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Course 8 / Day 1 Course Progress Meeting
Participant Notes: Fifty
Josephine: Fifty was somewhat surprised by her session with Celia after her admission, but took her initial challenge without protest. There is every sign is that she will quickly adapt to the Inward Bound regime.
Jenny’s Recollections
We are taken into a rather well-appointed dining room. Our group of five is shown towards a separate table just for us. There are place cards at each seat with our names on. Mine has the number Fifty in brackets after it. The other girls all seem to have numbers beside their names too. No one explains what they mean. We’re left to sit ourselves down to eat.
I’m trying to take it all on-board. Thinking about how I’m going to write this up for the research proposal.
Supper is on the table already, waiting for us. It’s fairly Spartan food and makes for an interesting contrast with our gracious surroundings. There’s a big bowl of muesli, a pair of stainless steel water jugs, a plate of oat cakes and another bowl filled with fresh fruit. We’ve each got a plastic beaker, a metal bowl and a plastic spoon. It’s all pretty basic, muesli with water, oatcakes, fruit and water to drink. This diet looks like it’s going to be good for us, if it goes on like this. One thing is certain; any spare fat will be history for me, if we eat like this for two months!
Nobody comes to take the tape from our mouths. Carrie is the first one to peel it away and start spooning some muesli into her bowl. Her handcuffs clank against the metal bowl, as she reaches for one of the water jugs.
After the long journey and nothing to eat since breakfast, I am hoping for something, well, something more normal, and hot! Something like the richer and more indulgent meal being consumed by Charlotte, Gerry and George, at the next table – with wine! There are some none too subtle messages going out.
None of us say anything. I guess that the others are as nervous as I am. Having the tape and blindfolds on during the journey seems to have put us all into an introspective mood. I look around at the others. They all look about the same age as I am. Sue is maybe a few years older, a little more heavily built than the rest of us. Anna is quite tall and willowy; Judy slim, but with nicely prominent tits. One good thing; at least I’m not the only one that hasn’t had her hair clipped really short. Carrie has her hair done pretty much like mine. It’s such a beautiful auburn, I can see why she wouldn’t want to have it clipped. All the others do seem to have got their extra ear piercing, though. They all have a single gold stud in rather red looking ear lobes.
At the other table “the Faculty”, as I’ve christened them to myself, are all chatting away; inconsequential stuff about the trip up, as far as I can tell.
Eventually the Faculty finishes, pushing away their plates, most of them leaving something. We’ve been waiting quite a while and even if we haven’t found it that appetising, we’ve managed to clear almost all of the food that they served up for us.
Two more Inward Bound staff arrive. One of them points at me and beckons me to follow her, out of the dining room along a corridor and down a flight of stairs of stairs to an office. She dials a number on the phone and hands the receiver to me. “Your safe call”, she says, “Just say you got here OK”.
Eventually Angela’s voice mail picks up – it’s just as well that I’m not in any sort of jam!
“Hi, Angela, it’s Jenny,” I say. “Just a quick call to say I got here safe and sound. I’m at …er…(I look down and realise that I can’t give Angela the number because there is no number on the phone) …at IWB. I am just checking in. ‘Bye.”
I hand the receiver back to the woman. As she takes it, I can see she is obviously very amused by my reference to “checking in”, as though I was at some grand hotel. Well, I’ll keep up appearances as long as I can.
We leave the office and further down the passage, get to what I guess is going to be my room, at least for tonight.
I’m not sure that ‘room’ is the right word. This is the first confirmation of what Charlotte had told me at the interview, “We try to push your limits and it can be quite demanding”. The room looks exactly like a prison cell. There are three solid walls, but the corridor wall is all bars, floor to ceiling. Inside I can see a couch with a blanket and towel folded up on it. There are en suite facilities, well sort of - a wash hand basin next to a French style squatting toilet with a shower head over the toilet tray. There’s one small window, barred of course, high in the outer wall. I presume it will admit daylight come tomorrow but there’s no way I can reach it so there won’t be much of a view. Maybe clouds if I’m lucky.
My escort engages in a real conversation for the first time. “Fifty, I’m your trainer and my name is Josephine,” she says. “You can call me Jo,” I hadn’t been expecting to be allowed such familiarity, “except when I tell you otherwise.”
“Pardon?” I say. “What’s with the ‘Fifty’? My name’s Jenny.”
Jo shakes her head. “No. Not here. Slaves have numbers, not names. You have left Jenny behind. As long as you are here, you’re ‘Fifty’. See, here’s your number on the door. Still, Jen-ny; Fif-ty – your number’s not far away from your old name!”
Jo waves me into the cell and takes off my handcuffs. “OK Fifty, get undressed, please, and have a shower and there’s a tooth brush by the basin. Be sharp!”
Her snapped instruction spurs me to action. I guess if I’m going to be a slave, I’m going to have to get used to doing as I’m told. The numbers thing is hardly a surprise but it certainly adds to the stress. I’ll have to think to remember my number. I can imagine there will be penalties for not responding when I’m called. This could be a focus for some of the research. How people respond to having their identities re-assigned and to what extent their behaviour changes as a result of changes in the way that they are identified.
Of course, there are not many clothes to struggle out of, just the tee-shirt and jeans. I stand with my feet on the footpads of the toilet. The shower controls are within easy reach. The water cascades down over me, into the toilet pan and away down the drain. It’s very efficient. In short order, I’m washed, dried and my teeth are cleaned. I turn around to see that Jo has swept the clothes into a bag.
“Very good, Fifty,” she says. “The next job is to have you collared and cuffed. If you wondered why we wanted measurements of your neck, wrists and ankles, here is why.” She snaps five bands on me. They are flat polished metal and lined with black rubber and clip efficiently into place. “And, that’s you done for now,” says Jo.
