Snail Mail Exchange

[goodgulf]

Dear Uncle Joe:
Thanks again for getting me this job! It's just what I needed. After that messy breakup with Alex the change of scene is just what I needed. Another state, getting away from city life, it's perfect. Well, almost. The only flaw is why this is snail mail and not email or a text message.

Thanks for warning me about those roaming fees. I left my old phone at home and got a new one here, but reception is terrible! I usually only get half a bar and the most I ever get is one bar. Making things worse, no one here is offering a data plan. The best I could find was seventy cents for a half meg! There's no way I can afford that, not living here and paying for rent on my apartment, so goodbye to texting, email, facebook, tweets, and everything. It's like I'm living in the 80s, or maybe the 70s.

And that goes to the attitudes of the locals. This place is something like the place that time forgot. I've been here two days and I haven't seen a single boy with low riding pants or any girls with thongs peeking out above their shorts. In fact I don't think I've even seen a girl in shorts; skirts and sundresses seem all the rage here.

As for the job, it's boring as hell but maybe boring is what I need. It's better than putting up with Alex's bullshit. I still can't believe he was telling those women that we had an "open" relationship! But back to my job, it's just what you said it would be. I go to the archives, get a load of documents, put them page by page in the scanner, scan and label them, quality check them, then do it all again. I don't know who would ever want to see house deeds, land titles, and architecture plans from the 1800s but maybe someone would. Either way, the grant to do it is paying for the scanner, computer, printer, and my job.

I've got an apartment, a teeny tiny one, barely more than a place to lay my head. It's got a bedroom that's barely big enough for a single bed, a second room dominated by the kitchen, a full bathroom, and two closets. And it has a door that opens to the outdoors so I don't have a doorman or anything.

Anyway, it looks like we'll be keeping in touch in by letter. At least until I can find a decent data plan.

Your Niece,
Kaitlin



Dear Kaitlin:
Wow, I think that was the first letter you've sent me since you were at sleep away camp and the councillors assigned you five letters to write. That was what, Camp Wampum? I remember you included a picture of you and some other girls dressed up like Indian Squaws.

And you don't need to thank me for the job. I heard about it from a friend of a friend and when you said you wanted to take off for the summer I thought it would perfect student job for you. For some reason the state attached "needs a college degree" to the grant money and no student with a full college degree want to work for the money they were offering. At least not doing a boring job like that. But then I thought of you with your degree in fine arts and how you're working on your masters in Art History and thought this would be perfect for you.

It's too bad that you can't get a good data plan. Can you access the net from work? There must be wifi in the records office you can tap into.

Now for some bad news. Your friend Lorraine was by the other day. She wanted to know where you were but she let it slip that she was asking because Alex wanted to get in touch with you. Maybe even drive out to see you.

Of course I didn't tell her, but now I'm wondering if you can give me a list of who to tell? I just don't want all your plans to go to waste. It would be a shame if Alex showed up there.

Anyway, I've written enough that my hand is starting to cramp. It's weird, but I can't remember how long it's been since I've written longhand like this. Of course I could type this up and print it out, but somehow that didn't feel right, answering your hand printed letter with a printed reply.

Until next time,
Joe.


Dear Uncle Joe:
Wow, I can't believe you remember about that camp! I didn't remember it at all until you mentioned it. Yes, they made us all dress up as squaws for that photo - talk about politically incorrect. Now that was a backwards place. When a couple of the girls objected to dressing that way one of the camp councillors threatened to haul them over her lap and turn their backsides into authentic redskins. No one called her bluff but for the rest of our stay there everyone called it Camp Whamp Us or (when the councillors weren't around) Camp Whamp Ass.

Now that you've pointed out the qualifications, I can see why there weren't many people applying for this job. I can't think of many grad students who could move here and afford to work for the peanuts they're paying me. If it wasn't for the trust fund I couldn't, not and keep my apartment in the city.

As for WiFi, I've asked about it but they said they didn't have it and rattled off a long story to explain why. Something about being screwed over by a state assemblyman for something a county commission did to her. I didn't follow it but basically the only state money flowing into this place is the 'digitise everything' grant money that's paying me. That and something about a small woman's prison or reform school or something, they weren't really clear on that.

The entire area is served off of one small cable and until the cable company lays a new one there's barely enough band length for people to watch TV. They said there's only a 256 meg line for data and doesn't sound like much.

Thanks for not tell in Lorraine where I am. Who can you trust with that info? NO ONE!!! Alex can (and has!!!) charm the panties off all of my girlfriends and he's better friends with all the guys I know than I am. And I really, really don't need Alex dragging all his bullshit drama here when I'm trying not think about him.

About your last letter, did you seal it right? The reason I ask was it was kind of half open when I got it. Anyway, thanks again for the job.


Your Niece,
Kaitlin


Dear Kaitlin:
Yes, Camp Wampum was years ago, but I found that old photo. Are you sure none of those girls got "red skinned" over a councillor's lap? The reason I ask is that in the background there looks like a girl is hugging her bottom and her face looked like maybe she had been crying. But that might have been so long ago that you can't remember it right.

And yes, it's odd to say but your degrees seemed the perfect qualifications for dragging out old records and scanning them.

It's too bad that the area is practically off of the grid, but there are still places like that. And I can believe a state assembly man would divert funds for some petty reason; petty little men (or in this case, women) often do well in state legislators. Oh, and it's bandwidth, not band length. One's a radio term and the other is an internet one.

Now don't you worry none. I won't tell anyone where you've taken off to. I'll just tell people that you decided you needed a summer off to get your head together and think about your future without Alex because all of your old plans included him.

Now as for my letter, I think I know why it looked half opened. You mentioning that place for women got me thinking so I went online and discovered that all the mail gets sorted in the same facility. If you mail things from the records building your mail won't be opened, but all the mail going to the town gets opened and searched for contraband like was going to a prison - so be care about mail ordering things or having friends send you things.

I should let you go now.


Your Uncle,
Joe.


Dear Uncle Joe:
You're right, Camp Wampum was a long time ago, but I think I'd remember if I saw another camper getting spanked. And who cares about it not being band length?

And it really sucks that someone is opening my mail. I mean, I've got rights. So I asked Mrs. Johannes, she's kind of who I report to at work, or maybe she just tracks my time there, I don't know, but I asked her about it and she just laughed as she agreed that my mail is searched, just like everyone else in town. She told me everything not going to an "official" address got searched and they're been trying to stop it for more than 50 years, ever since 1961, but no one can stop it. She said that the post office says they'd need the town to invest to cover another sorting station because there's not enough volume for two of them and the prison thingie needs its mail searched and no one wants to pay more taxes just for that so what are you going to do?

Oh, and she also told me why we're scanning everything. People want to be able to trace their ancestors and when all the deeds are in they'll be able to search them. For a fee. It seems like they're counting on these scanned documents to get another cable laid and get more internet in the area. But how many people are going to want to access these old records?

Anyway, these letters maybe should continue. I didn't think I'd miss texting and tweeting so much but I'm going a bit nuts without net access. Maybe I can think of these letters as blog and your replies as comments? Yeah, that works.

And maybe I'll even write other people. People who don't like Alex. Only I don't have any addresses here and I can't look them up on the net, not without a huge cell phone bill.


That's all for now from your niece,
Kaitlin


Dear Kaitlin:
One last comment about Camp Wampum then I'll leave it alone. I poked around a bit on the net and found some forms from the era when you went there. On one section of the camper form (the one that has the camper's name, contact info, medical conditions, age, and all the rest) there's a section on corporal punishment. I won't go into details, but if one box was checked you might have never known spankings were happening (you'd be a cabin with girls who weren't being spanked either) but if one of the other boxes were checked then you'd be one of the girls that spankings might be happening to. Of course, knowing my sister (rest her soul) she would never have put her own flesh and blood's backside at risk.

In fact, knowing her I'm almost shocked that you went to that camp at all.

As for your mail, I'm not sure if that's completely legal, but if the town's been fighting it for years then I'm sure there are court decisions on it that make it legal enough.

Yes, I can see how those records would be helpful for people doing genealogy. At least the land ownership and deed information. I'm less sure about those old plans.

