That night when I was 18 and it all came out was the worst of my life. I found out later that Daddy called the police to come to the house. The lady Detective Sergeant told me that I was being arrested and I found my hands being dragged behind me by the uniformed cop and handcuffed.
The Start
That night when I was 18 and it all came out was the worst of my life. I found out later that Daddy called the police to come to the house. The lady Detective Sergeant told me that I was being arrested and I found my hands being dragged behind me by the uniformed cop and handcuffed. Daddy followed us to the police station in his car.
At the police station the car parked in a yard at the back and the cop had his hand around my arm and made me walk to a door with a coded lock which buzzed us in. We were now in Custody Reception which was very loud. There were drunks everywhere and everyone was shouting. The DC patted me down and felt in the pockets of my jeans. We had to sit on a bench against the wall until it was our turn and then the DC and the PC flanked me up to the desk.
There were lots of questions about who I was and had I been arrested before and did I do drugs. Daddy was nowhere to be seen but I found out later that he was not allowed to see me for this bit. I had to hand over my bracelet and watch and they were sealed in a plastic bag. I kept asking what was happening and what happened next but they just struck to the standard *********** which they gave to everyone. A uniformed woman PC had turned up and she put on blue plastic gloves and took me, still handcuffed, into a small side room with the DC in tow.
I can remember the DC calmly telling me, when my cuffs were off, that they would need all my clothes – ALL of them – for evidence and they would provide me with clothes.
So, I stripped stark naked which was a dehumanizing experience in front of the two of them. I could feel that they had decided I was a monster and were relishing what they knew would happen to me. They took a grey track suit in a plastic bag out of a drawer and made me put it on. I asked about undies but they just refused. They gave me a pair of white plastic flip flops to put on and I asked for the loo. The PC handcuffed my hands in front and took me into a loo with a sliding door. She left the door slightly open and I know she was watching me through the crack. Of course I could hear all the din from Custody.
Then we went back into Custody where they made me sit on the bench. From somewhere they found some leg shackles and locked one end around my ankle and the other to the frame under the bench. Then they just left me there on the verge of tears, well I did cry a bit but quite quietly. There was a wall clock over the desk so I know that I sat there for over two hours then the same WPC came and unshackled me from the bench but she then shackled my ankles and led me to another small room where a man in a white coat sat at a desk with his back to me. There was also a nurse in a blue uniform. The cop told me that I had to have a medical exam before being interviewed by detectives. She removed my handcuffs and shackles then, to my alarm she sat down on a wooden chair by the door – so now three people including a man were going to watch me strip.
About a year before my GP, a woman, had given me an examination when I had bad period pains but this one was much more thorough. They looked me over literally from going through my hair to examining my feet. Of course I was calmly made to bend, sit, stand and he prodded up my ass and all around and inside my pussy. All the while he was asking questions about my periods, sex life, drugs use (none), masturbation (I went scarlet – could feel my face burning). The nurse was logging everything on her clip board in between arranging me just right and nudging my legs farther apart. By the end I was extremely hot and barely knew which way I was facing. I found that all people who do this sort of stuff have the same dull, monotonous tone and they get you into a habit of compliance. You just obey like a robot.
I lost track of how long that took and, in the absence of windows, had no idea if it was day or night. I was told to dress then the cop put me back in cuffs and shackles for the walk to the cells. This involved going through two metal grilles and, eventually, into a corridor with three cells on either side. The cop picked up a felt tip which was hanging from a small whiteboard outside the door of one of the farthest cells and wrote my name on the board. Then she opened the door before taking off all the ironwork and standing aside for me to enter. I noticed that she herself was not going to go into the cell with a dangerous monster.
I walked in slowly and the door slammed shut behind me. The small flap in the door slid up and she peered in then she shut the flap and I was on my own.
The cell was painted pale pink with translucent windows high up. There was a ledge with a padded top and a toilet behind a low wall so that someone at the door could see you on the loo but only above the waist. I had not thought to ask how long I would be here.
