Chapter 1

When the security van taking me to H.M. prison Burkinshaw breaks down and we arrive several hours late to find the dining facilities are closed till tomorrow it's the end of a perfect day, or nearly so. Me and my three fellow prisoners are rushed through the reception formalities, such as they are. The final blow for me? Being informed that the few personal possessions I'd been told I could take with me to gaol, just a few toiletries and a handful of other things, have been left behind at the Crown Court where I'd been sent down. Maybe they'll arrive tomorrow or maybe I'll never see them again. All they have available is a tee shirt, shirt and trousers, all in various shades of blue; a pair of plimsolls; a towel; tablet of soap; and a toothbrush with a miniature tube of mint toothpaste. I've heard that U.K. prisons are bursting at the seams and it looks like this one is at full stretch and then some.

I'm told that a proper issue will be made tomorrow when the day shift and a bigger staff are on duty. I'm led off to my wing by a small, blonde, prison officer; who offers me the choice of television in the rec room or straight to my cell and a chance to rest. After hours in that roasting, stalled, van; the cell wins hands down. As we walk the corridors I wonder how the petite officer Sheridan would cope with real violence though she seems calm and relaxed with me. At my cell she cheers me up by telling me there'll be a brew of tea before lock down. I'm surprised how friendly she is, I expected her to be more impersonal and perhaps tougher, even though Burkinshaw is a category B prison not an A which house the real serious customers.

The cell is clean if a little spartan, two beds, not bunks anyway, a small cabinet beside each bed; a formica topped table and two chairs; two small lockers or wardrobes complete the furnishing. And joy of joy there's a loo against one wall, no slopping out of chamber pots. A cotton nightdress on one bed and a small, portable radio on the adjacent cabinet tell me which bed is mine. I try the bed and find that at least the mattress is springy and comfortable. My head in my hands and elbows on knees I let my mind focus on how the fuck I've finished up as deep in the shit as I am now and how a nice, hard working lady like me, landed a three year sentence. Its little consolation to know that automatic remission means I'll only be here eighteen months. I shouldn't be here at all, yeah I know they all say that but in my case it's true!

I live alone in a big and really nice detached home, which I inherited when a teenaged maniac in a stolen Ford Orion pulverized the car my Dad was driving my Mum home in. The creep was trying to outrun a high speed police pursuit car. I cremated my parents and he escaped with cuts and bruises as so many of these little pricks do. He then plea bargained his way to a reduced sentence by pleading guilty to a lesser charge, a five year stretch which means he gets to serve two and a half years for killing my parents! The worst part was, at his trial, listening to his social worker giving the court mitigating circumstances and explaining how his dysfunctional family had forced him into a life of crime. Pass me the sick bag please! My further troubles begin when a plot of land across from my quiet avenue was used to build a small estate, not for sale, for rent from a housing association.

They must have scoured the city for every scumbag family available and moved them all in. Of course none of them paid rent, that's what state benefits are for! My occupation is librarian, my passions are books, at work and at home; along with my two Siamese cats. I enjoy the occasional night out with friends and workmates but the other great love of my life is the martial arts. I hold black belts in Karate and Aikido both, as well as holding instructors badges, so you can bet that when things started getting rowdy this lady wasn't worried about her safety. It all began with screaming teenagers in the street till all hours and progressed to booming music plus beer cans and reefer stubs littering the pavement.

The perceived advice over problems like this is to inform your local police station, which I did from the start. I spoke to my community constable, the local beat sergeant, and the area inspector. The only replies I received were vague statements to the effect that, "these teenagers were known to the police and matters were under investigation". Nothing changed and my patience gave out one morning at 2.30 a.m. when lack of sleep drove me outside to chase away a bunch of teenage morons from my garden gate. Two days later I came home from work to find they'd bricked in my front windows, double glazed units are tough but not rock proof!