“What about clothes?” I say, conscious that Jo is picking up the bag containing my tee-shirt and jeans.
“Clothes?” Jo seems genuinely puzzled, as though I’d asked for something extraordinary.
“Yes. I wondered what it was that you wanted me to wear.”
At this point, Jo breaks out laughing. “No, no clothes for you, Fifty. You didn’t follow your first instruction, did you?” I guess that my confusion shows on my face. “You know. About what you were told to wear in your Joining Instructions?”
“But …,” I start to try to explain, but Jo presses her finger against my lips.
“Shhhh!” she says gently. “It doesn’t matter why. These things happen, but the why never matters. We just think that the best way to help you avoid similar mistakes is to keep you completely naked throughout your time with us. All slaves get to go naked at some stage; it’s just that you will get to be naked right from the start. You might even get an all-over tan, if the weather is good. Well, apart from your neck, wrists and ankles.” She laughs again. “Enjoy!”
She stands back and slides the cell door closed with a clang. It seems to lock automatically.
And there I am, left all alone and wondering just what I have got myself into.
Another of the staff appears outside my room. She is tall with red spiky hair and blue eyes. She wears blue scrubs and white surgical clogs – and speaks with a lilting South African accent. It’s as if a member of the cast from “ER” has just walked onto the set.
She has all the breezy confidence of a doctor or a nurse. “Hi Fifty, just stand back and I’ll let myself in,” she says as she swipes a card through a card reader outside my “room”.
The door unlatches and she enters, carrying what looks like the sort of utility box you can buy at Mother and Baby stores. She sets the box down on my bed and opens it to show various sterile packets.
“OK, Fifty. I’m Celia. I’m here to teach you a bit about personal hygiene.”
“Hygiene? But I’ve only just had a shower and ……”
Celia is laughing, hands on hips. “No, Fifty. Internal hygiene, silly.”
Internal hygiene? What is the girl talking about – oh, but wait a minute, I have just cleaned my teeth, so she cannot be interested in teeth …..
“Fifty, when was the last time you went for a crap?”
I’m not really happy talking about this sort of thing, not even - especially not even - with Joe. I blush and fall over my words.
“Hmmm, well whenever it was, I bet you didn’t really clean yourself out, inside. Did you? Well, you see, Fifty, slaves have got to look after themselves inside and out. Owners expect it. And you are going to start doing it. Now, on your knees, over there, by the toilet.”
Celia’s not expecting any arguments and I’m going redder by the second. Obeying seems best, but surely …… surely not …..
I am facing away from my bed, but can clearly hear the sound of some of the packs being opened and then I feel Celia rubbing something on my anus. She is wearing rubber gloves. Instinctively, I clench my buttocks, and get a sharp slap on my bum for my pains – which really stings.
“Fifty ……!”
I’m sorry, it’s just …… well it’s just …….
“You’re not used to having an enema?”
OH! Jeeze! OH!
“Er, well no. I’m just not. Sorry. It’s … I …..”
“Well, it will be another first for you. And, I’m sure you will get used to it just fine. Now. I’m going to do the first one with you and I’m going to watch you do another one right after me. After that, And we will go on doing them till I’m happy you can do it. Then it will be down to you to clean yourself out daily. Got that? We’ll check, hmmmmm?”
“Oh, …..”
“No, the right answer is: ‘Thank You Mistress!’”
“Oh, look I’m sorry, err it’s just well, I’m just not used to ….”
But Celia is laughing and somehow that’s encouraging, but gee! High cringe factor, as far as I’m concerned.
Celia again: “So here’s what you are going to do. Put some warm water in this metal bowl – warm, NOT hot. Still as its going inside you, I guess I don’t need to labour that.” She fills a metal bowl from the hose tap next to my toilet. “Next, you fill this enema syringe like this? Now you – come on, it doesn’t bite.”
I reluctantly take hold of the very large metal syringe. The business end is about as wide as a finger and rounded at the open end.
“Now, I have lubed your anal bud, so take the syringe to your rear end – yes like that – feel it on your bud – do you feel it?”
“Yes, Celia.” I’m horrified by the whole process, by what she’s doing and by the fact that she’s there watching.
“OK. So now, we gently push it in. Make as if you are having a crap. Are you? Would another slap help?” I shake my head. It’s the last thing I want right now. “AHHH, there you go!”
The syringe feels cold and slippery …. but finally, it’s in up to the hilt, so to speak. A cold, rigid, finger up inside me.
“Now squeeze the plunger with your other fingers.”
I’ve got my forehead resting on the floor, knees apart, bum in the air, one hand on the barrel of the syringe and one hand free to squeeze ….. the water as it enters me is warm and comforting. I must have sighed with relief, because Celia replies with the well worn medical cliché, “There, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
No, it isn’t, except for my pride. But then perhaps the demolition of personal pride and self consciousness is one of the things I am going to be learning?
“OK. Now squeeze your bum tight shut. Slide the syringe out.” It’s a curious, slippery sensation as it comes away. “And get over the loo.” Anxiety must be showing on my face because Celia answers my unspoken fears. “Don’t worry, you won’t leak if you squeeze tight!”
I squeeze. Boy, do I squeeze!
“Now you are over the loo, Just let go ……”
A stream of water - and other material pours out of me. Yeuch! This is so embarrassing! But, not so embarrassing as to prevent Celia making me go through the whole thing four times, till at last the water coming out of me is clear. We watch it passing across the toilet pan tray and down the drain.
“Now, that’s better, Fifty!” I will expect you to do that every day and after clean the kit afterwards. You keep it in this box.” She motions to the utility box. “It’s got to be spotless. Absolutely spotless. Always. You got that?”
