A New Day: A New Beginning?

(Girls, uniforms, bedpans, bloomers, spanking, electric shock treatment, stainless steel shackles, bondage, medical restraints, caning, spanking, strict nurses)

The mask of white noise had at long last lifted; that had been the first sign. In her mind, and seemingly in her ears, its ghost lingered on, superimposing a strange inverse of itself on the remaining everyday sounds surrounding her - such as they were - and imbuing them with an oddly electronically-processed character. When at last somebody spoke the disembodied voice floated across to her to impinge more as an unfamiliar and nondescript sensation then as a medium of information and instruction.

The last thing she could remember breaking through that hissing background tedium was the well recognised ‘wake-up’ bell; the term ‘morning’ was never used, ‘morning’ was relevant only in the world outside, a far distant world. She knew there must have been a second visit from the ‘toilet bell’, it always followed the wake-up bell at some point - at least it always had when she had been kept in her old room and she had no reason to believe it would be different here under this new regime - yet she appeared to have no recollection of it and she had heard nothing more.

She had heard nothing of the swishing of nurse’s uniforms nor the rustle of nylon prison dresses as the other five inmates had been gathered together in the corridor outside awaiting entry to the workroom. She had heard nothing, even, of the earlier opening and closing of their cell-front gates as the other residents had first been released from their confinement or of the soft slithering sticky-hiss of latex nightdresses and bloomers as they had been shepherded off to the sluice and shower room with well filled bedpans carried in manacled hands.

“I said turn around, girl! I shouldn’t have to repeat myself; you’re in enough trouble already without further compounding it through tardiness.”

Slowly, wearily, Susan shuffled around on the spot. Through red eyes, bleary in equal measure from fatigue and tears, the blurred swathe of navy blue came first as relief from the unfocused, unfathomable, ocean in which she had for so long been drowning, then as the darkest depressive-gathering of the storm, as the image before her slowly resolved itself. The Senior Wardress was stood there, behind her, little more than an arm’s reach away, the woman’s left hand holding the bars that constituted the cell door back against the interior wall.

Out in the corridor and visible through the bars of the left-hand side of the cell front, a nurse waited. The white apron, tied neatly about her tightly-belted waist and covering the light blue flaring triangle of her skirt, had about it a transparency suggestive of some thin plastic or rubber, it being sufficiently so as to allow the buttons of the woman’s dress to be clearly seen through it. Her uniform’s long sleeves were folded back to, perhaps, a hand’s-width above her elbows, at which point rather traditional looking, elasticated, white puff-ball cuffs covered and held the rolled fabric in place. Thin white rubber gloves covered her hands, having an appearance matching that of her apron; the whole aspect presented was one suggestive of a woman having tackled, or about to tackle, some potentially unsanitary or grimy chore.

The Senior Wardress was attired, as before, in her immaculate closely-fitted navy blue dress with its narrow white, three-button, wrist cuffs; the bold juxtaposition of the latter’s old-fashioned stiffly-starched appearance with the high-tech plastic environment somehow seemed to amplify the woman’s air of authority. There was one slight change about her appearance from the ‘day’ previous - one small change, but an important one. The woman was now wearing a single white glove, this being on her right hand. Not the usual latex or plastic medical examination glove this, but rather an elegantly-tailored affair of some supple, soft material, suggestive of kid; it drew the girl’s gaze as irresistibly as might a magnet draw iron filings.

In truth it was not so much the glove that grabbed her attention - although it had its part to play - so much as what was held in its grasp; a finely-finished and smoothly-tapering white wand, its wavering motion suggestive of the flexibility of a pony whip. A loop attached it to the woman’s wrist and with a seamlessly-careless flick of the latter she indicated, by way of the arc of its tip through the air, the path that Susan was to follow, clearly indicating that her charge should proceed out into the corridor - and with all haste. Simultaneously she stood aside, giving the girl free passage, clearly meaning to then take up the rear.

