Serving Time

by Eva

A fictional tale written for mature adults who enjoy fantasy.

---

I didn't have a say in whether it was a good idea or not. 'Take tour daughter to work day' the leaflet announced and Gemma decided – without asking my opinion, of course – she would like to be taken to work. By me.

"Gemma," I tried to reason with my daughter when she told me what we would be doing. "It isn't a good idea."

My eleven year old daughter grinned, her wide mouth splitting her pretty face in a beaming smile. "Mum, tell me... am I your daughter or not?"

I was startled. "What? Of course you are, why shouldn't you be–"

"And," she interrupted me in the way she usually did as if talking to a lesser being, "have you got a job? A place where you work?"

I blushed. Yes I had, and she knew what I did, even if she had never been there. In a way it was the last place I ever wanted her going. "But it isn't appropriate," I said as firmly as I dare.

"Then if you have a job and a daughter as well, the day will be perfect," she said, her big eyes sparkling in delight.

I felt helpless and wanted so much to say no, it wasn't going to be anything but a disaster for me. But I know better than to go against what my lovely, pretty and very determined daughter wants.

She came over to me, checked over her shoulder that her father wasn't in view (he was immersed as always in the garage, making one of his ridiculous steam engines, but she knew that; this was merely a way of saying 'get ready for fun') and turned back to me. She put her hand up on my chest, almost as if feeling my breast through my uniform shirt. I desperately wanted to remove it, but she would only shout at me or worse.

Tim, working on his bench in the adjoining garage, wouldn't have heard me anyway, no matter how much noise we made here. When he was lost in his world of pistons and cylinders he was oblivious to what happened in the house, what went off between Gemma and me. I gulped as my daughter's fingers gripped my bust. "Gemma, please," I pleaded.

"Hush, Shirley," said Gemma, calling me by my first name as if I was something other than her mum. She took a firmer hold of my boob and squeezed it and twisted it a little and pinched the hardening nipple through the fabric.

I moaned in self-pity and even excitement, but generally I was quiet, even when she popped open the buttons on my shirt and got her hand in my bra and really began pinching hard. Thank goodness she let me put one of my hands over my mouth so that I wouldn't shriek too much.

She never really liked me making too much noise when she was making me suffer, so i kept quiet as I usually did and just hoped when she got round to making me cum it would be a good one.

---

The Governor wasn't too happy when I told her what Gemma wanted. But, being the head of a government institution she really had no choice but to comply with such things. Still, Martina Derne tried hard to persuade me to think again.

"I think," she said from where she sat at her desk, "that this 'Take your daughter to work day' is really intended for... well, people who don't do the sort of job you do. More for engineers and mechanics and maybe librarians." She paused and looked up at me, shaking her head a little. I was one of her best people, and she knew she didn't want to say no to me on a personal level. Nor would it look too good on her record if she hadn't enthusiastically embraced the whole government ethos. "Are you sure," she went on, "that you want to do this?"

"Yes," I lied.

Martina sighed. "I suppose I need to clear it with regional office," she said. "So it all depends what the Regional Governor says. If he says no, raises issues about security, then obviously we can't–"

"Then you have to find a way he doesn't say no!" I blinked a soon as I said it. I was a little startled that I was so forthright. "I'm sorry," I mumbled. "It's just that... you know. Gemma, what she wants."

"Ah, I thought so," said the woman. She was a little older than me, a shade taller. Good looking and hot in bed. She got up and came round the desk to me. She glanced at the frosted glass that divided her office from her secretary's office and could see the shadowy shape of old Mrs Blanchard, busy over a keyboard. We wouldn't be interrupted. "She still giving you hell at home?"

"Most of the time it's fine." Another lie. I still had the marks on my buttocks from last night's caning. Not sure what I'd done to deserve it but then reason never really played a part in why my daughter wanted to make me suffer and use me. But if Martina had chance to slide my skirt up my hips and check inside my pants then she'd see the bruises.

But she probably guessed I'd been thrashed as I had declined a seat. It was easier for me to stay standing, let my sore bum recover. Thank heavens I was on my feet most of the day here.

