Reformatory Girls Ch. 05

But it doesn't run out of her mouth. And there is more to come. When Kelly heaves herself off Abi her place is taken by Donna.

"Here we are again Abi," says Donna. "Same rules: no spilling."

Donna's piss tastes different. Abi could never explain how, there are no words she knows of to describe the taste of different pisses: but it is different - though certainly no more pleasant. She looks at Donna's long smooth thighs, the flesh bulging outwards as Donna squats with her legs bent, and gulps and swallows and gulps and swallows and wonders how one human being can do this to another human being. She is so full that the piss backs up and oozes out of the corner of her mouth: seeing this Donna lifts herself slightly and directs the steel chute into Abi's nostrils. Abi splutters and chokes and gasps for air as the stench of Donna's piss fills her nose and hits the back of her throat from a new angle. The other girls laugh: then Donna slots the chute back into Abi's mouth and continues to empty her bladder.

"I can't swallow any more," Abi says desperately when Donna has finished. "My stomach's full I can't keep it down."

"Can't or won't?" asks Ruth Bowers, quoting one of Miss Bulstrode's sayings and getting a titter. "I've been saving this up for you Abi."

So Abi finds Ruth squatting above her, and once more she is gulping down piss, and this piss is different again, and if anything even more disgusting. But somehow she finds extra capacity and though her stomach feels like a bloated balloon that is almost fit to explode, she keeps on swallowing until the last trickle of urine has drained away through the chute of Ruth's chastity device.

The five girls stand round Abi's bed, admiring their handiwork. Even in the darkness they can make out the darker patches where the wet piss has soaked into the sheets and into Abi's nightdress.

"Remember," says Kelly Watson: "There's plenty more where that came from."

Then, as silently as they arrived, they disperse to their own beds.

Abi is left to screw up her face in a mixture of anguish and disgust. She feels violated. Somehow those girls have forced something of themselves, their own waste material, inside her: not up her cunt or her arse, but right inside her, into her throat and her windpipe, into her stomach. The taste and the smell of piss - which seem to combine in a strange way, such that she can taste the smell and smell the taste - are so pungent and powerful it feels as though she will never be able to expunge them: they will stay inside her, permeating her body for the rest of her life, like that radioactive waste that stays in the ground for thousands of years.

She turns on her side and draws up her knees in the foetal position. She tries to sleep, but her bed is soaked and the piss, once warm, is now cold and unpleasant on her skin. Eventually she drifts off, thinking anxiously about what is to come in the morning. When she shifts in her sleep she wakes again. Again she drifts off, and when she wakes a second time it is with an uncomfortable pressure in her bladder. She tries to ignore it but it grows stronger. Of course, she has swallowed who knows how many pints of piss: and now that piss is working its way through her system.

There is no way she can hold out until morning. The final humiliation for Abi that night comes when she is forced to give in and let go, pissing herself through her chastity belt, adding her own steaming urine to the soaking sheets, soaking her legs and thighs and bed sheets still further.

She lies there miserably, soaked in piss, waiting for the further humiliations that morning will heap upon her.

Miss Armstrong unlocks the door promptly at 7.a.m. and walks up and down the aisle ringing the hand-bell. At two minutes past seven every girl is standing naked by her bed with her bedcovers turned back. Miss Armstrong walks back up the aisle inspecting the beds and stops beside Abigail Morgan's.

"You've wet the bed," she accuses Abigail. "My God, you dirty little pig, it's absolutely saturated.

Abi hangs her head and says nothing.

"It's nappies for you today Abigail Morgan," says Miss Armstrong grimly.

There is a steel cabinet at one end of the Dormitory where a stock of nappies are kept, along with the 'BEDWETTER' placards. Miss Armstrong is about to go and unlock that cabinet when Abigail cries out:

"No Miss Armstrong: it's my first offence."

Miss Armstrong eyes her as though she is something the cat discarded.

"I don't care if it's your first offence or not," she says. "It took more than one incident to soak the bed like that. It looks as though you've done nothing but wet yourself all night. So if I say you'll wear a nappy, you'll wear a nappy."

Then something in Abigail breaks. The final straw, the final humiliation: whatever it is, Aigail has reached the end of her tether. Her sense of self preservation, to which she has clung throughout all of her ordeals, deserts her.