And yes, you can treat these letters like a blog if you want, but remember that I'm the one reading it so leave out the "good stuff", okay?


Your Uncle,
Joe.


Dear Uncle Joe:
Wow! I never knew that about that camp. Are you sure you got the right Camp Wampum? There were probably dozens of camps with that name. Now that I think about, I think I remember that mom didn't want me to go there but one of my friends was going so I begged and begged until she said yes. The weird thing is that I ended up in a difference cabin than my friend and hardly saw her the entire time I was there, so maybe you're right. Maybe I was in a 'don't spank' cabin and she was in one where they spanked.

Weird.

Maybe I should track her down and write her and see if that's what happened. Or maybe I should try to track her mother done and asked her. I haven't seen either of them since the accident and I know I'd think it would be weird for a girl I used to know to write me and ask me something like that.

Anyway, this is a boring place. Boring can be good since it means that Alex isn't here, but there's nothing to do. There's not even a good bar to hang out at.

Maybe I'll start walking again?

Yeah, that would pass the time and help me lose a pound or two. I'll walk, listen to music, and forget about Alex.


Your bored niece,
Kaitlin




(the following letter was sent but was diverted at the sorting facility)
Dear Mrs. Palmer:
You might not remember me, but I used to be friends with your daughter Debbie, before my parents died and I moved away.

Anyway, this might sound a bit weird, but do you remember that summer Debbie and I went to Camp Wampum? Well I've been looking up a few things from my past and I came across some sites about a Camp Wampum but I'm not sure if it was the same Camp Wampum we went to. Anyway, the form I found had a section on corporal punishment, but I don't remember seeing or hearing anything like that happening. There was one time that we had to dress up like squaws and I remember a couple of campers being threatened with getting their backsides turned into redskins if they didn't change, but I thought that was a bluff or a joke, but after finding that form I'm not sure. There was something about sleeping in different cabins depending on how that question was filled out.

Somehow Debbie and I ended up in different cabins and we barely saw each other during our time there. Now I know how my mom would have filled out that form but I don't know how you would have filled it out and now I'm wondering if you filled Debbie's form out differently. Or if you saw that form at all? Maybe it was a form for a different Camp Wampum?

Anyway, if you could write back that would be great. Normally I'd do this by email, but my current data plan sucks.
Kaitlin


Dear Uncle Joe:
I did a bit of browsing the other day to look up an address and I spent over ten bucks! Every page I hit was loaded with pictures and streaming video and sometimes they were just ads but I had to pay to download it all.

That's it. I'm turning my phone's browser off. And the text and most of the other data features. Even the GPS thing uses data so off it goes.

What to say... This is why most of my blogs died... Oh! I know. I finally scanned in something interesting. That prison thingie. Well, its original plans. When I mention it to Mrs. Johannes she pointed out that they've probably install better plumping and electricity and added several wings since the place was built. Actually I had to ask her what it was because it made no sense because there were all those little rooms. Mrs. Johannes pointed out that they were cells. She said that while its a historic oddity it wasn't anything special since the plans must have been updated a dozen times since then, but it has some nice ink work on it.

Anyway, I'm heading out for a walk now. Got the playlist queued up, my walking shoes on, and I'm ready for whatever I find. I'll mail this letter off while I'm walking.


Your Niece,
Kaitlin


Dear Uncle Joe:
Two letters on the same day! It's a record, I know it is. I said I was ready for anything, but I wasn't.

How I wasn't.

After mailing that first letter I drove to the edge of town started walking, planning to walk for three or four hours and not see any pavement. Well, I was about an hour out of town and I was following what I thought was a trail. It wasn't marked or anything but it looked like where people walked. I followed it up a rise and around this hill then looked down and gasped.

I was overlooking pond and there were a bunch of girls swimming in the pond and none of them was wearing a single stitch! They were all completely bare, and I don't just mean their clothes. None of them had hair, any hair, anywhere but on their heads. None of them little girls. Most of them looked like they had bigger boobs than I do and from the back they looked like grown women, but all of them were shaved down to nothing. I trim and sometimes I sculpt, but they were all completely totally bare. Fuck, I wrote that twice but there's no delete button and I'm not crossing it out so I'll just write this to explain that I didn't mean to write it twice.

Anyway, I looked around but there wasn't any path down to where they were. The slope wasn't shear but it was too steep to think about walking. I'd break my leg for sure if I tried it. So I just hurried on my way before they spotted me. I mean I didn't want them to think I was spying on them or something.


Your Surprised Niece,
Kaitlin




Dear Uncle Joe:
Yes, I know yesterday's letters haven't reached you yet, but I've got more information. Today, during break, Mrs. Johannes said that she heard I'd been out walking yesterday and asked me where I went. I kind hemmed a bit but I told her and she laughed, saying that she didn't know I was a teenaged boy. I asked why and she told me about the pond and said that while it might have been empty when I walked by half the teenage boys in town haunted that walk because sometimes you saw inmates swimming in the pond.

That's what she called them, inmates.

I asked what the big deal was about watching girls swimming and Mrs. Johannes told me that the inmates weren't issued with swimsuits so they skinny-dipped and the boys tried to watch them. I was all "ew - you mean I walked through all that jizz" and she laughed and said that the rain washed it away but I had the right idea.

I told I'd find another place to walk and we left it at that.

So that's what I saw, but I couldn't ask why they were all shaved without telling her that I saw them there.


Your still surprised Niece
Kaitlin




Dear Kaitlin:
It's a good thing I write slowly now days. I had a reply to your first two letters almost finished when your third one came and I had to toss it away and start again.

I was going to suggest that you had seen inmates from that place and that you should avoid that path, but you already know they were inmates. Now I'll just tell you why to avoid it. You don't want to surprise a boy when he's jerking it, do you? And if there's a bunch of oversexed teenaged boys then you don't want to walk into the middle of them. Afterwards they'd claim that they were out of control and you were to blame for walking there and they would be wrong about that, but being right won't make things better after they attack you.

The lack of body hair is easily explained with one word: Lice. It's icky I know, but those inmates might have arrived there covered in lice. You didn't mention their hairstyles but I'm willing to bet that their remaining hair was cut short.

For lice control.

Not to eliminate lice, but to control them. If they weren't constantly battling lice then they would let the hair grow back. Since they were all equally shaved then it's a ongoing problem that requires constant shaving.

And yes, two letters in one day was a record for you. Even when you were at Camp Wampum it was only five letters over the course of your stay.


Hoping that you're enjoying your walks,
Joe


Dear Uncle Joe:
Your letter made a lot of sense. I wasn't going back there again because then people might think I was bi or something, but avoiding boys is another reason for avoiding that place.

Anyway, I was talking to Mrs. Johannes, asking her about the place. She mentioned that they gave tours and said that practically every girl in town had taken the tour after she graduated high school. Something about scared straight, but I thought that scare straight was for younger kids. Then she looked at me and said that I was probably the only girl my age in town who hasn't seen inside that place.

I asked if maybe she could arrange a tour for me and she said she'd asked around and see if it was possible.


Your Niece,
Kaitlin




Dear Kaitlin:
Your most recently letter has raised my concern. I'm not not sure if it is wise for you to take a tour there. You would be interacting with criminals and you are far from being streetwise. I fear that they would manipulate you. Beyond the danger of the inmates, there is the lice issue. You might have to shave your head (and other places), boil your clothing, and replace your mattress to get rid of them.


Your Concerned Uncle,
Joe


Dear Uncle Joe:
Mrs. Johannes says she's asked around and is waiting for an answer, but she said she could do something now. She asked my measurements and she's going to see if she can't get me one of the uniforms they wear there. Now I don't want to leave the letter like this so I'll hold off on mailing this until after tomorrow.

And now (by the miracle of me waiting before writing more) it's tomorrow.

Mrs. Johannes told me over the morning break that she had brought in a uniform for me to try on during the lunch hour.

Well lunch came and I wolfed down my food and then we went to the woman's room on the second floor (hardly anyone uses that one) and she gave me the clothes and I went into the handicapped stall to change. There wasn't much to the uniform. A bra, a blouse, a skirt, socks, and white bikini panties.

