Go Not Gently

Discussion in 'Change in Chains Universe' started by Trystl, Apr 9, 2018.

  1. Trystl Bondage Heroine [__________] The Bondage Heroine

    Blog Posts:
    1 —Display Case

    The display case.

    I hate it.

    I hate the long hours of forced standing. I hate the cute little outfit they force me into. I hate the people who come to gawk at me. Most of all, I hate those who think they have a right to put me in here, trapped behind a cage of glass, like some animal in a zoo. Only zoo animals are, at least, allowed to pace back and forth. I’m forced to stand in agony, unable to move.

    My feet already ache from standing in one place for so long. My legs are weary. The padded leather straps prevent me from moving much, but provide not real support. I take turns shifting my weight from one leg to the other, but with my knees and ankles bound it does little to relieve the discomfort in my feet.

    I’m wearing a pink and white straitjacket, made especially for me. I hate that they know my measurements so perfectly they can encase me in skintight latex from head to toe, if they want to. This outfit, however ends at my knees. Another padded, black-leather strap serve as the transition from pink latex to white skin. Even with the full-length zipper up the back, it takes them a long time to force me into this monkey suit.

    My golden-red hair pokes out from the top of the cat-suit’s built-in hood, forming two little ponytails sticking out on either side of my head, like Pippi Longstocking. In the past, those bundles of hair have made effective hand holds whenever someone was trying to make use of my mouth, but right now my mouth is stuffed with a large penis-gag that tickles the back of my throat. It’s held in place by a snap-on piece of pink latex that covers nearly half of the hood’s face-hole, leaving only my eyes uncovered. My captors have blinders they can use to remedy that, if they think I've misbehaved.

    My arms are encased in long stretchy sleeves with
    mittens built into the ends. The tips of those mitts are fitted with D-rings and longer straps of leather which are used to hold my arms folded across the front of my body. A stiff leather tube circles my forearms, preventing all but the slightest movements of my arms.

    Eight lengths of chain hold my body in place. Two chains connect my ankle straps to D-rings in the floor. Another pair of chains connects my knee-cuffs to the walls, which are less than a foot away on either side of me. A third pair of chains runs from a pair of padded cuffs, one on each of my upper-arms. All three of these sets of chains are angled down at a forty-five degree angle; again, offering no support since they pull down instead of up. Apparently, like the pink straight jacket, their purpose is largely aesthetic in nature, although they do keep me from wiggling too much on my pink platform sandals. The soles are as hard as wooden Dutch shoes but my instep is angled like a pair of high heels. This forces all my weight onto my toes and makes it harder to balance.

    When I’ve been bad they add little inserts with short (but sharp) bumps to make standing even more painful—but fortunately not today.

    If the six chains I've mentioned were the only things keeping me in place I could at least bend my knees and wiggle my body enough to flex my stiff joints, but a forth pair of chains connects my thick black collar to the opposite walls. Unlike the other bits of black that circle various parts of my body, my collar is hard and unforgiving metal, so the chains have no play at all. If I bend my knees, the full weight of my body is supported by my jaws. The latex hood is thin enough that it probably would not provide adequate protection; but it also has sharp little spikes on the inside, just under the soft tissue next to my jaw—not long enough to cause any real damage, but more than long enough to cause significant pain if I try to rest my feet.

    I hate that they can do this to me.

    Sometimes I stand here for hours before the first potential buyer come in to look at me.

    I feel meat, hanging in a butcher's window.

    I think they make us stand so long on purpose; they want us to look happy to see them, when the buyers finally come. Conditioning, pure and simple. The pain teaches us that going with our master-of-the-moment is something to look forward to. It’s the end of our current misery; we're willing to endure almost anything to avoid ending up in the display box again.

    The Âmes Perdues institute does not like to honor it's money back guarantee, so like all the other girls, I have learned to work hard to please those who buy me. I never would have guessed how easy it would be for them to break me when Esmer led me down this hall for the first time. Most of the display rooms were empty then; and I hadn’t been at the Institute very long...

    2—Waking Punishment

    Where am I?

    That was the first thing I thought as I blinked my bleary eyes, looking around at the padded walls of my 10x10 cell.

    How did I get here?

    I couldn’t remember anything about the night before except that I’d been planning to go out clubbing with my best friends. I'd been planning to wear that hot little miniskirt I just purchased. I can’t even remember if I ever got the chance to wear it now.

    My head hurt, so I tried to cradle my face in my hands. I thought to rub the sleep from my eyes, but my arms wouldn’t move.

    What the hell, I thought as I looked down with the realization that my arms were wrapped in front of me by a pink and white straight jacket, made of a slightly stretchy but highly durable fabric. My upper body was completely encased; my arms were pulled so tightly across my front that they squeezed my breasts together into compact little mounds of flesh. A narrow white strap cut across the jacket just above my breasts and buckled to a white band of cloth that was sewn into the restraint. If I pulled against the stretchy sleeves, which were wrapped around the back and attached to the opposite arm on the other side, I could (for just a moment) create a little wiggle room, but beyond that any efforts to move my arms required me to move my chest at the same time.

    “Hey,” I screamed. “What the fuck is going on?”

    As I rolled around on the floor, I could feel my bare hips and legs scraping against the dimples in the rubberized canvas of the padded floor. The straightjacket snugly covered my upper body from the tight collar around my neck, all the way down to the narrow crotch strap that was made out of that same stretchy fabric and pulled uncomfortably tight. The basic design was similar to one of those swimsuit with high-cut leg that ride just above the hips, while the tough, stretchy fabric hugged me tight around the waist and was boned in strategic places to make if fit sort of like a corset. The effect was that the top half of my body felt totally encased and helpless, while the bottom half was completely naked and exposed. I wasn’t even wearing socks or shoes. It was an unsettling juxtaposition. The tightness of the restrains above made the freedom of my legs seem almost intentionally excessive in its permissiveness.

    It wasn’t hard to sit up, but getting to my feet was a bit more challenging.

    Then the door opened.

    “Ah, number eighty-six” said a fat nurse with carrot red hair as she walked into the small room with a clipboard. “I see you’re finally awake, love. Welcome to Âmes Perdues Institute. From now on you’ll receive only the best care.” She smiled at me with an expression that seemed to suggest much more than just a friendly greeting; and the confusion I’d felt a moment before was beginning to bloom into a full fledged panic.

    “Where am I?” I demanded, “Why am I here?”

    “I told you where you are, love.” She pursed her lips and muttered, as if to herself, “Not a very bright one.” She made a note on her clipboard then looked up and smiled in that unpleasantly familiar way of hers. “As for why you’ve been brought here, number eighty-six, that’s not really my concern. I’m just here to do my job, love. Just like everyone else. Right now that means showing you around; then getting you prepped for your first training...”

    I didn’t wait around or listen to the rest of what she had to say. The door wasn’t wide open but it was padded, so I put my shoulder down and barreled into it. Stumbling out of the room, I almost fell, but I managed to keep my feet by slamming heavily into the far wall. Once I’d checked my balance, I looked around at a clinical looking white hallway lined with dozens of gray doors. Each door had a little peep window, apparently designed so a nurse who was standing close to the door could see what was going on inside, without actually opening the door. Above each door there was a number. The door to the left of my room said 85; the one to the right had an 86. And, because the doors were spaced so closely together, it was obvious that there were all small 10x10 rooms, just like mine.

    My mind was numbed by the staggering implications, but I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. I had to be dreaming. Or maybe I had been brought here by mistake. I had to find someone I could talk to; if I asked the right questions, maybe I could find out what was going on in this madhouse. But one way or another, I had to get out of here. I hated tight spaces and being cooped up.

    I looked down one length of the hall and saw a dead end: a flat windowless wall. So I turned and ran the other way, towards a more open area that lead to other halls. I didn’t know where to run. I just turned randomly, as often as possible, looking for ways to loose the fat nurse who I could hear lagging far behind me.

    Finally, I ran out into a larger open area, almost like a foyer. There was a nurse’s desk, which was empty at the moment. And there were three other women. Two, like me, were wrapped up in straight jackets. The one wearing white canvas with black leather trim, had her arms wrapped around the front, like me. In fact, the design of her straightjacket appeared to be very similar to mine except that hers was stiffer fabric and had that strip of black leather riveted down the front. There was a metal ring centered over the arms—for what purpose I couldn’t begin to guess. She was wearing a leather head harness made of thin, black straps and a large ball gag. And on her feet she was wearing a pair of high heels, but unlike a normal pair of heels these had stiff uppers that wouldn’t allow her ankles to bend at the proper angle to keep her legs straight. Thus she was forced to walk around with her legs slightly bent, which was obviously becoming more than a little uncomfortable for her.

    The second girl was wearing a more severe straitjacket made of black leather. It had a high, stiff punishment collar built in, and instead of the arms wrapping around in front, her arms had been pulled tightly around the back, forcing her to keep her back arched. The mittens that separately encased each hand were draped over her hips, with the fingers pointing towards her crotch. Straps from the ends of those mittens passed between her legs and were attached to something at the back. On her feet, were some sandals make of thin black straps that formed a web around her feet before being wrapped several times around her ankles and buckled firmly in place.

