Wrestling Queens (F/FF)

[AlexUSA3]

Wrestling Queens
Friday, June 14, 2019

I can still remember how it went. The car pulled up to the door, one of those sinister cars with a grate separating the front and back seats, with a hard rear bench, and all black fabric. The clink of the stainless steel chilled my bones, and I was led into the big brick building shortly after 2:15 PM on that day. Inside were painted white brick walls as we turned to the right and walked along the concrete floor, also painted white, and then turned left. I was brought into a room with two desks, and 17 year-old me looked around with fear and horror. The steel left along with the rightful owner of the steel. In my mind, steel was more comforting than this scene.

"Please, Miss, take off your clothes. Everything," said a woman about 55 years old.
"Do what?" I asked her, unsure I understood her correctly, "I'm sorry. I misunderstood you."
"It's OK. Please take off all of your clothes," she checked a paper, "Felice. We don't bite."
"All right," I gulped, having been raised to think only perverts asked such things, knowing better.
"Thank you," the one woman replied, and I saw a younger woman typing away on a computer.
"Felice Pryce. Home: Credit River. Address: 5967 Hwy B. Birth: Oct. 5, 1994," that one asked me, "Can you please confirm that the information is correct?"
"Yes, yes that's all correct. Yes," I said, now standing fully prone.
"Now, please don't be afraid," the older one put on gloves, "I must do a cavity search."

I winced while each of my cavities was explored. I hated that doctoral exam, and this was much more humiliating. Her touch said she was used to this, her body language said she hated it, her eyes said, "I'm sorry," and I will never forget that sorrow. She did this because it paid, but some part of her mourned every time she did this. It's standard, though, because I could be smuggling drugs or something into this place using those. She was apologetic as she handed me my orange two piece jumpsuit, black socks, and orange loafers. I knew what to do.

These were my new clothes. This was my new home. These were but two of my new guardians. I was really here, and I put on the clothes and stood where I was kindly told to stand. Snapshots of my head and body followed. Straight-on and side-profile, full body shots and headshots. In a moment, a machine made some noise and spat out a badge with my name, an alphanumeric code, and another alphanumeric code. The former code was JF09120214, and the second was F04. An immense weight fell on my shoulders, and soon I was being accompanied by a man who had one of those shiny official badges and a gun holster. Out the door and to the left we went, deeper.

It was strange watching the woman take my clothes and promise to wash them so they would all be clean for the day they were mine again. When. Not if. I had hope. Soon, JF09120214 had to stop and watch as her new guardian swiped a badge, alerting some other figures who then forced the doors before us to open. The hallway continued with windows high out of reach, but it was a hall just like the one in which I'd entered the building. Here I was. Mudville Juvenile Detention Center. I was a bad girl now. I was a criminal. I had been removed from society because I was that bad. JF = Juvenile Female. 0912 = September 2012. 0214 = the 214th juvenile female to be arrested in the district or region or something in 2012.

Through another double door via the same badge swipe and secret ritual and through a four-way intersection. We walk past a spot with double doors on either side, and again high windows, all at least 8 feet above the ground, light the halls. We turn right and soon arrive at F, Pod F, where I was going to be held. Where I was assigned Bed 4, hence F04. It was a Saturday, and I saw two or three girls sitting around, grumbling and playing games. Two of them looked up at me with a look that said they were empathetic and sad. One of them was chilling and nasty.

I soon learned that girls could easily earn privileges through good behavior, or really normal and sane behavior, and that behavior earned you a certain ranking. I happened to arrive right during those girls time out of the cell. Recreation Hour, as I also learned, was basically the time where you were free to self-regulate, more or less, and be yourself. This was how I accumulated some muscle on my tiny body, using the gym during recreation time so that I could defend myself if a girl picked a fight with me. That one girl was the only one who truly unnerved me. The rest all seemed to have a conscience at least even if there was arrogance that needed to be squashed.

The lavender carpet, the bright walls, the numerous windows, and the green staircase all gave a sense of hope. This facility, I later learned, was designed to do just that, instill hope in the hearts of all who were incarcerated in this facility. I'd been to the town of Mudville before, but it had to be a bit disconcerting to grow up in the shadows of this facility and the older. depressing facility that preceded it. The cell had a window even if it didn't have much of a view, and there was even a yard with bright grass even if it was small. It seemed to me that the prison had a more positive view of me than I did. If anyone knew what went on in my head, it certainly was me!

This was my choice to be here, and now before me lay the opportunity. This place held an open hand to say "I believe in you," and I didn't realize it until I'd been out of there for 3 years despite all of my friends telling me as much. You're probably wondering where I am going with this, but I have a purpose because of the wrestling queens in the title. Yes, I met them when I was here.