For a split-second, no more, Susan hesitated, fear encumbering her responses. Then, a threatening glance from the woman being enough to spur her on, she edged past and out through the narrow gap in the bars, squealing as a flick of the woman’s wrist brought a sting across both calves; this first and, quite frankly, gentle, kiss from the woman’s cane intended just to hurry her along.

“Come along girl, just follow the nurse.” There was a pause, as if the woman was waiting for something, then: “Well?”

Something in the woman’s tone, an impatiently-implied threat, cut through, into Susan Stringer’s sleep-deprived addled brain; she had no wish to receive another sting across her calves or any appetite for a repeat of the face-slapping of the previous day - she had already learnt enough to wish to avoid that particular deterrent.

“Yes mm, Miss... Owww!”

Again a cane swipe had landed across the back of her calves - another smartly stinging little correction, but just that little bit harder than the first. She had realised her mistake almost in the moment that she had made it but the retribution had come too swiftly for her to even begin to correct her self.

“S,sorry, m,m,m,ma,madem. I,I m,m,ment, yes, ma,ma,madem.” This time she made no mistake and she herself was surprised at just how contrite she sounded - genuinely apologetic and utterly filled with humility. There was not the slightest remnant of the sarcasm that might once have tinged such an imposition. Indeed, it was perfection itself - and her reward was as immediate as her punishment had been.

“That’s a good girl” The voice was patronising but soft and gentle - that was the main thing; that it should be soft and gentle.

Together they moved off along the corridor, the Senior Wardress, taking up the rear, having closed the cell door as they departed - a satisfyingly-solid double-clunk coming as the locks automatically slid back into place. Without having first fully carried out and completed the latter action it would’ve been impossible to unlock and pass the security grille blocking their path perhaps five or six meters ahead of them.

Beyond the latter obstruction the corridor opened out into a broad, open, high-ceiling hall. The party having passed through the security grille, the nurse having fumbled for the correct key from the bunch hanging from her belt, Susan found herself in a rectangular area of perhaps five or six meters by eight meters. Behind her she heard the metallic clunk of the gate closing and locking.

The Workhouse: First Impressions

Directly ahead and set in the wall immediately opposite their entry point lay three unmarked white doors, each protected by a modern-looking key lock and an additional card-swipe slot. The centre door of the trio was notably wider than the other two and directly lined up with the security grille through which they had just entered; the other two doors were spaced equidistant between it and the end walls.

She glanced quickly to the left and to the right, fearful that she might be punished; the blinkering design of her bonnet prohibited her from the panoramic overview most of us would take for granted.

To the left and centred in the end wall in that direction lay another security grille of floor-to-ceiling bars, this blocking access to some sort of open space; of which she could make out little more than an open sea of unblemished whiteness.

To her right, centred equidistant from the side walls and set at about half the distance to the end wall at that end, the floor rose up to form a platform of around half a metre wide by approximately one meter in length and rising perhaps half a meter above the surrounds. Centred upon this dais and taking up the majority of its top was a contrivance of an appearance suggestive of some medical function.

This latter furnishing was of a vaulting horse-like construction and possessed a thick, white, padded and slightly concave top surface. Two pairs of padded armrest-like appendages were mounted approximately halfway up from its base and originated from each side, one pair from one end and the other pair from the opposite end - which one could take to be the rear. These latter protuberances extended out forwards from the front and similarly rearwards from the back of the thing.

The rearmost mounted pair - her assumption being that there were two, although her viewpoint restricted her to the inspection of only the closer of the two - seemed to have at each of their extremities a stirrup-like construct, being not unlike that of a gynaecological examination couch in appearance, albeit one inverted in orientation. These appendages were clearly of a U-shaped cross-section and pairs of straps could be seen hanging from both their proximal and distal extremes.