“Yes, Celia. Sorry! Mistress.”
“Good girl!” She strips off her gloves and discards them along with the sterile wraps into the flip top stainless steel waste bin in the corner of my room. “Right: now go and wash your bum and hands and clean your teeth, if you haven’t done that already. I’ll leave that to you. Then it’s bed time.”
Celia reaches through the bars and swipes her card to gain her exit. I watch as she leaves. It’s been an oddly “veterinary” incident, leaving me feeling slightly less than fully human, somehow. I mean having someone else telling me how to look after myself, as if I could not be trusted on my own …..
“Stand away from the bars,” she tells me, as she reaches out to press a button on the wall beside the door. There is a quiet whir as an aluminium mesh shutter starts to slide down on the outside of the bars, cutting me off from the rest of the room. It eventually reaches the floor and a clunk announces that it, too, has locked into place. I am left completely alone, taken aback, indignant and shivery. I lay down on the couch. The surface is wipe-clean PVC, but at least there is a cotton cellular blanket. Shortly afterwards, the light goes out. It’s very dark. The only light is a tiny red LED glowing up in the ceiling.
I am left alone to mull over the past few hours; the journey, the other girls, the ‘Faculty’, being collared and cuffed, being given a number, and then the humiliation of the enema. It’s odd. I’m here partly because Joe and I are not as complementary as I’d like us to be sexually and I am going to be trained by a girl called, Jo. Strange. Then I think, how will I explain this to Joe when I get back? Suntanned, but with white marks on my wrists and ankles and neck? I’ll have to think of something, though heaven knows what. But what would he feel if I just told him the truth?
Finally I find myself thinking about my safe call to Angela. I really wish that I could have spoken to her in person but I wasn’t surprised to get her voice mail. Also, I would have felt happier if I could have given an actual number. Do they allow the transmission of their number on outgoing calls? I called Angela’s university direct dial line. Does the university exchange record incoming numbers? That way, she can get the number. Could someone pick out the Inward Bound number from all the thousands which might be logged?
Suddenly, as thought piles on thought, worry on worry, there’s a cold stab of panic in my stomach. I could be much more exposed and alone than I thought. Anxiety churns in my mind. I try to calm myself, thinking back to the project working out how I am going to describe this; trying to think how I can separate my responses from my observations; what it might mean for the research. It’s a good distraction. At last I am overtaken by sleep.
Chapter 8: A Problem With Puppy Fat
Course 8 : Day 2 Course Progress Meeting
Participant Notes: #50
Josephine: The first part of #50’s induction this morning should not present any serious problems. George and I will take care of her initial physical with the others. We’ll start with the standard introduction to the weight loss/ fitness programme and make an assessment of what she might need during the rest of her course.
Jenny's Recollections
Well it’s started. I’ve been anticipating and also dreading this for quite a while and now we’re off. After the tension of yesterday’s events, the worry about what would happen, the – yes – the stress of it all, it was quite a relief to be left alone in my - ah - room. I worried myself asleep thinking about my safe call – I would have felt a lot happier, if I had been able to speak to Angela in person. Anyway, when sleep finally came, I stayed asleep until the lights came on and the shutter went up.
First thing this morning, we are all collected together and taken to a gym. I’m feeling really screwed up with embarrassment, being naked because of not following instructions! I feel fee so stupid! Completely humiliated! It’s a new building on the other side of a small courtyard just across from the building where we were kept last night. It’s awful having to go outside between the two buildings to feel the cool air on my naked skin for the first time.
The gym is pretty well equipped. There are six treadmills, six cross-trainers and a serious collection of free weights, together with weights benches and some other weight training machines. I’ve never been much into keeping fit. The university has a gym, but I never really find time to use it. This stuff looks quite scary! Thinking back to why I am here, I can see that there would be plenty of opportunities to study a mixture of stress and play in here.
On the plus side, there’s also what looks like a rather nice pool which connects through a tunnel to an outdoor pool extension.
Jo and George tell us all to strip. I’m naked already along with Sue. Thank goodness I have a partner in crime, so to speak. We exchange a smile, recognising our shared mistakes. I can see that Sue is a few years older than me. She‘s built more heavily than I am. She’s a bit overweight if I’m honest. What she does have is a great pair of breasts. I’ve always felt that mine were too small, Sue’s are substantial with large dark aureolas. Suddenly I’m conscious that I’m staring at them. She returns my look and grins. I guess we all know why we’re here.
The other three are wearing grey track suits and one of them, Carrie, doesn’t like being ordered to undress. They ignore her objections and eventually she complies. Their whole approach is very matter-of-fact, assuming we’ll do as we are told, treating us as so many units needing to be processed. It’s all very impersonal, but not much worse than trying to check out a book at the university library!
We get weighed, measured and have the thickness of our skin folds measured with some distinctly aggressive looking callipers. They look nasty, but they don’t hurt. In fact, the sensation is on the pleasant side of strange. Jo and George note down the results without commenting on any of them. They just wave us to come with a click of the fingers, or wave us away as they need us for each stage of the process.
It’s only when they have obviously got all the details that they want, that George goes out with all the notes and Jo takes some time to explain what they are doing. She has us line up against the wall, facing out with our hands on our heads. “There are two things you need to be aware of as a slave. One, are you fit enough for the things you’ll have to do? And, two, do you look the way your owners – that’s us – want you to? We’re going to make sure you measure up on both counts. You all probably know about having your Body Mass Index worked out from your height and weight. However, muscle weighs more than fat and BMI becomes less accurate the more fat you lose and the more muscle you put on. At that point, it’s better to measure skin fold thickness and look up your Body Fat Percentage. For you girls, we are aiming for 20% of your weight as fat. That will let your muscles show through with lots of sexy definition. We like lean, well-muscled, slaves who look nice and are fit and strong. Unfortunately, this can’t be achieved in the time you have with us, but you are going to get a flying start and we’ll take you as far as we can - so there will be homework for you after you are discharged. We WILL be checking up on you after you get home, just so when you come back you won’t have to start from scratch. …………..”