This time I received a visit from a sergeant Lunt, she was portly with eyes like congealed bacon grease. As there were no witnesses, or no witnesses willing to talk anyway, the police could take no action and her best advice to me was that; since these kids were targeting me; my best choice would be to move house. In the words of the late, great, John Wayne; "That'll be the day". I came home early one night from taking a novice Karate class to find six assorted hoodies and hoodiesses in my front garden chasing Buster, one of my Siamese cats. Maybe it would have turned out better if I'd let them catch him because Buster has close combat skills that even I'm envious of, I've seen him back off a full grown Rotweiller! But they were after my cat with a can of lighter fluid and a box of matches!

I came through the gate so fast and silently that their ringleader, fat Kerry, didn't know I was there till she saw something in the face of her buddy and turned at just the right moment to take a heel of hand strike flush on her nose. I pulled it or her next stop would have been the morgue. However it had enough venom to smear her nose across her face and send a spray of blood flying. Next up was her boyfriend Darren, his all black, hoodie uniform, proved no protection when I kicked him flush in the balls; folding him over like a hairpin. Darren's mate Wayne swung at me with what he must have thought was his killer punch so I slid to one side and as he blundered past me I landed an elbow strike just below the ear, where the jaw is hinged.

I'm not sure which was the louder, his scream or the sound of breaking bone! The other girl was fumbling in her pocket and came out with something metallic. I didn't wait to see what it was. I caught her wrist in an Aikido lock and used her momentum to dislocate her elbow and shoulder as she lunged at me. All done and dusted then! The other two would be toughies were sprinting for home as if their arses were on fire. Time now for me to phone for the police and a couple of ambulances like any good citizen should. I didn't know it but my troubles were only just beginning.

After the ambulances carted off their moaning passengers I was invited to accompany two officers to my local cop shop to make a statement. Turned out it was an interrogation! Detective sergeant Baines C.I.D. and her partner detective constable Ali sat down across the table from me, Baines did all the talking whilst Ali tried to look inscrutable and kept mum. The gist of things were, did I realise that four children had been seriously injured? I pointed out that all four "Children" were as tall or taller than me and certainly a lot heavier due to their diet of junk food. Also what about Blondie's six inch, razor sharp, kitchen knife; which she'd dropped on my garden path when I put her out of action. Never mind the can of lighter fluid and the box of matches! It cut no ice and I was advised to find myself a lawyer as, once released on bail, a serious charge or charges would surely follow.

My legal rep, Mr Dawson, was totally optimistic; he reckoned the Crown Prosecution Service would never bring charges. They did! At a pre trial meeting he was equally happy that the fact that all four little angels had long police records, two of them had been ASBO'd, would leave me free and clear. The trial begins and my barrister, Charles Hopkins, is delighted with how things are going. The four witnesses against me mumble and mutter their evidence, and, under cross examination; contradict each other. Police forensic evidence shows that fingerprints on the knife belong to Kayleigh Thomas, my dislocation victim. The can of lighter fluid has fat Kerry's dabs on it.

All is well until Mr Justice Parkinson begins his summing up. He seemed to have spent most of my trial nodding off but he's now woken up to sink me. Society must protect its children from violent adults whose hands are lethal weapons! My solicitor and barrister suddenly sit bolt upright and gape at him but he rolls on inexorably in this fashion for what seems like hours. The jury goes out and messers Dawson and Hopkins tell me that even if the twelve good persons and true are daft enough to convict me any Appeal Court judge will quash the verdict, as Mr Parkinson's summary is too prejudicial to be true. It takes five days and another set of amazingly biased instructions from the judge for the jury to convict me on a majority verdict. I'm sentenced to three years preventive detention.

So here I am wondering how long it takes to get my appeal to court. Almost drowsing off when the most exotic girl I've ever seen bounces into the cell. A couple of inches shorter than my five foot six with skin an amazing saffron gold hue, her hair is dyed an improbable silvery blonde and cut in a sort of Mia Farrow style from many years ago. Her features are unmistakably oriental with epicanthic folds to her eyes, and fine high cheekbones. Her emerald green eyes sparkle mischievously.

"Hey you must be my new roomie. I'm Sylvie Chen. What are you in for and how long for?

I suppose they're the two most common first questions any new prisoner's asked apart from their name.

"I'm Wendy Callaghan and I'm doing three years for assault."