One day, I returned from class to find a new cellmate sitting and crying in the cell. I learned that Kendra Kristensen was a junkie who'd been caught, and her tears were a mix of guilt, fear, anger, and despair. She hated that she was a junkie. She didn't want to be a junkie. But she was feeling withdrawal symptoms soon, and she became unbearable for 3 days. Hours after Kendra, another girl arrived. This one was Kendra's drug supplier, Hannah Larsson. They were very different in a variety of ways. Kendra was emotional; Hannah was rational and philosophical. Kendra and I connected because of emotions. Hannah and I connected because we liked reading.

"Gmmm!" Kendra groaned into the pair of sweaty, smelly socks Hannah stuffed into her mouth.
"Ha!" Hannah played with Kendra's hair ever so sweetly and said playfully, "You're. Tied. Up."
"Gmmm mm mmmmm!" the captive continued struggling despite the uselessness of it.
"And you're now allllll mine," the winner planted a kiss on the loser's gagged lips.
"GMMMMMMMMM!" Kendra incessantly groaned and kept fighting the tight hogtie.
"There, there, Penny, someone will find you," the captor stood up and walked away.

We were at a wrestling studio. I mean a real facility for the style of wrestling you see happening with high school and college athletes duking it out. Only here we wrestled in our underwear for bondage, with there being a piece of rope with which we attempted to bind the other competitor. In this first round, Hannah had easily conquered Kendra and then grabbed more rope as needed to more thoroughly bind Kendra in a merciless hogtie with a harness, elbow bondage, and more. The socks Hannah had worn in the ring were the ones torturing Kendra's tastebuds. Life after prison was very interesting at times, and moments like these were more fun than laborious.

I never imagined back in prison that my recovering junkie cellmate would one day enjoy nothing like having someone's rancid sweaty socks jammed into her mouth and sealed under a multitude of duct tape layers. Her legs were bound in several places as well, finishing the immobilization. She squirmed a lot. This is far from classic wrestling. Kendra is wearing a neon pink outfit: her bandana headband, briefs, and a sports bra. We wrestled to tie or be tied but were scantily clad in a purposefully provocative manner. But, oh, how much fun it was to do it and be paid.

How overjoyed we were when the prison announced the change from the orange jumpsuits to the new uniforms. Black sweatpants but with belt loops, lavender sneakers, a lavender short-sleeved shirt, and an optional black long-sleeve shirt that could be worn under the lavender shirt brought us a lot of happiness. It helped us to move away from the bad experiences, like that girl I already mentioned, and start anew. Showing respect to authority and being helpful brought rewards, but I was broken and scared and skipped many opportunities to make friends or earn rewards.

Hannah had become stronger and stronger until she became one of the beasts of Pod F. Despite a lowly height of 5'4", Hannah can outright jump and kidnap a girl 9 inches taller than herself. I'm only 5'2", and Kendra is a generous 5'0". We are not big. When we're jumped, though, we are as feisty as someone much bigger, and we can use strength from prison workout routines that we've never ceased to shock those we wish to conquer. I know I am bouncing between prison memoirs from 2012 and 2013 and this wrestling story from 2019. Please, bear with me.

"Oh, Karina, shall we begin?" I motioned for my opponent to enter our wrestling ring.
"With pleasure," she said with a mock curtsy despite her near nudity, "Rope or zipties?"
"Rope. I wish," I said with a gleam in my eye, "For the loser to match our dear friend Penny."
"Mmmm eee mmm uhhh mmmth!!" Kendra tried to voice her opinion, but she failed beautifully.

I put a black rope down. I am one for a mood. With a dominatrix grin, I make sure I'm ready. I had all camouflage: knee socks, bandana headband, briefs, and sports bra. With a strong crack of her knuckles, my opponent took a stance with a similar outfit (recall her socks gagged Kendra) that was all blue. I, the brunette, was wrestling against Hannah, the blonde to see who would end up becoming Kendra's fellow captive, all while cameras captured everything that happened. Yes, I am sure you can feel the electricity among us girls. JF09120214 F09 against JF11120288 F03 while our friend JF11120286 F04 helplessly watched us battle to bind and gag the other. With a big grin on my face, I lunged when the erotic competition began.

"Ha! You're. Tied. Up," the phrase was repeated, much to my utter dismay.

I moaned into my thin camouflage knee socks while Hannah knotted ropes. I was tied up just as tightly and strictly as Kendra, maybe more so. She used my beloved black electrical tape to seal my lips several times by wrapping the tape around my head. I was hogtied as well. I had lost to a girl much stronger than myself. No shame in that. Still, I had to endure her mockery.