Homework? Checking up on us? When we come back!?? Gosh, I had not expected that! It’s beginning to feel like being in the grip of some sort of secret society. Perhaps we are. But are they really serious? Best not ask, just keep my eyes and ears open. I need to try to remember all this for my thesis anyway. It certainly ups the stress levels, the way in which they assume they are in complete control of every aspect of our lives. But then, thinking about it, they are.
George comes back carrying a box which he places on the table at one end of the gym. One by one, he points to each of us and beckons for us to come forward.
First we get a rubber chest strap, which fits just beneath our breasts. This is part of a heart rate monitor and the monitor goes on our wrists. They are obviously taking care of us. Second, we’re told to put on a rubber G-string, which is pleasantly firm. Third, we get what looks like a swimming costume for each of us. It almost feels odd to have clothes on again.
George explains that these are “triathlon suits”. Mine fits firmly rather than tightly and it’s definitely snug between the legs on top of the rubber G-string but it’s not uncomfortable.
Once we’ve all got our suits on and we’re standing in a line across the gym - hands on our heads again - Jo begins to work her way along the line. She gives each of us a belt, which locks around the waist. There is a pouch, or a pocket at the back which I guess in normal circumstances would be for a sports drink bottle, but for us looks like it contains some sort of box. We can’t open the pocket. Jo takes a wire which issues from the pocket and pushes it through a small zip opening in the back of our suits to plugs it into some sort of connector on the back of the G-string. What’s that all about? Some other sort of monitor?
“OK, girls,” George calls us to order. “Slaves have to be fit and so we are going to begin to change the habits of a lifetime for some of you.” George looks across at the slightly overweight Sue. “You are all going to get a daily work out. We will always start with an aerobics session. We are going to keep you at your optimum heart rate for “fat burn”. But to help you do the best you can, as it were, your kit will deliver a little added incentive ………”
George presses a button on what looks like a small TV remote. Carrie immediately yelps and rubs her crotch, as if she has been stung. George continues, “Your G-strings are made from an electroconductive rubber. It runs, as you can feel, rather snugly between your legs, over your anus and between your labia. If you do not keep up with the treadmill settings, or the supervisor thinks you are giving less than 100 % - well Fifty-two?”
“It really stings!” Carrie looks upset at being chosen as the guinea pig for this particular demonstration.
“Yep,” George smiles, “it really stings and will go on stinging until you catch up and or start doing your best!
The juice comes from the power packs on your belts, so you are carrying the means to maintain your own discipline. OK, enjoy your session. Jo will look after you!”
George’s lecture leaves me feeling …… feeling, surprisingly, not surprised. I’m actually intrigued by the ingenuity Inward Bound is showing and glad that we - well, I - am going to be pushed and kept up to the mark. It’s all rather delicious and another interesting example of stress for me to remember. I must be crazy. In fact, I definitely am crazy, because I start to get wet between my legs. That, of course, is making for better electrical contact and I start to get even more wet at the idea of that. Yes, definitely crazy. In fact, certifiable.
George hands the remote to Jo, who takes each of us across to one of the treadmills. She goes along the line setting us off. She presses the “custom” button and the inclination of my machine rises and the treadmill’s belt begins to move. The display reads, “Inclination : 2%. Speed : 5 kph”, so its just a steady walk for now. I cast a glance to the others – we are not all doing the same, so the settings must have been made with some reference to what we said about ourselves on our application forms to join the course.
After about a minute the treadmill speeds up. Every minute the speed rises again and every alternate minute, the incline increases until I’m walking at 6 kph on an incline of 5.5%. After 25 minutes the calorie counter tells me I have burned through the thick end of 300 calories, but now I’m starting to get tired. It’s not just me. Anna glances round and finds Jo with her back turned. She presses the speed control on her treadmill to reduce the speed only to find her G-string immediately delivers a sharp sting. She cries out and Jo is at her elbow at once.
“Getting tough?”
“Yes, Mistress. Please can you give me a break. I’m still stinging!” I’m surprised that she wants to quit. She doesn’t look much less fit than I am and while I’m tired, I can take this so far. I’m also surprised that she says “Mistress”. Well, not so surprised, I suppose, but it’s the first real acknowledgement of the “traditional” relationship between Doms and subs in a BDSM relationship. I mean, I know I’ve been handcuffed and stripped and collared and numbered and all, but somehow hearing Anna say that out loud makes it all the more real.
“OK, Twenty-four, stand on the side of the mill and come off for a moment – you others keep going EXACTLY as you are.” We all keep on walking but we’re all watching what is going to happen to Anna too.
Jo slows the treadmill to a stop and lets Anna dismount.
Jo says, “Twenty-four, slaves have to learn obedience. Would you like six of the crop across your bum as a break from the treadmill?”
“Yes, Mistress. Please.”
We can follow proceedings because they are reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors which line one of the walls of the gym. It’s the first time there has been any suggestion of punishment and while I knew that it was going to be part of things here – actually, I think part of me has been looking forward to that if I’m honest. – Nevertheless, I suppose I’m surprised by how casually it is being viewed as part of the normal state of affairs by Jo, how ready Anna is to accept it, and how captivated all of us slaves are by the spectacle, even as we carry on jogging to keep up with our machines.