"Miss Armstrong I didn't do it!" she cries. "Some other girls wet my bed to get me into trouble."

There is an audible intake of breath throughout the Dormitory. This, every girl knows, spells Trouble. Donna May and Ruth Bowers exchange glances. Kelly Watson's heart beats faster.

"Are you seriously telling me that you weren't responsible for this disgusting mess?" asks Miss Armstrong, disbelief written all over her features.

"Yes," says Abigail.

"Hold up your nightdress," orders Miss Armstrong.

Abigail lifts her nightdress from the foot of the bed. A dark wet patch covers most of the lower half.

"Your nightdress is soaked," accuses Miss Armstrong. "How do you account for that?"

"They did it over my nightdress as well," returns Abi.

Miss Armstrong is taken aback by such effrontery. She turns her gaze on the rest of the girls.

"Does anyone else know anything about this?" she asks.

Twenty-nine girls chorus: "No Miss Armstrong."

Miss Armstrong turns back to Abigail. She is looking puzzled.

"Step forward," she says.

Abigail steps forward. Like the other girls she is still wearing her chastity belt. Each belt has a separate and unique key, but the Wardens carry a master key which can unlock every device. Miss Armstrong carries this attached to her belt on a chain. She takes it now and unfastens the two tiny locks on the Abi's waistband. The chastity belt folds open. Miss Armstrong lifts it up to her face and examines it.

"This reeks of urine," she inform Abi. "I can still see traces. How do you account for that?"

"Please Miss Armstrong, I did wet myself," says Abi with increasing desperation. "But only after the others had wet my bed first. They did it in my mouth as well, so I couldn't help myself."

There is another sharp intake of breath in the Dormitory. All five girls who were involved in Abi's punishment feel their nerves flutter.

Miss Armstrong's face, always florid, has become red with anger.

"I've heard some lies in my time here," she tells Abi: "but never anything as far-fetched and disgusting as the lies you have just told me. You wet your bed: and instead of owning up you have told these fantastical lies to try to escape your punishment. Not only will you wear nappies today, I shall also cane you. Bend over your bed."

"No," Abi is almost shouting. "It's true."

Miss Armstrong's patience has run out.

"Get over the bed NOW" she shouts at Abi. "Or I'll have you sent to the gymnasium for another public thrashing."

Dismally Abigail sprawls over her piss-soaked bed. Miss Armstrong raises her cane. Then she pauses: she has seen the red lines which, though fading, still grace Abigail's bottom. It is not the done thing to cane a girl twice in the same place in quick succession.

"Your bottom is still marked," she tells Abigail. "I shall cane you on the insides of your thighs instead. Lie on your side."

Abigail stretches out on her side. Miss Armstrong takes one of her ankles and raises it, such that Abigails legs are spread at forty-five degrees with her vagina exposed to all and sundry. She raises her cane again: then again she pauses.

"What on earth are those red marks at the tops of your thighs?" she demands. She pulls Abi roughly onto her back. "Draw up both your knees and spread your legs," she orders. "Wider."

Abi lies on the stinking bed and draws up her knees with her legs open. Miss Armstrong bends over and peers at her.

'There are lines of red marks along the insides of both of your thighs," she tells Abi, as though Abi didn't already know that. "What on earth - Oh My God," she says, as the penny seems to drop. "You filthy, disgusting little beast: you've been clawing at yourself, trying to get under your chastity belt, haven't you?"

"No," exclaims Abi, her brain reeling. "It wasn't me, it was two other girls. They got into my bed: they forced me to play Squeal Piggy Squeal with them."

There is a ripple of laughter in the Dormitory: girls who have no idea of what Ruth and Donna inflicted on Abi think that Abi has finally flipped.

A change comes over Miss Armstrong's face too, as it starts to dawn on her that perhaps she is not dealing with a disobedient girl but a girl whose mind has broken down. For the first time since her months as a new recruit nearly fifteen years previously she is uncertain as to how to proceed.

"Abigail Morgan," she says finally. "For the time being you will proceed with the others to the washrooms as normal. I need to consult with Miss Bulstrode as to how best to deal with you. Rest assured you have not heard the last of this matter."

With that she abandons Abi and proceeds to unlock all the other chastity belts. A little later than usual the girls troop off to the lavatories and the showers.

