Reformatory Girls Ch 05

Abigail Morgan wants to die. Quite literally: she wants to die. Abi is in pain: her legs and thighs hurt and her bottom hurts. She cannot so much as turn over in bed without pain searing though her.

And she is frightened. The looks she has received from girls such as Donna May and Ruth Bowers have left her in no doubt: sooner or later another ordeal is coming her way.

The only consolation Abi can draw on is that her terrible sexual frustration has been temporarily assuaged. No longer does her clitoris call to her every night like a lamb that has strayed from its mother.

But Abi knows that is only temporary. In a few weeks she will be experiencing that burning need for relief as keenly as ever. But with no prospect whatsoever of assuagement.

She wants to die: but how? There is no rope for a girl to hang herself with; there are no pills to overdose on; and how on earth can you drown yourself in the showers with at least two Wardens watching you?

There was a girl once who tried to kill herself. Somehow she had managed to jump from a window. She broke her ankle. And when she returned from the hospital she was thrashed. Because in Hazely it is an offence to try to commit suicide.

Never again in her life does Abi want to feel a cane or a riding crop on her legs or her backside.

For the first few days after the thrashing nothing happens. All the girls are too chastened. They shuffle around with pain written large on their faces, submissive and docile. In the showers, and in the evenings when they stand to attention beside their beds, the red stripes across their thighs are a highly visible reminder of what happens to girls who break the rules at Hazely.

No-one - not even Donna May - has the stomach for night-time reprisals.

But after a week the pain is starting to wear off: sleep comes more readily to the chastened girls, and some of them start muttering darkly about the time for revenge. Donna May refers frequently to 'Abigail's Plan', deflecting attention away from the part she played in ensuring that the plan was implemented, and after various whispered consultations a night is agreed, two nights hence, when Abigail will, as Laura Marsh poetically puts it 'reap the whirlwind'.

Not every girl wants a part in this. Eve Thomas, who still feels she was partly responsible, in that her fainting fit did not convince Miss Bulstrode, refuses to scapegoat Abi Morgan. Suzanne Clarke is too scared to sneeze, let alone be out of bed after lights out. Fay Dudley believes they have all suffered enough: as do some of the other girls. There is even a moment when Donna and Ruth wonder if there is any appetite for reprisals. But they receive support from an unlikely quarter, the usually pacific Kelly Watson.

Kelly Watson has suffered more than most. Apart from the pain itself, and the fact that she had to endure one more stroke than the others, she feels she has humiliated herself. She has always been self-conscious about her body. When she first arrived at Hazely Reform School the thing she hated most was having to be naked in front of the other girls. Naked in the showers and washrooms, naked in the gymnasium, naked in the Dormitory. She felt the eyes of the other girls, and of the Wardens, staring at her, critically, sneeringly. Over time she has become used to it. But during her punishment she felt more exposed than ever. She recalls the way she flailed around, the way she pissed herself, her total lack of dignity. Her friends try to console her: no-one can keep their dignity in such circumstances. Nevertheless, Kelly feels especially humiliated.

It has always been this way. She has always hated her body, the odd mismatch between her upper and lower halves. She would give years of her life to have a body like Karen Frayn, or Clare Davenport, or to be petite and shapely like Sienna Sharples. She wouldn't even mind if she was just big: men, she had been surprised to discover, were often attracted to larger girls. But not to larger girls with next-to-no tits.

In a way it was her body that was the cause of her being in Hazely in the first place. So unused to admiration was she that when a man told her that these days there was a niche for every body type, and that girls like her, being a rarity, were much sort after for modelling, she gave him more credence than she should have done. He had offered her a modelling job, shown her a wedge of banknotes as thick as a house brick, and when she had demurred - she wasn't a complete fool - had shown her the business card of what looked like a genuine modelling agency. Kelly, who did not make much money on her market stall, had been flattered, and had agreed to go to his studio.

The studio had turned out to be the living room of a flat, decked out with lights, cameras and cushions. The 'modelling' turned out to mean having sex: not only with the man but with three of his friends, two of whom didn't speak any English. When Kelly tried to back out the man told her his friends had travelled a long way especially for this, and would not be pleased to be let down. He also offered to increase the payment.