"So Gemma has decided she wants to spend the day here, watching you work." The woman had dropped her voice a little, in case old Mrs B heard through the glass. "She's still making your mind up for you, Shirley." The woman was close to me and I could smell that delicious perfume of hers that always made me get wet between the legs. I usually got to smell it up close when I ate her out, when we got chance to have sex. That wasn't as often as I liked, but our occasional lesbian encounters always gave me a chance to unburden myself over my daughter's remarkable dominant personality.

I nodded in response to her point. It wasn't a question, but she didn't mind the truth. So there was no point in denying it: my daughter ruled my life. Eleven years old and cruel and passionate, demanding and loving. God, where did she get those ideas frim? How did she turn out the way she did?

One moment she was a slightly beliigerent pre-teen and the next she was... Well, cruel. Yet she knew enough about human nature to spice that cruelty up with love and tenderness. Hard and soft, cruel and kind in equal measures.

Oh sure, I'd been caned and tied and punished, but I'd also been licked and tongued and caressed and made to cum. Martina could do that, and if the truth was known while my boss was good, my daughter was better. I had never cum like that first time my own little girl put her tongue in me as she teased and stroked my clit. Tim had never done that to me so well, nor any other men or women I'd known.

Martina was still talking to me. "And dear sweet Tim, he still hasn't noticed how she rules you?" The woman was close enough to kiss but I fought down the urge.

No. Dear, sweet Tim never noticed. Not when his life revolved around spinning wheels and pressure gauges and whistles shrieking with steam. It tended to stop him hearing me shrieking whenever Gemma decided I should be punished. Or she made me hang unsatisfied on the verge of a cruelly denied orgasm. So close and so very far, she'd tease me as she flicked her fingers over my swollen clit, giggling at me struggling with hands tied over my head. Helpless, as she liked to have me.

"Can't he take Gemma to work with him?" The woman in front of me continued.

"I don't think her watching him sat behind a desk at the bank would be much fun," I said. I wasn't sure my job was a lot more fun; endlessly walking round the corridors of the prison, watching the inmates go to classes or recreation or just sat in their cells reading or listening to music. If it wasn't for the odd cat-fight and outbursts of bitchiness and screaming, it really could be quite dull.

Martina sighed and put her hand gently on my still sore boob. I flinched just a tiny fraction, more from the memory of last night and Gemma's rather vicious treatment of my left tit. The woman pretended not to notice and caressed my boob. I have to admit I gasped, but more because my pleasure centres were opening. In a way this was even a worse punishment than being tied and caned: I was being aroused and I couldn't – daren't – do anything in case old Mrs B outside saw interesting movements through the frosted glass.

"Please, Martina... no, not now," I breathed. She let go of me and I said I was sorry, but not now.

"I know," agreed my boss. "It's hard for us both being here and not being able to do anything. We really need a quiet cell to ourselves and few hours away from the damn phone."

I nodded. There weren't many spare cells these days. Overcrowding they called it, but we did what we could to give each inmate some personal space.

"You know," said the Governor as she turned back to her desk. "I hate what Gemma does to you."

"Me too," I said. Well, again that wasn't entirely true: only part of me hated it. Being held over the kitchen table and fucked with the girl's soiled knickers in my mouth and one arm twisted up behind me was still an incredible way to get an orgasm. And licking the girl's wet, hairless slit. And kissing her small, tight bum hole while she held my hair and tugged it to remind me to burrow deeper, and then allowing me at other times to just hold her and kiss her tenderly like she was a lover who cared...

Light and shade. That was what it was: whatever Gemma knew about human sexual interaction (and I have no idea how she knew so much so quickly) was based round the principles of making things tough for me and then making things wonderful. Plunging me into a dark despair and then lifting me out gently to make me feel happy and wanted, if a little sore.

My eleven year old daughter Gemma knew exactly how to play me, and she had me trapped. And I so wanted the light more than the shade.

I realised I was lost in these thoughts when I heard Martina clear her throat. "Back with us now, Shirley?" She was smiling at me.

"Sorry," I said, blushing.