"Tough army girl turned out to be weak," Hannah said, "Sexy, but so weak, Roxie baby."
"Gmmm hmmmmm!" I shot a glance at her and winced because toe cheese tastes horrible.
"You and Penny now. Tsk tsk. I expected better from you," she shook her head, "So pathetic."
"Eh ee oh!" Penny demanded before she winced at the taste of Hannah's own socks.
"I did a good job of stuffing you both. Time to test how good it really is," she said with a grin.
"Nooo!" I yelled when I saw electronic spinning head toothbrushes in her hands.

A true dominatrix loves to test others, but Hannah, despite this being a staged film, was in reality a playmate. She could be as ruthless as necessary, but she was always either ruthless or playful. She wasn't a dominatrix. Hannah couldn't be spine chilling or sinister. She could be avaricious or manipulative, but she wasn't the kind to grab Kendra by the bun and hiss a veiled threat right into her face. Likewise, I wasn't as convincingly playful as Hannah was during a scene like this.

My mind drifted back to prison and the look of horror on Hannah's face one day. I realized then what was happening despite my youth, and I whispered to our podmate, Phoebe, just what I felt the faces meant. "Phoebe, the guards aren't just searching them… those faces say 'Someone just hurt me' after the searches every single time." She nodded her head in agreement and slipped out of class to tell someone. You know what angers me? Those guards only lost their jobs for it. No criminal charges were filed, and they combined to hurt my friends hundreds of times. If there's a ghost in the Mudville juvie, it's from those guards and them alone, those subhuman swine.

"Gmmmm hmmm hmmmm!" Kendra and I began laughing when the brushes assaulted our soles.
"Ha ha! You're allmine," Hannah giggled while simultaneously tickling us both, "All tied up."
"Gmmmmph!" I winced because my socks tasted cheesier than normal, but, oh, how I liked it.
"Nothing like a little tickle torture to remind you that I'm the wrestling queen here, hmmm?"
"H-ck -ou!" Kendra manages to get some intelligible insults in between cackles.
"You girls are in a lot of trouble, aren't you?" our captor lowered her voice to a whisper.
"Mmmmmmm hmmm hmmm hmmmmmmmm!" we simply laughed because we had no choice.

I squirmed on the floor so much because of my hogtie, and the hogtie triggered a different kind of memory for me. You see, I am a girl who does her research, gets familiar with things before jumping into the fire, learns the ways, and executes it properly the first time even if slowly. The internet browser history on my computer and in my father's router was abysmal that day. I mean that day that I committed the crime that sent me to prison as a high school senior.

I was the most popular girl in the school. I could have ordered my classmates to stand upon their heads in the Credit River, and 33-66% of them would have done so without a thought. I was like a cult leader, but I was benevolent and didn't abuse my power. I simply was popular and held the support of many to become class president. There was another girl, though, who challenged this campaign, and I decided I was going to talk her out of it since she was a friend of mine anyway.

"Michelle, put your hands behind your back," soon led to, "Be quiet, now, Michelle. When your brain wakes up and convinces you to drop out of the presidential race, I'll untie you." I gagged her OK, not knowing that a knotted cleave gag and strips of duct tape would loosen over time. I never imagined my own father, though, would find Michelle, talk to her, and agree to call 911 for medical and criminal purposes before calling Michelle's own parents! How Dad loved me, but I broke the heart of a widower with only one child, separating us for 12 miserable months where I learned the true meaning of parental love and learned to be the daughter he deserved.

Dad was distraught, and I saw him cry for the first since my mother died. I still remember that as if it were yesterday, bursting into tears when Mom flatlined, leaving me and Dad behind after she had been ravaged by pancreatic cancer. He cried because I'd broken his heart, and he had lost the second most important woman in his life as well. I cried with him because I was sorry for what I had done, and the police kindly let us hug and cry before they took me away. I was arrogant and foolish, and I had been my own undoing. Michelle's parents prosecuted to the fullest, demanding the worst possible fate for me, but my own sorrow moved the judge to give me a year in juvenile detention as opposed to any amount of time in the adult's prison. It was the beginning of a long realization that forgiveness did not exist in my hometown; I am not welcome there to this day.

"Michelle? Michelle, is that you?" I ran into her when she came home from college that summer.
"Felice Pryce? You piece of sh-t! Keep away from me!"
"I will. Please, though, Michelle, I want to apologize. I'm sorry for what I did."
"Go die in a f-cking hole, you disgusting freak! You belong in the women's prison for 25 years!"
"Michelle, please," I said tearfully, "All I want is forgiveness, not friendship!"
"All I want is to read your obituary. I'll never, ever, EVER forgive you for what you did to me!"

I never left home again until I started college at the University of Minnesota that fall, joyfully moving into a dorm. While in prison, I decimated high school and, I later learned when one of my friends explained things to me, got perfect scores on both the ACT and the SAT. I hadn't a clue until one of my friends asked me years later when I said I had a full scholarship to school. I was a year behind, though, because my year in prison ended in September of 2013, after the fall terms had begun, and just before my 19th birthday. I went to Minnesota, and I've never again set a foot in Credit River. My dad left the following spring, similarly ostracized by my hometown.