    The final person in the hall was an attractive looking nurse, wearing the same white uniform that the heavier set nurse who had greeted me earlier was wearing. The uniform looked much more attractive on this lady, for it left most of her long shapely legs uncovered.

    “Are you lost, child?” she asked me with that same friendly but unhelpful smile. “New patients aren’t permitted to wander around the halls without a nurse to escort them.”

    “Who are you people?” I screamed as I turned and ran some more.

    I hadn’t been running long before I came to another dead end, just like the one I’d seen near the room I’d woke up in. By then I was all but gasping for breath. I hadn’t done a lot of running in my life, and I felt exhausted just from that short burst. I leaned against the wall and panted, trying to catch my breath and wondering which way to go next.

    I was just about ready to get moving again when the fat nurse with red hair stepped into the hallway carrying a bag in one hand. Planting her feet in a wide stance, with hands on hips, she watched me holding up the wall.

    “Well,” she said as she mopped her brow with a handkerchief. “You’re a runner, I’ll grant you that much.” She wiped her brow again before stuffing it into her pocket. Then she took something out of the hand bag as she took a step towards me, obviously centering her self in the middle of the hall so she’d be in the best position to catch me when I tried to run again. “I always like to give you new girls the chance to run. It’s a good test of your nature, and it gives me a chance to see just how fast you are.”

    And it gives you a much needed workout, I thought sarcastically.

    She began to walk slowly towards me, still expecting me to bolt. “I dare say you’re probably a bit too slow to make a good pony girl, but who knows. Perhaps with the right training we can make a real runner out of you yet.”

    Even though I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly, my heart still skipped a beat. If anything, I was even more terrified than I had been when I ran, but the initial exertion and the deep breathing had dampened the uncontrollable part of my panic. Now I was beginning to realize that running simply for the sake of running wasn’t likely to do me any good. A place like this (whatever this place was) wasn’t likely to have a clear path leading to the front door. If I was going to regain my freedom, I’d have to work within the system to find its flaws.

    “Why am I here?” I asked, trying hard to sound reasonable.

    The fat nurse offered a little shrug. “I’m not administration, love. I just make my notes and do what it says on my order slips each day.”

    “But you must have some idea? How did I get here? Who brought me here? What’s going to happen to me now?”

    “Patience, love. I’m sure you’ll learn everything you need to know in due time.”

    Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. “This can’t be legal?” I screamed, “I demand to know why you’re keeping me here.”

    “Trust me, it’s as legal as it needs to be, love.”

    “Why are you doing this to me? Please, just let me go home.”

    The fat nurse grinned as if she was enjoying my little tantrum. “This is your home, love. That’s why you’re here. So that you can learn that.”

    I was still panicked, and it was hard not to think about trying to run again, but the fat nurse looked ready for that. I wouldn’t put it past her to trip me if she had to, and send me tumbling face first. I still hadn’t moved, and I decided to see if I couldn’t use that to my advantage.

    “I’m sorry I panicked and ran,” I said, trying to sound as calm and reasonable as possible; and still not moving from the wall. “It won’t happen again.”

    The fat nurse gave an evil sounding snicker. “I’ll make sure of that, love.”

    As she came closer she reached into her handbag and pulled something out. Then she dropped the bag she was carrying and grabbed a handful of my hair as she moved a strange looking piece of pink cloth and black plastic towards my face.”

    “Ow! Stop tha…,” I said before she stuffed a large rubber ball of soft plastic into my mouth. Apparently, just before moving it towards my mouth she’d squeezed the ball with her fist, making it small enough to pass between my teeth without too much trouble, but once it was inside my mouth the plastic continued to expand back into it’s original round shape, until it seemed to fill my mouth completely; muffling any intelligible sound.

    The plastic was attached to the same stretchy pink material my straitjacket was made of. It looked a bit like an oversized dog muzzle and was form fitted around my cheeks and chin, with a little hole where my nose could stick out. I couldn’t imagine how they’d fashioned such a perfect fit, but I could feel the material pressing tightly against every part of my face. The bottom part of the gag was secured by two straps that buckled at the back of my head, while another thin strap ran from the D-ring at the top of the nose piece, up across my forehead and connected (at the back of my head) to the horizontal straps that secured the lower portion of the gag.

    I tried to protest: to call her a vicious bitch or a stinking whore, but muffled groans were about as much noise as I could make.

    “No point even bothering,” she said with a pleased smirk. “You’ll find that is a very effective gag. And one that I suspect you’ll be wearing quite often if yo
    u don’t learn some manners, love.” She grabbed a handful of my again hair and started walking back the way we’d come, as she pushed my head down until it was roughly level with my waist.

    Walking like that was difficult. I had to take very quick, but mincing steps to keep up with the fat nurse’s long, confident strides. But at least my arms weren’t wrap around behind my body, like that girl’s in the black straitjacket had been. From time to time she would jerk my head one way or the other, as if trying to make me stumble so that she could pull me up by the hair.

    “Yes siree, love. I think you deserve a nice little punishment for running away like that.”

    She led me back to the nurse’s station, greeting the woman behind the counter as she asked for her chair. Then she sat down and pulled me over her lap, spanking my bottom with her bare hand. Despite the snug crotch strap the straitjacket’s basic design left my ass almost totally bare, with just that narrow strip of cloth wedged between the cheeks of my ass. Thus, my ample rear made an inviting target for her eager hand. And she seemed to be putting her full force behind each blow.

    I screamed as her first smack brought tears to my eyes, and before the sting had even begun to fade she struck me again; then again. Each swat increased the stinging, burning sensation, until my cheeks felt like they were on fire. I’d lost count by the third or fourth blow, I was too busy kicking and squirming and begging incoherently for mercy. And her enthusiasm didn’t wane for quite some time.

    When she was finally done, she rubbed her hand over my aching ass and the skin felt hot and damp to the touch. It seemed as if my skin continued to burn in the suddenly cold feeling air, but now another pair of cheeks were beginning to burn for a completely different reason, as I realized that we had an audience.

    I couldn’t stop sobbing, even after she’d stopped.

    It wasn’t just the pain of the beating; it was the humiliation as well.

    “There, there now, love,” The fat nurse said as she forced her fingers between my legs, rubbing the fabric above my clit. “You’d better stop your crying if you don’t want some more of the same.”

    Somehow I forced the sniffles back down, before she made good on that threat.

    “You just need to learn how things work around here,” she said as she picked me up and tossed me over her shoulder. In addition to being so hefty, she was a tall woman. I only came up to her shoulder, so she was able to lift and support me with alarming ease.

    Continuing to work my clit, the fat nurse walked back to the padded room where I first woke up and spilled me onto the padded floor like a hundred pound sack of flour. The force of the fall knocked some of my breath out of my lungs, but at least the padding kept me from banging my head. As she rolled me over onto my stomach I could feel the rubberized canvas scraping over my raw ass. It felt like sand paper and I know I wouldn’t be able to sleep comfortably on my back for a while.

    “Get some rest now, love,” the nurse said as she leaned over and gave me a final slap on the ass. “We’re going to start your real training tomorrow, but you’ll have the rest of the day and the night to think about your new life in that straitjacket.”

    As she closed the door I heard a lock snap firmly into place...

    3—New Buyer

    Please buy me! I thought when I saw the cute little black woman walking down the hall towards my display case.

    How pathetic! Silently begging a complete stranger to buy, take me home and abuse me in any way they wanted—just so I wouldn't have to stand in this miserable display case any more.

    I wasn't so far gone that I thought she could hear me. Nor did I expect her to buy me, but I did my best to look eager and beg with my eyes. There's something about puppy dog eyes that tends to make them take a second look. I’m not a lesbian, but I'll happily lap at any woman's crotch if it means I don't have to stay in this small, glass box. In my position, hope is about all a girl has; and I take my little victories wherever I can find them, so when this prim-looking woman with honey colored skin stopped to inspect me, I did my best imitation of a girl feeling love at first sight—or at least lust at first sight. I eyed her up and down, letting my eyes widen (just slightly) in feigned appreciation. In truth, she was not unattractive. She had slim knees, elbows and ankles; and her blouse lay flat over her tummy. Her face had a petite little nose, and there was something about her features that suggested a bit of Asian and Caucasian blood. It made her African features look even more exotic.

    It didn't take long to realize that my interest was mutual.

    After a long look she pressed the call button in the wall. It looked a lot like an elevator button but it worked an intercom system that called one of the overseers.

    I thought by now that I knew everyone at the Âmes Perdues Institute, but the lady who came to release me was new. Perhaps she worked in another wing.

    She seemed to know the black woman; they greeted each other warmly. And, like all of them, she had a manila folder stuffed under her arm. It was full of pages all about me, just incase the client needed to know something more. The spent some time chatting, and at least part of what they said seemed to be about me, for they occasionally gestured my way—pointing at various body parts as they nodded or shook their head.