I sat on the bed – where else was there? I looked up at the windows which were long and narrow and divided into small squares. There was daylight outside. It had to have been about 9pm when they brought me in and now it was light so that meant it was 6am or after. I lay down and slept.
I was awoken by a banging on my cell door and a male voice asking if I was decent. I shouted my reply and he peeped through the hatch and asked what I wanted for breakfast. We settled on scrambled eggs on toast. Now I was aware of other doors being banged and lots of voices, mainly female. I didn’t know it but there was a shower at the end of the corridor.
Breakfast came on a plastic tray with compartments. A plastic mug of lukewarm tea was settled into the cupholder compartment. They always put lots of milk in hot drinks so that prisoners cannot throw boiling beverage at police.
I had breakfast, used the loo and washed hands and face in the tiny basin attached to the wall. There was no towel so I used my top as a towel. My waiter came back for the tray and said that my dad was outside with a solicitor. Apparently, it was my choice whether or not to see them and I said yes although I had no idea what my dad would say to me or even whether I could find any words to talk to him.
The female Detective Sergeant from last night came with a uniformed WPC came who hand cuffed my hands in front and we walked along confusing corridors to a door marked, “Achieving Best Evidence Suite”. Although the door had a red light to show that it was occupied my escort led me inside and it was not what I had expected.
It was a carpeted room with two narrow upright windows and it had soft furnishings. The walls were painted pale green. Daddy was there with a smartly dressed lady and they both stood as we entered. Daddy looked terrible although he must have been home because he wore different clothes from yesterday and the lady was a solicitor from his work. The solicitor had a cut glass voice and asked for the cuffs to be taken off me which the WPC did after a nod from the DS. The Detective said that she would return in approximately half an hour to begin a formal interview after which I would almost certainly face serious charges. I did not like either her sharp manner or what she had said.
When the two cops had gone, Daddy gave me a huge hug and we were both in tears but Daddy said we had to talk seriously as we only had thirty minutes. There was a box of tissues on a low table so we did our best to clean ourselves up.
The solicitor said that, in view of the evidence, we could not hope for me to be released without charge but she and Daddy had discussed a possible solution which could be called, “Damage Limitation”. She told me that what I had done would mean that I had no hope of avoiding a custodial sentence. That was the first time that anyone had used those words. For the first time it hit me like a train that I was going to jail!
Pretty much straight after that the two cops came back and the one in uniform stood beside the door. The DS had an armful of papers and she sat on a plastic chair. She said that the interview was being recorded and filmed (although I saw no equipment). DS also said that no equipment had been in operation until she entered the room and our time together had not been monitored.
I discovered that Daddy had arrived at the front of the Police Station last night shortly after I came in at the back and he had been in Public Reception for hours while the Police sorted me out. Quite late they had told him that I would be held overnight and that he could see me this morning so he had gone home.
DS took a full statement from me about what had happened and I tried to say that Wayne was older than me and he had a hold over me. No-one called me a liar but the cop calmly went on asking me questions.
There was a small alcove at one end of the room with cupboards and a small fridge and we ate packaged sandwiches and I had a soft drink in a carton with a straw. There was also a loo but the WPC stood in the half open doorway while I peed.
When the DS had my statement, she started talking to Daddy and the solicitor and I did not understand much of that. I felt that I had suddenly become invisible. After what seemed ages, the DS told me the charges which would be made against me and the list just went on. It seemed that Daddy and Solicitor had to go now and I would be left in the hands of The Law.
The WPC put my handcuffs back on and the two of them took me back to Custody where we had to sit on the bench to wait our turn at the desk. When our turn came, we stood in front of the desk and I was told exactly where to stand with the WPC behind me. The DS told the desk sergeant the charges and then they were read to me and I had to sign a long form.
When that was done, I was taken to yet another little room off Custody where I was photographed – front and both sides and they took my fingerprints and palm prints by making me press my hand to a glass plate. It was after 3pm when I was marched back to my cell and locked in. I was to stay locked up all night with the shouts of women prisoners from the other cells.