"Cool Wendy! You want a cuppa? Then we can have a natter and tell each other how we got here."

I'd murder all four of my teenage terrors for a cup of tea and happily do thirty years for it.

Sylvie hurtles out and soon returns with two mugs of hot, sweet, tea to die for. We sit together on my bed and after I've given her the outline of what's put me here Sylvie tell her story. She's a whore! She makes no bones about it, not ashamed, not proud; she's totally matter of fact about it. She's not however any common street corner hooker, set up in a luxury apartment by a well heeled Greek she handles top of the line clients and, she relates, was salting away lots of cash to fund an early retirement. Would be early too since I estimate she's about five years younger than my thirty three.

Things went pear shaped though when the police raided the apartment and found her in bed with her current customer and a medium large stash of crack cocaine turns up in a cupboard. Sylvie swears she knew nothing about it and I'm inclined to believe her since she's railed against drugs, getting hooked would ruin her chances of a long retirement in the sun. She's sentenced to thirty months for possessing a quantity of cocaine too large for personal use. Things could have been much worse she admits but for the fact the client she was fucking was Angela Falconer, her local member of parliament.

Ms Falconer pays for a top defence council if Sylvie agrees to steer clear of the media and keeps her mouth shut. She's just been transferred in to Burkinshaw from Carnforth, a real, tough, hellhole of a nick; which needs space for serious hardcore inmates. Not that this prison hasn't got it's core of nasty pieces of work. After only a couple of weeks here she knows everybody and everything about the place. Sylvie's Greek pimp has vanished into the woodwork but she's not too worried about finding a similar backer once she's released, and her cash stash is safe and waiting for her when she gets out.

To my surprise I sleep like a log on my first night as a convict. At wake up call and after breakfast I get my induction and issue of clothes etc sorted out and I have the invaluable aid of Sylvie. She passes time pointing out prison officers, grading them as good, bad, or whatever else they are. I get to know various fellow prisoners by name, appearance, and reputation. The eccentrics, the bad ones, the kind ones; and the psychos who should be in hospital rather than a gaol. Each night after lock down I go through T'ai Chi exercises and some simple kata in our cell to keep my hand in, Sylvie watches fascinated and tells me she thinks it looks like a dance routine and there's more than a little truth in that.

I've settled in far better than I thought I could after a couple of weeks when something happens to remind me that I'm in a prison, not any other type of institution. It's August, a hot and steamy August. The days are overcast and heavy while at night thunder rumbles and lightening flashes. The shower room is a wonderful relief from a sticky, sweaty, body; when we're allowed to clean up.

I'm standing under the needles of hot water lathering myself when I hear the whimper. I look round and in the next bay I see Sylvie on her knees, her arms are bent back behind her, held by a chunky woman who grips her slender wrists. Before her stands a lump of a woman who I immediately christen Miss Piggy. Doughy, pendulous, breasts; flabby belly; and if she turned round I'm certain she'd have an arse on her like a city bus. She's the one doing the talking as I step round the partition into their bay.

"Listen you little cunt, I hear you're some kind of top prossy so if I tell you to lick my pussy then you do it and you better do a good job or you'll get hurt."

I don't raise my voice, it's flat and level.

"Let her go!"

Chunky looks over her shoulder but hangs onto Sylvie. Lard lady glances at me and gives me my orders.

"Fuck off bitch it's no business of yours, if your girlfriend gives good head you'll get her back later."

Once more, same words.

"Let her go."

I never give three chances so when porky pig tells me to fuck off again I move in. Spinning kicks look great on T.V. or in the films and you certainly can use them in the right place, but on the tiled floor of a shower room awash with soapy water I use something a lot simpler. I step forward and drive a fist strike into chunky's kidney and she topples forward with a groan. Sylvie shows good sense and better reflexes to roll away from my victim's falling body and scuttles away from the fat one who charges me, planning no doubt to flatten me with her bulk; one hand clawing for my neck. I take her wrist in a prime Aikido lock, bending her forward, and chop down on the junction of her shoulder and neck with the edge of my hand. She lands, dazed, on all fours; so I finish it with a kick between her thighs.

