The next few weeks went on in the same way. If it hadn't been for the break of routine on Sundays, I would have lost all track of the time. We worked in the fields on and off for another couple of weeks.
Sundays were the usual ordeal, cleaning all the cells in the row for me, constantly being being fucked and tormented. One of the guards had the bright idea of clipping his handcuffs to my clit ring and making me spend the day working like that. It was very sore and painful, but incredibly arousing. My cunt was sopping wet, my thighs slick with juices. The guards amused themselves by making other "moral criminals" lick me. Some did it with revulsion, barely able to stop themselves puking, while others did it with pleasure. And after that, the gang-bang in the male prison, and my private session with the governor.
His infatuation with his foreign fancy woman was progressing. It was no longer just on Sunday, he would arrange for me to visit him several evenings a week. He seemed to have got over his little problem with my dietary habits. Now our trysts started with a romantic dinner - by prison standards anyway, it was better than the slop served in the canteen. He would even share a glass of the local red wine with me. It was dreadful stuff, but the thought was nice. I invariably left with a few extra marks on my body, but it was worth it.
By now I was busy counting the weeks until my release. I had no idea how this would actually work. Would they just turn me loose, shove me out through the gate and leave me to figure out my own way back to civilisation, with no clothes, no money and no passport? The consulate obviously wasn't going to help me. I'd figure something out, though I'd have to be careful not to get arrested again for the same offence since that would be my only way to make any money or get help.
About the time I was expecting to be released, I was called to the head of the women's prison. But I had a terrible shock. He spoke his three words of English to me, then passed me a typewritten letter on thin, dirty paper. It was full of mistakes but its message was clear. "After reviewing the circumstances and the country's laws" they had extended my sentence by a further two months. I collapsed on the floor. I was utterly unprepared for this. Why? What had I done? Did they even have the right to do it without going back to the court? That was a stupid question since the country clearly had little concept of judicial process, and even less of human rights.
They were surprisingly nice to me about it though. They fetched a rickety chair and sat me on it, and brought me a glass of water. They didn't rape or beat me even slightly. This was new. When I'd recovered, they led me back to the cells, but not to my old over-crowded cell, to sleep on the floor. My new cell had nobody else in it, and just two bunk beds. That evening at dinner the guards gave me a wide berth, the first day I hadn't been raped since I arrived all that time ago. The other women were looking at me and gossiping.
I sat with my old cell-mates. Shika was subdued and almost nice to me. Deila explained to me that everyone was very sorry that my sentence had been extended. They had never heard of this happening before. And they were as puzzled as I was by the sudden improvement in my status, but it was clearly a good reason to stay on the right side of me from now on.
I hoped to learn more at my next tryst with governor. Surely he would tell me the reason for the extension? But whenever I tried to ask him he pretended not to understand, or diverted the conversation. Everything else went normally, a nice dinner, an over-the-knee spanking, some fucking, then back to my new luxury cell.
I soon got a new cell-mate. One afternoon after the laundry work, I returned to find Deila in the bottom bunk. She said they'd told her "you'll be with your friend", but she was completely mystified why they'd do this. She was happy enough though, and was even finally prepared to indulge my strange dietary habit though it was less necessary now the governor was feeding me.
Soon after, there was another punishment session. Since I wasn't a victim this time, I was with all the spectators from the prison. We were all expected to cheer at the proceedings, as the lash fell and the victim screamed, or when some poor girl was branded and destroyed for life. One new inmate burst into tears instead, and found herself unexpectedly the next one to be whipped. Everyone understood very quickly, and cheered louder than ever at the poor girl's misfortune.
We heard the sirens even above the noise in the laundry. Then there was a lot of noise, men shouting. Two young soldiers in very elaborate uniforms burst into the kitchen, grabbing me by the arms and marching me outside where there were more soldiers and police. I was terrified. What was happening, where were they taking me? Nobody seemed inclined to answer my questions. Other soldiers grabbed several of the guards and marched them outside.
Outside there were even more soldiers and police, all milling around and making a noise, and several army trucks and ancient police cars. Incongruously amongst them all was an old black Rolls-Royce. The door opened, someone wrapped a coat round my shoulders. I was pushed inside and down onto the soft leather seat. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed two policemen, senior ones to judge by their fancy hats, dragging my friend the governor.
Sitting beside me was a very distinguished looking gentleman, about 60, in a pinstripe suit with a school tie.
"My dear, I am so sorry about everything that has happened to you. We only just found out about it, and believe me we acted as quickly as we possibly could. I hope you haven't been too inconvenienced? I know that these foreign places can be a trifle uncomfortable sometimes."
Inconvenienced? Raped several times daily, beaten constantly, whipped, eating shit just to survive? Yes, it had been a trifle inconvenient at times. But I waited to see what else he had to say.
