Dr. Zibik didn’t believe in hell. She was much too learned to subscribe to the existence of such mundane things as God, heaven or damnation. If anything, she endorsed the concept that one created their own variations of heaven and hell, not in some made up afterlife, but rather here on earth. The minute she stepped off the bus, handcuffed and shackled with the other female prisoners, she knew she had arrived at the closest thing to hell that she would ever endure. The stone walls of Bedford Hills stood as an intimidating monolith before her, and the nervous fresh meat that accompanied her. Bedford Hills was a female maximum-security facility, considered one of the toughest in the country. Zibik was an average woman; average height and average weight, with an average, forgettable face. She had short dark hair, that was neatly parted down the center. Based on her appearance, her chances of survival as an inmate were slim to none. Zibik was the nerdy type, that would be easy pickings for the more hardened prisoners. Female inmates were often just as brutal as their male counterparts. They pimped, raped and sold weaker inmates, with little to no regard. The new prisoners, or puppies as they were often called, were greeted and quickly sized up by the hawks. By the time the puppies were processed and led to their cells, some of the more amorous predators had already selected their dates for the night.
Queenie was a big girl. She was a red-boned, freckled-faced, bull dyke from a long line of black Mississippi Choctaws. Her family moved north when she was 4. Now 38 years old, Queenie stood at 5’10” and tipped the scale at just over 200 pounds. Much to her mother’s dismay, Queenie managed to spend more time in prison than out. She was comfortable with the fact that she had found a place in the world where her life had meaning, influence even. She made both the guards and cons respect and fear her. It was accepted by all parties that she ran her wing hard, and pretty much did and got what she wanted. From the minute the puppies made it into general population, Queenie decided she wanted the nerdy white woman with the short dark hair that was parted down the center.
In prison, pussy was often much more than just pussy. It was taken, given, bartered and even rented. It was everything from power and currency, to a desperate attempt at reclaiming what little humanity survived in less than humane circumstances. To prisoners like Queenie, it was the confirmation of her status as the undisputed head of the ruling class. One of the perks of being in such a position, was that the spoils of war were hers to choose from according to her whims or predilections. Queenie definitely had a thing for the white, intellectual types. They reminded her of the ones that made her feel stupid the majority of her life; the ones that mistreated her mother and grandmother because they were only the hired help, and therefore, viewed as less than human. Queenie adopted the philosophy that whites had been screwing her her entire life, so why not return the favor. She loved turning out the straight-laced conservative types, and then using them to recycle her harem from time to time. Queenie already had six bitches that she alternated fucking. They were all easily identifiable by her branding: white bookworms with shaved heads, and a tattoo of a queen bee on the side of their necks.
Zibik was put to work right away. She requested and was granted a sanitation job. Her main duty was to dump the leftover food and disposable utensils into industrial garbage bags. She was intercepted by Queenie on one of her trips back to the kitchen.
“Lunch is over at 1:30. Make sure you have your ass in my cell no later than 1:45. Ask around. I’m not the kinda bitch that you wanna keep waiting. And you damn sure don’t want me comin’ lookin’ for you. You feel me?” Queenie said, threateningly.
“Uhh,…I uhh…. Yes, I feel you,” Zibik muttered back.
Queenie liked relaxing right after lunch. That was when all the other prisoners went outside for their two hours in the yard. The guards knew not to question her on the days she decided to stay in, or commanded one of the other prisoners to join her. They turned a blind eye to her many rendezvous, not just because they were afraid of her, but also because she made sure the other prisoners paid the guards tariffs from the various illegal enterprises that were being run behind the walls of Bedford Hills. The warden may have held the title, but everyone knew who was really in charge. Running the prison certainly had its various advantages, but it was also demanding as hell. Fortunately Queenie knew how to pace herself and refuel. The only thing that she liked more than the peace and quiet after lunch, was the company of fresh meat. She had a good feeling about the new puppy.
Zibik showed up on time. The entire wing felt desolate. Queenie was completely naked, sitting on the toilet taking a piss, when her date arrived. The large woman stood without bothering to wipe herself, because part of her method in breaking a bitch, was making them learn to cherish the taste of her no matter what. She was surprised to see Zibik wearing nothing but a garbage bag that she had fashioned into a tunic. She’d cut out a hole for her head and arms, and used the drawstring from the bag as an improvised belt. At first Queenie was confused, but then burst into laughter.
“What the f… What, this the best you could do for a dress?” Queenie said laughing.
Her feeling about the puppy was right. She wouldn’t need much training. Using the garbage bag thing as a dress didn’t really work for Queenie, but at the same time she had to give the nerd some “props.” She was showing obedience, initiative, and creativity.
“Get on your knees, crawl over here, and show me what you’re workin’ with,” Queenie demanded, as she sat down on the bed and opened her beefy legs.
Zibik slowly crawled across the cell, knelt between the large woman’s knees, wet her fingertip, and began rubbing the lips of her master’s vagina. Queenie’s pussy was wet and pungent with the scent of leftover piss, that hung in the air like newly marked territory. When Zibik inserted her finger, Queenie closed her eyes and leaned her head back, as she started getting more and more turned on. She never saw it coming. Dr. Zibik knew the weakest points of the human body. She reached behind her with her free hand, and pulled the knife that she had stolen from the kitchen. Zibik stuck the knife into the fleshy dimple in the front of the base of Queenie’s neck, completely rupturing her trachea. Queenie bolted up, but quickly fell backwards, as red liquid and air, rushed through the breach in her windpipe, and she began suffocating on her own blood. Zibik stood over her to make sure Queenie saw her. She had no idea, and really didn’t care, what religious views, if any, that Queenie may have entertained. She neither knew, nor cared, whether or not Queenie believed in heaven or hell. The only thing that mattered to Zibik in that moment, was that wherever the large woman was on her way to, the very last image she saw, was Zibik looking down on her, smiling.
Zibik had chosen to wear the garbage bag for what came next.