    When they finally came to a mutual agreement, the overseer made a call on her walkie-talkie. I couldn't hear her through the glass, but I watched her lips moving. I've gotten fairly good at reading people's lips. It's funny how you pay attention to the little things when you want to hear someone and you can't.

    I think she said, “Prepare number eleven for departure at the south dock.”

    A few moments later the all but invisible door on the side wall of my display cell cracked open and a male orderly began the process of releasing me. I've always found it a bit unsettling just how quickly these people can do that. Just a few quick snaps on hidden release pins and chains fall away. It makes them seem so insubstantial, as if there was never really anything holding me. Sometimes I wonder if this isn't intentional: just another way to emphasize my helplessness and make me more docile; resigned to my fate.

    The orderly didn't bother to change my outfit. He didn't even release my arms or knees. Not that this was uncommon. They never undo more than is necessary to do the task required. Since my task involved walking, my ankles were freed so that he could lead me down the hall.

    I wasn't expecting the snow.

    I'd been trapped inside for so long I'd lost track of the seasons long ago; and it doesn't snow much where I came from. These flakes were fat and falling hard. One large cluster of white fell on my eyelashes and slowly started melting as I blinked, trying to get it off. The cool air felt good against my bare calves after working up a sweat walking.

    My buyer's driver was already backing her minivan up to the door and moment later she open the driver's side door. The vehicle was so white that the only way I could tell the door had opened was from the blackness that became visible inside. I couldn't help being a little surprised by how plain this van was—at least from the outside. Not ostentatious at all, like so many of the wealthy people who came to buy slave girls. As I came closer, however, I did notice that a wire mesh covered the window—like the back seat of a cop car.

    The woman climbed out and came over to get me.

    “Congratulations on your new purchase,” the overseer said in greeting.

    “Thank you,” the woman replied as she clipped a short leash onto my collar.

    “You chose an unpleasant day to come shopping,” the overseer observed. “Would you like us to monitor your progress until you get home?”

    “That might be wise,” my new mistress said with pursed her lips. She looked out at the world of white and frowned then she pulled gently on my leash; expecting me to follow. She lead me down the steps to her waiting car. It was parked close, but with my knees bound the snow was already high enough that I couldn't keep my toes from dragging through the fluff.

    My toes are the first thing that going to get cold in these open-toed sandals.

    The snow felt wet and the air was surprisingly warm, although I was beginning to feel the cold a little more. It seemed to be seeping inside me slowly. Perhaps in another few minutes I'd be shivering and feel truly cold.

    The lady held the door for me and helped me climb into the back. I thought she might force me to lie on the floor, but she helped me into a seat by the window. As always it felt strange. In the old days, holding a door was a sign of love and respect. Still, I was happy to watch the white landscape moving by my window, as she moved to her seat and the driver pulled out onto the road.

    There was nothing much to look at. I just watched the world of white as we drove, blurs of black and gray occasionally streaking by my window.

    After a while I closed my eyes and let my mind drift...

    4—Morning Walk

    I was miserable that first night.

    I couldn’t sleep on my belly because my arms were in the way; and I couldn’t sleep on my back because my ass still hurt. I fell asleep laying on my side a few times, but then I’d roll over on my sore ass and that would wake me up. I tried curling up on my knees with my head touching the ground, but unless I remained vigilant my feet would press uncomfortably against my tender parts.

    For the longest time, no position was comfortable, but finally my exhaustion won out and I slept rest of the night.

    I woke to the feeling of the fat nurse tugging on a leash that she’d attached to the built in collar of my straight Jacket. And the first thing I realized was that I needed to pee rather badly. I squeezed my legs together desperately trying to force the feeling to retreat a little.

    “I’m surprised you haven’t wet yourself by now,” the fat nurse said with a grin as she pressed gently against my belly and jiggled my bladder from the outside. I moaned and tried to roll away, but she kept working the same spot until I stopped struggling and lay still with my legs apart—still clenching and working the muscles to keep from letting it flow, but not actively trying to move away from her.

    “That’s a good slave,” she said, pulling me to my feet with the leash. “I’ll take you to the toilet now, but you better hold it until then or you’ll be very sorry, love. So clench those muscles while you walk.”

    “Come along,” the fat nurse said, tugging on my leash as I worked the tenderness from my Jaw.

    It wasn’t until I started walking that I realized there were now sandals on my feet. Apparently she’d put them on me while I was still asleep. It wasn’t such a big thing, having soles to pad my feet now, but somehow the fact that they’d been put on me while I was still sleeping seemed to accentuate my helplessness and the fact that I didn’t have any choice about what I wore. Or, perhaps more importantly, what I didn’t wear. Anyway, the sandals were definitely strapped too tight, but I didn’t want to mention that until after I used the facilities.

    She led me to a communal bathroom that sort of resembled the locker room from my old school, only there were benches but no actual lockers. In similar fashion, the toilets didn’t have stalls and there was a security camera recording everything. Normally, knowing that I was being watched might have made it more difficult to void my bladder, but when the fat nurse unbuckled my crotch strap it was all I could do to get over the seat before letting go. And the feelings that accompanied the whoosh of sound, as my stream hit the water, filled me with a strangely pleasant, almost sexual sensation of relief.

    I didn’t even blush until after I was done. Then I looked up at the fat nurse, and she was smirking at me, obviously enjoying the show, and I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed.

    “If you’re finished then wash yourself,” she said.

    Apparently I must have looked confused, for she nodded at the strange looking toilet that was next to the one I’d used. “It’s a bidet,” she said. “You stand over it and a stream of water will wash you off.”

    Looking around, I noticed that instead of rolls of toilet paper there were paper towel dispensers, so apparently these bidets were intended to be the only way to clean your self down there. Having never used a bidet before, it was a bit awkward and nearly as embarrassing as using to the toilet had been. But when I was in place, the fat nurse stepped on a button on the floor and a soft warm stream of water lapped between my legs.

    It was kind of nice, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the wet warmth for a moment.

    I heard what sounded like a soap dispenser being pressed and opened my eyes just as the fat nurse was moving in with a handful of soap. She leaned over, wrapping one arm around my hips as she rubbed the liquid into a thick lather, scrubbing vigorously and probing deep into both my orifices. After a long embarrassing moment, during which the nurse seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself, she pressed another button on the floor and a slightly stronger spay of cold water washed the soap away.

    When she was done I felt very clean and thoroughly violated.

    After that, the fat nurse took me to a cafeteria, and walked with me through the line, pointing out various items she wanted from the servers and putting them on her tray.

    “As long as you cooperate and do what you’re told, love, you’ll find that most mornings, after you’ve been taken to the bathroom, you will have a few hours of freedom. You can wander the halls, talk to your friends, drink from the water fountains or do whatever else you want. But I strongly suggest that you use part of this time to visit this cafeteria. You’ll be allowed a smaller meal in the evenings but breakfast is the most important meal of the day—and trust me, love, there will be days when you’ll need your energy.”

    The fat nurse chuckled unpleasantly.

    “Tip number two: drink plenty of water, especially with your meals. Along with eating and shitting on a regular schedule, that will help keep your bowl movements more regular—and trust me, love, that will keep your life a whole lot more pleasant, given that you need someone to free your strap so that you can take a shit. In case you didn’t notice, love, your uniform contains a strategically placed slit that allows you to pee by yourself, when you have to. You’ll be unstrapped twice a day for cleaning and evacuating your bowels. If doing that on your own becomes a problem we’ll have to find other ways to keep you regular. Trust me, love, I do not enjoy giving you girls your enemas; so I make damn sure that you enjoy it less than I do.”

    We had our food now and the fat nurse lead me to a table. When I had taken a seat, she began to remove my gag. My jaws ached so much I couldn’t even hold my mouth open so it would be easier to take out—but fortunately it wasn’t hard to pull out the soft foam ball, which was now saturated in saliva.

    I still had lots of questions, which I knew the fat nurse wouldn’t answer if I asked, but my jaw still ached enough that I wasn’t eager to speak. For a moment, I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to eat, but as the fat nurse began to divvy out the food that was mine it became clear that everything I was being given was soft food, like Jell-O and a milk-shake that was actually quite good, but tasted more like a protein drink than a real milk-shake.

    Other than putting a straw in each of my glasses, one water, one orange juice and one protein drink, the fat nurse didn’t bother helping me eat anything. I was forced to lean down and slurp my soft foods up with my mouth, which would have been even more humiliating if other girls in straightjackets weren’t doing it too. The fat nurse, of course, ate a hearty breakfast that included lots of things that smelled very good—and she just chuckled as I looked at that food longingly.

    “Sorry, love,” the fat nurse said, “but my orders are to keep you on a strict diet,”

    I’m not the one who needs to keep my weight down, I thought. But somehow I managed to keep that to myself.

    “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” I said in a calm voice. “Isn’t there someone I can talk to, so that we can straighten this out?”

    The fat nurse rolled her eyes at me as she stuffed another piece of bacon into her mouth. “Trust me, love. Any girl who looks like you do is supposed to be here. Even if she was brought here by mistake, she’s supposed to be here. Now shut up and eat, or I’ll extend your punishment into this afternoon’s free time.”