The following morning, I was allowed a shower, of course under the eyes of a WPC, and I had breakfast from a plastic tray. I have no idea what time it was when a WPC arrived to handcuff me for a walk along the corridors. This time she put a thin chain around my waist and locked it with a padlock then she locked my handcuffs in front of me to the chain. We arrived outside of a room marked “Interview Room 4” which had its red light on but we went inside. There was a middle-aged woman with short, dark hair who introduced herself by a name which I have forgotten – she had come to take a psychiatric report and the WPC would wait outside until we were done.
It seemed that the reason for the waist chain was that I could not be left alone with anyone unless I was secured so that I could not make a grab for her. The Shrink said that usually psychiatric reports were taken either while on remand or even after the trial but before sentencing but the usual custom could not be followed, “Due to the special circumstances of this case”. I think “this case” meant Me.
She had a fat wire bound A4 notepad in which she wrote constantly although she told me that such a report would usually take many sessions. It seemed that this was not to be a full report although a full report would be made at a later date. The objective of today’s report was to determine whether I could be sent to the institution which was under consideration. You can imagine that this raised all sorts of questions and horrors for me but she made it very clear that my role in the process was to ANSWER questions.
And the questions kept coming. She started with my nursery of which I had few memories and worked up from there but not in any order which I could see; I think she was deliberately keeping me off balance to ensure that I did not have time to make up false answers. One question might be about whether I had ever been bullied or abused and the next was about my age when I was first allowed to buy my own clothes.
We broke for a lunch hour which I spent in my cell eating ham, egg and chips off a plastic tray and then I was chained and taken back to the shrink. Her tone never changed or wavered and she asked about my favourite colour in the same monotone as she asked how I felt about my breasts.
When she was finished, she called to the WPC who must have spent a very boring day in the corridor. I noticed that she had a very thick book which a colleague must have brought for her.
So, I had yet another night in the cell.
The Institution
The following morning, I was advised to eat a big breakfast as I had a journey ahead of me. All I could gather was that I was being moved. Soon after breakfast I was handcuffed with my wrists attached to a waist chain and wearing leg irons and I was taken out to the yard where there was a white van with one high, blacked out window near to the back of each side. The rear doors were open and four men in uniform stood chatting; it was clear that they were private security. I was made to climb the retractable steps at the back of the van, not an elegant movement in shackles. The rear section of the van, with the window, had seats which were clearly meant for the guards. Forward of that were two metal cubicles like toilet cubicles. Each cubicle had a strong, mesh door and one was opened for me to enter and sit on the circular stool then the steel grille was clanged shut and I was confined for transport.
Of course, I have no idea of how long we were moving nor of where we went but eventually, when I was in a sort of nauseous trance, we slowed and paused before reversing and stopping.
When I was led, blinking, into the light I found myself in a sort of parking area with a closed, steel roller door at the rear. The space was lit by harsh strip lighting overhead. The two guards from the rear of the truck led me through a steel door into a much smaller version of the Custody Suite back at the Police Station and then they left me in the care of the Custody guards who wore the same uniform type as the men from the truck. I was made to sit on a circular stool before a counter behind which a uniformed young woman entered details into a computer. When she was done, I was taken to a space alongside the desk where I had to stand in front of a white wall which bore black painted measurements for my photograph to be taken. I said that this had been done at the Police Station and one of the female guards who had been standing nearby slashed me across the bottom with a thin cane causing me to yell out in pain and shock.
“You speak when you are spoken to”.
My fingerprints were taken on a glass screen just like the one which I had previously used. By this time tears were running down my face and my face was contorting as I tried to hold back full sobbing. I was allowed to use a toilet which did not have a door and then I was taken through a grille into a squarish room where all my chains were taken off and I was ordered to strip. By this time, compliance came naturally and I did not take long to shed my tracksuit as well as the flip flops. There were two female guards attending to me and one of them pointed towards a shower cubicle without a door. The taps were on the outside of the shower and I shrieked at the impact of the cold water until it warmed slightly. The water smelt slightly metallic and was greasy on my skin so I think it contained some sort of cleaning agent. I was handed a small hand towel to dry myself and then, still naked, I was taken into through yet another sliding steel grille and made to sit on a stool beside a table. To my horror, one of the guards donned medical gloves and began the procedure for taking blood; she wound a tight strap around my arm, found a vein and inserted a syringe to draw off my blood. There followed a very thorough search of all my cavities which was part search and part degradation to make clear who is in charge.