I left my underclothes on and after I changed I was wondering if Mrs. Johannes had gotten my measurements wrong. The skirt was way too short. It would never pass the bend test. If I leaned foreword I'd flash my underwear and maybe show most of it if I bent. Well Mrs. Johannes banged on the door and asked if I fell in so I called out and said the size was wrong and she said she was wanted to see it so I came out and showed her.

Then she told me that the skirt wasn't too short. That all the inmates wore them that short. Then she looked in the stall and saw the bra and the panties and got mad at me. She ranted a little but the main point was she had gotten me the complete uniform and I wasn't wearing it all. So to calm her down I went back in the stall and changed again and when I opened the door I unbuttoned my blouse a bit and twirled a bit so she could see I was wearing the underwear.

She said the clothes looked good on me, then she checked her watch (yes, she still wears a watch) and said that since I had to change twice we'd used up all our lunch hour and had to get back to work and no, I didn't have time to change back before we went back to work or she'd have to dock my pay. Then she pointed out that the records rooms were mostly deserted and asked what were the odds that anyone would see me before we had afternoon break and I could change back so I decided that she was right and didn't make a fuss.

So I carried my clothes downstairs, dropped them at my workstation, and went back for another load of documents. Only I must have walked fast or something because when I started scanning them the computer said it was only 1:04 and it usually takes me ten minutes or more to bring up a load of documents.

I was almost done scanning those documents when someone wandered in, proving Mrs. Johannes wrong. It was Mr. Beaker, who I've seen around but I don't think anyone's explained his job to me. The man is in his 50s and he's wandered in a few times before, asking Mrs. Johannes to get him some documents, and of course he had to notice what I was wearing. Then he asked when they had gotten inmate labour in the record room and Mrs. Johannes spoke up and said it was me. That I had wanted to know what the inmates wore. Mr. Beaker asked me to get up and turn around for him, which might have been sexual harassment, but I did it. Mr. Beaker just said that I looked good in a skirt and not to worry, that plenty of girls in town owned a uniform like that one.

After he left Mrs. Johannes cursed herself a bit, then told me that she couldn't put the uniform back now that Mr. Beaker thought I owned, but that she'd pay half its cost if I would pay the other half and that it was my own fault for taking so long at lunch. I kind of agreed to pay her half, so now I'm the proud owner of an inmate uniform.

Of course I changed back during my afternoon break, but I kept the white bikini panties on all day today.


Anyway, I'm still waiting to see if Mrs. Johannes can swing a tour. If she can then maybe I'll wear my uniform on the tour.


Your Niece who thinks this a record long letter,
Kaitlin




Dear Kaitlin:
I'm not sure how to say this politely so I'll be blunt. Remember when I said you should leave the good stuff out of these letters? That includes the type of underwear you're wearing.

I'm still against the idea of you taking a tour but if you do DON'T WEAR THAT UNIFORM! You will want to standout next to the inmates, not blend in with them.

And I'm serious about that. Remember who controls your trust fund? Well if you wear that uniform into that place then I'm cutting you off for the rest of the summer. That means putting all of your stuff into storage and signing away your apartment in the city.

And I mean it.


Your VERY concerned Uncle
Joe


Dear Uncle Joe:
Just chill, okay?

And I won't be telling you more about that uniform - I'll show it to you. You're putting the date at the top when you write your letters so I'm guessing when you'll get this one and I'm spending some money on that night you should get this one. I'll turn my phone's features back on and send you some pictures of me wearing it. Is that okay?

And I promise I won't wear it or anything like it if I go on a tour. I'll even pinkie swear it.

Just chill.

When it comes to authority figures you don't make a good heavy.


Your Niece,
Kaitlin


Dear Kaitlin:
The pictures did arrive the same night as the letter. And you did look cute from the front. From the back, less cute and more in date mood. And the photo of you bending, you were right. You flashed most of your panties when you did that.

And I certainly didn't need to see that last photo.


I still think that it's a mistake to take that tour, but that it won't be your first mistake this summer. No, I'm not talking about trying on that uniform at work, I'm talking about the size of the photos you sent me. Kaitlin, you need to learn about the compression setting on your phone. Each of those photos was more than 5 megs. That makes them more than $7.00 a photo. I know you don't like touching the trust money for everyday things, but I'll put an extra $50 in your account this month.

Back to your phone, if you had worked at the compression setting each of those photos would have been 50k, 60k, maybe 70k. It would have been less than 30 cents for all of them. Much less than a dollar compared with about $22, maybe $23.

And compressed photos would have been good enough. It's not like anyone is going to see them on anything but a phone and I didn't need them that clear and crisp.


Write before you decide if you're going on that tour.


An uncle who is still concerned about you,
Joe


Dear Uncle Joe:
Okay, this is a new phone and I haven't read the manual because it would have cost money to download. I played around with the settings and I might have maybe sent you those photos again, only smaller. Or less pixels or something.

Mrs. Johannes hasn't mentioned anything about a tour so maybe it's off.

Oh, and I have question. All you other letters ended capital U Uncle Joe but the last one had a small u. Why?


Your Niece,
Kaitlin


Dear Kaitlin:
I hoped that you had sent me those photos by error, because yes, you did send them to me. All of them. Including the one with the blouse unbuttoned enough to show off the bottom of the bra and the one from the back of you bending with your skirt flipped up, showing off your regulation panties. I'm glad you sent them by accident and since they were compressed you probably spent less than a dollar to send them all to me.

About the U. When I write "Uncle Joe" I use a capital because Uncle is part off the name I'm using. When I'm just saying that I'm an uncle then I leave it small because it's not part of my name. One rule to follow is that there are words between "uncle" and my name, it's lowercase; otherwise it's uppercase.

And I am very glad that the tour seems to be off.


Your Uncle
Joe


Dear Uncle Joe:
I'm very, very sorry about sending you those other photos. I was just playing around, having a bit a fun with my new phone and didn't mean for you to see them. Especially the one that showed off how snug the uniform's panties are when I'm bending. Sorry about that. But they feel really snug, especially when I bend, and I wanted to see how they looked and now that I saw I'm thinking that maybe I'd need a size larger. But I was sure I gave Mrs. Johannes the right size so maybe they're designed to be snug?

Oh, and it looks like the tour is back on. Mrs. Johannes says that if I want I can go on Saturday morning. I said I'd write before I made a decision but it looks like I'm going before you get this letter.

Oh, and my walks are coming along good. I've lost a bit of weight and I'm firming up where I want to. Leg muscles of iron! Yay me!


Your Niece,
Kaitlin




Dear Kaitlin:
You were half right. I got your letter before your tour but you won't get this one before tomorrow morning. I've tried to call you but either your phone is off or you're getting crappy reception. I've emailed and texted you, but you won't check those, will you?

If you haven't written me before you get this letter, WRITE ME NOW!!! Right this moment young lady. I want to hear from you and hear from you now. Call if you can, email if you can, and it's time we thought about getting you a landline so I can call and be sure of talking you when it's important.

Like now.

Joe




Dear Uncle Joe:
I haven't gotten your reply yet but I've checked my phone and heard your voice mail. I'm not sure why you sounded so worried, but I have to tell you what I saw today.

Mrs. Johannes drove me out there, which was great because I didn't know where it was and it's not on any map. I asked Mrs. Johannes about it and she said it was a security thing, that no sign of the place was on any map for a whole bunch of security reasons.

During the drive out, Mrs. Johannes asked me why I wasn't wearing my uniform and I told her that I didn't want to blend in with the inmates which is why I was in slacks and a T-shirt.

We got there around ten and we got buzzed through the exterior gates. The guy doing the buzzing seemed to know Mrs. Johannes. I asked her about that later and she said that in a small town everyone knew everyone. Which is true. Everyone I meet here seems to know everyone else.

Then we met senior warden Butterfield, or is that Senior Warden Butterfield because there's no spaces there? I really miss grammy checker. Anyway she was a woman in her mid thirties wearing a guard's uniform with a special symbol on her shoulders. Well she explained that she was going to give me a modified version of the scared straight tour because there was just me and I asked why that mattered and she told me that on the scare straight tours they picked on of the girls at random and put her through the intake procedure and it wouldn't be fair if there was just one girl to pick from.

