Not even the drab gray Detention Home uniform she wore could hide the lovely, honey-blonde haired girl's young voluptuous curves as she walked along the dingy corridor ahead of the ugly-faced Chief Matron. With striking, wide green eyes alertly acknowledging unspoken words of encouragement from sister inmates framed in the barred openings behind locked cell doors, and with the firm little chin of her angelically beautiful, teenaged face held proudly high, Jean Wilson moved with a defiant, almost haughty gratefulness that neither the corrupt institution nor its depraved keepers had been able to strip from her in the short period she had been imprisoned.

Her wealth of long golden hair tumbling about her softly sloping, feminine shoulders created a vestal-like aureole belying the sensuous enticement of her high-set firmly thrusting young breasts and the gentle, provocative sway to her smoothly rounded hips and buttocks, and she was not unaware of the burning, lecherous eyes of her keeper hungrily undressing her from behind as she walked. She had already been schooled by her cellmates, Sandy Jarvis and Carla Montez, as to the lustfully perverted character of the ugly-faced, middle-aged woman. But, as her young informers had advised, the chances of falling, or being "tossed", into the woman's hands were small as long as one pleased the Madam Superintendent and her equally lecherous, handsome spouse, the state Director of Correction, a horrifying plight that both she and her young husband, Ken, had already been subjected to.

In fact, at that very moment, Jean's unemotional expression was but a facade hiding the inner turmoil of fear, degradation, and heartbreak that had raged constantly within her since her awakening from the drugged stupor Maggie and Max Keele had forced upon both Ken and herself only days before.