Next, she took from a drawer a pair of large scissors at which point my nerve broke and I stood up shouting a very firm, NO. The guards were well practiced and, very quickly my hands were cuffed behind me and I was bound with a Velcro strap into a wooden chair with a high back. I was told to sit still and that disobedience would bring a penalty. Defeated, I allowed her to chop at my hair and leave me with a short, boyish cut. There was a small printer on the table and it ran off two white plastic strips each bearing the same number. The strips were like the bracelets worn in hospitals and one was snapped onto each wrist.
The next stage was for one of them to hand me a pair of white cotton briefs and a bright, orange boilersuit. There was only one size so I had to roll up the sleeves and legs. I was told that a bra could be used in a hanging attempt and, since I would not be attracting a boy for a very long time, a bra would serve no purpose. My attire was completed by a pair of orange, plastic flip flops. My hands were cuffed in front of me and my legs were shackled then I was pushed into a narrow cage where I had to sit on a ledge, built into the wall and watch them slam the sliding door shut. I could only imagine what I must have looked like.
A male guard appeared after a while and I shuffled in my shackles to a small interview room where I was made to stand facing a man who spoke with an American accent. He did a little speech which I imagine he gave to every new inmate so now at least I had some idea of what was happening to me.
The psychiatric report on me had concluded that I was mentally unfit to plead either guilty or not guilty so there would be no court case and my police file would be closed. The institution where I now resided was technically a private clinic so I would not have a criminal record although the details of my arrest would remain on the official file. Because the institution was in the private sector it was free from the regulations of the state sector. The truth was that society did not want to know what went on here so I was entirely at their mercy. The eyewatering fees for my imprisonment were being paid by an organization which cannot be named. Families of people like me tend to favour this option as it avoids the embarrassment of a public trial, it avoids my having a criminal record and I will not be locked up with junkies and murderers.
I would live entirely in solitary confinement while I was here and would never see any other inmate nor would they see me. Any movements of inmates around the building are timed so that meetings do not occur. I would have thirty minutes exercise in the gymnasium every day under guard and I can request to be taken to the library where I will be under strict guard and will have a limited period to choose a book to take back to my cell. Books are a privilege which can be withdrawn. I will not converse with or strike up relationships with staff. If I fail to obey any order or cause any problem at all I will be punished although the nature of the punishment was not specified – in time I would find out. Parental visits are possible but that depends upon the family. I wondered if I would ever see my family again or had I been written off.
The monologue took only a few minutes and he did not invite questions. The guard took me along brightly lit passageways and we came to a long corridor with steel cell doors all along one side. He slid one door open, removed my chains and indicated that I should enter. The door slid shut and clicked locked behind me.
It was small and windowless painted cream and lit from a panel set flush into the ceiling. There was the built-in bed ledge now familiar to me with a thin plastic topping. The only other feature was the stainless-steel toilet with basin in the same unit. Unlike my police cell there was no low wall so anyone looking through the peephole in the door would see everything as would anyone viewing the feed from the camera in the dome on the ceiling. Privacy of any kind was a thing of the past. On the floor beside the toilet was a paper bag containing loo roll and a basic sanitary/hygiene kit.
Alone in my cell I had a lot of time in which to think about all I had been told. It seemed that some pretty big strings had been pulled to keep me out of jail. Was that to protect me from the jail population or was it to prevent my family from the public shame? I also began to doubt that my daddy really worked for a bank as surely a bank would not have the clout to get me categorized unfit to plead and they would not shell out the thousands of pounds my confinement must be costing. I knew Daddy worked in an office block and not a bank branch but he had told me he worked in a bank when I was quite little and I had just gone on believing it.
I was really scared about being taken out of the usual system. It seemed that no official body knew where I was or cared what happened to me. I had literally vanished from society and my captors could do anything they wanted to me with no-one knowing or caring.