    I wanted to say more, but I couldn’t help wondering what the punishment would be; and somehow I got the sense that she was just hoping I’d give her an excuse to do what she really wanted to do anyway.

    After breakfast I learned what the punishment was.

    With another nurse close by (and holding a taser, in case I decided to run again) the fat nurse proceeded to remove my straight jacket. Then she put me in a relatively skimpy, black leather outfit, complete with a gag that was held in place by a matching head harness. My arms were secured behind my back in a long sleeve of soft leather, with straps that looped over my shoulders. At first, the change in position was actually a relief, but it didn’t take long to make me wish I was back in the straight jacket. The main part of the outfit was a pair of black leather panties with a zipper in the crotch. Thankfully, she zipped that up before putting it on me. I wasn’t looking forward to walking around with my crotch open; or having her pull the zipper closed when the tight fitting thing was already on, and risk pinching my tender parts.

    In addition to the panties, there was a collar and a black leather bra. All of these things were bound together by leather straps that were held in place by metal rings and buckles.

    The fat nurse forced me to lie down as she added the final touch: a pair of very-high heels and a devious contraption that consisted of four leather cuffs held together by a web of metal rings and leather straps. Two cuffs went around my ankles, just above the heels. The other two cuffs went around the upper part of my thighs, just below the leather panties. Because the movement of the cuffs was severely limited by the web of leather straps, the design of the harness effectively prevented me from straightening my legs. Unfortunately, the fat nurse wasn’t satisfied to let me lie on the ground.

    “This is a punishment harness that I like to let my runners wear,” the fat nurse said, as she picked me up easily.

    As she set me down on my feet I couldn’t help trying to straighten my legs, even thought I knew I wouldn’t be able to. I felt so strange and helpless as I strained my muscles against the short lengths of leather, but it was almost like an instinctive necessity, to try to straighten my legs as they began to bear my weight.

    I kept my legs together at first, which made standing (let alone walking) very difficult; but it didn’t take long to realize that I could decrease my discomfort significantly if I kept my legs spread open as far apart as they would go, which was just a little more than shoulder width with the toes pointing out for additional support and balance. This position was a little embarrassing, as it forced my legs wide, but the increased comfort was well worth the added humiliation.

    Even in the most comfortable position I could find, I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to hold my weight like this.

    “I’ll come back and fetch you in two hours,” the fat nurse said as she slapped my ass with her beefy hand. “I suggest that you keep walking, love. It will give you a chance to become familiar with the place and your muscles won’t cramp quite as much. Trust me, love. You’ll be thanking me tomorrow morning if you follow my advice.”

    God! Two hours in this thing?

    My leg muscles were already starting to feel the strain of maintaining such an odd angle.

    It didn’t take long to realize that the fat nurse was right, however. As difficult as walking was, it did seem to give each leg a chance to rest for a moment. It also helped, from time to time, to balance on one leg for a while, giving the other leg an even longer rest.

    By the time I’d walked to the nurse’s station, however, my legs were beginning to burn a little and I knew there was no way I’d be able to stay on my feet like this for two whole hours. The counter at the nurse’s station was too high, or I would have rested my upper body on it for a while. Still, it gave me an idea. A few chairs were scattered around the halls and I figured I could sit down on one for a while.

    That was a mistake. I’d only been sitting for maybe a few minutes when a smaller, dark haired nurse noticed me perching precariously on my chair. “This is your exercise period,” she said disapprovingly. “I wouldn’t advise you to sit around very long.”

    I rolled my eyes, and nodded my understanding, but I didn’t stand up.

    She looked at me for a moment more then shrugged and went about her way. It wasn’t more than another minute after that when my fat nurse came strolling around the corner; headed straight for me. I watched her coming with some trepidation, for she seemed focused and determined, but I was determined to get a few more seconds of rest before she hustled me to my feet again.

    Instead, however, she just stopped and looked down at me with her arms folded over her plump belly. “I see you’ve found a comfortable chair to sit on,” she said.

    I nodded uncertainly as she placed her hand on my shoulder and pressed her fingers deeply into the tender muscles there.

    “It looks right comfortable, love,” she said, “But I think I can make it a little more comfortable for you. Here let me help you out.” She grabbed the back of the chair and pulled it away from the wall, with a screech of wood on vinyl flooring.

    I tried to stand up, but she grabbed the end of the leather arm binder and yanked me back. She held my arms high, so that as I fell my arms ended up on the other side of the chair, with the wooden upright wedged painfully between my arms and my back.

    “There, love,” she said pressing down on my shoulders and wedging the back of the chair even more tightly into the V formed by my body parts. “That looks much more comfortable.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a clothes pin. “Now I’m going to give you something to think about, so that your rest period isn’t quite so boring.” She pinched a fold of skin along the inside of my thigh and attached the clothes pin, then reached into her pocket for another. “That’s much better, love. Don’t you think?”

    I moaned as she pinched another fold of skin and added a second clothes pin; then a third and a fourth, in rapid succession. “Honestly, love, I’m going to keep adding clothes pins until you find a way to get to your feet again.” She added a fifth and a sixth. “I’ve got about 50 clothes pins in my pocket,” she said with a satisfied grin. “And if I run out I can get more from the storage closet. We have bags full of them; hundreds love. So trust me, you’re going to run out of skin before I run out of pins.”

    Standing up was a lot harder than it might sound. The leg harness kept me from moving my legs freely to get better leverage. And, with the way the wooden back was wedged between my body and arms, the first few times I tried to stand I actually picked up the whole chair and its weight caused me to topple over backwards again. By the time I finally managed to get to my feet the fat nurse had managed to pin maybe two dozen of those savage little pieces of wood to my body. Several lined the inside of both thighs, while others were attached to my stomach and sides and a few were even clipped to the top portion of my breasts, which wasn’t covered by the leather bra.

    I looked down at the painful bits of wood and groaned loudly, demanding that she take the clips off now, but she just laughed. “Oh no, love. Those stay on until they fall off, just to remind you not to sit down the next time you find a chair. Because if you do, I have plenty more I can add. Now run along and get your exercise,” she said, as she slapped my ass.

    I didn’t wait around so she could hit me again. Dancing quickly out of her reach I leaned against the wall and watched her carefully as she turned and walked away. Only then did I start walking again.

    As much as the clothes pins hurt when she’d first put them on, they were beginning to hurt even more the longer they stayed on. So I found a doorway and tried to scrape them off. Some fell off easily. Their release filled me with a brief, but white-hot flood of pain; but then it was over. So I kept working, trying to dislodge the rest, with somewhat mixed success. The longer it took to scrape them off, the more they seemed to hurt when I finally succeeded.

    I passed by the next few chairs I saw, but it didn’t take long before my legs began to feel like they were on fire; and I began to wonder if it wouldn’t be better to risk enduring the clothes pin treatment again. I tried to lean up against the wall for support. At least this used some different muscles, but it didn’t help for long. So I moved on, looking for another way to find some relief.

    After awhile I came to a low table that was sitting out in the middle of an intersection, and I took the opportunity to drape by body across its surface as I close my eyes with the sheer luxury of not having to bear my weight on my legs any longer.

    I’d been lying across the table for a few minutes when a nurse walked up behind me and gave me a swat on the ass with her hand. It was hard enough to make me jump awake, but surprisingly the nurse didn’t bother to give me another, so I didn’t bother to move either.

    Like the pink straitjacket, this black leather ensemble was held in place by a small leather strap that was now firmly wedged into the crack of my ass, leaving most of my rear end bare, so I could still feel the warm outline of her hand print. I didn’t care. Even if the next nurse did the same thing, it was better than walking any further.

    It took several nurses applying their hands over several minutes before I finally changed my mind. Each time they passed, the nurses seemed to spank me a few more times than they had before, so after a while I started walking again. I remembered where the table was, however, and returned to it from time to time. Each time I did, the occasional spankings became more intense, but I didn’t care, the relief to my legs was too sweet.

    “Resting again, are we, love.”

    By now I recognized the fat nurse’s voice, so I tried to stand up, but she pushed me down with a hand on my back.

    “Hold her arms out of the way, Ms. Daisy,” the fat nurse said. She wrenched my arms away from my body, to show her companion where she wanted them. I couldn’t see the other woman, but I could feel when she took hold of my arms and the fat nurse walked around to the other side of the table. She rubbed my ass and dug her fingers into my tender flesh. “A little higher, Ms. Daisy,” the fat nurse said. “I want to be able to put my weight into it, and I don’t want her arms getting in the way.”

    5—The Long Drive

    The woman who'd bought me rode in silence. She said nothing to the driver or to me.

    Some of them like to talk to their slaves, chatting incessantly. Some of them even became upset if you didn't nod attentively when they think you should. Maybe it was the snow, but this woman seemed perfectly content to sit in silence. I didn't mind. I preferred the silence and not having to concentrate on inane banter.