They must have all been on Viagra, they were at her all night, sometimes in pairs, sometimes three of them together, penetrating her every orifice. Their favourite scenario seemed to involve two of them holding her legs open whilst she struggled and a third one fucked or finger-fucked her. It wasn't nice sex: there was no tenderness and no respect: they treated her as an object to be used as they saw fit, telling her what to do, grudging her even a break for a drink of water. And filming everything. Even when she went for a piss a man with a camera followed her.

It was dawn before they were sated. Kelly was sore: her arse and cunt had had enough fingers and cocks inside them to last her a lifetime. She was mightily relieved when they told her she was finished: she could get home, have a shower and go to bed.

But they weren't quite finished. The final shoot, the man told her, involved all four men simultaneously pissing over her.

She had tried to say no. But she hadn't been paid yet, her resistance was low, they promised her a shower afterwards, so what was one more final degradation?

She lay in the bath with a camera pointing at her. The sides of the bath were cold. Then the four men who had been getting their sexual pleasure from her all night stood in a line, pointed their cocks at her and pissed all over her. The stench was horrible: they aimed at her face, at her nose and mouth, and despite all her efforts some of it got up her nose, into the back of her throat and into her mouth. The men were all laughing as she choked and spluttered and swallowed. Piss began to pool in the bath: she was lying in it, her hair was doused in it.

The shower turned out not to work: she did her best to cleanse her face with tumblers of cold water, then gave up, resigned herself to going home stinking of piss, and went to collect her money.

At which the men roared with laughter. One of them said something in a language she did not understand, and the original man translated:

"He says you should be paying us. How else is a girl like you going to get a man to fuck her?"

She made a fuss: there was a row during which the men threatened to get nasty. And Kelly staggered home empty-handed.

Two nights later she went back, armed with pieces of cloth soaked in paraffin which she set alight and pushed through the letterbox.

There was a lot of damage, but no-one was hurt. Which was just as well, for it turned out none of the men had lived there, they had rented the place from a woman who had no idea of the use it was being put to.

The men were never traced. Kelly was sentenced to two years in Hazely for Arson.

If anyone has a right to feel hard done to it is Kelly. So far, to her great credit, she has resisted the temptation to take out her resentment on some other girl. But that has changed. This crazy plan to have someone feign sick in the toilets: it was not her idea: she would never have gone along with it except under duress. For once her bitterness has a valid target - two valid targets really, Donna May and Abigail Morgan. But everyone seems, conveniently, to have forgotten Donna's part in all this: unless Kelly wants to be at odds with Donna's friends and lackeys - which she does not - she will have to content herself with punishing Abi Morgan.

One other factor compounds Kelly's resentment. When the girls were left unsupervised, when Donna and Ruth and Abi and the others were rubbing themselves off - Kelly couldn't cum. She tried: she had her fingers between her legs and she rubbed and diddled herself frantically. But she was too on edge: half her attention was elsewhere, listening out, expecting Miss McCloud to appear or Miss Bulstrode to return any second.

She hasn't admitted this to anyone. It feels like a failure, just one more instance of her incompetence, her uselessness. So when Donna and Ruth talk of how at least they got an orgasm out of all this, Kelly plays along, lets everyone think she brought herself off, at least got some compensation for the terrible thrashing.

Whereas in truth she is left feeling more frustrated than ever.

So when it seems there is a lack of all-round enthusiasm for punishing Abi Morgan, Kelly speak up vociferously, adds her voice to the voices of Donna May and Ruth Bowers, talks round a couple of waverers, and argues for a date sooner rather than later.

She does not know what the others have in mind. But she knows exactly how she is going to punish Abi Morgan.

So the date is set.

But on the preceding day Donna May and Ruth Bowers exchange glances and snatches of conversation. Because Donna May and Ruth Bowers have a special punishment, a punishment that involves only the two of them. It is a punishment they both derive a great deal of pleasure from administering. And they both agree that Abi Morgan, who is responsible for the stripes across their legs and buttocks, is a more than deserving recipient.

It is night. Some thirty minutes have passed since Miss Armstrong has switched off the lights and locked the Dormitory door behind her.

Abigail Morgan, who has lain awake uneasily, wondering if anybody will come for her, is just starting to drift off to sleep. Suddenly she is aware of a figure sliding into bed behind her: she pulls away: only to find her retreat blocked by a second figure, simultaneously getting into her bed in front of her.

