jonas, or th' other creatures like him, I'd suggest you do your time peacefully, cooperate with all of us who run this facility, and keep your nose clean." He looked at the remaining guard. "Process him." He finished curtly, waving us out of his office as he'd done with Jonas.

An hour or so later, paperwork processed and final arrangement made, I hugged Denise tightly, unashamedly in front of the guards, and whispered in her ear.

"I love you honey. Please try to have a life while I'm here..." I choked up, unable to say anymore. She looked at me with her endless blue eyes.

"I love you too, honey. Be careful. I'll be back soon – as soon as a visiting day comes."

With that, and a brief touch of hands, the guards hustled me away and through the first of several series of clanging and banging doors until I found myself in my new address. Level 4, Block 8, Cell 26. Somehow, I'd gotten a cell with a small, 6 inch window in it. I stood on the cot and looked out. I had a view of the prison gate, and had to choke back a mixture of anger and sadness as I watched Jackson escort my wife back to her car. He leaned down into her window as she started to pull away, spoke what looked like a few words to her, then stood and watched her drive off, as I did. I watched long after her car was too far away to see.

The next few weeks seemed to take forever. Prison life is indescribable to someone who's not experienced it. I see now why some men prefer death. The constant yelling and taunting, the horrible food, the sanitary facilities, all seemed like something out of a bad remake of Cool Hand Luke. I half expected Strother Martin to come by and tell me we had 'a failure to communicate'.

Finally, about six weeks into my term, it was visiting day. I looked forward to seeing Denise again, even if it was through a plate glass window. I waited anxiously all day for the trustee to come and get me. I sat on my cot and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, around 5PM, when the last of the visitors had already been escorted out, I was summoned to Warden Jackson's office. My heart sank, expecting to be told that Denise wasn't coming or that, for some reason, I wasn't being allowed to see her.

The trustee opened the door to Jackson's office, and closed it behind me. Not a common thing, I understand. Jackson was rarely left alone with a prisoner. Most of them could probably tear him limb from limb if they wanted to. All I saw was the back of his chair.

"Ahhh, mistah Palmer. So good to see you again. I hear you are behaving yourself. That's good. Very good." He turned in his chair to face me across the desk.

"Please ... sit." he said, indicating the chair in front of him.

"What do you –"

He held up a hand, silencing my question.

"I'm afraid, mistah Palmer, that I have some ... good news ... and some bad news," he said, dramatically, pausing with some relish at the last words.

"The bad news is that, unfortunately, your wife, the lovely Missus Palmer, was not able to see you today."

"Why not –"

Again the hand.

"Oh, she did come here. All the way here. In fact, ah had a few of mah men pick her up this mo'nin' at your home. A lovely home, too, ah understand." The words dripped from his slovenly mouth like rancid butter.

I sat slackjawed.

"You see, Ah'm implementing a new program here at Graingerford. I hope one day, Lord willin', to see it takin' place at correctional facilities all across the nation. Come with me."

He indicated the door, and put his sweaty, meaty paw on my shoulder as we walked out, like we were buddies or something.

"You've been our guest here, what, a little more than 40 days, am ah correct? Out of a ten year sentence. That means you have approximately three thousand, six hundred days to go, am ah correct?"

God, the man's weasly voice was nearly driving me nuts. And I'd hardly spoken to him since I got here.

"Yes."

"Well, we just may have a way to reduce that long, long time just a bit, now. Yes, maybe we do."

We'd passed down a long corridor that rose above the central hub of the prison. There were five long 'spokes' of cell blocks radiating out from a central location, and the administration wing was a sixth spoke. It was a floor higher than the cell block spokes, and from certain vantage points, you could look down the narrow hallways of each cell block, or almost directly below into the central hub of the 'wheel'. As we got closer, I could hear what sounded like an excited hubbub of voices, the occasional cheer or shout rising above the crowd. I couldn't understand what was going on.