We were walking as she was talking and I saw some of the inmates. They were mostly women in their 20s and their skirts were all as short as mine had been. Maybe shorter. And they all had pageboy cuts so maybe you were right about the lice. It felt weird to know that they were bare down there but I didn't ask about that. And none of them had any shoes on. Socks but no shoes.

Butterfield took us to a desk and told me that this was were, I mean where. Fuck I wish I had a backspace key when I write this way but I'm not crossing it out and writing the right word above it again. She said that this was where the new inmates turned in all their clothes and effects and they were boxed up and placed in storage. She said that most of them came straight from court and many of them entered wearing designer clothes before they stripped but it didn't matter if they had a fancy dress or threadbare jeans, they all had to strip here. Then we went to the next door, which was a shower room, and she said that this was were no wHere the inmates were washed down. Then she showed me where they got their inmate haircut and that was when Mrs. Johannes asked me if I had ever wanted to sport a pageboy because they would give free haircuts on the tour. I remembered about what you said about lice and turned it down because there might be lice on the cutters.

Then Butterfield laughed and said I'd made a smart choice because when they cut all hair and if this was a standard tour then the random girl would be shaved everywhere but her head and they would use a special cream keep the hair from coming back too soon. So I asked why any girl would agree to that and Butterfield said if I thought there was a choice involved she could call a couple of guards who would show me otherwise. Of course I said no, but I didn't explain that I meant why a girl on a tour would let them do it, not an inmate.

Then Mrs. Johannes blew me away when she said that all those years ago when she had taken her tour she had been the girl picked and she had kept herself smooth for months later. Like I could picture her being that young.

Then we went to the next room, where they issued the uniforms and there just happened to a dozen uniforms laying around there. Butterfield pointed at them and asked if I wanted to find out if one of them fit me and I said no and Mrs. Johannes said that I already had a uniform at home. Butterfield laughed and said that she would have loved to see me wearing it today and if I wanted I could change into one of those ones, but I said no and explained that I wouldn't feel right, looking like the inmates when I wasn't one. But I did ask about if the panties were designed to be snug and Butterfield said that they were, at least at first when the elastics were new because that way they stayed up when the elastics were worn. She even offered to give me a fresh pair if I wanted to wear those under my slacks, but I said no because if there are lice here it wouldn't matter how much they wash them, but I didn't explain about being worried about the lice in case it offended her.

Then we saw an old cell block, behind a locked bar door. I mean the door was made of bars that you could see through and reach through but not walk through. It was a cellblock that Butterfield said they didn't use anymore and I could recognise it from the plans I had seen and while those cells weren't used anymore I thought I heard something from one of them but then I remembered how rats loved old buildings and ignored it because I didn't want to stumble over a rat. Butterfield offered to show me the inside of one, to take me through the bar door and into the cells, but I said no because I really didn't want to see a rat or rat droppings. Then we saw the new rooms where inmates slept 8 to a room in four bunk beds but they were all out of them when we were there. Then we went to a mess hall and Butterfield said we could have a meal there if we wanted to, but I wasn't hungry and neither was Mrs. Johannes. Then we saw a bathroom and I was glad I didn't need to use it because there weren't any stalls and Butterfield explained that they didn't allow the inmates any privacy and that included in the bathroom. Then she said that there were some other parts of the tour we couldn't see because we didn't have a girl we were pretending to admit, unless I wanted to volunteer and I didn't because I know it would have involved a haircut. Then Mrs. Johannes suggested that I could take another tour later, either as part of a group or when they were admitting a real inmate and Butterfield said that maybe that might work out.

So we saw a few other things and one of them, that I don't think that any of the others noticed, was one of the inmates who didn't have anything on under her skirt and her bottom was all red like she had been spanked or rubbed against something really rough down there. Which was weird because even with her being an inmate who would have spanked her and where were her panties? Then I thought it must be something one of the butch inmates did to her and I decided that really didn't want to know what happened in those 8 woman rooms after lights. I mean I'm okay with girls choosing to do something like that, but what if that inmate didn't chose for that to happen?

Then there's what I heard. I heard, or at least I think I heard, a spanking actually happening. I haven't heard many spankings but it sounded like a hand smacking a backside only it was far away and neither Butterfield or Mrs. Johannes seemed to hear it. Or at least they didn't react to it.

Then something weird happened. As we were walking back to the gates Butterfield remembered that she should have said something about phones at the beginning and asked to see mine to see if I had taken any pictures because pictures are contraband here. So I showed her my phone and explained how I had disabled the camera and all the data stuff because I couldn't afford the data charges and both of the other women looked surprised at that. Butterfield checked my phone and confirmed that camera was locked off and hadn't been on for days. She smiled as she did that so maybe she saw the photos I took and that I probably should delete those ones but the last time I tried to delete them I sent them to you.

Then Mrs. Johannes drove me home and on the way asked if I had worn that uniform at home and I said that I had just to see how it looked in my mirrors but then I decided to wash it because I always wash new clothes and I had hung them up to dry before she picked me up because there wasn't washing instructions on them so I washed them in cold water and hung them in my shower to dry.

Then I had lunch and started writing this letter, which has to be longest then I've every wrote by hand.


Your Niece,
Kaitlin




Dear Kaitlin:
First, I'm glad you're okay, but could you do me a favour? Go to the local library, find some books on English, and look up "run on sentences". And while it was a long letter, technically it was printed, not written, because your school didn't focus on teaching you handwriting before giving you a computer to type on.

Dear God, now I'm using run on sentences. Borderline ones at least.

And you need a grammar checker, not a grammy checker.

Now that I have that out of the way, I am amazed that they would do that to a girl who was only there on a tour. To strip her, wash her, and shave her intimate places as her friends and classmates watched? Imagine how you would feel if that happened to you. And those old cells. I'm sure that they would lock the tour girl in there for a while to give her a taste about how bad being locked up could be. Or maybe just to give her a chance to calm down after her humiliating treatment.

I am relieved that you didn't actually talk to any of the inmates and I would advise you not to return with a group. If you were there with a group they would probably say that it would be fair to pick you because this was your second tour and you would look terrible in a pageboy cut. Not to mention how embarrassing it would to have your other hair removed in front of everyone.

I'm not sure that I can picture the parts they didn't show you, but nothing would be worth risking that.


Glad that you are safe,
Joe


Dear Uncle Joe:
I've finished reading both of your letters and I don't need you lecturing me on English. Be happy, be very happy that I'm spelling thing out rather than using text speak. U don't want 2 C that.

Now, what's new? Oh, this.

Yesterday Mrs. Johannes brought some old pictures in. I didn't recognised who was in them until she pointed out that it was her when she was a bit younger than I am now. She was wearing one of those uniforms and had a pageboy cut, proving that she had been selected when she was on the tour. Then, and you'll never guess this, she showed me a picture of her skirt being held up and her bottom was bare and all red and she explained that they had spanked her when she tried to stop them from shaving her and they did that because they couldn't put her in the hole like she was a real inmate and it was decades ago and don't talk to me about run on sentences. She pointed out that she could have been paddled at school and that there was one of her teachers with her who authorised it even though she had graduated and was over 18 and everything. And when one of the other girls on the tour pointed out that legally they couldn't do that they took that girl's panties down and spanked her too! Only they let the other girl dress afterwards and they wouldn't let Mrs. Johannes wear her uniform panties when they were done. That meant she had to spend the whole entire day smoothing her skirt and trying not to flash her bottom.

Other pictures showed her mixing with the inmates, eating with them and even doing jumping jacks in what looked like a gym class. I' m not sure, but I think her skirt went up enough to show that she had been shaved and I don't think she was the only girl in that picture with nothing under her skirt. And she didn't look like she was the only girl who had a red bottom either because some the pictures showed inmates bending and some of had red blotches at the edges of their panties and if they spanked Mrs. Johannes then maybe they spanked some of the real inmates.

Then there was a photo of a classroom where Mrs. Johannes (only that probably wasn't her name then because I don't think she was married when it happened) was bent over a desk and there was a yardstick hitting her on her bare bottom and when we got to that one she said that she had given the guards some lip and since they couldn't put her in the hole they spanked her again. That almost every time someone on the tour gave some lip someone got spanked because the guards said they needed to keep order and couldn't be seen taking lip from the tour group. She said that after if any of the girls really objected to that they gave her a choice to start the tour over again and finish in an uniform with her hair cut and that two girls had chosen that. And then she said that one of the girls hadn't learned her lesson so went over a lap her skirt up and panties down for a good spanking but that it had all happened years ago and they probably wouldn't even think of doing something like that during a tour now.

