Friday, 17 March 2017

Chapter 20

Upstairs on the top floor of Blackfriars Grange, three young women report to the Matron’s office as instructed. Each is attired in the bizarre, humiliating schoolgirl uniform to which she had now become accustomed. And understandably, each of them looks pale and nervous.

One of them, 29-year-old Melanie Perkins, knocks and enters, followed by Catherine Green, aged 24, and Anna Dobson. Inside the room the Matron is waiting, accompanied by a hard-faced nurse in her mid-thirties with straw-coloured hair, piled up high and held by a blue ribbon.

“What are you doing up here? Who sent you?” Matron demands sharply.

“Miss Jackie told us to report for Detention,” replies Melanie.

“Right, you had better go with Nurse and get yourselves ready then,” says Matron. “Off you go.”

The three women follow the nurse in her starched white overall along a corridor and into a small side dormitory where they are instructed to undress and hand in their clothes under the watchful eye of another much younger ‘nurse’. Their clothes are taken away and they are sent naked into the showers. The dormitory is in an old part of the building where the ancient plumbing delivers a torrent of freezing water. One by one the women are showered. Anna watches the other two shiver in the downpour, waiting to be pushed into the icy deluge, while they stand shivering and dripping, longing to dry off. When all are showered they are given small hand towels of coarse grey cotton. Just about adequate for the job, but not exactly a joy to use.

Then it's time to get changed for bed. Thick cotton pyjamas in broad blue and white stripes. The trousers have long tie tapes that thread through the jackets, and the nurse clips the ends with little plastic seals. Once the pyjamas are on they stay on until the seals are snipped through. There are cotton bonnets to match the pyjamas, the chin ties again secured with seals, but they aren’t sealed up yet – they’ll be coming off again later. In silence, the women pull on their pyjamas and tie up their bonnets under the watchful eye of the nurse. Even the coarse cotton feels better than remaining shivering and naked. Then on with their ill-fitting slippers and they’re ready, dressed for bed at 3.30 in the afternoon…

"Right, girls, it's time for tea. March out!"

The marching is more of a shuffling stumble, their slippers slipping and threatening to fall off, but they manage only a few paces with swinging arms before the loose-fitting pyjama trousers begin to slip free of their fastenings. The nurse finds this hugely amusing as she watches the women grabbing at their pyjama bottoms, trying to maintain a shred of dignity. Catherine manages to trip over her fallen trousers and go flying before they even get out of the dormitory. This amuses the nurse even more and so they continue on their way, shuffling and stumbling up the corridor until they are permitted to hold up their trousers to descend the stairs towards the kitchen.

Hoots of laughter greet them as the women prisoners arrive and shuffle towards their table in the middle of the kitchen, grasping the loose waistbands of their pyjama trousers to keep them from falling down. The maids have a good laugh at the three women standing in their pyjamas and bonnets, waiting miserably for permission to be seated.

When they are seated, they chew their way through the unappetising fare. One of the wardens comes over with another large jug of milk and makes them finish their first glass so that she can refill them. The cheap margarine tastes sour but they have to force it down: no waste is permitted. When the women have finished their meagre meal, there's no time to lose. They are escorted back to the dormitory. The women prisoners stand up and shuffle over to the top table, still holding up their trousers, chivvied along by another warden who fixes them with a cold look.

All the women feel a rising apprehension, although with Anna, whatever is rising is practically running down her legs. Only Melanie, with her previous experience, knows exactly what is coming next and why Matron and her nurses are there. The knowledge does not comfort her.

Matron's tone is brisk and sharp. "Bend over the end of your beds and hold on."
As they bend forward and brace themselves, one of the nurses comes round and pulls their pyjama trousers down to their ankles, pulling them free from one leg. Their pyjama jackets are pulled up and clear.

Anna cries out in shock as a lubricated, rubber gloved finger is inserted in her rectum and moved around, thoroughly greasing her rear passage. The nurse moves on down the row with a fresh slippery finger for each woman. Melanie has been there before, and Catherine is too scared to move, but struggles as the nurse attempts to prepare her. Those struggles are to no avail: the other nurse holds her down while fresh lubricant is smeared on and the finger rammed home and turned around. Then, for good measure and to teach her the value of co-operation a second finger is pushed slowly and painfully in.

With the three targets prepared Matron can now get to work with her equipment. A large enema nozzle is pushed into Anna's waiting passage and she feels the internal stretching as the retention cuff is inflated. The nurse holds her wrists as the warm water begins the flow and distend her. Anna begins to groan and struggle as the flows goes on and on and the bloated, cramping feeling in her grows.

At last the container is empty but there is no relief: the tube is clamped off and she is instructed to remain where she is, bent over the end of the bed with the tubes dangling from her backside. Matron and the nurse move on to Melanie who submits in silence to being tubed and filled and lies there gripping the bed tightly and clenching her buttocks as Matron moves on to Catherine who cries and wriggles but is easily connected up and given her enema.

Only when all three have been filled up are they allowed to rise from their bent over positions, but the pressure of the water in their distended innards increases as they stand upright and soon they are groaning and wriggling with the cramping in their bowels.

"Right, girls, you may sit on your chamber pots."

Laid out on the floor in front of them are three white china chamber pots. The pyjama-clad women squat down awkwardly.

"Place your hands on your heads and remain there until I say you can stand."

There they are, all in a row in their pink striped pyjamas and bonnets, squatting bare bottomed on their chamber pots, hands on heads as they strain in their desire to empty their bladders.

One of the nurses is approaching with a large china basin. "Which one first, Matron?"