Even from where she was standing Susan could see that the padded top appeared to be delineated into three independent sections of differing heights - the rearmost at present standing somewhat proud of the other two - and that each section was also furnished with a broad white strap hanging from it and clearly intended to function as some kind of restraint. Associated with each of these sections was a white adjustment wheel of around ten centimetres in diameter and furnished with a small black handle. Similar adjustment points were associated with each of the appendages, or arm and leg rests as they appeared to be; a smaller version of such an adjustment handle being mounted above the origin of each, emerging from just below the device’s padded top.

Her attention had been so overtaken by the sight of this strangely fascinating apparatus that only at the Senior Wardress’ terse admonishment to ‘face forward’ did she allow her focus to shift beyond, to where lay a third security grille, this being identical to the other two: the one through which they had initially entered and the one she had observed served to partition off other end of the room. This third steel-barred partition, though, differed markedly from the other two in one very notable respect - for the very first time she was able to glimpse her fellow residents. They sat there, behind those bars, in quietly, gently, bobbing, swaying motion; two groups of bottle-green clad figures hunched over - and evenly spaced along - either side of a long white table, its top dominated by what appeared to be piles of embroidered or lacework fabric.

The far end of the table was dominated by a figure in navy blue and of an appearance, superficially at least, not unlike that of the Senior Wardress herself, except that, whereas the latter, customarily, was garbed in the dress typical of a hospital sister or matron, the former was dressed in a smartly tailored suit of skirt and jacket styled in a fine navy-blue serge. The high-collared starched shirt-blouse that she wore appeared whiter even than the walls around her - if such could at all been possible - set off, as it was, in juxtaposition to her neatly knotted, though rather masculine, navy blue tie and being trimmed with navy-blue piping around the edges of the collar and cuffs. Only the nature of the fabrics that went to make up her uniform appeared to share any commonality with the attire Susan had come to associate with the staff of this place. Throughout, the overall image exuded was one that was the epitome of officialdom, if typifying the sort of functional design consideration and design-by-committee policy common in such institutions and that always seem to conclude with the specification of polyester, polyester-cotton, nylon or some other combination of similar hardwearing fibres universally beloved of uniform and workwear manufacturers.

The table or workbench itself ran lengthwise down the centre of the room, Susan’s view of it, through the bars, being end on therefore. Even in the scant few moments open to her she had seen enough to realise that a continuous bench seat ran the entire length of the table on both sides; this consisting of a cantilever shelf arrangement and forming a structure contiguous with the table itself.

The uniformed woman overseer was seated at the far end in a particularly high, almost throne-like, chair, perhaps on a raised dais although Susan couldn’t be certain from her present viewpoint. Either way the impression received was of a haughty and almost regal presence; as if enthroned and holding court over serfs and subjects.

The end position at the side of the table closest to where Susan stood gawping open-mouthed was vacant. She could see the padded seat top to be possessed of an undulating contour along its forward edge, gently rising up by as much as five centimetres before falling away again as it traversed across what she took to be the centre point of the seating position and forming a structure in so doing that was vaguely suggestive of the front of a saddle. The pinnacle of this raised interior edge formed the forward-most section of a rounded ridge that ran from front to back, narrowing and dropping away as it did so - having the profile of a cone bisected lengthwise and lying front to back across the seat - before making a final resurgence as a gently rounded vertical conical section, rising up to perhaps four or five centimetres just before the seat’s posterior edge.

At the rear of the seat, dangling perhaps ten centimetres beneath it on lengths of sparkling stainless-steel chain, the riding analogy continued its theme: the surreal sight of a pair of stirrups met her eye; these mounted around half a meter apart. The inappropriateness of these fitments was tempered only by the medical accent lent by the use of padded white leather or soft plastic for the stirrup itself, the latter appearing to share a common ancestry with the familiar obstetric stirrup in terms of design. A pair of white straps hung there too, one associated with each stirrup and having a positional relationship with the latter suggestive of its functionality as an ankle restraint and having the comfortably padded appearance typifying a medical restraint system. Silvered buckles caught the light as reflected star-flashes as they gently swung as if being disturbed by an invisible hand - or perhaps by a passing draft; although, in truth, in such an aseptically-sealed environment, there could be none.