    It was comforting to just relax in my seat, looking out the window and letting my mind drift as I listened to the hum of the motor.

    Everything seemed so far away; and the sky was surprisingly blue.

    So many things about the world seem surprising when you see it so infrequently.

    In the back of my mind, I seemed to be aware of the wipers slurping a steady beat across the glass; and from time to time the words of this ancient folk-song kept running through my head. Something about a girl named Bobby, windshield wipers slurping time and traveled across the countryside. I couldn't even remember where I'd heard it, but it had a catchy tune that was strangely comforting. The words kept creeping back into my mind as I watched trees and fences and houses drifting past me.

    After a while it began to snow. I looked up and the blue sky was gone—replaced by light gray puffs that looked like cotton candy. White flakes were fluttering down.

    At that moment the driver slammed on the brakes. I looked down and for an instant I saw an old car sitting in the middle of the road, its side panel taking up both lanes. It seemed so out of place, I couldn't make sense of it.

    And then there was an impact. Time seemed to move so slow. I saw the black woman sliding towards the windshield and then my own head struck the back of the driver's seat...

    6—Welcome Ceremony

    “Move along, dear,” the fat nurse said.

    I was back in my pink straitjacket, with matching pink sandals. These people, whoever they were, seemed ridiculously fashion conscious; and I couldn’t help wondering why there were so many different colors for the straitjackets and other various outfits that I and the other girls were forced to wear.

    I thought pink was probably for the new girls, like me. There were plenty of other girls wearing the same color, but most of them looked almost as lost and skittish as I felt, and I shuttered to think there could be that many girls who had recently been brought in to the Âmes Perdues Institute. Black seemed to be the color for punishment. All of the harshest bindings were invariably made of black, and fortunately these were relatively few. There were other colors as well. Orange and Red were reasonably common colors, with an occasional white. And often the colors were mixed in interesting and creative ways.

    Perhaps the colors didn’t mean anything at all.

    “Why am I on a leash?” I asked somewhat petulantly. “You have no right to keep me here, leading me around like some kind of dog.”

    “I’d be careful what you wish for, love.” The fat nurse said with a grin. “I wouldn’t mind treating you with a little pet training. Unfortunately, that’s not what your instructions call for at the moment. oday we have a welcome ceremony planned. I suggest you pay attention, love. It could save you some heart ache down the road.” She chuckled and pinched me on the ass. “Or should I say rear ache?”

    I still wouldn’t budge. Planting my feet, I leaned back into her body, hoping that she didn’t simply move out of the way and let me fall on my ass. Instead, she gave me a little shove that sent my shoes sliding across the vinyl floor. I felt like a Volkswagen bug being pushed out of the way by a semi-truck.

    “Don’t get feisty with me,” she said; but her smile suggested that she was looking forward to it. “I’m just doing my job, love. So if you won’t walk where I want you to go on your own, I’ll strap you to a dolly and wheel you around anyway. Cause one way or another, love, I’m going to get you where you’re supposed to go.”

    “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go, just don’t push me.”

    “Sorry, love,” she said, pushing me again. “But I’m afraid you’re not in any position to be giving orders. Now are you? In point of fact, my job is to push you.” She yanked on my leash and pulled me towards her so hard that I stumbled and almost fell, but she stiffed armed me with a palm to the breast and pushed me backwards again. “You see, love? My job is to push your buttons any way I can. My job is to see if I can’t make you angry, so that I can then beat the angry right back out of you. And you, love, have earned another paddling before bedtime.”

    “No! Please! I promise I’ll be good.”

    “Still making demands? That’s five more strokes. Want to make it ten?”

    I shook my head without saying anything.

    “Better,” she said with a disappointed frown. “Now, love, before we go, I’m going to do you a favor. If I don’t do something to keep you quiet you’re likely not to have any ass left by the time I’m done spanking you this evening. So stay here while I go get your head harness. If you try to run I can promise that you will be very sorry, but if you wait patiently, like a good girl, I’ll deduct two of those five strokes that you just earned.

    I desperately wanted to say something, but I held it back, nodding meekly as my faced burned red with frustration and humiliation. I wasn’t used to doing what other people wanted like that.

    A moment later the fat nurse returned with a pink head harness.

    “Oh no, not the gag again.”

    “Normally, love, I’d go get a real gag for an outburst like that, but you're in luck because we’re running late.”

    She held up the head harness so I could see that it didn’t have a gag built into it. Instead, it had little air holes. It did cover my nose as well as my mouth, however. I didn’t make a fuss as she put it on, and then I followed her as she led me to the auditorium. To get there, we had to take an elevator to another floor. In order to activate the call button, the fat nurse had to insert a key. And once inside the elevator, she had to insert yet another key before the floor buttons worked. We went down several floors. From the little numbers that lit up above the sliding doors it was apparent that my 10x10 room was on the top floor.

    Unlike an ordinary auditorium there weren’t any chairs. At the bottom of an inclined runway there was a low stage area. A girl in a black straitjacket was standing on the stage. Her arms were wrapped around in the front, which was generous compared to how most of the girls in black were trussed up. The straitjacket, however, had a built in hood. There were eye holes in the front, although I could see the snaps where blinders could be attached—and her long, blonde hair had been pulled out of a hole in the back. It stood up so high that it reminded me of a horse’s tail. Her mouth was filled with a large red ball gag. She was wearing black high heels and her feet were kept about two feet apart with an adjustable metal spreader bar.

    In front of the stage there were maybe a dozen or so other girls, all of them standing around in straitjackets of various different colors. Some with gags and some without. Some in high-heels and some in sandals.

    “Who are all these women?” I asked.

    “Fellow travelers love,” the fat nurse said as she released the leash and slapped me on the ass. “Might as well go on down and introduce yourself. They’re all here for the same reason you are.”

    As I came closer, I noticed that most of the girls seemed to be gagged. I could hear one or two of them buzzing softly, and as I looked closer I noticed little wires running out from between their legs. I looked away in embarrassment, but too late. I’d seen the little controller boxes taped to their legs or stuffed into the folds of their arms. Both of those girls were squeezing their legs together, as if they needed to go to the bathroom—and I couldn’t help wondering if it would be better or worse to be one of them. They certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves, despite their little dances.

    “Pst… over hear.”

    I looked around and saw two other girls wearing pink straitjackets, just like me. They even had the same types of pink muzzles that let them speak a little.

    “Finally, someone to talk to,” I said, quick-stepping my way over to them. “What’s going on? Why are we here?”

    “Shush,” the girl with brown hair said, “you’ll get us in trouble.”

    Fortunately the blonde girl ignored her. “I don’t know. I woke up in a padded cell this morning, just like you, I suspect.”

    I frowned and nodded.

    “It’s starting,” Said the brunette.

    I looked up at the stage and realized that a severe looking blonde was indeed standing up on the stage.

    “Hello girls,” she said, and her voice boomed, obviously amplified by a mike clipped to the high collar of her stiff, white nurse’s uniform. “My name is Daisy Trainer. I’m the head nurse at Âmes Perdues Institute and this is your official welcome orientation. You may attend this orientation as often as you wish during your first month with us. Learn the rules you hear today, ladies, because when you leave here today you will be expected to know them. Any infractions will be met with severe punishments. If in question, a good rule of thumb is to do whatever you’re told without talking back. Unless, of course what you’ve been asked to do is talk.”

    A few of the girls began to giggle, but when Ms. Daisy didn’t join in they quickly fell silent again.

    “My team and I will take good care of you during your stay at the institute, but we have two rules that we won’t tolerate being broken above all others. The young lady that you see standing on the stage with me today has broken both of them. So let me introduce her to you, so that you can begin to understand what happens to those girls who violate these rules. Her name is Jennifer.”

    Jennifer jumped as Ms. Daisy placed a hand on her hip, as if she’d been expecting something less pleasant.

    “Say hello to the audience, Jennifer.”

    Jennifer couldn’t move much, but she began to squirm and squeal even before Ms. Daisy took what appeared to be a hypodermic needle and jammed it deep into her ass.

    “Did you all hear her?”

    Most of the girls around me were gagged, but a few call out that they’d heard. At first, I wasn’t sure why, but then Ms. Daisy jammed the needle in Jennifer’s other butt cheek and the poor girl danced and squirmed some more.

    “You’ll have to excuse Jennifer,” Ms. Daisy said. “She seems to have developed an intense phobia of needles. Unfortunately for her, I have to give her an injection of anti-psychotic medication every day, because she’s really quite insane. You see, she spends twenty hours of every day in a sound proof isolation container; and, as you may know, that’s not very good for a person’s mental stability.

    “Each day, we take Jennifer out for only a few hours. Of course, we have to give her a vigorous workout in the gym, so her muscles won’t atrophy. Then we scrub her down (with a stiff wire brush) feed her and bring her to the auditorium to meet the new girls while we inject her medication. Some times we’re generous enough to give her a sensory treat. After 6 months of being gagged and blindfolded almost constantly, even the social interaction of a flogging is a welcome relief.