"Don't be. But you know, maybe there is a way to make Gemma think twice about using you the way she does. And give her a good reason to never forget visiting your place of work."

I blinked, unsure what to say. So Martina told me what she thought, and I listened carefully and nodded.

When she'd finished I said: "Providing the Regional office allows it."

"Oh they will," said Martina. "They will, believe me."

---

We weren't supposed to call it a prison. Remand centre, correction facility, closed education centre... there were always buzz words about a place like Sharpmoor. In the old day it was women's prison plain and simple, but now it could be whatever the government decided it was called, or whatever the Minister dreamed up for the benefit of parliament.

But it was prison in all but name. The women here weren't the dregs of society; mostly they were in for small crimes such as shoplifting, fraud... the sort of soft crimes that don't directly threaten others physically. However, they were in jail for the simple reason they couldn't (yet) be trusted outside.

"This," I said to Gemma as we walked down the steel plated landing past a row of cells, "is a particularly interesting case." I stopped outside the cell's open door – it was one of the free association periods we had each day and the women weren't locked in – and from inside a dark haired woman with a distinct mediterranean ancestry looked up from where she sat on the bed.

"We're not supposed to know why they are in but I know about this one," I said to Gemma – who I must admit was slightly open mouthed at all this – and she stared at the woman sat looking at her. A young woman, barely old enough to be in a women's prison, wearing a loose fitting black satin top with a scoop neck and tight jeans. My daughter had been astonished at Sharpmoor; seeing the rows of cells, the way the inmates were. Maybe she thought they'd all be in orange jump suits screaming from behind bars, faces distorted with anger and armed guards beating them back down. But it wasn't like that. The inmates often dressed really nicely and it was calm and ordered, thank goodness.

Mostly calm, that is.

"Rosa is in here for what?" I looked at the young female sat with a book open in front of her.

"Pick pocket," answered the dark haired, almost tanned looking young woman without any rancour. "I am a dipper," she smiled, happy to know the British slang for what she did.

"Rosa is Italian," I said. "Came here a couple of years ago. Better pickings in London than Naples, huh?" I looked at the girl and she flashed a grin at me, her perfect white teeth standing out against her darker-than-usual skin.

Gemma stood nervously outside the door. She might be dominant with me at home but one of the reasons no one would believe what she did was she was always so quiet and almost timid around others. Gemma reserved her dominance just for me, when we were alone.

"Go in and introduce yourself," I said to Gemma. "Rosa is interesting. Talk to her."

"Uh...me?" My daughter threw a look at me.

I sighed. "Gemma, it's what people like me do at work: we talk to the inmates. All part of their rehabilitation. Better still, it helps keep the place calm." I stood back and invited my daughter to step inside the cell. It was a bright and cheerful room with flower-pattern curtains at the heavy, small-paned window, a radio quietly playing some Italian love song, a clean yellow and green pattern quilt on the bed and even a warm looking rug on the floor. In many ways, it was just a small bed sit. Except with better security at night.

Gemma stepped into the cell, keeping her eyes on Rosa in case she turned out really to be some homicidal maniac. But the Italian girl patted the bed in front of her and closed the book. Pride and Prejudice, from the prison library. "Please, sit here. I am learning English and love Jane Austen. So please, it will make me happy to talk with you."

My daughter slid into the cell, wide eyed at being so close to a convicted criminal. I stood back, reassuringly close but allowing Gemma to make her own decisions. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, not taking her eyes off the young Italian. As if on cue, the pick pocket leaned forward and her loose top sagged: Gemma had a perfect view of the Italian's small, high breasts that clearly didn't need a bra.

Rosa smiled, seductively. She was good at that. For a girl in her teens, she was a natural at seduction.

The alarm bells rang loud and insistent. "Lockdown!" I shouted, and slammed the door to the cell, flipping the key in the lock. Along the landing, other officers were slamming doors, hurrying any female prisoner outside back into their own cell and closing the doors.

I hurried away, down to the Governor's office. As I did so the red warning lights changed to green and a quieter bell rang. The doors were being unlocked – all except Rosa's cell.