Jo delivers six strokes at one stroke every 30 seconds. Quite hard. Anna struggles to keep still and after the sixth, Jo springs her trap.
“Now, Twenty-four, back on the treadmill.”
“Mistress?” There’s a catch in Anna’s voice that tells us that she wasn’t expecting that at all.
“Yes?”
“But you said …”
“No, you thought a spanking was an alternative; I said it was a break. I prefer it to be an extra encouragement. You have had your break. Now it’s got to be paid for. Back on the treadmill!”
Jo fires the remote and Anna yelps. Immediately, she is back on the machine and jogging to keep up with it.
“Funnily enough, Twenty-four, you only had a couple of minutes to go anyway, so let’s give you another ….five.
Eventually, five sweating slaves, all breathing heavily are allowed to step back onto firm ground to listen to another short lecture from Jo. “This programme is going to be about losing weight and gaining fitness. It is really very straightforward: eat less, work more! We want you to lose fat, but gain muscle. The safe rate of fat loss is about a half kilo per week. We are going to take you through that by giving you 500 calories less each day than you need to maintain your present body composition. We will feed you 250 calories less and make you work 250 calories more, which of course adds up to 500. Simple. We will do treadmill work one day and weights the next day and every fifth day you get a rest day. Any questions?”
Nobody says anything. I think we’ve all come to conclusion that least said is soonest mended when the Inward Bound staff are around. Jo looks around at the five of us. She’s obviously sat through enough of these sessions to know what’s going through our minds.
“No? Fair enough. Don’t always be so quiet though, sometimes it might pay you to speak out.” I look at the others. They are all wearing rather impassive expressions. I don’t get the impression that they believe her. I don’t either. Jo continues, “Well, go wash your kit and then you can have 15 minutes in the pool and admire Twenty-four’s bum. Let me see.” Jo beckons Anna towards her and instructs her with a spin of a finger to peel off her kit and turn around. “Hmmm not bad. You won’t enjoy sitting on that for a while, girl. Oh, by the way.” She turns back towards us. “The rest of you girls take note. It will be harder for the next one of you that tries to wriggle out of hard work!”
Now that, I do believe, because anyone could tell that Jo had obviously enjoyed herself. But then, there is the luxury of the pool. The water is warm, but not too warm and the feeling as it slips up across my naked body is wonderful. I strike out from the side and the water streams between my legs and around my breasts. Ah, if only I could start every day like this. Could Joe and I find somewhere to go in the summer where we could swim naked: just us two …?
We are each taken back to our cells for breakfast. I say “breakfast” - it’s not much given how hard we’ve been working, but I guess that is the idea. It’s served on a tray pushed through a gap at the foot of the bars that close off my cell. There’s fruit, a high fibre cereal bar and some water. The fruit and the cereal bar are in a metal dog’s bowl. The water is in a bottle with a sports cap. I can’t get the top off. Sitting, naked, on the floor of my cell, eating out of the dog bowl, and sucking on the water bottle I feel very different from the person that started out to the Sports Centre yesterday. I wonder how different I’ll feel by the end of the day, the end of the week, the end of this whole programme?
Never mind coming up with a research agenda; how is this going to affect me?
Suddenly, it seems like a long time to give myself over to these people. On the other hand, while I’ve got over the sensation of having the tight rubber strap between my labia lips and the thrill from the threat of the shocks, I’m sill feeling quite turned on by the whole situation. In fact, thinking about it I’ve felt this sort of low level arousal all the time I’ve been here. It’s like the background radiation in the universe; not very energetic, but there all the time everywhere. In some ways it’s quite tiring, in others quite relaxing. I feel abstracted, somehow, as if I’m not quite in the real world. (Well, maybe I’m not.) Is that a response to the stress of the situation? I guess I need to think about that. Although, I must confess, analytical thought is proving a bit difficult when the main recollection of the morning is how you felt with the threat of a shock in the pussy, if you dared to stop jogging! So, I’ll keep remembering what I can and I’ll try to work out the meaning later.
Course 8 / Day 2: Course Progress Meeting
Participant Notes: Fifty
Jo: Fifty will be a stretched by her encounters today. Everyone, please be aware of this, if you have any contact with her after her sessions this morning or afternoon, please refer to Gerry or Celia in order to check on how her sessions went.
Jenny’s Recollections
I’ve got over the exercise session and I’ve finished breakfast. Jo appears. I’m handcuffed and taken out of my room.
As I am led through the building I see some of the other girls hard at work cleaning and tidying. I pass Judy. She’s on her knees, wearing some sort of grey track suit. She’s scrubbing at the floor. She looks up as I go by and I see she’s been gagged with a bright red ball. Jo tells her to keep busy and Judy responds with a “Hnng Hnngstregh” which I take to mean “Yes, Mistress.”
I wonder if something like that will be done to me. I suppose so. Suddenly I’m feeling confused. All this time I’ve been thinking about the course and I’ve no real idea what is actually going to be involved. I look back over my shoulder as I follow Jo along the corridor. Judy is working hard. She looks up again as we reach the corner. I can’t tell if she’s unhappy about what she’s doing or if she’s enjoying it. Maybe she doesn’t even know herself. I’m in two minds about most of what’s happened so far.
Jo takes me to see the genial and enthusiastic black American who was on the coach with us yesterday. As soon as he speaks, I think he could double for Eddie Murphy. “Hi, Honey. Nice to see you again. For now, just call me Gerry,” he says.
Why is it that if you have a bunch of Americans, there’s always one called Gerry? And of course, he calls me ‘Honey’.
I’m still standing in the doorway.
“Well, come on in Honey. Come on in and sit right down!”