I had never seen the outside of the building and there were no windows. I had been brought here in a tiny steel box so I had no idea of where the institution was located. We could be on a walled estate in the countryside or an industrial unit in a city. We may even be in a floor of an office building with people above us working at their desks and having no idea of what is going on below.
The main feature of my new life was boredom. I would spend many hours alone in my cell with nothing to do apart from frig myself and put on a good show for whoever was watching their screen. Every twelve hours (I assumed) the lights would dim to the level of a very dark winter’s day but I had no means of verifying the time so they could be playing mind games with me. The hatch in the door could drop down to form a small flat surface on which my plastic food tray could be slid to me. The only drink I ever received was water in a plastic cup and, of course, they could put into the water whatever drugs they chose to use to keep me docile. The institution differed from the Police cells in that it was silent. I was never outside my cell without handcuffs and shackles.
The daily visit to the gym was the most variable part of my life as what happened in the gym seemed to depend on the whim of the guards. Sometimes I would be clothed and other times naked. On some visits I would be put through fierce exercises and at other times they just took off my chains and left me to do as I pleased.
A guard asked me if I wanted to be taken to the library and I said that I did. A short time later I was taken there. I cannot find much to say about the library; it was a windowless room with bookshelves. It stocked only paperbacks – I guess a hardback could be used as a weapon. No-one cared how long I kept a book but, when I had finished with it, I could request another library visit. I did not have to log books out; I simply took one off the shelf. I was only allowed one book at a time.
The Visit
When guards came for me, they never felt the need to say where we were going. One day the guard took me, chained as usual, to a part of the building which was new to me. He opened yet another steel sliding door and I beheld Daddy sitting on a plastic chair at a table. I noticed the table was screwed to the floor. It sounds a cliché to say that I was overcome with emotion but that is the only way to describe it. I had every emotion possible all at the same time – joy, shame, fear at what he would say, confusion.
The guard left all my chains on and he stood just inside the door behind me as I sat down facing my daddy. I do not know how long this visit happened after that night as my sense of time was all gone. Why couldn’t they unchain me? Being in this horrible prison jumpsuit was humiliating enough. My daddy and all this prison stuff just didn’t belong in the same scene.
The conversation was stilted and unnatural. I asked about Mummy and he said she was OK. Wayne had gone on the run and the police never caught him but he was found soon afterwards dead in a gent’s toilet in London. It seems he had topped himself.
The Perv
One day I was taken to see the psychiatrist. The male guard took off my chains and, to my surprise, left the two of us alone. The Shrink was a youngish man with a small beard and an ego the size of Jupiter, the guy oozed creepy. It started just like the session I had in the Police Station with lots of questions about deeply personal stuff and I decided I was done with this sort of mind fuck so I made up whatever answer came to mind. Then he told me to take off my boiler suit – for a PSYCHIATRIC exam? I told him to go fuck himself. You might think I was used to being stripped by now but this guy was openly taking liberties.
He stood over me and yanked me up by my ear and I kneed him in the goolies. He shouted and the guard rushed in. Before I could react, I felt a jab in my bumcheek and my legs buckled under me. The guards must have carried loaded syringes.
I woke up face down on a hard floor. I was in a completely bare space about six feet square; I was naked and elbows, ankles and wrists were tightly bound with black Velcro bands. They left me there for hours. After a while I needed to pee so I had to just let go where I was and then lie in it. The hours just dragged by and cramps came. Even if you know there is no escape your body automatically struggles and eventually you drift in and out of sleep. I can’t remember being showered or taken back to my cell but I do remember how every part of me ached.
It was not long before I was taken to see the pervy shrink again and, again, the guard left us alone. Perv was leering at me and asked if I wanted to find out how bad the penalties could be.
He came to grab for my ear and I dodged then his arm was around my throat and I could feel my lights beginning to go out. When he let me go, I bent double and was gasping for air. He told me to strip and I obeyed. Then he took some handcuffs from a drawer and my hands were locked behind me. He used my left nipple as a handle and led me to his examination couch. It was undisguised rape. He had me every way from Tuesday to Next Winter and he was not gentle. I finished up with my whole body dripping with his spit and jizz. When he finally left me alone, I curled up with tears cascading down my face and a pain deep in my pussy and ass.