Abi is trapped. The beds are narrow and she is squashed between two figures like the meat in a sandwich.

"Hello Abi," says the girl lying face to face with her. "Not asleep I hope?"

It is Donna May. Her face is so close to Abi's their noses are touching.

Abi is crushed-up so tightly she can hardly breathe. The girl behind, who must be half out of bed, wriggles up even closer, and puts her arm around Abi, around Donna too, pulling the three of them into a tight embrace. Abi can feel her breath on the back of her neck. She knows it is Ruth Bowers.

"Hello Abi," Ruth Bowers breathes into her ear. "We're going to play 'Squeal Piggy Squeal.' And guess who's going to be Piggy."

Abi's breathing is shallow: she starts to explain: it wasn't her fault; she's been punished already - more than anyone. But Donna puts her finger to Abi's mouth and shushes her. Abi desists: then tries one final gambit:

"If you mark me someone will see," she says. "And we'll all be in trouble."

"Don't worry Abi," says Donna soothingly. "We're going to mark you where no-one will notice."

Abi starts to tremble: surely that can only mean one thing? Surely they haven't found a way to remove or get under her chastity belt? She feels Donna wriggling against her, trying to get a better purchase on the narrow bed. Their breasts are touching through their night-dresses: even their lips are touching.

"Let's seal things with a kiss," whispers Donna. And before Abi can protest she feels Donna's tongue snaking its way into her mouth, probing around and behind her teeth, and Donna's lips, wet and slippery, gliding over her own lips. It is horrible: but Abi does not dare to resist, cannot stop Donna from sliding her tongue deep down into her mouth, cannot shut out the taste of Donna, cannot prevent her mouth being filled with Donna's saliva.

"Ah Abi," breathes Donna as she disengages her mouth with a wet, sucking sound. "What a pity we have to punish you."

"You don't," breathes Abi, who has become aware that Ruth is all the time pushing up her night-dress: "please."

But Donna shushes her again.

"Now Abi," she says. "Legs open for us."

It's hard to see how Abi can open her legs, lying as she is on her side with two girls squashed up against her. But Ruth slides her hand between Abi's legs from behind, separates them, then shoves her bare knee between them to wedge them apart. At the same time Donna slides her hand between Abi's thighs from the front, and slides it upwards until it is pressing right up against the chastity belt. Abi shivers: this could be so erotic - if only it were not so terrifying. She feels Donna's fingers, feeling around, locating the flesh on the inside of Abi's thighs as close to the top as she can reach. She feels her flesh gripped between two of Donnas fingers. She feels the fingers closing, pinching her, more and more firmly. She lets out a yelp as Donna gives a final pinch, tweaking and twisting her painfully.

Ruth laughs into her ear.

"Squeal Piggy Squeal," she says maliciously.

Donna feels for another pinch of flesh and twists it viciously. Abi gives a throaty cry. Donna pinches her again: then the pinching comes thick and fast, all along the inside of Abi's thigh, causing Abi to squeal and flinch and try to pull away: only she is trapped, there is nowhere to flinch away to.

"Squeal Piggy Squeal," whispers Ruth Bowers behind her.

And Abi does squeal: the pain is so sharp she cannot help it. When Donna has finished pinching her right thigh she starts on her left, gripping the flesh painfully, squeezing it as though between pincers. At the same time Ruth is feeling her way along the cleft in Abi's buttocks. The chastity belt has a wedge-shaped profile at the rear, so that it can fit snugly into the cleft of the buttocks, making it impossible for wandering fingers to reach beneath it. At least Abi thinks it is impossible: but she knows if it is possible Ruth will find a way under it.

But that is something even Ruth cannot manage. Instead she pulls at the tender skin either side of the chastity belt, an inch or so to the side of Abi's anus. There is not much loose flesh there: but Ruth digs in her fingers, gets a grip between her fingertips, and pinches.

Abi yelps in pain. Now she is being pinched from both sides, from the front, between her thighs, by Donna May and from the rear, deep in her buttock-cleft, by Ruth Bowers. The pain is starting to join up, to form a continuous band inside her legs and between her buttocks. Eventually the two hands meet: Ruth and Donna give one another a mock handshake between Abi's thighs, whilst Abi sobs and writhes and squeals.