You can hurt a guy real bad like that but remember a lady is really tender down there too. She's folded up on the tiles with her hands between her thighs while chunky shows no sign of wanting to get up so I toss Sylvie her towel and tell her we're getting out of there quick. By the time we get back to our cell her trembling has subsided, she's a tough little lass, only the one whimper when her arms were being bent back behind her. She sits down on her bed and I watch her silently, she'll talk when she's ready. When she does what she says surprises me.

"Will you teach me to do that Wendy? I can't go through this again, it was hell in Carnforth, and every tough bitch there wanted me to go down on them so they could say they'd had head off a five grand a night hooker. I need to be able to look after myself."

I look her over, she's petite and probably not particularly strong but she moves lithely and her reflexes are fine.

"Okay Sylvie I'll teach you what I can."

So right there and then, in our small cell, I begin to instruct her in the basics of T'ai Chi and Karate. She's a quick study and picks up the moves fast and shows surprising stamina. I carry on working with her until lights out. I'm laying on my bed in the darkness, it's another muggy night and I'm wearing panties and an over sized tee shirt, and even that's too much in this weather; when Sylvie slips out of bed.

Crossing her arms she grips the hem of her nightdress and peels it over her head. I've seen her nude in the showers, but, outlined in the bright moonlight; I'm suddenly struck by the beauty of her body. She's slender but rounded, her breasts are small but perfectly firm and formed, her legs and thighs are perfection while the neat triangle of silky black hair just above her tight little sex contrasts with her golden skin. Her feet whisper across the few feet separating our beds and she perches on the edge of my bed. She strokes my cheek with one small hand then drops it to my right breast. I speak to her softly in the silence of the night.

"What are you doing Sylvie?"

"I owe you a lot Wendy and the only thing I can give you is my body and what I can do with it."

I take her hand and fold it in both of mine.

"You don't have to do this Sylvie, it's not a debt you need pay."

Then I see the faint track of a tear down her cheek.

"Then that's all the more reason to do it, if I don't owe you let me do it because I want to."

I'm not going to pretend I've never had a woman before. As a girl I tried, with my school friends, same sex experiments. Later on I discovered boys, then when I went off to university I found lots of girls who were away from home and parental supervision for the first time. At boozy parties with the scent of pot in the air loads of girls decided to try something new and I was in there with them. After the death of my parents, their killer's trial, and the insurance settlements; followed by the reading of my parents wills; my sex life had pretty well died the death and male or female company had become increasingly rare of late. If I'm in this place for another year and a half females will be my only relief. Besides all else Sylvie maybe needs love and companionship as much as I do so with the back of one hand I stroke one chiselled cheek and softly whisper to her.

"If you're set on this then it's fine with me."

That's when I found out why the rich and famous or maybe the rich and not famous would pay so much to share Sylvie's bed and body. So softly! So lightly! She touches me with lips, fingers, tongue. She teases, caresses, and rouses me to a passion I have never felt before. From my lips to my hardening breasts and swelling nipples down to the triangle of my thighs she moves with certain knowledge of what will drive me wild. When her lips nuzzle between my thighs and find my sex I'm already in paradise. One of my arms is pressed across my eyes as if looking will end the magical sensations; the other hand is knotted in the bed sheet twisting it as my body begins to writhe on the narrow bed.

Slowly, slowly, she brings me to the edge of climax and then holds me there as the fires rage inside me. Finally she takes me gently over the top and my orgasm explodes, I'm jerking uncontrollably and twitching as I think there's no more to come. Then she shows me there's much more she can do for me. The second climax rises like a volcano and suddenly I lurch upright, my hands clenching and unclenching into fists. I look down at that silver head tucked between my thighs; watch the ripples of ecstasy flickering across the flat muscles of my belly; then throw back my head and a deep groan escapes my clenched teeth. Still sitting erect I experience the most violent sexual explosion of my life. The groan is replaced by a wolfish howl. My mind goes blank other than the feelings of overwhelming bliss boiling within my vagina.