She said that that the gym and the classrooms were some of the parts of the tour I didn't get to see and I wasn't sure if I missed not seeing it or not. Then she asked if I could picture myself living back then, dressed in my uniform with my panties down getting a spanking and I had to shake my head because I couldn't. Then lunch was over and we had to get back to work.

Talk about mind blowing


Your Niece
Kaitlin




Dear Kaitlin:
I don't understand why Mrs. Johannes showed you those photos, but remember that it could have been you in those pictures, at least in the ones that didn't show spanking. Butterfield seemed to want to process you and if they had found you leaving with contraband (even though you didn't know it was contraband at the time) then you could have been in serious trouble. At the very least you would be wearing a new hairstyle and at worse you might have had trouble leaving that place until the start of business Monday. It might have not been entirely legal but I'm not sure if that place cares about the niceties of the law.

I've done some digging. It seems that the woman blocking the state funds for that town may have spent the summer of her senior college year as an inmate there. The funny thing is I can't find any record of her committing a criminal offence. She would have been 21 then so it wouldn't be a sealed juvenile record but there is no evidence that she committed any crime before being held there.

Just as you haven't committed any crimes.

Just be careful and watch yourself. Now I'm wondering if I did you a favour when I got you that job.


You know you have all my love,
Joe




Dear Uncle Joe:
Um, I know you want me to skip the "good stuff" but I really need some advice here.

Where to start?

I've been wearing that uniform a bit, just in the privacy of my own apartment, and sometimes I don't wear anything under it. I've been doing that since before I took that tour and doing it more since Mrs. Johannes showed me those pictures. Having "fun" while wearing it Friday night and thinking about maybe wearing it on the tour was the real reason I had to wash it on Saturday before the tour - I had to erase a 'wet 'spot'. And since I saw those old photos I've been thinking about how it might feel to get spank in it like Mrs. Johannes was. I even bent over my bed with my skirt up and those panties down, thinking about how it would have been to have lived back then and gotten spanked then. Over the desk like she was. But since all that happened before I was even born I knew all I could was picture it and think about living back then.

Then I learned that I didn't need a time machine.

Yesterday Mrs. Johannes talked to me privately during the break. She told me that after we talked she started thinking and did some checking and learnt that the place still used corporal punishment on inmates. I didn't say anything, but now I know I did see that red bottom and actually hear a spanking! She said that there's informal smackings and formal, and very serious, smackings given in something called the "punishment room". She showed me that room on the beautiful old plans I scanned in. It's an amphitheatre with tiers of seating and a broad stage and she said there are spanking benches they have on the stage where they secure the inmates.

Then they spank them with straps and paddles. And then she said that it was one of the places we skipped because we didn't have an inmate being admitted. She had seen it on her tour way back when but she thought that they had done away with the room and remodelled the space. At least that's what she thought before she asked around and learnt that the room is still in use.

And now I have a confession to make. I've been thinking about spankings since we talked about Camp Wampum. About how I could have been spanked if mom had checked the wrong box or if someone had made a mistake and it would have been an easy mistaken because there were at least three girls whose names sounded like mine does. No system is ever perfect and someone at that camp could have made a mistake and I could have been spanked by someone who thought I was someone else.

And Alex used to smack my bum at times. Nothing serious, but when we were at it sometimes he smacked my bum and I liked it then.


Now you know all of that I'll tell why I need advice. Mrs. Johannes just didn't tell me about the spankings. She said that if I was to wear my uniform then I could get to go there on what they call 'punishment night' this Sunday. That I could watch the inmates get punished. I'm more than half convince that if I go dressed liked one of the inmates are then I might "accidentally" end up getting spanked along side of them.

But I think that maybe, just maybe, that I want to be spanked. Not as part of a game but for real. The camp councillors wouldn't have listened to any safeword. My friend Debbie Palmer's mom wouldn't have stopped just because I asked her to. If I go there then maybe I'd get a spanking that I don't have any control over.

And I think I might want that. To know what that feels like.

I need advice here.

Kaitlin


Dear Kaitlin:
I'm not sure what to say. I know that your mother, my sister, would never have spanked you as a child and you certainly can't go back in time. I also know that anything called punishment night happening in a punishment room to inmates who can't legally complain about how they treated will have nothing to do with what could have happened to a naughty camper.

Nothing.

After looking at the Camp Wampum stuff again I'm positive that nothing they would have done would have caused any bruising. One box might have led to "red skin" but most of the options would result in pinkness and bruised pride.

If a girl needs to be secured before she's spanked then pinkness wouldn't be an option. Nor are we talking about using a hand. As you said, they use straps and or paddles after they tied the girl down. There would almost certainly be bruising, maybe heavy bruising or even welts.

Again, it's nothing like what might have happened to a child at camp.


But as you've pointed out, you're not a child anymore. A child wouldn't need to wash her clothes after thinking about being treated like an inmate. A child doesn't need advice on her sex life. That's what we're talking about here. You think that it would be sexually exciting to be spanked in a way that you can't control. No, I can't think of another way you could experience that. Even with a paid professional you would be setting guidelines and limits.

I'm not sure if you would enjoy something like that, or if anyone could enjoy it. Neither one of us know if it would even happen. You might just stand around, looking like another inmate, and watch what happens to the real inmates as they are punished.


I urge you to think about how brutal the experience would be. To focus on the reality of the situation and not on what might have happened years ago. To be aware that if you decide to go then that might be the last decision that you get to make that night.

Then to decide.

Whatever your decision, I will support you on it.


Your Concerned Uncle
Joe




To: Joe@RandNE.edu
Subject: HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME
omg omg omg I need help! HELP HELP HELP

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I'm standing and typing this and crying and I had to turn autocorrect on because I couldn't read what I was typing and it won't let me do text type so I have to write it all out and I HELP! HELP ME! PLEASE HELP ME!

Oh my god I can't even type "O""M""G" without putting quotes on the letters.

I need to tell you what happened and you have to come to help me because I need help. I need to start at the start or I can't tell things in order and you won't know why I NEED HELP until you know what happened.

I decided to go and so I was dressed in the uniform, even the panties, and was waiting for Mrs. Johannes. She came into my apartment and checked me out, then pointed out that I wasn't quite in uniform because I had shoes on. When I said I needed them she told me that maybe I should leave them in her car when got there the FUCKING BITCH!

Then she asked if I was really in uniform so I bent and flashed her my panties but then said she meant that she meant that she wanted to know if I had shaved and I should have known then but I didn't so I just told her that I hadn't shaved and left with her. And I don't care what grammar check says I'll run my sentences as long as I want. I need to be able to write this like I need to write and now I'm crying again so I'm going to FUCKING STOP grammar check turn it off while leaving the spell correct on so I can read what I type.

This time we drove through the gate and pulled into a garage and Mrs. Johannes told me to leave my shoes in her car so I walked through the garage in my sock feet. Then we were led to the amphitheatre. Right at the door there was an inmate working a checkroom, which I almost expected because I'd looked over those beautiful plans again and saw the checkroom on them.

And I mean those plans were beautiful. The penmanship on them was almost like art, like something that.... well who cares what century they reminded me off. I'm not working on my thesis now so fuck art.

Mrs. Johannes checked her purse then held out her hand for mine and so I checked my purse too. Mrs. Johannes took both tickets and then that LEZ BITCH put them in her pocket because my uniform doesn't have any pockets and maybe I would have put mine down my bra but I didn't have a chance to and I was actually grateful to that FUCKING WHORE for holding my ticket for me. I was through the door and in the amphitheatre before I realised that now that I wasn't holding my purse I looked just like the inmates. The only difference now was I wasn't shaved and I wasn't going to go around pulling down my panties and showing people that difference. Then I looked around and saw that I wasn't the only one in that room dressed that way. There were inmates with drink trays circling around and some of the other guests where dressed a bit like they were in uniform. Not the complete uniform but some of the girls were kind of dressed like the inmates.