"Goodnight Abi," says Donna. "Sleep tight. We'll be back tomorrow with our friends to play some more games."

She gives Abi a light kiss on the forehead: then the two are gone, and Abi is left to clutch at her throbbing thighs and sob herself to sleep.

Donna and Ruth have done their work well. Next day, when Abi stands by her bed in the morning waiting for Miss Barker to unlock her chastity belt, none of the red pinch marks between her thighs are visible. Only someone observing how gingerly Abi is walking could have any clue to her suffering.

The following night there are five of them: Ruth, Donna, Laura, Kelly and a girl named Amber. Donna had proposed hog-tying, which had been so successful when deployed against Clare Davenport. But Kelly is adamant: Donna can do whatever she likes, but she, Kelly, is going to piss in Abi's mouth and make her swallow it. Donna has never known Kelly so vehement: she does not know what Kelly suffered at the hands of the four men, and how bitterly she has stored up the memory. But Donna is happy to give way on this, so the hog-tying is shelved and it is agreed between the five that they will wet Abi's bed then piss in her mouth. And the following night they will wet her bed again for her to ensure that she is put into nappies.

They wait only a few minutes after lights-out. None of them have emptied their bladders since afternoon Break, and they are all feeling uncomfortable. They find Abi awake, expecting them.

"Let's get this over," says Donna May, who has abandoned her faux-caressing manor of the previous night. She yanks down the blankets and sheet exposing Abi to the air. "Who's going to piss in her bed?"

"I'm pissing in her mouth," says Kelly.

"Me too," says Ruth.

It is decided that Laura and Amber will both wet Abi's bed. Donna explains to Abi what is going to happen.

Abi doesn't protest or resist: she knows it would be useless. Donna pulls down Abi's nightdress and Amber, who is build like a wiry little monkey, squats over Abi's pubic area and hitches up her own nightdress.

She starts to piss. Piss trickles slowly through the narrow chute in the chastity belt, but it trickles steadily. Soon Abi's nightdress and thighs are soaked. All the mattresses are fitted with waterproof protectors, so instead of soaking away, the piss pools and spreads out over the sheet. The smell rises into the still Dormitory. Amber is enjoying herself: it feels so good and dirty to be pissing on somebody's bed in the night, with that person watching on helpless. Amber still feels a twinge in her buttocks from the six strokes of the cane she was given on account of Abigail Morgan. And she hadn't even had a rub out of it.

She stops pissing, but it takes maybe another twenty seconds for all the piss accumulated in her chastity belt to drain away.

Laura Marsh takes over. She, too, would have liked to piss in Abi's mouth: but this is an enjoyable second best. She continues Amber's good work, extending the area of the soaked sheets as far down as the bottom of the bed, and as far up as Abi's shoulders.

"Right: my turn," says Kelly. She squats over Abi's face, and hitches up her night-dress, exposing her sturdy thighs and her large belly. Then she lowers herself until she is practically crushing Abi.

"I've been holding onto this since lunchtime," she tells Abi. "And I can hold a lot at the best of times. You're going to open your mouth and drink this down and if you spill so much as a single drop I'm going to grip your face between my thighs and crush you."

Abi can smell Kelly thighs and her sex. She is as helpless beneath her as a rag doll. She manages to nod, and opens her lips submissively as Kelly lowers the steel chute between them.

When Kelly's piss hits the back of Abi's throat Abi cannot believe how foul it tastes. She gags and splutters, wanting to get the evil-tasting substance out of her mouth: but there is nowhere for her head to turn, the device between Kelly's legs is clamped into her mouth, and there is nothing for it but to swallow. No sooner than she has done so her mouth is full again: the piss is warm and salty - but wrong: it does not taste like something that should be in one's mouth, but like something millions of years of evolution have programmed humans with an aversion to. But it comes on, thick and warm and pungent, and Abi drinks, fighting against her aversion, glugging it down, gasping and spluttering but swallowing all the same, until she feels that her stomach is full, she cannot drink any more, not just of piss but of any liquid. Yes still it flows, still Kelly is squatting over her face, and it is getting more and more difficult to swallow, and when at last the stream runs dry Abi feels that if she turns her head on its side all the piss will run out of her mouth onto her pillow.