“Do I have a choice?” I’m finding the combination of his polite tone and the fact I’m handcuffed confusing, to say the least.
He laughs. “Gee, you Brits are all so droll. Nope, you ain’t got no choice at all. And, to make sure you stay put, you get strapped to the chair here, too.”
So, he takes my cuffs off and clips each wrist to the chair. The chair is comfortable and heavy. As Gerry would say, the chair and I weren’t goin’ no place.
He stands back and looks at me. It’s a curious stare, appraising but not sexual.
“Hmmm, so you just startin’ out here, Hon?”
“Yes, that’s right; I arrived here, er, yesterday, I think.” What am I thinking? He knows exactly when I got here. He was in the bus with all of us.
I have no watch – they said not to bring one - and there’s no clock in my room. Room? Actually cell, I guess, but I can’t quite bring myself to say that. I feel a bit embarrassed to be here. Now that is incongruous! Worrying about being here, when maybe I should be more worried about the fact that I’m naked and restrained in a chair. I have not been given any clothes, save for a collar which has been locked around my neck and bands around my wrists and ankles. The collar has a dog tag style ID disc which apparently says I’m Fifty. Number Fifty, I hope. Not age Fifty!
Gerry brings me back to the present. “OK baby: this is going to be a fun day for you. This is make-up time!” He takes a comb and draws it through my hair. “Say, weren’t you supposed to get this cut before you got here? Make your hair manageable?”
“Well, yes I did. It’s much shorter, it’s …………”
Gerry interrupts, “Uh uh, no you didn’t, Hon. WE said ask for a number 4 buzz cut and you asked for a trim. Right?”
“Well, yes. I just thought a crew cut might be a little on the short side.”
“On the short side?? Gee, I just love the way you Brits talk about a crew cut. So navy! Well, babe, the thing is – do you read?” Gerry is looking really inquisitive now.
“Read?”
“Yeah, read, as in books?”
“Well, yes. I work at a university. Books are us!” Immediately, I worry about my flippant remark and how he will take it.
“Works at a university!” Gerry furrow his brow. “Well, I just wondered if you had done any reading …. about DS relationships and how when the Master speaks to the slave what the slave is supposed to do is to just go and do ?”
“Well, yes. I suppose I, I didn’t know how literally to take things.”
“Literally???? You take literal things literally! Look, Babe: one thing we are going to teach you here is obedience. Obedience means doing what the master says, when he says it. Got that?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“OK, tell you what. As this is your first full day and all, I’m going to go easy on you. You’ll sure get to learn this obedience thing. Now jus’ let me see this hair of yours.” He peers intently, then scoops up some hair with his comb and fans it out. “Uh uh: not good Lady. You’ve got split ends here. You do not look after your hair. I’m going to cure all of that. Right now! And, more than that – I’m going to make you one beautiful gal. See her?”
He leans a photo on the mirror in front of me.
“This is Miss Ramatoulaye Diallo. The Face of Africa 2001. Senegal’s Finest.”
A statuesque young lady (girl is not appropriate for her) gazes at me from the photograph. She is very African and very beautiful. Outstandingly beautiful. I look more closely. She smiles and shows wonderfully even white teeth ….. Oh! Oh! Oh! ….. I suddenly feel cold and very heavy in my tummy. Her head is shaven . Completely. Realisation! Gerry is going to shave me bald! It’s as if there is telepathy between us.
“You ready now, lady?”
I have lost the power of speech. I don’t even try to struggle on the chair. He picks up a pair of electric clippers and begins. First, at the back of my head. I can feel the cold buzzing metal of the blade. Then the right side. Then the left. Then, finally from my forehead back to the crown. I open my mouth to speak, but still no words come out. I’m completely without hair. I do not recognise the face looking back at me in the mirror any more.
And he still isn’t finished.
The breezy banter continues to pour out of him as he picks up an electric razor this time and works the foil progressively down from the crown of my head, like peeling an apple from the top. Then he works gently upward from the periphery to the crown.
Finally, the massacre of my lovely hair is over . Nothing – nothing is left.
“There, lady. What–do-you-think-of-that????? Let me tell you, you got one cute scalp.”
Think? I can only feel. Cold and sick. What ever possessed me to put myself in the hands of these people?
Gerry rounds off his assault by rubbing some sort of moisturiser into my distinctly pink scalp. His hands and warm and the cream seems slightly warming in itself.
“Trouble with you whiteys is, that you have such pink scalps when they get to see the light of day! You’ll look a whole lot better when you get some tanning up there. To hurry up the improvement some, I’ve just given you a good rubbing with self tan. Come to think of it, you could use self tan all over.” For the first time, I’m conscious that he’s looking at my naked body. “You ever been to a bodybuilding competition?”
“No,” I say, weakly.
“Y’know you should go! I always think those muscular girls look so beautiful. Anyway, they all get pretty smart at the self tan – I’ll get it written into your programme. What do you think?”
“Thank you, Gerry,” seemed the safest reply.
“Well, guess I’ll let you run along now and get yourself a coffee. Try strong and black. And remember next time: an order is an order!”
Gerry reaches down and unclips my wrists from the chair. I put my hands up to my scalp and it feels strange. Gerry watches as I touch it and then takes my hands and locks my cuffs back together. I look at him in surprise. “You got a problem with that?” he says. “You can get a coffee with your bracelets joined up, can’t you?”
“Yes, Gerry,” I say.
“Great,” he says.
As I emerge from Gerry’s room I pass Carrie being led unwillingly along the corridor. She looks at my shaved head in shock, I look at her auburn hair and I can guess what’s about to happen. So doe she as she is hustled into Gerry’s room!