When the guard came in, he didn’t raise an eyebrow. He just made me dress and then he chained me for the slow, painful walk back to my cell. I didn’t even get a shower. For a while I was afraid that I would get pregnant but then I realized that if this was their regular practice, they had to take precautions. I HOPED they were putting contraceptive in the water. If not, were they doing forced abortions or would pregnant girls just disappear?
Of course, Perv kept booking appointments for me but he gave up any pretense of doing his job; I don’t know if he wrote any reports on me but I suspect that he jerked off while writing made up reports showing me to be an out-of-control nymphomaniac. Whenever the guard came to take me out of my cell, I feared that I was being taken to be raped all over again. He took me in every possible position and sometimes gagged, blindfold or tied and there was absolutely nothing which I could do about it. Quite soon he told me that he believed I was suffering guilt for what I had done and that I needed constant punishment until I felt that I had paid off my debt. This was total rubbish but I was soon to find out what that meant for me.
One day two guards collected me and took me to a door marked “Punishment”. Once inside, they unchained me and told me to strip. I saw what was clearly a whipping block and a number of wooden frames whose only purpose was the securing of girls for torment. Wall cupboards had their doors pulled back to reveal neat racks of whips, canes and paddles. I did not give in without a fight but two male guards were easily able to tie me face down over the block secured by leather straps about my limbs and body. My head hung down over the end.
And then it began. They started with a long, heavy cane which made a whipping sound as it cut through the air before landing on my buttocks with an explosion of sharp pain. They took turns so I was always being abused by hands which were not tired from the effort. Occasionally they would move me around or tie me to different devices such as a wooden A frame with my wrists bound far above my head with my legs spread wide and my body leaning slightly forward. I was hit on buttocks, breasts, back and belly. I am not sure if their orders were to thrash me until I blacked out but actually, I fainted several times and they brought me round by throwing cold water over me. I don’t remember being taken back to my cell but I know that the cuts and bruises took a long time to heal. I guess they didn’t want to lose their little toy to infection because a nurse came to treat my cuts with ant septic cream which stung bitterly.
New Horror
I have no sense of time or even the order of events so I cannot tell whether the following terror happened before or after what I have already told you. I know that two guards took me to the Punishment Room and, once there, made me strip. This did not take long as my only clothing was my orange boiler suit, white cotton briefs and plastic flip flops – very different from my wardrobe at home. They led me to the restraining table to which I had often been bound before but today there were some horrific looking clothing items on the table. What were they intending to do to me? One of them handed me the white absorbent pants which I had to put on. I obeyed silently knowing there was no point in my asking what was going on. Then he pointed to the other item which turned out to be an ungainly pair of heavy canvas knickers with drawstrings at waist and legs. I had to pull the drawstrings tight and then hold them in place by closing little Velcro flaps over them.
It was terrifyingly obvious that they were going to do something so agonizing that they expected me to mess myself. Obediently, I climbed onto the table and they strapped me down with leather cuffs at my ankles and my wrists bound in similar cuffs by my sides. Heavy, broad straps were buckled tight over my waist and between neck and breasts so that I was denied any movement at all. This had happened before but then one of them brought out a reel of wide, black gaffer tape which he used to bind the tips of my fingers to the side of the table.
My horror reached new levels when one of them wheeled a small trolley – like a tea trolley – from one side of the room. It bore a black box with nobs and dials and the lower deck was filled with batteries. Working together they pulled wires from beside the box and began fitting painful metal crocodile clips to my flesh. The clips were all in pairs with a black wire and a red wire. A pair went to each breast with one clip right on the nipple and the other locked into the flesh beside the nip. On each foot two toes were clipped and they pushed a pair of clips between my fingers locking them ono the fine web of skin where finger joined hand. A pair went to my stomach where they pinched the skin up to make an anchoring point and they did the same to the front of my abdomen.