How long I lie there stunned I don't know, my body is glowing with a wonderful heat and I'm streaked with sweat that tonight's steamy weather has nothing to do with. I look down the bed to where Sylvie kneels watching me and roll clumsily towards her, I'm lithe on the dojo floor but my body seems to belong to somebody else tonight. I clasp Sylvie's ankles and straighten her legs, gently parting her thighs. She gazes at me and shakes her head.

"That was for you Wendy, just for you."

I'm mumbling the same words over and over again.

"Please Sylvie please!"

She seems to realise why I want to do what I'm ready to do and settles back on the rumpled sheets. I lower my head until my breath stirs the silky bush above her tight, pink, shell. I begin to lap her labia and the salty interior of her sex like somebody worshiping at the shrine of a goddess. I'm clumsy and amateurish compared to her, it's a long time since I've made love to a woman, or man for that matter. Sylvie seems to read my mind and guides me.

"Yes! Just there, a little more, yes now! Faster, faster, don't stop; harder."

Then she's riding her climax in almost complete silence other than her ragged gulps for air. At last she lays still, she seemed totally genuine, not like a whore faking it for her client; perhaps she felt my genuine desire for her and my wish to please her. She wriggles her way up the bed to me and snuggles against me resting her head against my shoulder and tucking herself into the crook of my arm. She appears to fall asleep instantly, just like a cat, while I rest there with a whirlwind of thoughts spinning round inside my head. Just sex with a skilled artist or did I feel more? I hardly know her but there feels to be a magnetic attraction between us. When I wake, in the grey light of early dawn, she's still nestled against me soft and warm. My right arm is numb from the pressure of her body. Carefully I ease it free, Sylvie mutters something and drifts off again.

The next day I get my first work assignment, they know I'm a qualified librarian so they take the opportunity to utilise my skills, the assistant governor asks me if I'd be willing to sort out the shambles the prison library has got itself into lately and I manage to wangle a post for Sylvie to assist me. She's had little education but has a sharp, intuitive, mind; and grasps things quickly and completely. Besides she's better off with me than on kitchen duty. Things fall into a smooth routine, who'd have thought that prison life could be so easy to live with? Putting the library to rights, steadily. Teaching Sylvie the basics of Karate and T'ai Chi, then, after dark; making unhurried and passionate love to each other long into the night.

Four occurrences break into my steady acceptance of life behind bars. My first visitor. He's Dougie Foster a six foot seven inch eighteen stone karateka from my dojo. Dougie owns a scrap yard selling car parts and the occasional old banger for those who can't afford a decent car. Living in a grungy caravan on his site he's happy to volunteer to house sit for me the moment it was clear that I wouldn't be home for quite a while. Glad he did, one night the teenage wrecking crew come round with the intent of trashing my comfortable home. When my front door opens and a giant steps out with three foot of gleaming Katana longsword in one hand and the other gripping the collar of Cuchulaine his 165lb Irish wolfhound their army beats a hasty and permanent retreat. Buster and Madonna my Siamese cats are fine and have signed a peace treaty with his enormous pet.

My second visitor is my brief, Mr Andrew Dawson; he comes to tell me that my appeal hearing date has been set. Not in a few days or weeks but at least it's only a couple of months or so off. The third item is a real surprise. I'm approached by officer Marion Sheridan, it happens that she knew me before I ever finished up here though I didn't know her. Marion is a brown belt at ju jitsu and watched me in the all England finals in my match against Patti Harper.

I lost and had to settle for the silver medal, no complaints, she was just a tad better than me on the day. I evened the score though a couple of months later in a full contact match against her when I became the first lady to ever knock her spark out! Marion tells me that a number of inmates have asked her if she could get me to take a class with them after they'd watched me working with Sylvie. I'm happy to oblige and commence teaching T'ai Chi along with meditation and relaxation classes in the prison gym. The final milestone is way less pleasant!

Class over in the gym one day and I'm tidying things away before sloping off for supper, the officer supervising is officer Reynolds. Known to the older inmates as Debbie though she bares no resemblance to the mother of princess Laia of Starwars. Looking round I realise she's vanished, then through the open door of the gym walk three inmates. Two I recognise, chunky and Miss Piggy, the third is a tall, wiry, black, woman. In her right hand she's toting a home made shiv, ground down somehow from a chunk of scrap metal. Its razor edge glints in the bright neon light. The three of them fan out and close in on me. Piggy has to be the ham actor, very appropriate and I hope you don't mind the pun.