Chapter 10: Piercing Questions
Course 8 / Day 2: Course Progress Meeting
Participant Notes: Fifty
Jo: When Gerry has finished with Fifty, she has a session booked with Celia. This is likely to challenge Fifty more than anything else so far.
Jenny’s Recollections
It is not long after my visit to Gerry. After my coffee, they handcuffed my hands behind me and put me back in my cell. Now an escort comes. He links my wrist cuffs together and I am taken to a new room.
It smells antiseptic and very clean. The floor is covered in a smooth non-slip pale green vinyl which sparkles as I walk over it. There are white cupboards on the wall, an operating light on the ceiling and what looks like a dental chair in the centre. It’s upholstered in pale blue and has matching pale blue restraining straps, which look faintly ridiculous. It makes me want to giggle. Except I guess that won’t be appreciated.
Facing me is Celia, the girl I first met when she instructed me on personal hygiene on my first day. She is dressed in the same blue surgical scrubs and wears white surgical clogs on her feet. The same South African accent greets me. “Hi, Fifty,” she says. “Nice to see you again. I’d shake hands but..” She nods at my arms. “Turn around and I’ll release you. Hmmm, love that hair!” She looks at my bald head.
“Yes,” I say casting my eyes down, still embarrassed by how it looks and by the fact that it is the result of my own failure to follow my instructions - again. “Well, I guess it will have grown back by the time I’m released after the course.”
“Err, actually Fifty, it won’t. According to your training plan,” she looks over towards an open laptop, “ah… your going to be shaven daily till release! You know we like to push your limits a bit. Besides, quite a lot of girls go shaven now and you look absolutely terrific just as you are.”
Her compliments are no consolation. I’m actually a bit shocked at this news and it must show in my face. Celia puts her arm round me and guides me to the couch. “Can I just check something? You gave permission for piercings subject to agreement at the time. Is that right?”
Suddenly I’m feeling a little uncomfortable. “Err, yes,” I say warily.
“So you’ll be all right with this?”
After my experience with Gerry I realise my past must be catching up with me. I had been told to get an extra ear piercing and I had tried to skip the challenge. Now it looks as if I am going to have it done to me afterall.
I look around; the place looks clean and clinical. Celia has the confident air of all medics. It’s reassuring and even though I know it’s stupid I think, why not? I hear myself saying, “Well, I suppose so.”
“Just lay down and we’ll get on.”
“Get on with what?”
She sighs. “You all start off with so many questions. Get on with what we are going to do. You will find out, so just accept it and don’t worry.” She’s busy with the straps of the chair, pulling one across my chest another around my waist, more around my ankles. As she fastens them, tightening them securely I feel both a sense of panic and a thrilling feeling. I flex a little against the straps. She pulls them tighter until I really cannot move. Once she sees I really am secured to the couch she speaks again. “Slaves need to learn respect, obedience and trust, Fifty. I think you know that you have fallen down a bit in your first exercise in the obedience department. Due to your failure, you’re bearing the consequences.” She looks up again at my bare scalp and runs a finger across it. “Still, I’m pleased with the consequences! OK, open your mouth.”
“Are you a dentist, then?” I’m becoming more worried now.
“No. I’m a nurse, but my field is head and neck surgery, so I’m good with mouths and noses and things.”
“Just what are you going to do?”
“Ha! So curious, Fifty. Well that would be telling. All you need to know is that I am here and you are there and that you were going to open your mouth? And without talking.”
I suppose I can say stop right now. Perhaps I should, but I don’t. Celia’s professional manner, my own desire to experience as much of Inward Bound as I can and the way in which I have already become used to doing as I am asked overcomes my reticence. I open my mouth. She examines me with a dental mirror. She is very gentle as she pulls my mouth this way and that with latex covered fingers. It’s surprisingly reassuring.
“OK: no gingivitis, or calculus, but a bit of plaque on your terminal molars. I’ll give your teeth a polish and get rid of that for you. More attention to detail young lady! Also a good virtue in a slave, consensual or not.”
“Are there non-consensual slaves?” It’s an even more scary thought than being strapped to this couch.
“There are, and maybe I’ll turn you into one, if you don’t do as you are told!”
I feel a stab of panic and also, strangely, a stab of anticipation. She’s surely not being serious?
“OK Fifty, I’m just going to protect your eyes from the light now.” She straps a blindfold on me. So, not exactly like the dentist. She travels slowly around my mouth with a dental hand piece polishing my teeth, which once again feels reassuring as well as tickly and all the more so as she has strapped me to the couch and I cannot get away.
“Right Fifty, just swallow – it’s only a bit of toothpaste and saliva in your mouth.” I gulp it down, coughing as the pepperminty, gritty paste slips down. “And, now open up again, please.”
I open, but this time she slips an instrument between my teeth and before I can react, I hear the clicking of a ratchet and I can no longer close my mouth. I cry out in surprise making a curious squawking sound. I am further panicked by the feeling of a strap being pulled across my forehead locking it hard back against the couch and then there’s Celia’s fingers in my nose.
“Easy girl, easy. You are going to be just fine. Here’s some cream to go inside your nose…”
I try to say something, but of course I cannot say anything except to make a sort of gacking noise. But then there’s the feeling of Celia’s hand on my shoulder and slowly I calm down.
“OK Fifty. Here’s another test for you. Like the obedient slave girl you are …hmmm, well that’s a bit optimistic just now………. Lets say, will be …… I want you to stick your tongue out and incidentally, if you don’t, I’m going to grab it with a surgical clip.”
I don’t like the sound of the surgical clip and I do as I’m told.
“Good girl, for a change. OK, so now, I’m just going to catch your tongue and gently hold it with this,” There’s a click and a strange pressure on my tongue. “So, now you’re still OK, huh?