    “Now, some of you may be asking how poor Jennifer found herself in her current position, and the answer is quite simple. Like many of you, Jennifer found it difficult to adjust to her new home here at the Âmes Perdues Institute. One day Jennifer discovering that her arms had not been properly secured. We do this from time to time, to test whether or not you girls have been properly acclimated to your new lives. But Jennifer not only failed the test by running, she had the peculiar misfortune of injuring a nurse in the process. Now, many of you flee when you wake on your first morning. We understand the panic that can overwhelm you when you wake in a strange environment for the first time. So we tend to be lenient with newcomers, but punishments quickly become more severe for those who’ve had a fair warning. Jennifer had already made several escape attempts, and this time she injured a nurse as well. So we decided to design a very special punishment for her. One that would also serve as a warning to others.

    “Someday, I suspect another girl will make the same mistake that Jennifer did; and on that day, Jennifer will be released and the other girl will take her place. But until then she will serve as a public warning to others new inmates.”

    “I can't believe they're doing this,” I said to the blonde girl who I'd talked to earlier. “They have no right.”

    “Shss,” hissed the brunette.

    I didn't say anything more, but as Ms. Daisy continued to speak, her words didn't become any easier to take.

    7—Crash Course

    ...When I came to, I was lying on the floor.

    My shoulder ached and the side of my face hurt from where I'd obviously bumped into the back of the drivers seat, but the rest of my body felt little the worse for the collision. Somehow, I must have caught the edge of my gag on the side of the chair. The snaps had popped partially open, and it wasn't that hard to scrap it against the runners under the car seat to work it the rest of the way loose—at least enough that I could speak if I needed to.

    Since my knees were still bound it took a little effort to roll over and get to my feet, but I managed.

    The front of the minivan was smashed like an accordion—no way the motor was going to run after that. Apparently, my buyer hadn't been wearing her seat belt; she was slumped forward a bit in her seat. The dash had been pushed in, but not quite enough to trap her legs. The glass was cracked and there was a hole in the center of a large depression where her head must have struck. The jagged edges around the hole were streaked with blood and what looked like bits of hair and skin. If we'd been traveling just a little faster the dashboard would have pinned her legs or her head would have broken through the glass; even if her body hadn't gone flying, she would have ripped her neck open if she tried to pull her body back into the van.

    I couldn't decide if I was disappointed by the near miss or not.

    The woman was obviously dazed, but I didn't think she'd suffered any serious damage; but the driver, on the other hand, hadn't been so lucky. His throat had come down on the steering wheel, crushing his windpipe. He wasn't even breathing anymore.

    “Are you alright, mistress,” I asked.

    If she wasn't dead there wasn't any point in trying to escape now. We were in the middle of nowhere, as far as I could tell. The world was covered with snow and from the air creeping in through the window, I suspected the evening was bringing a deeper cold.

    “What happened,” she groaned as she sat up, holding her head.

    “I think we crashed,” I said, stating the obvious.

    As if she'd just realized that I was talking, she looked at me sharply for a moment, but she must have deciding that, under the circumstances, being gagged probably wasn't necessary. I thanked he silently and waited quietly as she picked up her purse. After digging around for a moment she found her phone and tried to dial out.

    “Damn,” she muttered, “there's no signal.”

    “Maybe we should see if the people in the other car have a working phone,” I offered helpfully.

    “What the hell were they doing in the middle of the road anyway,” she asked, looking out the window as if she'd just remembered that another car was involved.

    Probably having car trouble.

    “We should see if they're all right!” I said. “One of us may need to go for help.”

    “In this weather?” she asked, looking at me as if I were crazy.

    I shrugged. “The motor won't run, and there's a draft of air coming in through the sides of the door that's almost as strong as that break in the window.” She looked at the glass as if just noticing it. “I don't think we'll last long if we wait here.”

    “If my phone won't work, there's probably won't either.”

    “Probably not.”

    The woman reached under her seat and pulled out a coat she hadn't been wearing. “Wait here,” she said as she wrapped it tightly around herself. “I'm going to go see what's happening over there.”

    Cold swirled into the minivan as she forced the door open—metal creaked and groaned in protest, but it reluctantly gave way after a couple of shoves. From the warmth of the van, I watched as she walked over to the car's crushed in side-panel and glanced it. When she turned her head away, as if she'd seen something horrible, I knew it wasn't good.

    The door wouldn't quite close when she got back in the van.

    Great! More cold air.

    “They're dead,” she said.

    “No cell phone,” I asked.

    “I didn't check,” she snapped angrily. “There's blood everywhere! And, in case you didn't notice, the doors isn't likely to open.”

    She was right. Where the two cars meet, the metal was twisted—almost as if it had been welded together. But I couldn't help thinking, Ever heard of a passenger-side door? I didn't say it, though; I didn't want to anger her even more.

    “You should give me your coat and let me walk,” I said. “My latex rubber suit will give me an advantage in the cold.”

    “And leave me here to freeze to death while I wait to see if you'll come back? I think not.”

    “I'd have a better chance of reaching help than you would,” I reasoned, “But I'm not likely to make it without your coat. The car is warmer, so that gives you a chance. And the extra coat will help keep me warm enough to have a chance too.”
    “I'm not giving you my coat,” she snapped. “And I'm not leaving you alone in this car, either.”

    “It doesn't make sense for us both to walk.”

    She slid the side-panel-door open and didn't bother to close it. Obviously, she had no intention of leaving any warmth in the van—in case I had any thoughts of disobeying her. I moved towards the door, but I didn't try to step down.

    “You could at least undo my legs,” I said impatiently.

    For a moment, she scowled at me as if she suspected some sort of subterfuge—but she understood the need. So even if she didn't do it willingly, she loosened the strap around my legs so that I could step down on my own..

    I glanced over at the other car. Beyond it, the road was separated from the fields by a road side ditch, a row of trees and the fence line. Most of these things were nearly covered, now; and in a few more hours I feared the road might be almost indistinguishable from its surroundings. Snow and clung to the dark branches of the trees and encased the smaller brush below them. To my right, a hill shot up a few feet from the road. To my left, there appeared to be what was probably a small dirt or road. It teed into main road, rising on a gradual slope from a trellis that passed over a small, ice covered stream. I could see the car's tracks in the snow, already almost completely covered. Apparently the driver had been pulling onto the main road his car died; we'd just been unlucky enough to come along before he could get it started again, or push it out of the way.

    Life can be so ironic, I thought, looking out over the snow. It seemed to go on and on, as if the whole world was stretch out before me.

    “Coming?” the woman asked without waiting to see if I'd follow. Apparently, now that she'd let the heat out of the van, she didn't really care if I stayed or followed; but I had no intentions of standing there alone. I ran the few steps necessary to catch up and fell into step beside her.

    She looked over at me without saying a word before turning back to the road.

    That was fine with me. The less cold air in my lungs the better. So we moved in silence, pacing each other for the long walk...

    8—In the Yard

    “You were talking during the welcome orientation, number eighty-six,” the fat nurse said as she clipped the leash back onto my built-in collar. “For that, love, you will have to spend the night in a punishment cell.”

    “But I...”

    “Ah! No talking back, love. You've heard the rules; you'll only make matters worse.”

    “But I talked before I heard them.”

    “And now you've talked back after, so your punishment will be more severe. As promised, love.” She smiled, obviously pleased with this turn of events. “Now it's time for a little therapy. Being a slave is not an easy thing to deal with. But we'll get you trained, even if it kills you, love.”

    She gripped the leash close to my collar and pulled my head down as she led me out of the auditorium and down the hall.

    After a while we entered a larger, more open area, with several doors marked as therapy rooms. A cute little nurse with black hair was standing beside a door that said Therapy Room 3 and there was a larger sign on the wall above her that said Therapy center. In the center of this open area there were several low, square blocks, laminated with Formica. Although not padded, they were obviously designed to serve as benches; and several girls were already seated on them, waiting for their turn at a session.

    “Just wait here, love. The therapist has your name; she'll call you when it's your turn.”

    With as many girls as there were waiting in the lobby, I expected it to take much longer, but apparently there were several therapists working and it only took about fifteen minutes or so. There weren't any clocks on the wall. But the girl's in front of me went in fairly quickly. None of us tried to talk to each other, as they were all gagged. Some wore black. Others wore orange. And a girl on a bench on the other side of the room was wearing pink, like me, but I didn't bother to go over and talk to her.

    Talking had a habit of getting me into trouble.

    I couldn't help wondering what kind of therapy I'd be receiving; and whether my therapy would be the same as the girls in black or orange.

    Finally, the black haired nurse standing by the door called my name. As I stood she went over and opened the door to Therapy room 8, closing it behind me as I entered a plush office. A thin, but unattractive, older nurse was seated in a comfortable looking chair. “Hello, Daphne. My name is Nurse Sarah. Have a seat, please.” She pointed to a couch along the wall.

    “What is this,” I said, still standing.