And there was a lot of guests. Each row of seats had three or four feet in front of the seats where you could stand and people were mingling at all levels. Some were sitting and some were standing and everyone had drinks in their hands and Mrs. Johannes snagged two of them off a passing tray and handed one to me. I didn't notice but she kept urging me to drink and I was nervous and I must have had three or four glasses and she only had half a glass if that.

I expected that there would be other people here but i though they would just be dirty old men and there were some but there were couples and even some families but no little kids. Some were dressed like they came off the street, some like they were going to a semi formal event, and one cluster looked like they had just walked off of the golf course. They were talking about the game they had just played and I didn't even know that there was a golf course in town.

But I wasn't watching the other people much. I was looking at the stage. There were ten spanking benches on it and I couldn't help picturing inmates being strapped down on every one of them.

Then someone, a man who was maybe 40 and dressed in a dark suit, walked on to the stage and guards led these three inmates out and those women didn't look happy to be there. They took off their skirts and then stepped out of their panties and the guards moved them on to spanking benches. None of the women were resisting but they weren't really cooperating and they were all shaved everywhere and not making a real effort to cover their everywhere so I could see that they were completely shaved there. Then the man spoke up. He announced that those three girls were here for punishment night and asked if they were the only ones.

I thought I was expecting it but I was really shocked when Mrs. Johannes pointed to me and said it looked like an inmate was trying to escape her punishment. I turned on her, but then Senior Warden Butterfield was at my side. She must have come in while I was looking down at the girls striping on the stage and she took my arm and I know she recognised me but she just said "We've got a bench for this one".

Then a guy pushed forward the girl he was with and said she was here for punishment and she didn't look surprised. She was nodding. Then one of the golfers was pushed forward and she did look surprised and then one of the families pushed their daughter forward and she was yelling "Mom and Dad how could you! You know I don't want to go down there!" and it sunk in that guests were going to fill all the empty spanking benches. That even if I hadn't worn the uniform I would have been sent down there BY THAT BITCH.

Then a woman raised her hand and said she was going down there and not to let her back out, then almost immediately said she was just joking but a pair of guards came up behind her and started to carrying her kicking and screaming to the stage.

But that was it and there were still two empty benches so the man called and asked if anyone else wanted to go and when no one said anything the guards grabbed two girls who looked like sisters and they tried to fight but I couldn't watch that. Because by then I was in front of one of the spanking benches and Butterfield was taking off my skirt and panties and looking at me. Looking at my bush. She said she was surprised that I still had it, that looked too old on a naughty little girl like me and if she had charge of me she'd make me take the laser treatment so it would never grow back.

Then she bent me over the spanking bench and strapped me in. She strapped my arms down in two places and strapped my torso down but she left the thigh straps off and left slack in the ankle straps. I couldn't help myself. As she strapped my legs down I shifted positions and rubbed myself against the leather that was pressing hard against my crotch.

Then Butterfield stood and moved and whispered in my ear that rubbing the leather would feel even better if I was really bare there then she... she moved again and she stuck a finger in me! Right inside of me! And she laughed and said I was dripping wet and maybe I was because I had been turned on but I wasn't turned on now because this was too scary and too real but my body hadn't got the message and I was still wet.

I was laying there and breathing hard when pain exploded across my bottom and I screamed before I even registered the sound of the leather hitting my skin. You were right! This had nothing to do spanking. No one would ever do anything like that to a kid. This was a butt beating and I couldn't get out of it now. I couldn't have stopped it when I entered the amphitheatre. Not holding my purse didn't matter much, since they strapping girls that weren't looking like inmates, but I could have grabbed my phone and maybe have texted someone for help when they grabbed me. Maybe they had good reception here.

Or maybe my phone wouldn't have helped. Maybe I was doomed from the moment I stepped into Mrs. Johannes' car.

Then the strap came down on my left cheek then my right thigh and then across both cheeks and I screamed and I sobbed and I heard the other girls screaming. I know they weren't girls, that they were women, but there's something about the way we were all being spanked that made us sound more like girls than woman.

Then I noticed something. Without thinking about it I was jerking my body away from every impact. That meant I was rubbing my crotch against the leather. I only noticed when I did a painful jerk, stretching one of my petals as my body's weight pinned it to the leather. That hurt, but once I noticed I noticed more than just pain.

And it was something that I could use to distract me from the pain exploding on my backside. I even got into a rhythm of smack pain rub smack pain rub that felt bad but good at the same time.

I know you don't want to know about this, but I think I came on that spanking bench. Then the strap came again and pleasure was gone, almost no afterglow, and I felt the pain that much more.

Then someone was undoing my arms and I realised that it was over but I could only lay there and cry. Someone said something about getting this inmate to the infirmary and I knew they meant me but I could only cry and hope they noticed my bush and saw that I wasn't really an inmate.

They half dragged and half carried me and I ended up face down on something that looked like a hospital bed. I started chanting "not an inmate I've got a bush not an inmate I've got a bush" while this woman spread a soothing cream on my backside. Then they forced me to turn over and one of the nurses said I did have a bush and instead of letting me up they used handcuffs to fix my arms and legs to the sides of the hospital bed and one of the nurses started shaving me! I was sobbing for them to stop but they didn't and then they rubbed a cream there to get any hair they missed.

Then one of them started using a vibrator on me and the cuffs kept my legs open and they made me cum and cum despite how my bottom was still throbbing and how much I hurt and they wouldn't stop when I asked them to and maybe not having a choice isn't as good as I thought it might be.

Then I was being dragged half naked and I tried to tell them that I wasn't an inmate and the guards just laughed and said I hadn't been an inmate but I was one now. We went to those old cells, with me wearing just my blouse, bra, and socks and the tails of my blouse weren't hiding much. There was a old cot and a bucket in the cell and that was it.

Then Butterfield came in and put down an electric camping light. You know, one of the ones with a big battery that lets you have a lamp in a tent? She told me that they were going to lock the cellblock but not the cells. That I would stay here until tomorrow afternoon then they would "discover me trespassing" and I'd be incarcerated by administrative action. That not every girl who got strapped on punishment night was incarcerated but every girl who worn a uniform was and that I should have known that before I wore my uniform here.

Then she rubbed my shaved pussy and said that it was going to be a fun toy. That she would drive me into town and get me the laser treatment because she didn't like the feel of stubble on her tongue. Then she put down the light and left, telling me that if I wanted to have some fun I could explore the other cells, but that the main door was going to be locked.

Hearing that I would lose my hair forever and ever brought everything into focus. I knew I didn't want to stay there. Even if you came and rescued me after a couple of weeks I knew that would be too late and I didn't want to wear a merkin.

Merkin. It's flagged as spelled wrong but I know it's spelled right. It's something that us art history scholars know about. You can see them on some old paintings and you read about artists talking about them.


Somehow I pulled myself together, but my bum really hurt! Then I heard sobbing when I knew I wasn't sobbing so I left my cell and looked around. Only two other cells had girls in them which didn't seem fair since seven non-inmates got punished. One was the daughter who had screamed at her parents that she didn't want this and one was the golf girl who maybe did want this. Or thought she had wanted it before it happened. The daughter still had her loose skirt on, but it was above her waist as she sobbed and rubbed her bottom and both of them had been shaved bare.

And both of them were wearing shoes when all I had on were socks.

So I played the bully. I took the skirt and shoes off of the sobbing daughter but her shoes really didn't fit me so I took the shoes off of golf girl and her cleats fit me better. Then I took my light and went exploring and left those two sobbing in the darkness.

Did I mention how beautiful those plans had been? I mean they were a work of art. It looked like some frustrated artist turned architect had drawn them. They were first rate, much better than the crap I normally scanned, so I looked them over a few times and made them the background picture for my computer at work. I looked at them so much that I knew what to look for now.

I walked to the end of the corridor and there it was. An access door. It was two feet by two feet and about an inch off of the floor. I pushed on it and pushed on it and then I went back to the daughter who was still sobbing (not like she has anything to cry about; her parents aren't dead) and I took her shoes and I used the corners of the high heels to peel the layers off from around the edge of the door where it met the frame. It took a while and I broke one of her shoes but I finally got the paint off and then I could push it open. Okay, I had to bash the light against a few times and I prayed and begged it to open and I got it open.