Poor Gemma would be wondering what was happening. Trapped, with a delicious looking young female.

In Martina's office the monitor from the small, hidden closed circuit camera was on. It was the perfect view of Rosa's cell, and when I arrived I could see the way already Rosa was comforting Gemma, telling my daughter not to worry. This was just something that happened from time to time and Gemma was perfectly safe here. She reassured the girl that as soon as it was clear her mother would come and get her.

All she had to do was sit tight and wait. And here, let me cuddle you, little one, just to help you. See, Rosa was saying quite clearly over the audio link, it isn't so bad when you have someone close to help you. Nothing is frightening, is it?

And soon Gemma was being cuddled, and the Italian was stroking Gemma's blonde hair, and then she was kissing my daughter gently on the forehead and as the Governor and I watched, the lovely Italian moved her full red lips down and kissed Gemma on the cheek. Comforting and reassuring.

I pulled a seat up and for once didn't mind my sore bum. This would be a wonderful show, I knew. Rosa really was the perfect choice for this. Her light, long fingers were so careful that Gemma almost didn't notice her own top being slid off her shoulders and her flat chest with the merest bumps for boobs come into view.

I could hear my daughter asking what Rosa was doing, and Rosa smiled sweetly and kissed the eleven-year old on the lips briefly, and told her she should relax as they'd be locked down for at least two hours and no one to bother them.

Gemma was unsure and tried to move but Rosa was both gentle and strong. She held the pre-teen girl and kissed her more, and my daughter surrendered and sagged in this beautiful dark, mysterious woman's arms. Gemma had surrendered with astonishing swiftness, succumbing to the most electric and erotic kisses any woman could wish for.

Rosa was toying with Gemma's virtually non-existent tits, and Gemma was eagerly feeling Rosa's larger but definitely firm boobs under the loose top. Rosa shucked it off in one graceful movement, and allowed my daughter to feast her eyes on those perfect orbs, so smooth and dusky and crowned by two large, deep red nipples that stood out long and hard.

Gemma kissed them, felt them and teased them – much more tenderly than she did with her mum's tits. Mine were there to be savaged and stretched and clawed; Rosa's were there to be adored. The little girl sucked Rosa's boobs lovingly, rolled on the soft bed with the Italian and soon their jeans and pants were off. I watched enthralled as the two naked females of slightly different ages and height writhed and maneuvered. Gemma kissed the dark girl's full lips and breasts and belly, saw how tenderly she held and played with Rosa. I got the perfect view from above as they opened their legs wide and stroked and explored each other's hot, deep holes with their fingers. I could see they way they flicked fingernails and tongues over proud, erect clits. How loving, how passionate they were.

I held Martina's hand as we watched the two youngsters sixty-nined, watched them rim each other and laugh and caress and kiss and make each other climax; they even sounded as if it was a truly great, shattering orgasm each time.

The scheduled two hours turned into three, and their door wasn't unlocked. No one could see in, and they were happy. Only when they had done making each other cum and they slipped into a light sleep, entwined naked on the bright bed cover, did I reluctantly stop kissing Martina and ceased fingering her.

I dressed and went to open up the cell, passing through the empty secretary's office and glad to see old Mrs B had covered up her keyboard for her unexpected day off.

On the landing outside Rosa's cell I paused, key in hand. If I arranged for food to be brought to the cell, and assured the girl and my daughter that they wouldn't be disturbed all night, I saw no reason why lockdown – their lockdown – shouldn't be longer. Right through into tomorrow morning, perhaps.

I went back to Martina's office, told her the plan and called Tim. No, Gemma and me wouldn't be home tonight, I told him. But he wasn't to worry; just get something to eat. I was going to, I smiled.

Then I made love to Martina on the floor of the office, where we could see the monitor and the way Rosa and Gemma, now awake and refreshed, were doing exactly the same as me and the Governor. Light and shade on the bed. Locked into love.

Sometimes, I thought as I came with Martina's tongue deep in me and I could see my daughter doing the same to the Italian woman, there's just no easy way out of these places... People in here just have to serve their time.