The bastards had left me free to turn my head so that I could observe this process but now a strap was secured over my forehead so that I had to keep my head in one position with my eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Through my total terror I vaguely heard one of them say that I needed to answer some questions which my psychiatrist had written out for them to ask me. Even before they had begun to shock me, I was pretty much hysterical and I screamed that I would answer any question they liked and there was no need to persuade me. Of course, I was ignored; this was all part of Pervy Shrink’s persecution of me. I imagined that he did the same to all the girls in here, after all he had total and unquestioned freedom to do whatever he liked to us.
Being forced to look upwards, I could only swivel my eyes and the trolley with the control box was outside of my field of vision but I heard the buzzing sound as the machine was turned on. The questions were read in an expressionless monotone and then the shock would come, I cannot even recall which part of me was the first to be shocked, they seemed to choose parts of me at random.
I had answered the questions before in sessions with shrink – well most of them but he had invented a few new ones as intrusive and humiliating as he could make them.
What was the name of my first fuck?
When had I first touched a girl?
What had we done together?
What age did I first play with myself?
Each time I would scream out the answer to make the pain stop. Sometimes the questions were so obscure or random that I could not immediately think of the answer and a shock would come to a new part of me.
Electric current stimulates the whole nervous system so my entire body would tense and go into spasm in addition to the sharp pain at whichever metal clip which was taking the current. By about the third shock I had demonstrated the reason for the absorbent underwear.
Despite my severe restraint the pain was so great that my body would try to twist and wriggle within the straps and soon every muscle ached as if I had run a marathon and I felt cold sweat all over my skin. Of course, I was weeping ferociously.
The torment just kept going.
How many different implements had I pushed into myself?
Did I enjoy anal sex?
How often did I masturbate at different ages?
How many sexual partners had I had?
Of course I cannot tell how long it took. I possibly blacked out a few times but then I was revived by something being held under my nose and we just continued. I was certain that my heart had to burst at some point and it would all be over but that did not happen.
The end of the session is a bit of a blur. I think they dragged me, naked apart from my canvas pants, to a shower where I had to take off the soiled garments and clean myself up as I lay on the floor of the shower with my legs unable to support me.
Obviously, I must have made it back to my cell at some point.
Downgraded
Normally when the guards came for me, I would stand in silence while they handcuffed and shackled me ready to be taken wherever they wanted to take me. They would not tell me anything and I knew better than to ask. But then came the day which was different.
It was a male and a female guard and the male ordered me to strip which surprised me but I had been stripped so often here that it did not phase me any more than usual. Soon I was completely naked and then they fitted me into my leg irons, handcuffs and waist chain which I had to wear every time that I left my cell. The female told me to slip on my plastic flip flops.
I could tell that the male guard was almost salivating as he told me that I was being downgraded to permanent Strips. This shocked me for I knew that I had done nothing wrong. Strips was the name given to loss of privileges when a girl is placed in a small cell without a bed ledge. All she has is her stainless-steel toilet and a standard institution mattress on the floor. Girls are totally naked for all their time in Strips; I had been put in Strips before but the word “permanent” was a bit of a hard thing to process.
I was curtly ordered to go with them out into the corridor in nothing but my flip flops and I protested. I told them that I had not broken any rules or been put on report and I asked why I was in Strips. The female asked me if I wanted to be caned and told me very firmly not to dissent.
So, we went down the corridors to the Strips cells and they opened the sliding door then stood back so that I could enter. I expected to have my chains taken off but they told me that I could keep them on for a while to reflect on my poor choice in questioning why I was in Strips.
All I could do was to lie down on the blue, plastic mattress as the crashing of the door echoed around my 8-foot square home with its fluorescent light shining weakly through the panel in the ceiling. I have no idea how long I was left before a guard came to remove my chains.
I would now be naked all the time, even as I was taken through the corridors, and while I was at meetings with the Shrink or the doctor although these meetings became quite rare. My trips to the library had come to an end. I still had my flip flops and I had to wear them all the time out of the cell. I guess they did not want any infections on the floors. Trips to the shower were now much less frequent than previously and I was aware of my own almost permanent odour which clung to the cell. I was also aware of the low-level fog which came to fill my mind. Any sort of thinking became fogged and my only refuge was in ever wilder imaginings of various fantasy realms inhabited by wizards, fairies and vampires. I lost all sense of a sleep pattern and my “normal” state became one of dozing, waking and then dozing again although the 12 hour cycle of the lights dimming and brightening was still maintained.