"Payback time bitch, you got lucky last time now you get hurt!"

Knife lady's the dangerous one because she holds it like she knows how to use it, out in front, moving it in small circles low down. I balance myself and wait for the first move and sure enough she comes in slicing the air from right to left and back again. This time I'm on firm ground so a spinning kick seems a good idea, I feint to my right then come back with a fast, high swing of my leg that clips her on the shoulder not the head but she still goes down.

Chunky, just like last time, hangs back so I go right at porky. Two hooks, left and right, hammer into her short ribs and she doubles over. She's perfectly placed for my knee to piston up into her face and she's gone for the duration, broken nose, split lip, and probably loosing a couple of teeth. I drop chunky with a vicious backfist knowing she'll take a lay down anyway to avoid further punishment. The blade lady has risen just in time for the total surprise that comes as she reaches down to pick up her weapon, Sylvie steps through the door and kicks her in the head with plenty of style and unexpected power. I amble over to her slipping my arm around her waist and hugging her to me.

"What brings you back here? I thought you'd gone to make the brew."

She wrinkles her nose and grins.

"Peggy Summers already had the kettle on so I came back just in time to rescue you!"

Arm around each others waists we walk down the corridor and pass a dumbfounded officer Reynolds. That's four enemies I've made now because Debbie knows that I know she tried to set me up.

I'm starting to get nervous now! The weeks have flown. Three days away from my appeal court hearing and despite my best efforts I've made no progress with trying to get Sylvie to abandon her plan to return to her old trade when she's released. She doesn't get angry with me; she just lets my arguments wash over her and asks me what else she's going to do when she gets out. My stomach is nervous, I'm not sleeping well, and then Miss Piggy; Bernice O'Hara; makes her last roll of the dice.

Bernice has influence because she has a pipeline to bring drugs into the gaol, people aren't scared of her but she can buy favours inside. I'm sitting against a wall in the exercise yard; it's the end of September now, a glorious English Indian Summer. Each morning I wake up to a crisp dawn with Sylvie snuggled against me and an hour or so later the sun has taken the chill away and another clear, warm, day lies ahead. Somebody hunkers down along side me; she's a frizzy haired blonde with long canine teeth that give her a distinct vampire look. Her eyes swivel left and right like a lizard as she mutters to me.

"Your girlfriend's in trouble."

"My girlfriend?"

I don't know why I say it, 99% of the staff and prison population know by now that Sylvie and I are an item.

"Yeah that sexy little chink, I just saw Bernice and her buddy towing her into the right angle."

I'm up on my feet and jogging off almost before she's finished speaking. I'm surprised that Sylvie would let herself be taken away like that but maybe Carnforth has destroyed her confidence. Burkinshaw is not an ancient Victorian gaol but neither is it a new one. The right angle is an area off the exercise square where modernisation work is due to begin, whenever the budget allows anyway. It's a blind spot to the prison officers patrolling the yard, they're supposed to check it regularly but with the shortage of staff, that tends to go by the board more often than not.

I slow down as I turn into it, moving towards its dead end I can see no sign of Sylvie or the other two I expect there. Apart from a couple of wheeled dumpsters there's nothing and nobody around. When I turn round they've walked in from the main yard and are fanning out in front of me, this time Bernice has sent for the A team!

I shake the tension from my arms while taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as I weigh up the opposition. To my far right a tall, skinny one carrying another home made pig sticker. Her I recognise, she's one of the ones who should be in a mental hospital not a prison. She likes cutting people and is doing twelve years for carving a rival into a mess that required a couple of hundred stitches. Next is a beefy blank eyed dame, I know the type, not too bright but does exactly what her boss tells her to do. The third is a female juggernaut, six feet two or three and a good 220 pounds. She's a body builder, the massively muscled physique is softening a little as it's hard to score steroids in a prison, hard but not impossible!