"Do we have any volunteers?" Matron asks dryly. "Who would like to be first to have their mouth soaped? No-one? Well I think we'll start with little Miss Uncooperative here." She points at Catherine.

The nurse kneels down in front of Catherine squatting on her potty and takes a bar of clear, slick glycerine soap from the warm water in the basin, with which she thoroughly soaps up a small flannel. "Open wide, Missy, I'm going to give you a good cleaning out."

Catherine recoils from the soapy cloth in front of her face, but the other nurse is behind her, holding her head.

"You can struggle if you want to, but you're still going to have your mouth washed out and it'll just be that much longer before you can rinse it away."

Realising defeat is inevitable Catherine opens her mouth to the sickening taste of the soap. The nurse is grinning as she scrubs around Catherine's mouth, holding her jaw. "That's better, but I'll have to give you an extra good soaping now, just to teach you the value of co-operation." And she keeps on scrubbing the cloth round until Catherine is drooling foam from her open mouth.

"Keep your mouth open.." The nurse turns back to the basin to fish out a bar of soap, which she inserts into Catherine's mouth. "Now close your mouth: I want to see your lips wrapped around it."

With Catherine thoroughly soaped the nurse turns her attention to Anna, who is groaning from the cramping of her enema. "Your turn now, little girl." The nurse is no more than four or five years older than Anna and finds the routine amusing.

"Have you been a bad girl then, sent to bed early with the naughty girls?” The nurse is diligently spreading the soapy foam around Anna's mouth. "I would have thought you were much too big to be sitting on a potty having your mouth washed out, but here you are."

Anna's bar of soap is held at the ready. "Here's a nice bar of soap for you to suck on, little baby." And there is a second detention girl with a bar of soap sticking out of her mouth.

That leaves only Melanie, already snivelling. No sympathy for her wretchedness though. The nurse tucks Melanie's head under her arm and applies the soap cloth deep into her mouth so the snivelling turns into a spluttering cough. The bar of soap threatens to fly out of her mouth once it has been pushed in, so the nurse presses her jaw closed, making her bite into it.

Matron calls out to the waiting wardens that she will be finished shortly so that they may prepare to administer the punishment that the women prisoners have been dreading....

The wardens find the sight of the women prisoners on their chamber pots, pyjama trousers round their ankles, each with a bar of soap sticking out of her mouth, hugely amusing, as indeed it is. The three women prisoners find the sight of the wardens, each carrying a cane, very alarming, as indeed they should.

Now the nurses come around again: one at the front holding the basin for the girls to drop their soap bars into and spit out the foam, one to deflate their enema tubes and pop them out of their bottoms. Melanie is left until last, of course. Any last shred of dignity left to the women prisoners vanishes as they noisily expel the contents of their bladders into the chamber pots. There is much straining, gasping and splashing from the women prisoners and hoots of laughter from the watching wardens.

Now it's back over the ends of their beds for the women prisoners. Three clean bottoms, each with a little cotton wool pad taped on to soak up any last leakage, each with the target area encircled by the impression of the chamber pot rim still visible.

Two wardens pin Melanie's arms to the bed to hold her still while a third prepares to warm her up with the hairbrush. It's actually a clothes brush, a good, solid wooden backed brush. Plenty of weight, imparting a vicious sting from its highly lacquered surface. One stroke is enough to set Melanie wriggling and yelling, which amuses the wardens greatly.

"Don't be such a cry-baby. This is just a little warm-up."

Each slap of the brush leaves a brilliant red oval-tipped mark on Melanie’s pale buttocks, until the marks blend together into a fiery red all over and Melanie is howling and crying.

On they move to Catherine. Same approach, two to hold, one to spank. It's just as methodical as before, as a warm up is exactly what it is, getting the flesh hot, inflamed and, most importantly, sensitised. After this thorough brushing even a light slap feels painful - and the women prisoners are in line for much more than a light slap or two.

While the hairbrush is ringing out its message over the rising sound of Catherine whimpering, two of the other wardens are chatting to Anna: that is to say they're holding her pressed down on to her bed and are whispering to her of the delights to come... "Hear that, Anna, it's your turn in a minute...can you feel it already, that hairbrush, imagine how we're going to warm your botty for you?"

They're sniggering over her. "Hear how much they're getting, Anna? Well you're going to get more than that: you won't believe how much we can make that brush sting you."

So to Anna, who is pinned down in the same way, but also has her other two tormentors leaning on the bed, eye to eye with her, waiting to enjoy her reactions.

Anna would like to be tough, but it's not long time before she's been on the receiving end of the treatment and she soon begins those involuntary wriggles that show the wardens that they're getting to her.

"You're going awfully red, Anna. Are you going to have a little cry soon?"

"No, surely not, you're not a little cry baby like Melanie, are you?"

There is much sniggering as Anna becomes more and more agitated. Her sight is going all blurry and she can feel the tears welling up, ready to trickle down.

"Give me the brush." One of the wardens stands up from her close observation of Anna. "I'll have a go now."

Anna's ample bottom is already bright red and the wardens don't want to risk overdoing it - that might get the next bit curtailed - so now the brush is employed for its bristles, stiff and prickly, tap, tap, tap over the hot and inflamed flesh, irritating it, making it hypersensitive. Then quickly with a scrubbing motion, up and down, around and around. Anna screeches at this: it feels like the flesh is being sandpapered off. She yells and she struggles and the wardens delight in sitting on her to hold her down while she's treated to another round of spanking with the flat of the brush.

Anna is gulping in breath and making sounds suspiciously like sobbing, but the burst of struggling seems to have diverted her away from crying, for the moment anyway. The wardens reluctantly desist; there's the serious business to get down to...

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