I had no sense of time whatever so all I can tell you is that after some time, visits to Pervy Shrink ended completely. This was never announced to me but I simply stopped being taken to see him in fact I began to doubt that he, or any of his torments, had been real. Every day was exactly the same; with no more trips to the Library, Shrink or even Punishment Room, I spent 24 hours per day in my 8 foot square world with no outside stimulation at all. Meals were passed through the hatch in the cell door three times a day and I still believe that I was being fed all kinds of drugs in my food.
My whole existence became one of uncertainty as I had all sorts of things which popped in and out of my head but it became impossible to know which, if any, were real. I even kept forgetting my name and, each time food was delivered, the guard would remind me that my name was Serena.
My life can best be described as a return to the womb, except that my womb was 8 feet square, but to a tiny foetus, I imagine that a real womb seems quite large enough. I resembled a new born babe as my mind was a blank slate. I knew that things which are dropped will fall to the ground and that sometimes I became thirsty and this could be remedied when I was given a drink but I imagine that newborns soon learn and accept these basic rules.
Of course, like a foetus, I had no concept of what it would be like to leave the womb and I never gave the matter any thought. I simply accepted that I had always been here and always would be here. But, wait, that cannot be quite right. I was just sufficiently UNLIKE a foetus to know that I cannot have been ALWAYS here. There had to have been something before but I could never pin down what that was. I was quite impressed with myself that I was becoming able to remember that my name was Serena even before the guard reminded me but I had no clue to how or when I had come here or even where “here” was. But I never really asked the latter question – here was just here, it was where I was. Surely a fish never asks about what water is. Water is just what is.
Born
I am a bit hazy on the thing that happened. It is really just a series of disjointed impressions so that is all I can give you. I remember the white sheet except that it wasn’t a sheet – it went over my head and it had sleeves. I suppose the guard must have brought it and put it on me. And there was bright light and I was walking and I was resting on someone’s arm because my legs had gone a bit wobbly. And I was in a sort of big car. Well like a van but it had windows like a car. There must have been a driver but I can’t remember if there was anyone else.
Anyway, it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me. We went really fast and I saw everything you can imagine out of the windows. There were so many cars and they were all different. There must have been millions of different shapes and sizes and colours and I remember we passed a lorry that was enormous and it seemed to take forever to pass it. We just drove along the side of it and then, in the end, it was gone.
I must have fallen asleep because I had to be woken up when we got there. I can remember a huge building that seemed to reach the sky and we went in and everyone was nice and smiling and they knew that I was Serena – I don’t know how they knew.
And then I was in my room. It had windows and the sunshine came in and I had a chair and a bed and someone talked to me but I don’t remember much about that.
I never went back to the other place – they said I must never talk about the other place because it wasn’t real and I didn’t want people to think I was loopy. So now I am here. I can walk in the gardens but never go too far. I eat in the dining room with all the others and I can sit in the lounge and sometimes play games on the table; the games are on the table – not me. And I have lessons and sometimes people talk to me and ask me if I am happy.
I was especially happy when I discovered that we had a library. It is a huge room full of light where all the tables, chairs and book cases are made of light coloured wood and there are big high windows between the book cases on one side where the sunshine streams in. The whole big room smells of beeswax polish and Springtime and most of the books are HARDBACKS. I can’t explain why that seems so wonderful but it does.
Our gardens are huge and you can just wander around them and no-one stops you. At the back are lots of trees but they are behind a high wire fence and we can’t go there. The forest goes on forever and it has goblins and unicorns and, if you once ventured inside, you would be lost forever. We have a lake but we don’t go by the lake without a staff member in case we fall in.
And I have visits from Mummy and Daddy who I couldn’t actually remember but they said that was alright because I had been ill and they were glad to have their Serena back with them.