    “This, Daphne, is your opportunity to ask questions; to call me names; or to lie on the floor kicking and shouting.” When she smiled, it looked genuine. “In short, this is your opportunity, for a few hours each week, to say and do whatever the hell you want. Keep in mind that I'm not your personal punching bag, although I have one of those in the closet, if you'd like to work off some of your frustration. But anything short of doing violence to my person is fair game.”

    “What if I want to smash that lamp against the wall?”

    “If it will make you feel better, feel free. However, if you make a habit of such displays I may be forced to schedule these sessions in a padded room at some point in the future. I do have a limited budget for replacing damaged furniture.”

    “What if what I want to do is leave this place?”
    “Ah,” Nurse Sarah said as if considering my words carefully. “You are, of course, free to leave this session at any time; but the freedom you have in this room does not extend beyond that door. When you leave, you loose your right to do as you please. So by leaving it would seem to me that you are actually choosing to stay.”

    I looked at the door for a moment, considering; but then I sat down on the edge of the couch, looking around the room more carefully. There were diplomas on the wall, just like you might see in any shrink's office.

    “Those are yours?”

    “They are,” Nurse Sarah said.

    “Why do you work here?”

    “Once you've been hired here it's hard to leave, even if you're not in a straitjacket.” Nurse Sarah looked at me encouragingly. “Is that really how you want to spend your time? Asking about me? Don't you have more personal questions; concerns?”

    “What right do you have to keep me here?”


    “So why am I here?”

    “In your case, you're here simply because you're a beautiful young lady; the kind that wealthy men might find attractive and be willing to spend a lot of money to be with. And, unfortunately, the Âmes Perdues Institute will keep you here for the rest of your life simply because they can. Your job, during these sessions, is to learn how to deal with this fact without loosing your mind.”

    “You can't keep me here! It's not legal!”

    “No, technically it's not. But you're not in America any more. We didn't acquire you as an indentured slave. There is no contract or terms of service. We can do with you whatever we want, because no one in your home country knows where you are. And if they did... I suspect they wouldn't really care.”

    “They would!”

    “You live alone. You have a few girl friends, but none with powerful connections or money. You haven't seen your family in over a year. You work in a factory; your boss didn't even bother to call the police when you didn't show up for work. Sad as it may be, there's no one in your life who cares that you're gone enough to keep looking for you. The police have a missing person's report, but they receive hundreds, perhaps thousands, just like it each week. They won't make a fuss over your disappearance any more than they do all the others, because the last thing they want to do is create a public panic. And, for the most part, the public doesn't want to know about you either.

    “You may not have thought about this very often, but not so many years ago your country was Trillions of dollars in debt. America's deficit was three times the GDP of the rest of the world combined. From the moment they were born, each child shouldered more than a million dollars as their personal share of the national debt.

    “I'm sure you know the history. America, like so many other countries, was on the verge of bankruptcy. There looked to be no end to the spending madness until your president was assassinated and, the assassin’s lawyer defended him by saying that he was defending your country's constitution. The liberal media thought he was mad. They called for his blood. But quite unexpectedly, he was acquitted. Across the country there were riots and racially motivated shootings, but the military stepped in, and quelled the riots.

    In the decade that followed, the neo-conservative movement took advantage of the new momentum and turned the word 'liberal' into a pejorative. Eventually, those who were deemed to have promoted progressive causes—along with their entire families--were sold to the highest bidder as slaves. As a result of radical spending cutbacks and a newly booming slave trade, America wiped out ninety percent of it's debt within three years. And other countries, seeing their unprecedented financial success, followed their example.

    “Now sexual-slavery is a world-wide phenomenon. Nine out of every ten counties practice some form of it; but some countries, like my own, are not quite as squeamish about who they choose to make their slaves. And to protect their own slave trades, the other countries have an unspoken policy of not making a fuss.

    “So you see, Daphne. No one is looking for you; no one cares that you are gone. In the war for fiscal sanity, you are nothing more than another casualty; another foot soldier, quietly Missing In Action.”

    For the longest time, I didn't know what to say. I sat there brooding, looking at the pattern in the carpet that covered the linoleum floor.

    Nurse Sarah didn't say anything either.

    At last I looked up and said, “I think I want to leave now.”

    “I can only tell you how things are,” she said as I walked to the door. “I can't change them.”

    9—A Winter's Walk

    ...I stumbled and almost tripped.

    That's what brought me back from my waking day-dream.

    I sighed and looked around; and the evening suddenly seemed much darker. The stars were just coming out, like faint little fireflies sitting motionless in the sky.

    Then I remembered the other woman and tried to find her. She'd pulled ahead of me by a considerable lead, and there was something about that which I found irritating. So began jogging to catch up. I needed to generate some heat anyway. Despite my arms, which were clenched tightly around my chest, I was shivering. The skin on my bare legs felt colder than my body, but for some reason they didn't seem to bother me as much.

    It took longer to catch up than I thought it would, but I kept going until the cold air was burning my lungs and my muscles ached. By the time I stopped, I'd generated enough warmth that I was even starting to sweat a little—but somehow I didn't think it would take long for the heat to dissipate. I was already starting to feel chilled again. Running may have warmed me a little, but the pockets of sweat left me damp and more easily chilled than before. I tried to put it out of my mind and concentrate on moving my legs.

    Long strides. I had to keep up. We had to keep pushing each other if we wanted to live; although she was obviously the one doing most of the pushing. Her strides were a little longer than mine and she had that warm coat. Even now I was struggling to keep up. My leg muscles burned; and the back of my throat still felt the burn from breathing cold air.

    Maybe I shouldn't have run to catch up?

    I settled in behind her; doggedly trailing her path through the snow.

    What must have been only minutes seemed like hours, but there was nothing to do but keep going. She’d pull a few steps ahead and when I noticed I'd hurry a few steps to catch up. But it was becoming harder to keeping my mind from wandering. It was so much more comfortable that dealing with the cold and the snow...

    10—A Sleepless Night

    The fat nurse had promised a punishment and she deliver.

    First, my straitjacket was removed so that two large dildos could be placed in both of my lower orifices. These were attached to wires that were covered up by a tight red corset that covered my torso from crotch to breasts. Over that, a black leather harness was cinched even tighter around my waist. The belt part of the harness was about 4 or 5 inches wide through the stomach but narrowed to about 2 inches above the hips. It had a thick crotch strap that held the large buzzing prods in place. Another leather strap ran vertically, up between my breasts, with a horizontal strap circling under my breasts and connecting to the leather bindings that pinned my arms into a neat little square behind my back. The center strap connected to a thick leather collar, which also had straps that ran across my shoulders in front and under my arms, connecting to the arms straps and keeping them from slipping down and becoming loose. In addition, I was wearing a pair of high heels; and a head harness, complete with a red wooden bit-gag and a padded blindfold.

    The truly devious part of the punishment, however, was the way I was secured to a freestanding, rectangular frame that was located in the middle of a hall. Heavy duty elastic connecting bands attached each side of my collar to metal rings at the top of the concrete frame. Two more, longer bands were attached to rings on the sides of my waist-belt. These elastic bands went horizontally to a pair of waist-high rings, then dropped vertically to rings at the bottom of the frame, and over to the cuffs on my ankles. This kept my legs spread wide, touching the base of the rectangular frame. But a final pair of shorter bands also connected my ankle cuffs to another ring that was embedded in the floor, right between the frame's two vertical pillars.

    The elastic bands were highly durable without providing any real support. No matter how I tugged on them, they pulled my body back to it's position at the center of the frame. But I couldn't comfortably let my body sag because my weight created much more pull than my muscles could manage—and that was enough to make me sag down low enough to trigger a strong electrical current to the dildos and my breasts. It was ample incentive to stand back up and more than enough to wake me. So all night long, I was forced to support my own weight, with my legs spread; unable to fall asleep or even rest comfortably.

    All I could do was stand there and think about the things Nurse Sarah had told me during our therapy session.

    To make matters even worse, since the frame was located out in the middle of a hall, every so often a nurse who was passing by would slap my ass or my legs with her bare hand, or a paddle, or a whip. They seemed to have access to all sorts of unpleasant implements and some of them took a perverse pleasure in using them on my helpless body as often as possible. I think they intentionally looked fore excuses to wander the halls, just so they could spend a few more moments working on me as they passed by.

    11—The Long Cold Night

    ...This time, what woke me was impact with the ground.

    I was lying face down in a snow drift, apparently so out of it that I'd wandered off the road and stumbled into the ditch. For a moment I wondered if it was even worth trying to get up.

    My fingers didn’t seem quite as cold as before, but they were stiff and they didn't seem to work quite right. I balled them into fists inside the pocket of my coat, clenching and re-clenching them, trying to get the circulation going again.

    No wait... I'm not wearing a coat. That pressure is the circular tube of leather wrapped around my hands. No wonder they're so warm.

    I was so weary... I almost let the fat flakes of snow stay on my face—they didn’t even seem cold against my skin anymore. In fact, my whole body was almost pleasantly warm... but I was so tired.

