Prison authorities in the United States and in Europe, never admit that corporal punishment forms part of the culture of women's prisons. Nor does it, officially. But what girls do, as their own punishment code, is another matter, as Todd Mallanson describes in All Girls Together. The girl in question, known as Rusty to her fellow inmates, was nearer thirty than twenty. She had a tumble of red curls to her shoulders, pale skin, and soft brown eyes, and light freckles. She also had "a stocky prettiness with the seductive fullness of figure which comes after pregnancy but before the flabbiness of middleage." On the one hand she could throw a violent redhead's tantrum but she could also be soft and gentle. The hard cases among the other girls thought her too ladylike and were prepared to take her down a peg or two. Even the other girls found her voluptuously sexy looking in her dark brown bikini, the pale sheen of her smooth, softly covered young body contrasting with her "carrottop" hair and the deep brown of Rusty's knickers and bra. Her breasts showed a soft milky fullness and the fat pale moons of Rusty's arse handsomely filled the brown bikiniseat. Unfortunately for her, it seems she was rather shy about her body, which put her in a minority of one of the gaolhouse. Long before, when she had taken the kids paddling at a pool, she had spent most of the afternoon bending to assist them, wearing a bikini as her costume. Only when the time came to go did she realise that workmen on a building site had not laid a brick all afternoon! To her blushing embarrassment she had had her back to them and they had been admiring her bending rear view, broadened by childbearing, all the time. They had made no attempt to move round to the front, being interested in the redhead's arse most of all, and in imagining what they would do to it if they had her detained in such a posture! The inevitable trouble came when the girls were locked up for long periods in their cells. One of Rusty's cellmates informed the young redhead that she should take her pants down so that they could have fun together. There was no suggestion of love or affection, and Rusty gave a shocked refusal. She was then told that as a new arrival she was the "bitch" of any girl who chose her and was not allowed to refuse. By force of arms, she was positioned and brought to the boil. In her fury she complained to the warden, and her attackers were awarded several months' loss of remission. After thus, the carrotty-curled housewife with her stocky prettiness, was in real trouble. Two hardcase girls, Sonia and Pauline, left her in no doubt what was coming, with their reference to Rusty being "too sore to sit down for a month," or Rusty's arse having "more stripes than Old Glory." Knowing that, when her sentence was served, she would be going back to her man, Rusty kept herself as pretty as she could, even in the gaolhouse. On Saturdays the girls had most of the time to themselves. In the afternoon, Rusty had bathed and was sitting in her cell, wearing the brown bikini, her hair in curlers. Brunette Sonia and fairhaired Pauline appeared, telling her that they were to make sure she stayed put until Monica, the cellblock butch, gave her what was coming to her. When she reached for her clothes, they were taken away, Sonia remarking that it would "save trouble" if the redhead remained in her swim wear. Rusty continued oiling herself, ready to lie in the sun that streamed through the cell window. From time to time her pretty face with its freckles, dimples, and brown eyes, met the gaze of the others. Her hands moved nervously over the soft pallor of her plumply appealing thighs. She asked to go back to the washroom. Sonja indicated the china bowl in the cell. Self consciously, Rusty explained that she had some sitting to do. Sonja pointed to the same object. The young redhead stayed put, though shifting in her seat quite a bit. Then she got up and went across to the bowl on its stand. Blushing angrily under the eyes of the other two, she settled her broad pale hips back, not able to put her full weight on the precarious rim of the white bowl on its stand. When she straightened up, Pauline aimed a quick backcheek smack. Monica, the cellblock "ruler," called from the corridor, warning Pauline to stop, and adding that the twenty-eight year old redhead housewife would be "getting plenty of that later on." According to the prison scandal, the time chosen for this was twenty minutes when the wardresses' patrol took them out of earshot, at about 10 P.M. The doorway of the cell was crowded with watching girls as Monica and her two lieutenants, Sonia and Pauline, entered. With the curlers out of her hair and the red curls clustering in a pretty mane to her shoulders, Rusty looked full of feminine appeal. But she threw a wild redhead tantrum when the three women tried to grab her. It evidently took several more to subdue her and put her where Monica wanted her. Rusty was kneeling on the bed with its tubular metal frame, her hips raised as she knelt right over the smooth tubular bar of the bed head, palms on the floor on the far side and wrists firmly secured against the solid metal of the legs. One of the revealers of the scandal remarked that, even with the brown bikini briefs still on, Rusty now showed the same kind of "backside invitation" which had kept several workmen idle while she bent over the kids in the paddling pool! One of the commentators added that Rusty was the sort of young woman who soon attracted male followers by this means. To see her, with her gingeryred curls, the ripe fullness of her figure, wearing rather tight blue trousers as she pram pushed up a long steep hill, would soon have an appreciative gentleman deciding that his way lay in the same direction! Oddly enough, he would make no attempt to overtake her, walking a few yards behind for a slow half hour. As she laboured forward over the pramhandle, the blue trews tightened on her experienced thighs and hipswell, the tight seat moulding the seductively full rounding and rolling of Rusty's bottom! Not surprisingly, it was suggested that during this enjoyable follow on Rusty might seem to her admirer like a pretty young broodmare toiling in harness. As he contemplated the seat of beauty, it was also suggested that the fantasy would transport Rusty to his imaginary stables. At the start of a long circuit through ornamental gardens, Rusty bent forward as over the pramhandle, but this time between the shafts of a one seat garden carriage with jingling harness. There would, of course, be certain differences. The tight blue trousers, pantyhose, and Rusty's