Then I went down on all fours and crawled through the door to what had been an access room for the pipes and cried again, this time with joy. The plans didn't show an exit from here but I had seen lots of plans of places old places where they were filing a change when they updated the plumping and they had done what they hoped they had done. When they put the new pipes in they put a really narrow access corridor in. I followed the corridor and I passed doors and access panels until I got to what looked like an outside wall and there was a door there and it looked rusted and I pushed and pushed against it and it opened enough for me to squeeze through.

The camp light kind of broke then but there was a lot of moonlight so I kept going. I was at the back of the place and I didn't want to risk going around front where they had lights and guards and maybe dogs. I headed to where I thought I saw a rise and kept going and then I stumbled into the pond before I saw it.

I moved around the pond and emptied out my cleats and rang out my socks and looked at the rise. It looked just as steep from this side. I took a running start but rolled back down the hill. I made another one, and while my thighs of iron gave me speed it was the golf cleats that made the real difference. I got part way up and got a hold on the grass and bushes and slowly worked my way up.

Then I rolled over on to the jerk off path and I rested a while but I knew I had to keep going. I might not be in the full uniform but I looked enough like an escape inmate and maybe they would have the cops looking for me. I walked down the path and walked back to town.

And through town.

My legs were burning almost as much as my bum was. I was used to walking but not this far and I banged my knees up scrambling up that hill. Sometime during the walk I felt a stinging on my lower belly and I had to start wonder about that chemical rub they used on my bush. Where my bush used to be. My bush is gone and because of those chemicals it might be months growing back. I've had that bush almost since mom and dad died and now it's gone like mom and dad are.

The records building was closer than my apartment which was good because I had to go there first anyway. I punched my code in the lock and it opened and I broke down crying again as I went in the building. Now no one could drive by and see me with my inmate blouse and stolen skirt and tear stained face and my battered knees and maybe drag me back there.

I went to the nearest wash roomed and I washed where the chemicals were stinging and I dried myself but then my skirt had this huge wet spot. Then I went to my desk and got my spare key from the top drawer under the rubber bands where I hide it but my skirt was still wet and I needed time to let it dry. And I didn't have time for a letter to reach you and I don't know the long distance punch code for the phones here and my phone is still in the checkroom and I never got that landline you told me to get.

So I said fuck the email policy and started typing this to you. But I have to stand to type because it hurt too much when I sit.

God. I'm looking at the computer's clock and I can't believe it's still so early. It's only 2:34. I feel like I've been up for three days straight and it's only 2:34.

But I can't stay here. I can't let that fucking bitch find me here. My legs don't hurt as much so I'm going to walk back to my apartment, change, and hide in the closet. I know that you won't get this email until 8 or 9 this morning when you get to your office but when you see it PLEASE HELP ME! Maybe they won't notice I'm gone until this afternoon and if you can get here before then you can smuggle me out somehow. Rent a car at the airport or a van yes I can hide in a van or in the trunk of a car but please please save me!

Kaitlin




(sent from the lounge at a private airport at 2:45 AM)
To 125935@9990.com
Subject: Wade

Wade. Repeat Wade. PS: Your facility is NOT as a secure as you claim it is so WADE WADE WADE and forget retrieval attempts.



Dear Kaitlin:
I'll probably reach you before this letter does, but in case I have problems with my flight or one of my connections I hope that this letter can give you some comfort.

Words cannot express my shock when I saw your email. I was stunned, truly stunned, to see it. I've talked with a lawyer who, when I was able to convince that this had really happened, assured me that you cannot be the subject of a manhunt. Since you were never legally confined there they can't charge you will escaping from there. You should be fine, but I'm heading down there as soon as I can.

Just stay there, stay calm, and I'll be there to help as soon as I can. You might want to pack because there's no way I'm letting you stay there in that town. Afterwards, we can go someplace where you can feel safe. You've said you enjoyed your time at that spa - we could go there (my treat).

Just be safe until I can go and get you.


Flying out to save you,
Joe




(Sent from the business lounge at a public airport 8:22 AM)
To: (undisclosed participants)
Subject: Why I sent that code

It wasn't an easy decision to make, to send the abort code, but the moment I saw Kaitlin's email I knew that I had to do it. Until now the only electronic records were those photos that she sent me and a few texts and emails I sent to her asking her to contact me, but that email left electronic footprints on a government computer, on my phone, and on my provider's servers. There was no way that an investigation could have missed it. Or miss that I was active on my phone at that time of the morning.

It would have been so easy to send someone to grab her from her apartment and take her back there. I'm sure no one in town would object to an outsider being hauled away kicking and screaming. They'd probably laugh or applaud if they noticed her being taken back there. No, I'm not worried about a local reaction. As I've said before, no investigation can find proof that I knew what was going to happening her before it happened or knew where she was being imprisoned there. The letters could be burnt but there's no way of erasing evidence from the internet.

I must admit that I was torn while I watched her wiggling on that bench, but in a way it was something she needed to experience. In fact, some people who know her might assume that she would sign herself in to a place like that just to be treated that way. You see when she was a girl she became fascinated with the idea of spanking, so much so her adoptive mother (who would never have raised a hand to her) finally sent Kaitlin to a camp where the councillors were authorised to smack. If she hadn't have checked the wrong box then Kaitlin's fascination with spanking could have ended then when she discovered what spankings were really like. If that happened then her disappearing into your facility would be less easily explained.

Later, after she came back from camp and she kept talking about spanking and her adopted parents discovered the wrong box had been checked, so another option was explored. Kaitlin was scheduled to go on a sleepover with a friend whose parents spanked and it was arranged that at least two girls (their daughter and Kaitlin) would get red bottoms when they earned them, but the accident claimed her adopted parents before that happened. I suppose I could have arranged something along those lines for her, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel to think about.

After their death she stopped talking about spanking. It was one of many things she repressed for years but last fall she started an anonymous blog where she talked about her spanking fantasies. She posted that these fantasies were new to her but I saw a return of her old fascination, which brought your services to mind. She even talked about going to sex clubs where she could experiment with spankings but she kept chickening out. Should someone have found out where she was all I would have had to have done was point to those posts and I could have convinced them that this was all her own idea. Of course she had no idea that I have spyware on her phone and computer and have read all of her blogs (most didn't last more than a month but the spanking one lasted until she took this summer job) from the moment she started them, but that wouldn't have mattered during the cover up phase.

While it would have been convenient, very convenient, to have her confined and unreachable when her trust fund reverts to her control, I'm not the only trustee and the others would have investigated her disappearance. Hence my absolute need for discretion. Her running from a messy break up and trying to live only on the money she could earn herself was a good start. Her disappearing from that small town would have been perfect. Her sending semi-sexy photos and my "contact me now" emails would have been wonderful to explain how she went off on her own and that she didn't want any contact with us. Having an extra year or two to rearrange her funds would have been helpful, but maybe things will be okay despite the fact that you allowed her to escape.

I'm basing my hope on the fact that she's never been good at math. For god's sake she's got a Fine Arts degree and she's getting a Masters of Art History. She doesn't even know how to work her phone, the one you confiscated (the one with the photos - do whatever you want with them). With any luck there's no way she'll be able to wade through all the financial documents and understand anything. Then there's how I've been underplaying her trust fund. I mean, she was worrying about spending an extra $30 on data fees; she has no idea how much money she should have coming to her.

But if I'm wrong about this, then I believe I can convince her to drop by your facility again and that you will be able to ensure a longer stay for her. I'm sure I can "get her to confront her fears" or some rot like that. Her disappearing after she takes control of her trust fund would be less suspicious than her going now, even if she voices suspicion that someone was stealing from her trust fund. Yes, a huge difference between her not being there to get the money and her taking off to spend her money.

Oh, and should it become necessary for you see her again, don't mention to her that she's adopted. Her parents never told her and I've never had the heart to tell her. More importantly, her thinking that I've her uncle has made it so much easier to get her to trust me. If she has to disappear behind your walls for a few years I might even able to convince her that I had nothing to do with what happened to her there. Especially after I wrote all those letters telling her not to risk going there.