    For some reason the snow flakes still hadn't melted, and they were beginning to irritate me, sitting there on the end of my nose—so I finally reached up and wiped them away. And once I'd done that it just seemed like I might as well keep moving; so I s

    I rolled onto my face and forced myself to get up, pushing my face into the snow so I could get my feet under me again. I staggered and almost fell as I stood. But then I began to walk again, placing one foot in front of the other. After a few minutes I thought to look around for the other woman, but I couldn't see her any more. She was gone.

    No time to worry about that now. I had to keep moving.

    I kept myself going by counting numbers every time I took a steps, but it was hard to keep track. When I found myself starting over at six or seven for what seemed like the dozenth time, I knew I was in trouble.

    It was such an effort to keep going.

    I knew I wouldn't be able to do it much longer, but I took solace in knowing that in a few days I probably wouldn’t remember a whole lot about this miserable night anyway.

    Why don't I feel cold any more?

    I felt so tired. I knew my body was slowing down, as I slowly froze to death, but there was nothing I could do but try to keep going. Everything seemed so distant and intangible—like a sluggish dream. My eyes refused to keep seeing, even though I could tell that they were still open—and my head began to spin... as if I were falling, or as if I were trying to swim to the surface from a very deep depth in the ocean. Only the waters were turbulent. I couldn't stop myself from tumbling and spinning. I tried to keep moving my limbs, fighting to reach the surface again, but the world was slowly rotating away from me—as if my body hung motionless in the air...

    12—All the Tricks

    By now I must know all their tricks.

    They'd used them on me, over the long weeks of therapy and training—looking for a phobia or some other weakness they can exploit. I retain enough of my old self to still feel embarrassed. I held out for so long, only to be broken by the simple act of standing in a display case.

    I don’t care. I hate it in here.

    I never would have guessed how easy it would be for them to break me when Sarah led me down the selection hall for the first time. Most of the display rooms were empty, then. I hadn’t been at the Âmes Perdues Institute all that long, but long enough to know that Sarah was one of the few nurses I could ever considered anything but my enemy.

    This was the first session where she'd let me leave her office.

    I was still having difficulty adjusting to my new life and I think she brought me to this hall to shock me with the harshness of my new reality, as I looked at the only girl who was standing in one of the many display boxes that lined the hall.

    “Why is she here?” I asked, looking at her with sympathy.

    Even then, I think I knew how much I would hate being where she was.

    Her window looked a bit like the displays outside a department store, only the mannequin was alive and chained in a position to prevented her from moving.

    “Like many of the girl’s here,” Sarah said, “this girl was deemed an inconvenience to someone who stood to gain a great deal of money if she were no longer in the way. As such, that person paid Âmes Perdues a lot of money to keep her here, hidden and locked away.”

    “Someone?” I asked skeptically. “Like an evil step-mother or something?”

    Nurse Sarah smiled and nodded. “In her case, I believe it was an evil step-brother. He has now inherited her father’s sizable fortune; and he pays the institute a monthly stipend to keep it that way.”

    “So why am I here?” I asked with a puzzled frown. “No one gains anything by my disappearance.”

    “Oh Daphne, honey, rich men are always willing to pay handsomely for a cute little thing like you. For that matter, it isn’t always men.”

    “You mean someone paid to have me kidnapped?”

    “No. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. One of our collectors happened to see you and he liked what he saw. Not only your beauty, but the lack of caution you were taking. A little quickly research on his I-pad revealed that you come from a relatively poor family, so no one can afford to come looking for you. That, along with your beauty, made you a prime target. When he saw his chance, he captured you. Then he sold you to us.”

    “How can you let them do this?” I said, shaking my head. “How can you help them and not say anything?”

    “What would I say?” Sarah asked. “Who would I say it to?”

    “I don’t know: the police… the government.”

    “You think they don’t know? Believe me, honey, they know. Maybe there’s no corruption in the slave trade in your homeland (although I doubt that) but you’re not in America any more, Daphne. Here the government knows everything. Who do you think runs this place? It isn’t exactly a private institution.”

    That means there isn’t any hope, I thought. And even then I was smart enough to know that this was what Sarah was trying to teach me.

    Resistance was futile.

    My life had changed and there was no going back.

    Sarah seemed to read my expression, as she all too often did. “There’s always hope, child,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe when it’s your turn to stand in one of these windows, someone who is actually kind and loving will see you and decide to buy you from us. You’ll never be free again, but some slaves are happier than others—and to a large extent that’s a personal choice that you have the power to make, yourself. You have no control over where you’ll end up, but you do have some control over how you choose to feel about it. Never give up, Daphne, there is always hope.”

    Her encouraging words seemed unfathomable. I couldn't understand them, not coming from someone who worked at this place.

    “So why?” I asked. “Why do you work here? You’re not cruel, like the others.”

    “Daphne, honey,” Sarah said with a pleasant smile. “Unlike most of the other nurses I’m only here for the paycheck. Believe me; they pay us well to do this work.”

    “That’s it?” I was a little disappointed.

    Sarah shrugged. “My cousin was working here when I was hired and she got me in the door. I didn’t know exactly what she did when I applied for the job (they don’t let us talk about our work outside these walls) but I saw the kind of money she made. I badgered her for days until she finally introduced me to the night manager. I don’t think he would have hired me if it hadn’t been for my degree in psychology. I don't really fit their psychological profile, as you've noticed. But they were looked to replace the therapist who was retiring, so I got the job.”

    “Ever wish you hadn’t?”

    She frowned. “Sometimes,” she admitted, “but most of the time I think I do more good than harm. I like to think I make your time here a little easier.” She chuckled a bit nervously. “I have to admit, however, that I still get nervous whenever I have to meet one of the buying customers. I’m not as attractive as I once was, but I still have my figure and I’m always a little worried the the wrong bastard will come and like what he sees.”

    “But you're a nurse,” I said.

    “As such, we’re supposed to have certain protections built into our contracts, but some of the more attractive nurses have disappeared from time to time. I suspect our contracts aren’t worth much when a customer offers enough money.” She chuckled almost wistfully. “Guess I don't have to worry about that much anymore, not at my age.”

    “They'd really do that? They sell us to a perfect stranger?”

    “I suspect it’s better than being sold to someone you know,” Sarah said, “Most people don’t buy someone they know unless they’ve been spurned and are looking for revenge. At least with a stranger the chances are pretty good they're simply enamored with your irresistible charms. Not all of our customers are sadistic bastards. Some are, but I’d take my chances with a stranger before I'd take an acquaintance who hates you enough to enslave you.”

    13—The Hard Goodbye

    ...I landed face first on the ground, again, my cracked lips eating the fluffy snow.

    This time, I didn't think I had enough strength to stand up again, but at least my focus had cleared up again.

    I glanced around, trying to see if I could find the other woman; and I thought I saw her figure slumped beside of the road. I was surprise she hadn't managed to go further, what with wearing a coat and not being bound.

    But at least she hadn't veered off into a ditch, like I had.

    I was lying on my side. It should have been uncomfortable, but my body was clearly numb. Still, I made the herculean effort necessary to roll over onto my back.

    I stared helplessly up at the sky; struck suddenly by how beautiful the night was. The moon was out and full; a great white circle of brightness on a dark background. Million of little broken bits falling down on top of me; slowly covering me up. I watched a flake land on my face, but I couldn’t feel it. It seemed impossible warm.

    I had to keep moving or I was going to die.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a fence post, and thought, if I can just crawl to it, perhaps I can use it to help me regain my feet.

    But the effort of moving my arms or my legs was simply too much.

    The fence post on the other side of the road seemed so close, silhouetted against the moon as they were. A gust of wind caught some loose snow in a swirling gust, and I thought it looked like sand dancing over a desert dune. After a moment the small cloud settled back to the ground.

    My head was so heavy. I could feel my eyes trying to close involuntarily as my muscles became too stiff and weak even to hold my head upright anymore. The numbness that filled me was comforting. Sleep would be welcome after struggling for so long.

    Then I heard a familiar sound; the distinctive chugging of a car engine.

    My eyes were almost too heavy to open; my mind too clouded to think why I should care. It took quite an effort to force my mind back from that edge of darkness, as the car’s headlights came slowly down the road.

    “Thank God,” I thought. “Someone’s come for me at last.”

    The car didn't stop until it past me by, but then it slid to a stop not that far from the other woman. Then people jumped out, picked her up and began to move her into the car. I recognized the uniform of nurses from the institute, and for a long moment, as they worked, I wasn't sure if I was ready for them to come for me or not. They would just take me back to that horrible place: more days in the display box, waiting for someone to buy me.

    And then I heard Sarah's words, as if she was lying right beside me, whispering in my ear. There is always hope, Daphne, never give up.

    The nurses were getting back into the car now. Soon they would start looking around for me; and when they found me they would bundle me up in their warm van and take me back whether I wanted to go or not. The thought seemed much sweeter than I thought it would be.

    Here I am, I thought as the gears began to grind and the wheels turned, but as the car came towards me it didn't seem to be slowing down.

    “No don't go,” I screamed, but my voice was little more than a weak croak and the car continued moving, into the growing darkness.
    Last edited: Apr 9, 2018