knickers would lie discarded at the starting point, as the gentleman took his perch on the carriage. And, however pretty the scenery, it was to be feared that once the carriage was round the first corner, the young housewife would feel the first light but menacing touch of the switch on her pale backside! Male fantasies may be more bizarre, but no girl was ever hurt by a mere dream. Much more serious was the predicament of Rusty in reality, kneeling protestingly over the bedrail to receive "justice" from other girls. Alfred Perles, describing this situation in House of Evil, recorded the perceptive comment, "It takes women to hurt other women." Despite the careful preparation, no time was lost once the lookout girl gave the signal that the war dresses had gone on their twentyminute "round" before lockup. Sonja was able to take her quietening hand away, the luxuries of the women's penetentiary, even Polaroid and cassette, were not concealed. Rusty's head twisted vainly, her brown eyes bright with temper, her freckled prettiness flushed with anger. Pauline took the white skinned redhead's bikini pants down, so that Rusty's slightly fat young bottom appeared as a pair of satin smooth milkywhite cheeks below the pale velveteen gloss of her softly covered bare back. Monica stood there, taking her time as she studied the plump bottom of the redhead housewife, holding in her hand the fat, open tube of toothpaste she had been about to use. Directing her attention to Rusty's backside, Monica pressed forward until the girls in the doorway guessed that something was up. Then Monica pressed her hands together in a firm, steady movement. Rusty gave a frozen gasp at the invasion of her privacy and then a shocked squeal. Her pale smooth body seemed to contract every muscle. Monica took the instrument of discipline from Sonia, and tossed onto the bed the flattened tinfoil tube which was now an encumbrance. The repeated click of shutters and the hiss of tape during the next twenty minutes may have been merely the exaggeration of prison scandal. The discipline was given with whatever was available, in this case whistle cord, which Monica held with the two ends in her hand with the rest forming a two-foot loop. Because of her position, none of the strokes would touch the smooth white sweep of the redhead's back above her waist, only a few tailends touched the backs of her thighs. It was the mature white swell of Rusty's arsecheeks which took virtually all the tanning. Being wellbuilt in that area, she was lucky that the girl disciplinarians had a time limit. Some of those who would do an extra year in gaol because of her complaints wanted to "make it last all night" for the bending redhead. How they could realistically have done this without putting her in hospital they did not explain. Monica's whistlecord swung with a long hiss and sharp thin slap across the cheeks of Rusty's bottom. As the prettily freckled face peered at the upsidedown world behind her, the onlookers saw the milkywhite backside and thighs flex but hardly move. The hiss and smack, repeated half a dozen times, ended the redhead's tantrum in a sob of defeat. But even as the first scarlet curlicues of the loop appeared, she remained desperately tense and still, as though holding herself in check. Monica evidently noticed this and decided to exert her authority. She gave six whipping strokes, fast and hard, till the plump redhead was jigging her behind up and down as if riding a race. One or two were certainly bulls-eyes. A few more minutes of this expert discipline and Rusty was singing loud and clear! Her behind broke into an energetic gogo rhythm. In its trousered version, it was the kind of bottom display which would have had her admirer following her if she had pushed a pram to the top of Mount Everest. If he and the workmen had been as fascinated as they seemed, what would they have given to smuggle themselves into the cell for twenty minutes? Once or twice, Rusty shrieked abuse, but Monica brought her to heel very quickly, with the aid of the cord. The red curls were tousled from twisting and turning her head, and she no longer attempted the impossible task of holding herself in. As the dimpled young redhead made the walls and ceiling ring, the cord whipped Rusty's contorting bottomcheeks remorselessly. The powerful fluorescent lighting caught a white sheen on the backs of her thighs, the other girls chewed grinningly, the female odours overlaid by peppermint in the wind. Monica continued the discipline until the lookout girl gave the warning. There was a scamper of girls to their own cells, Sonia used a cloth to remove all traces of the incident, and as Rusty lay facedown and pants down on her bed, the blanket was thrown over and the radio turned up loud. The masculinelooking middle aged wardress entered, wrinkled her nose at the peppermint air and possibly noticed the heaving shoulders of the redhead who had buried her face in the pillow. Which was more cruel, the butch disciplinarian or the system which callously allowed such goingson? Of course, the system did not approve. Indeed it was appalled that a young redhead with all the duties of home and kids to return to should have been turned into a state of lesbian submission. Mind you, it was entirely in favour of locking them up together until the young women were desperate even for allgirl sex! And the system thought it a jolly good thing to lock them up for long periods with one receptacle between several of them, until they had to perform their most private acts under several pairs of eyes. Still, the system and the "responsible" authorities deplored lesbianism and indecent bottomsmacking of this kind. By the way, that same system is now making arrangements so that should Rusty lose her cool and kill someone, she will be fried in the "chair" or topped by the hangman, and the whole show will be televised in glorious colourcoast to coast! Still, hanging or burning a girl isn't as bad as smacking her bottom, is it? Not so long as the system does it! The pretty, softly pale redhead never resisted again. She spent two or three hundred nights with Monica, and almost as many days. The tense look in her face was replaced by a smiling prettiness. In her sexual deprivation, Rusty soon loved masturbation as much as Monica. The system hates to admit it, but it is the state of affairs the system brings about. Monica also seemed to know how to tend Rusty's body in ways which no one had ever done. The redhead was too attached to her man to turn a hundred per cent lesbian, but good looking women whom she met after her gaolrelease evidently made her heart beat faster.