The day unfolds as usual for Abi, though she has no appetite for breakfast. But the rule is that the girls must eat whatever is put in front of them: and at least the porridge and tea take away something of the taste of urine. No-one speaks to Abi, but the looks she gets from Donna May and Ruth Bowers speak volumes.

After breakfast the girls continue to their workplaces: in Abi's case the kitchens. On the way Eve Thomas, who is a friend of Abi's, whispers to her:

"Abi, why did you say all that? Those other girls will slaughter you."

At 10.30.a.m. the girls who are on duty cleaning the toilets, girls who include Clare Davenport, Tina Dukes and Karen Frayn, hear the sound of a siren. The girls in Hazely do not see or hear much evidence of the world outside, for Hazely is surrounded by high brick walls, and situated at some distance from habitation. An aeroplane flying overhead; the distant rumble of a lorry: these are about the only evidence that a world outside Hazely exists.

So the girls prick up their ears as they hear the siren, particularly as the sound seems to be growing louder.

Only when the sound has become almost deafening does Miss McCloud, who is in charge of the girls, go over to the barred windows. The girls follow her, excitedly. Looking down into the yard they see an ambulance.

So unusual is this that Miss McCloud does not order the girls back to work. Instead they all watch as two paramedics emerge from the ambulance and hasten inside one of the Reformatory building. For a few minutes nothing happens: then the paramedics re-emerge, pushing a gurney on which is lying a figure. The figure is covered in blankets: neither Miss McCloud nor the girls can identify her before she is lost to view, inside the ambulance. Moments later the siren starts up again and the ambulance speeds away, through the steel gates of the Reformatory.

"Back to work now girls," says Miss McCloud, as the siren dies away into the distance.

The girls continue their cleaning duties, wondering what has happened.

By the end of lunch the news has spread like a virus: Abigail Morgan has slashed her wrist with a kitchen knife.

...

Abigail has lost a great deal of blood, but her injury is not life-threatening. Having given her blood and treated her wrist, the hospital doctors are more concerned with her mental condition. She is patently at risk of further self-harm; and she is rambling, telling the doctors all manner of obscene and fantastical stories.

She also seems to have an incontinence problem, as she was wearing a Terry nappy when she was brought in to hospital.

Clearly she is in no state to return to Hazely. So when she is physically well-enough, at the behest of the senior doctor she is transferred to the secure wing of Darkdale Psychiatric Hospital.

Darkdale is a dismal place. As Abigail is wheeled by an orderly through the communal area, and sees the inmates shuffling round like zombies, it seems to her as though some giant vacuum-cleaner has sucked out everything of hope and life and colour from the atmosphere.

But Abigail is deemed a suicide risk. She is given a bed in a room of her own where she is put under twenty-four hour surveillance. And though the door is kept locked, and she is effectively a prisoner, no-one comes to torment her in the night, and the doctors and nurses do not carry canes or riding crops. Most wonderfully, most blessedly of all, Abi does not have to wear a chastity belt. She is free to touch herself between her legs; she is free to masturbate.

And masturbate is what she does. From the moment she is awake to the moment she goes to sleep, her hand is down between her legs, making up for lost time, rubbing, tweaking, diddling and generally comforting herself.

It is a wonderful, wonderful thing, to be able to bring yourself off whenever you feel like it.

The only interruptions to Abi's self-pleasuring come when meals are brought to her and when doctors or nurses come to examine and question her.

One doctor in particular asks her a great many questions. She tells him what she told the doctors in the hospital. He writes a report on Abi: prominent is the phrase: "Cannot distinguish fact from fiction."

To a second report, written a week later, he adds the designation: 'Chronic Masturbator.'

On a subsequent visit he asks Abi if she would like to ask him any questions. Abi has only one question:

"Does the time I spend here count as part of my sentence? Or will I still have to serve it again in Hazely?"

"This is a prison Abigail," the doctor tells her. "It may function like a hospital but you are not at liberty to leave. Any time you spend here will count towards your sentence."

That is all Abigail needs to know. Her wrist heals; she is taken off suicide watch. But she continues to tell the doctors fantastical stories, mixing fact and fiction, interweaving the improbable and the impossible, confirming the doctor's initial diagnosis.

Darkdale may be a dismal place. But to Abi, with unfettered access to her genitals, it is paradise. She doesn't care how long they keep her there: but she is never, never going to go back into Hazely.