Let’s just have a look at your lingual veins.” I feel an instrument pressed onto the top of my tongue. “Congratulations- you have normal anatomy. That was just a light source to transilluminate you.”
I feel her lift up my tongue and pull it a fraction further forward. “And, a mark here and a mark under here.” In a flash, I realise that she must be going to pierce my tongue and I make another cry and hear her say. “OK Fifty, now just take a deep breath in … and out …. and in and out and just a sharp touch here.” I feel as if she has pressed on my tongue with a sharp pencil. There is a momentary tearing feeling, then nothing and I hear a clatter as something lands in a dish. “…..and there you are. All done! Now, just keep your tongue just there. Good. And this goes through there. And this slides back out. And this screws on here. And you’re done! You have just had a tongue piercing! You really should have had that extra piercing put in your ear. But, do you know what, I’m really glad you didn’t. Disobedience from you means fun for me!”
I’m horrified that they’ve done this because of my disobedience. But, I’m relieved too and stunned that it was so easy. I would have never had the courage to do that in “civilian” life. I feel instantly high and I relax into the chair with relief that it’s all over.
“OK Fifty. That’s a 20 mm barbell. I’ve pierced your tongue about ten millimetres back from the tip, so everyone will get to admire your shiny stud when you speak. Plus there’s room for me to give you another further back later on if we decide to.”
I give a whimper at the prospect of more ironmongery in my mouth. From Celia’s tone I can imagine her grinning.
“Now, you will have a sore tongue for two or three days, so you will be on a soft diet. Careful oral hygiene please. . I’ll have some chlorhexidine mouthwash left in your cell, which I want you to use three times each day as well as brushing. In a week the swelling will subside and I’ll be able to insert a 15 mm rod for you and a couple of weeks after you’ll be down to a 12. How do you feel? Ah, you can’t say because of the Whitehead gag. It will be out in a second. Now, let’s look at your nose.” Nose? I can vaguely feel Celia in my nose again and the presence of her fingers means I have to breath through my mouth, but I have no idea what she is up to …………..and then I feel something cold on my skin ……..and then a dull crunching (but nothing sore) ……….and then whatever it was clatters down and Celia’s fingers are in my nose again with something else. I think I sense her squeezing hard ………..
“Right, Fifty: you are beginning to look like a real slave girl now! Earlier, I put some local anaesthetic gel on your septum and I have just taken a dermal punch to your septum and taken a 5mm core out so I could insert a titanium grommet. Titanium is very tissue friendly, which is just as well, because it’s in two parts and when I squeeze them home it’s a perfect friction fit and will just not come out. Ever. At all.”
I let out a gasp
“And I’m now inserting a nice chunky septum ring! Don’t worry too much. We do know slaves have to back to the real world! The grommet is made from anodised titanium and it’s a dark pink, so difficult to see normally – unless you know what to look for. As for the ring, this particular ring can be removed – but we have others which can’t. Now are you going to be lucky enough to get one of those????”
I whimper through the gag.
“I’m going to give you an intramuscular shot of penicillin in your thigh, just to avoid any risk of infection. Now you now know why we give you a detailed medical history form to complete?”
I’m sweating and starting to shiver, even though the room seems quite warm.
“Hey ho, hard day, huh?” Celia wraps me in a blanket, which is tucked firmly round me and I start to feel a bit better. She removes the blindfold and pushes the operating light out of the way. I blink against the bright lights of the medical room. She loosens off the gag and takes it from my mouth. Gradually, I seem to recover. I can feel the barbell in my tongue and the ring resting on my upper lip. For goodness sake, what have I let myself in for from these lunatics?
Celia raises the back of the couch and holds a mirror in front of my face. “I like to pierce the septum a little further back than some people. I think it looks far better if it’s not hanging down under your nose tip like a dew drop. What do you think?”
I open my mouth – but, once more, nothing comes out.
“Here,” Celia says, “drink this ……….”
She releases the strap across my forehead and puts a drinking straw to my lips. I gingerly, then gratefully, sip on down what seems to be a sports drink. Shortly after I really do begin to feel better – but look at the state of me!
“Well Fifty, we are done with the tough stuff for today. You coped pretty well. No screaming. That’s good. So now let’s do the admin.” Admin! Here I am with ironmongery in my mouth and nose and she’s worried about admin! “Now, your general knowledge should have told you that you address me as Mistress, not talk to me like I was a colleague in your university department.”
“Sorry – it’s just –it’s just…”
“Sorry what?”
“I’m sorry, Mistress, but …. “
“Mistress who?”
“I’m sorry, Mistress Celia.”
“Better! At last. Right, Slave Girl Fifty, I’m going to have to give you some demerits for your earlier mistakes, but you can redeem yourself tomorrow. I think you have had enough for now.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you what?”
“Thank you, Mistress Celia”
“OK. Well that was another demerit! Let’s get you back to your cell before you trip yourself up again!” She laughs and pats me on the shoulder and then gives me a hug. I laugh along, although I can feel tears in my eyes.
I’m unstrapped from the couch. Celia reconnects my wrist cuffs behind my back and an escort leads me away, still helpless, back to my cell. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Angela’s ideas on the research could possibly justify this; wondering if my own enthusiasm to experience this hasn’t pushed me into more than I can handle.
© Copyright Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane 2008
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.
E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
All characters & organisations fictitious
Acknowledgements
Phil & Freddie would like to acknowledge the help given by the editors in creating the final version of this tale. Many thanks to Dennis, Peter, Red & Rohanna for their input, corrections and suggestions. If there are any typos, punctuation mistakes, inconsistencies or continuity errors left in Thesis then they are Phil’s and Freddie’s fault!
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