HOME | DD

Description
When they first sent Emily to our work detail, to tell the truth, I thought we deserved better. I didn't have anything against her personally, or even against younger girls. It's that after Felicia was hit and killed by a truck, they owed us as good or better a worker. We were consistently the best detail in the complex. We worked hard smart, and well. We obeyed every command. There's a reason you don't see us hauling gravel or digging pits. Younger girls don't have our strength and stamina. They could jeopardize our status.

Also, as you know, younger girls can attract skeevs and pervs. We're a group of fit women wearing striped uniform dresses with no underwear underneath, so you know we get some looks and leers from the citizens who rent us for day labor. There's rules and guards to prevent anything more than that, but you don't want the additional distraction.

Anyway, a guard brings us Emily just as we're getting ready to head to a work site. She had been arrested along with her mother and sentenced to imprisonment and hard labor here. Mom went to a disciplinary section, Emily entered the regular population.

They hadn't issued her a regular prison uniform except for the rubber boots with shackles locked over them, and the metal bowl hanging from a rubber belt. She wore pieces of clothing seized from other girls during intake, which ended up looking pretty cute, I had to admit, and not that different from what girls her age wore every day in the free world.They might have been trying to insult her culturally with a couple of her pieces, but I didn't sense she was aware, or cared. She did look nervous, even a little scared, but not weepy or hysterical. She was already adapting to walking in shackles; I've seen many newbies stumble and trip.

The other members of my detail obviously thought she was adorable, since six of them have children of their own. They would have all rushed over to give her a hug had they been allowed to. Instead I addressed her curtly.

"Girl. Put your hands on your head and follow us. Move quickly!"

"Um, yes" she answered meekly and then did exactly what I had told her to do.

We ran to the truck and climbed up into the cage in the back-- we don't have to run to our work sites like the other details, another privilege of being among the best. On the dusty ride there, we saw other details already at work at much harder labor. I hoped the others realized how fortunate we were.

Our assignment that day was demolition of a large older house. We'd done this before and knew what to do. Some of us started knocking down the walls with sledgehammers. The rest began to pry up the floorboards. Just then, Emily shuffles up to me.

"Um, do you want me to pull the nails out of the boards and put them in a bucket?"

I was floored. She took initiative to do something within her abilities that would need to be done eventually. She kept it up the rest of the day, sweeping up debris, fetching tools, sorting materials. She never slacked off or complained. She may not have been our weight, but she pulled her own.

This continued every day after that. Our reputation as a work detail only got better. People requested the "chain gang with the girl" and they weren't skeevs or pervs-- or at least most of them weren't. Even then when the guards figured out we'd been rented by a creep, they yanked us away and sent a replacement detail.

Two weeks after her arrival we were about to ride to yet another work site when a guard took Emily away with no explanation, then sent us on. All of us were distraught-- yes, even me-- but we didn't dare express this to the guards. We worked as best we could, better that any other detail, but with a heaviness to our every movement.

Several hours later, a truck from the prison rolled up. In the back was our lunch, some extra tools for this job, and Emily, now wearing a striped top. We all wanted to rush up and hug her, but, of course, we didn't. During lunch, she told us how they gave her a real uniform and took new mugshots of her. She heard that her mother had been "taken care of." She was one of us now.

Over the years, Emily has matured into a lovely and capable prisoner. She's stronger than me, I can tell you. And we're still the top work detail in the complex.

Take a look at Emily all grown up.

Description
When they first sent Emily to our work detail, to tell the truth, I thought we deserved better. I didn't have anything against her personally, or even against younger girls. It's that after Felicia was hit and killed by a truck, they owed us as good or better a worker. We were consistently the best detail in the complex. We worked hard smart, and well. We obeyed every command. There's a reason you don't see us hauling gravel or digging pits. Younger girls don't have our strength and stamina. They could jeopardize our status.

Also, as you know, younger girls can attract skeevs and pervs. We're a group of fit women wearing striped uniform dresses with no underwear underneath, so you know we get some looks and leers from the citizens who rent us for day labor. There's rules and guards to prevent anything more than that, but you don't want the additional distraction.

Anyway, a guard brings us Emily just as we're getting ready to head to a work site. She had been arrested along with her mother and sentenced to imprisonment and hard labor here. Mom went to a disciplinary section, Emily entered the regular population.

They hadn't issued her a regular prison uniform except for the rubber boots with shackles locked over them, and the metal bowl hanging from a rubber belt. She wore pieces of clothing seized from other girls during intake, which ended up looking pretty cute, I had to admit, and not that different from what girls her age wore every day in the free world.They might have been trying to insult her culturally with a couple of her pieces, but I didn't sense she was aware, or cared. She did look nervous, even a little scared, but not weepy or hysterical. She was already adapting to walking in shackles; I've seen many newbies stumble and trip.

The other members of my detail obviously thought she was adorable, since six of them have children of their own. They would have all rushed over to give her a hug had they been allowed to. Instead I addressed her curtly.

"Girl. Put your hands on your head and follow us. Move quickly!"

"Um, yes" she answered meekly and then did exactly what I had told her to do.

We ran to the truck and climbed up into the cage in the back-- we don't have to run to our work sites like the other details, another privilege of being among the best. On the dusty ride there, we saw other details already at work at much harder labor. I hoped the others realized how fortunate we were.

Our assignment that day was demolition of a large older house. We'd done this before and knew what to do. Some of us started knocking down the walls with sledgehammers. The rest began to pry up the floorboards. Just then, Emily shuffles up to me.

"Um, do you want me to pull the nails out of the boards and put them in a bucket?"

I was floored. She took initiative to do something within her abilities that would need to be done eventually. She kept it up the rest of the day, sweeping up debris, fetching tools, sorting materials. She never slacked off or complained. She may not have been our weight, but she pulled her own.

This continued every day after that. Our reputation as a work detail only got better. People requested the "chain gang with the girl" and they weren't skeevs or pervs-- or at least most of them weren't. Even then when the guards figured out we'd been rented by a creep, they yanked us away and sent a replacement detail.

Two weeks after her arrival we were about to ride to yet another work site when a guard took Emily away with no explanation, then sent us on. All of us were distraught-- yes, even me-- but we didn't dare express this to the guards. We worked as best we could, better that any other detail, but with a heaviness to our every movement.

Several hours later, a truck from the prison rolled up. In the back was our lunch, some extra tools for this job, and Emily, now wearing a striped top. We all wanted to rush up and hug her, but, of course, we didn't. During lunch, she told us how they gave her a real uniform and took new mugshots of her. She heard that her mother had been "taken care of." She was one of us now.

Over the years, Emily has matured into a lovely and capable prisoner. She's stronger than me, I can tell you. And we're still the top work detail in the complex.

Take a look at Emily all grown up.