He was Her Majesty's Ambassador. As the car glided off, leaving a scene of chaos behind it, he talked without pause. He was so sorry, Her Majesty's Foreign Office was so sorry, the Foreign Secretary herself was so sorry. He didn't mention Her Majesty in person, but still managed to give the impression that she too was stricken with regret.
When he finally gave me a moment to speak, I asked why they hadn't acted sooner considering that they had known for weeks. He was genuinely surprised. After I explained the visit from the Useless Tosser, he asked for the radio telephone and spent a long time talking to his staff at the embassy.
My stay at the embassy was short but pleasant. I had a hot shower with real soap and shampoo for the first time in over two months. I was given comfortably dowdy clothes clearly borrowed from an English matron. I ate a genuinely excellent meal, with some very drinkable wine. I was gently but thoroughly debriefed by two very English ladies who were surprisingly unshocked by what I told them. They were very interested in the bit about their colleague, and seemed keen to ensure that he learned a lesson.
I slept in a gigantic bed with a thick, soft quilt. Nobody fucked me, or stuck batons in my cunt, though I did come several times imagining it. It was very enjoyable. The next morning was even more enjoyable. After a complete English breakfast, I was taken down into the basement, to a room where I found the Useless Tosser. He was naked and did not seem happy. Two Military Police stood guard over him.
"We're not here, Miss. Not here at all. If anything happened in this room, we wouldn't see a thing. Wouldn't hear a thing either."
I bent him over the chair he had been sitting on. I can't imagine why there was a broom in the room and a selection of bamboo canes, but there was. No KY jelly though. The guards were good to their word and didn't see or hear a thing, although there had been plenty to hear. I learned afterwards that he had been given a choice: face criminal proceedings and disgrace, or take his punishment from me, and an immediate transfer to somewhere especially unpleasant. He had cockily supposed that a worthless slag like me would be unable to bring herself to really hurt him. He had plenty of time to reflect on this error on the long, painful journey to Turkmenistan that same day.
Less than 24 hours after my rescue, I was back in England, telling my story to Bianca and an ever-increasing group of friends. When they were stunned into silence by my misadventures - even knowing me and knowing that I had taken it all better than anyone else ever would, and had even enjoyed it at times - they told me their part of the story.
When Bianca returned she had done everything she could do get Her Majesty's minions to take an interest in my case. She had contacted the Foreign Office, the Home Office, the Metropolitan Police, probably Her Majesty's Stationery Office. She took most days off work, she called in every favour from everyone we knew including some who were very well connected. Absolutely nothing happened. Every civil servant she dealt with said it was someone else's responsibility, or that it must be my fault and I must accept my fate, or that they understood fully and were very sorry but they were unable to take action.
She grew more and more frustrated until she was introduced to a reporter for one of the more sensational daily papers. It was a quiet time, for once no politicians had been caught in bed with their mistresses or rent-boys, and they were desperate for something to tickle their readers' fancy. He lapped it up. Bianca found pictures of me looking oh-so-respectable, even one of me on a beach looking demure in a one-piece costume (it was very old) that could easily enough be airbrushed to resemble our holiday destination.
Nobody could resist the story, "Horror of English Girl in Foreign Dungeon". Bianca spent the whole next day giving interviews to everything from the BBC and The Times to the Socialist Worker. I made the front pages everywhere.
Suddenly Her Majesty took a lot more interest, or at least her minions did. It took them three days to organize the rescue. And then I was home.
You may have guessed why my sentence was extended. The governor was completely infatuated with me and couldn't imagine his life after I left, lonely and hated, hours from any pleasant human company at all. He had no authority at all to keep me longer, but the guards weren't about to question his orders.
I didn't learn all this until several weeks later when, to my delight, Deila showed up in England. I had been paid very handsomely for the exclusive of my story. As you can imagine there were a lot of details I omitted, but I was very emphatic about the "foreign angel" who had befriended me, fed me (which after all she did, though not as the readers might imagine) and made it possible for me to survive the terrible conditions. Her Majesty's embarassment was great enough for her to be granted refugee status. The governor was himself now in jail for a very long time, and was lucky not to have been executed - the prison operated under military law and he was court-martialled. I felt rather sorry for him. Most of the guards were also on the other side of the cell doors now. All of the local moral criminals had been pardoned and released, and were now free to return to fucking foreign tourists for money.
Deila wasn't alone. The poor girl who had been branded, her nose slit, was with her too. I'd described her ordeal in great detail, and her inevitable destiny now that she had been marked so permanently. I'm sure hundreds of gallons of semen had been spent vigorously deploring her plight. It was wonderful to be with the two of them.
So really this is the story of the good deed I was able to do for a dozen foreign girls who had done nothing wrong, and of an interesting if sometimes unpleasant experience for which I have been nicely rewarded. It really is true that all's well that ends well.