When we got to the overlooking glass, he pointed down to the crowd. I could see probably a hundred or so men, mostly prisoners, but also guards with rifles and truncheons standing around. There was a large crowd, maybe a dozen or so men, clustered around what appeared to be a slightly raised platform in the very middle of the space. They were packed so tightly, jostling for position and moving randomly, that I could not make out any rhyme or reason to it. A quick glimpse of white between the men stood out in stark contrast to the mainly black and Hispanic bodies crowded around the platform. I stood and watched for a few minutes unknowing.

Finally, Jackson rapped on the glass with his knuckle. One of the guards looked up at us, and caught his eye. He nodded at the guard slowly and raised his hand with one finger in the air.

The guard pointed his rifle up and fired off a single shot. The noise was deafening in the closed in space. The men almost instantly stopped their activity, and slowly seemed to peel themselves away from the center platform. It was then that I noticed that several of them, if not totally nude, were without pants. Gradually the object of all the men's attention was revealed to me. It was a woman, by god, sprawled out spread eagled on the platform. Chains at each wrist and ankle bound her to the corners of the unholy alter. She was nude.

Suddenly it hit me with the force of a tornado.

"DENISE!" I screamed. "DENISE!!!" I screamed, pounding my fists on the bulletproof glass. I turned to Jackson with hatred in my eyes. He halted me with a hand, as I saw three guards move cautiously towards us.

"There, there, mistah Palmer. There is nothing you can do for her at the moment. Let me explain. You see, yore wife's obvious beauty caught my eye when you were first admitted here. So I devised a plan. Due to your ... incarceration ... her employer was convinced to give her a leave of absence for as long as she liked. Now, she didn't want to take it, but we convinced her. Especially since he will be continuing her sal'ry for as long as she's gone. And then today, lahk I said, I sent a few of my best men to pick her up and bring her here. About twenty minutes ago, ah personally locked her to that table you see her on, after first removing all of her very expensive clothing. You see, ah didn't want it to get ripped..."

I balled my fists and it was all I could do to not smash his ugly face in, but the guards held my elbows and the rifle barrel in my back was not comforting.

"So here's the plan, Mistah Palmer. You have three thousand, six hundred and seven days to go on yore sentence. Well, each time yore lovely wife is the, shall we say, 'recipient' of one of my pris'nors orgasms, we will take one day off of yore time here. Isn't that a lovely idea?"

I couldn't believe it. This man, this beast, was trading my wife's gang rape for my time in prison.

Jackson went on, gleefully, at my torment.

"You see, sexual urges ah very hard to control in places like this. It makes the men into beasts, yes it does. And when they ah beasts, they ah harder to control. But when they-ah sexual urges have been satisfied, at least fo' the moment, they ah much more docile. Don't you agree?"

My head pounded, I could feel my blood racing in my veins. And, curse it all, I could feel my cock stiffening. Being without sex for six weeks, it was all I could do to remind myself that that was MY WIFE down there, tied down and helpless, about to be mass raped by a prison full of convicts.

"C'mon, let's go down and say hello to her." He pointed to the elevator that led down to the ground floor below. I meekly followed him and the two guards followed me. Once down there, I could see clearly what the situation was. The men were watched closely by all the guards. I walked slowly up to Denise, the men parting to let me pass. I could hear their muttered comments.

"Dam fine bitch she is..."

"Gonna get me summa dat pussy"

"I wonder can she handle this foot-long dawg o' mine ... haw haw haw..."

Their comments burned in my ears as I knelt next to her shivering, shaking body. I reached out a hand to tentatively touch her face, but she shook and recoiled in horror before she realized who it was. I let my eyes wander down her magnificent body. Her breasts heaved with her excited breathing, nipples erect and juicy looking, whether from fear or excitement I couldn't, and didn't want to, know. Her trim waist still had the gold chain around it that I bought her for her last birthday. Her mound, shaved but for a small patch on her pubis, brought back memories of the hours I'd spent licking and caressing her. Was this all her fault? Had she not been so damned attractive and sexy, would the warden have not forgotten about her? I cursed myself.

I looked into her eyes. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. I could do nothing but whisper to her...

"I'm sorry ... I'm sorry ... I'm sorry..."