But speaking as her non-uncle, she did look nice getting her rump strapped. That sight alone was worth everything her trust fund spent on this project. I'm sure her former co-workers would have enjoyed watching her being taken back to the record rooms to put in a full day's work every week before being returned to the prison in the evening. I'm just as sure that Mrs. Johannes misses supervising her normal "summer student inmate", but maybe something can be worked out. Here's hope you can reset the trap with what's left of the summer.

Joe




Epilogue:
Kaitlin has escaped the dastardly plan but the world goes on. Other people see the services the facility offers and take advantages of them. Including this Aunt and her Niece.


Dear Aunt Stella:
This enter town is a dump! My phone doesn't even work here because they have the wrong kind of network and the only kind that will work on it is a piece of shit phone that I wouldn't be caught dead with. I can't even use the office computer to send email because there's a special password you need to access the net. Some bullshit about the town having to crack down on inappropriate internet usage. Like some guy was browsing porn or something and got caught so no one can use the net without having an official reason to use it. Which is bullshit. I can't even change the background on my computer and I'm not allow to print on the office printer. Which is bullshit.

Which means I have to write things down with a pen. Which is bullshit.

I can't even punch into and out of the building whenever I want to. They told me that my code only works when I'm supposed to be here and if I work overtime I'll need someone to punch the door code for me. Which is bullshit.

And this entire job idea is bullshit! Why should I have to work at all? Yeah, I know you always take about me learning the value of a dollar but I'm getting my trust fund when I turn 26 so why did I need this shit job? And I'm not the only one who thinks so. They had another girl doing this shit but she said fuck this shit and took off the week before they hired me. I've even ended up with her shithole apartment. Only two fucking rooms!

I can't believe you're making me do this! In four months I get my money and then I'm calling the shots! I still can't believe you threatened to withhold my allowance if I didn't take this job. I mean, sure, maybe I crashed that car but no one can prove I was high or drunk when it happened. Not with those blood samples missing.

And this shithole town is bullshit.

You said to write if I had anything to say? Well nothing happened for the first couple of weeks here. The only thing that wasn't bullshit are these pics I found in the apartment. Someone printed off some photos that are almost naughty ones. The girl took photos of herself in some weird costume, a blouse and a short skirt set, showing off her bra and bikini panties. Not really porn, but her trying to be sexy in a lame way. Bending with her skirt up, flashing her panties, that sort of thing.

Well I brought them into work and bitch who tracks my time sheet confirmed that it was the girl who had my job before (duh! it used to her apartment) but that it wasn't just some slut outfit she put together. She said it's the uniform for this woman's prison that's around here. I didn't believe her, but she said she could get me one of my own if I wanted and I wanted it. Anything to wear new clothes. I still can't believe you've cut my clothes budget to almost nothing!


The next day she brought one in and I wore it all day because it wasn't business clothes and it was the hottest outfit I could wear there. Some old guy, Mr. Bleaker or Beaker or something, came by and said I looked really cute in it and wanted to see me from the back, so I made sure I flashed him my panties by twirling when I showed him. I even bent over to pick something I "drop" when he was there just so he could get the full show of me bending. He said I presented a tempting target, bending like that, and if he was standing closer to me he might smack my bottom and then put me over his knee for a real spanking like naughty girls need, but I laughed it of instead of calling HR. You know that I'm a great judge of character and the old guy is harmless.

Then the idiot who marks my time sheet said that when she was young they sometimes used to smack the inmates of that place, but that was just her trying to horn in my fun of teasing the old man. I told her I wouldn't know about that since I didn't grow up then and no one spanked anymore and the old guy just laughed and said that this wasn't the big city and lots of girls my knew what a sore bottom felt like. We flirted like that for a bit, him talking about I could probably use a spanking, but then the old guy got the papers he wanted and left and I couldn't tease him anymore.

I changed before I went home so no one would think I was an escapee, but then the next day I brought it back with me and changed into and spent the entire day dressed like that. That old guy dropped by for more papers and I sort of teased him again. I got him to the point where he said that if he had charge of me he'd bend me over my desk and spank me, so I bent over my desk and said "Like this?". Only he said there wouldn't so much clothing in the way so I flipped up my skirt and asked if this was better. He said not quite, so I faked that I was going to take my panties down, even flashing him a bit of cheek then stood up laughing. He didn't seem to think it was funny but I did.

I'm going to wear that outfit again and not just at work. Mrs. Joan-Hands or whatever says she can get me a tour of that place this Saturday and if I want I can wear that uniform there and I want. Just imagine, putting some guard in his place when he mistakes me for an inmate. That would be so wild! Like how I put that cop in her place when she tried to get a blood test after I crashed that car. That bitch pig thought she could tell me what to do? Please! I couldn't get her badge but I got her suspended and she'll miss that 30 days of pay.

Anyway I'm going there on Saturday and I'm going to talk to those bitches who have to wear that outfit and tell them what I think of them. Getting caught like that means that they're scum and I'll make sure they know how little they matter to people in the real world.

your richer than you niece
Lyn


To: Stella5324@Secure.Com
Subject: Operation "Secure Lyn" A Success

Things went better than expected. Lyn arrived wearing an inmate uniform and decided that she wanted a haircut, even after being told that it involved shaving off all body hair. As she had stated in the one letter she sent you, she seemed to think that it would be fun to be "mistaken" for an inmate. As several staff members noticed her taking photos it was decided there was no need to make a "mistake" and include her in the general population or even invite her to volunteer to see the other parts of the tour. She was caught with the contraband on her way back to the main gate and that contraband held a few surprises. Most times we just find embarrassing images of the inmates but Lyn took it a step further.

Attached are the photos she took of herself after she asked for "privacy" in the bathroom. The first one is of her aiming her phone at the mirror as she hold her skirt up with her panties at her knees, showing off her freshly shaved pussy. The second shows her topless, with her skirt off but her panties still on her thighs. The third shows a close up of her shave pussy. The fourth, fifth, and sixth are close ups of her peeing. The seventh is of her damp, bald crotch as she's pulling her panties up. The eighth (and final) one show her running her finger down her front, pressing her damp panties into her slit to outline her lips.

As per our discussions, she is currently in a holding area in view of the administrative centre, waiting for the "chief administrator" to return and straighten everything out for her.

As per our discussions, the plane is waiting for you at the agreed on airfield.

As per our discussions, we will hold a special punishment night tonight (Saturday).

As per our discussions, Lyn will not discover that she will be included in punishment night until after your arrival.

As per our discussions, we will be holding her for a minimum of two years with the expense being charged to the remains of her depleted trust fund. The billing will be labelled "Good Time Sex Tours".

During the remainder of the summer she will be part of our inmate work program. Both Mrs. Johannes and Mr. Beaker have said that they can barely wait until she reports to work in her inmate uniform. Mr. Beaker has said that Lyn will be unlikely to need an office chair for the first week as she will be unable to do much sitting, but that her desk will be put to good use.

We look forward to seeing you tonight.

The Management

[reddendmaker]

I love your clever internal dialog, approach avoidance, innocent victim types of stories. I come back to check this story site several times a month always looking for something new from you; who has always been, along with ChardT (nothing posted here forever), one of the best writers of many good ones over the past 16 years or so that I've been coming here. Years ago it was 'the' place to post but no so much any more. I read this story a few years back when you titled it as The Letters.

Now OMG Goodgulf, not only something new from you, but it's like Christmas with tons of presents from your favorite uncle. Every story, short or not so short, is up to your normal standards, although I do wish you'd allow me the honor to edit, rather proof read, before you do 'publish'. No matter how many times we check, or even Spellcheck, our writing there's always something missed it seems. Having said that, I was thinking about your absence and you mention a blog. So while doing a Google search, I discovered you on LSF, where I had somehow missed you before. Keep up the creative work. One of your biggest fans.

[goodgulf]

I'm glad you enjoyed the latest flood of postings. Many of these stories were first seen as contest entries elsewhere, but some are making their first appearance in here.

And thank you for taking the time to comment. That's always appreciated.

Goodgulf

[goodgulf]

Having said that, I was thinking about your absence and you mention a blog.

The blog is here. If you click on my username you should end up at a page where you can access my blog. Here's a direct link to one of the more recent entries:
http://www.spanko.net/profile_blogs/Goo ... ew&id=1983