"Gmm hmm hmmm hmmmmm!" Kendra and I laughed, wrestling queens in tickle torture.
"Allll mine, yes, alllllll mine!" Hannah continued taunting us as the queen of the queens.
"Mmmmmmmmm!" we struggled in the hogties, laughing until we were sore and crying.
"That was so much fun," our captor's tone became sweet when the film concluded.
"Gmmm mmm mmmm!" I said with a cheerful disposition despite the stomach cramps.
"I'll untie you. Gosh, I love you," and then Hannah tenderly said our names, "Felice and Kenny."

We had wrestled. Kendra with drugs. Me with guilt. Hannah with herself. There is so much to be said about our stories. Hannah's was the worst. Her parents abandoned her and disowned her upon her arrest. They reunited only after Hannah and her grandmother set up a trap, and then she was again thrown out of her family home because she, like Kendra and I, had become a Catholic. The worst part is that she'd given up her job and followed them to North Carolina because they'd moved down there in the interim. Talk about never having genuinely loved your child, and that's something that breaks me so much because I loved my mother and lost her. Hannah had illusions of love her whole life when in reality she was nothing more than a social experiment.

Seriously. They didn't care that Hannah was bisexual and shared a bed with a girl for three years, which is understandable given their atheism. They didn't care that she was a bondage model and didn't complain when she did scenes for bondsge studios based in NC. But becoming Catholic? That was as unacceptable as being arrested for being a drug dealer. I grew up agnostic. My dad is agnostic. My dad loves me and came to my wedding and my firstborn's baptism. Hannah did not get half that dignity. She was just a social status item bred to align with their worldview. It's perfectly ironic to me that Hannah's father's name is Adam, of all the names to have.

Kendra's world had turned upside down too, but it eventually turned upside right again. It took a close brush with death for that to happen, but it did. Kendra has a good relationship with each of family members. I'm alone. Hannah doesn't have cousins; her parents were both an only child. I am an only child; Dad's an only child; my one maternal cousin is male, 10 years my senior, and a full-time resident of Hawaii. There is no connection between us whatsoever. That is life, but it's a good life when you have friends and a father like I have. We wrestled and won.

"Mmmmmm," I groaned sensually while unpeeling the tape that had gagged me.
"Felice," Hannah, the psychology major, poked me in the breast, "You have a reminiscent face."
"Mmm hmm," I nodded, feeling safe to open up about my thoughts and emotions here.
"Yeah, the way she squeezes her eyes shut," Kendra took a drink of water, "Gives it away."
"Nmmm mmm mmmmmhmmmm," I wagged a finger at my friend.

It was Kendra who sent me that message on Facebook, asking if she could visit me at home. The feelings I experienced when I read the message overwhelmed me. I'd had no contact with any of my podmates let alone my old cellmate since then. Sure, I belonged to the Facebook group that Hannah had started, but I wasn't active. I was scared and didn't answer Kendra for two days as I feared that she too would experience the trauma of the Bane of Credit River, the land where few knew the meaning of the word "forgive." It had been 24 months since her release and 20 months since my own, but my father and I welcomed her into our home.

Through Kendra, I reunited with my old podmates and soon found a circle called the Cool Girls' Club, a wonderful group of friends who take unconditional vows of unceasing friendship and of indefatigable love. And it was true. They love unconditionally, forgive even when it's hard, and protect everyone, even when it's controversial, to ensure even in strife that both the offended and the offender are safe and loved. You cannot imagine what it's like to walk up to someone and be able to say "I'm Felice Pryce, and I kidnapped my friend at gunpoint and terrorized her" and have the person respond "I forgive you. Are you sorry? Have you forgiven yourself?"

"Reminiscent? Yes," I said calmly to my friends and drank my water, "Counting my blessings."

With a swagger in my step and a little wave of my fingers, I left the room to put my clothes back on. I am sure there will be plenty of stories to tell, but I believe this is the first time any of us has given her own impressions of prison since Hannah wrote her two little novellas, The Bondage Model and The Bondagettes of Pod F. I have more stories to share.

Kiss kiss

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue

[LunaDog]

Yeap! You done it again, another great tale from you.

[LunaDog]

Yeap! You done it again, another great tale from you.

OOPS! MUST HAVE TOO QUICK WITH THE 'SUBMIT' BUTTON!

[AlexUSA3]

Yeap! You done it again, another great tale from you.

Thank you kindly. I thought this one and Kayfabe Babe would be nice stories for Felice's POV, and I'm glad to see it's appreciated.

[hafnermg]

Greay story!!