If she had wondered at all as to their purpose of those stirrups and restraints then that mystery was short-lived indeed. It was that revelation that had rooted her there in the first place, staring mesmerised, until, her curiosity recognised, her indiscretion was admonished: Curiosity was not to be condoned here let alone encouraged; it was something to be stifled. But what could she do, how could they be so unreasonable as to expect her to be able to just shut it out?

The girl seated at the next position up from the free seat, the girl craning so intently over her needle-work, had both feet in stirrups, each such fitting snugly about her shoe. A strap could be clearly seen originating from the point at which each stirrup was attached to its suspending chain and drawn tightly about each ankle, thereby ensuring the young lady’s continued secure comfort.

She sat there, all nimble fingers and deftly-wielded needle, pins and thread, working away as if her life depended on it, her legs drawn back and her ankles and feet restrained beneath her seat and clear of the floor. Beads of perspiration, gathering unseen on her brow, only too willingly gave away their hiding place, sporadically breaking cover from the humid safety of her bonnet and rushing headlong down her cheeks or dripping off the very tip of her pretty up-turned nose to join the sparse little field of dark splattered patches covering the bosom-swelled bodice, so serving to alleviate the monotony of bottle green nylon that was the prison uniform. The latter, Susan observed silently and glumly to herself, was a retrograde step, in terms of its drabness and severity of styling, even as compared to the humiliating short-skirted ugly striped dress she was presently obliged to wear; she hoped beyond hope that it wasn’t truly the ‘prison uniform’ they had spoken of, that perhaps it was part and parcel of some sort of punishment devised solely for these particular girls and one from which, by dint of her intended good behaviour, she would be spared.

In that moment she had seen enough to know for certain that she would do almost anything rather than be confined to that workroom, dressed like some skivvy or factory worker and forced to work at such a pace and intensity and under such stress as to end up continually perspiring to the extent that girl was. After all, it couldn’t have anything to do with the ambient temperature - the room was comfortably warm at most, the unit as a whole was comfortably warm and there was never any change in that; thermoneutral they called it.

Her last memory of that dark sweat-shop visage was also the most traumatic; even now, even safely clear of it and having been confronted by the surreal fantasy-made-manifest that was the ‘shower room and toilet suite’, it filled her mind to the brim. It stayed with her as if an after-image seared into her and refusing to relinquish its grip on her consciousness. The memory stayed all further thought, bringing her to the point of reprimand after reprimand for ‘failing to pay attention’ and more than one sting of the Senior Wardress’s cane across her calves and the back of her thighs.

It had come as she had started to turn away: That girl, that girl so intent on her work, having perhaps become aware of their presence, perhaps having heard something of Susan’s received reprimands, had straitened up from her work - or rather she had attempted to. A silvery length of something tautened, producing just the faintest metallic jingle-jangle as it did so and glinting with polished-sparkling star-points as closely-spaced stainless-steel links came into alignment and tautened. The girl’s head and neck had suddenly jerked to a whip-lashed halt mid movement, her torso barely erect and her head forced to crane further forward in compensation. A harsh buzzer had stabbed out its own reprimand in near simultaneous response - as if indignant at the extreme of the girl’s straightening posture - somehow provoking from her an audible sharp gasp as if afflicted by some sudden acute pain. The girl had diligently bent back to her task with quite commendable haste after that, her dedication evident in having not once taken her eyes from her work.

The visible implication had been obvious, even to Susan, a thin, supple yet strong chain somehow linked the girl’s neck to the table top before her; the girl was quite literally chained to her work, by both her wrists and her neck!

The audible implications, as embodied in that buzzer and in that girl’s sharp intake of breath, were less so recognised, if at all; what would Susan Stringer with her sheltered, convent education possibly know of the mechanics of micro switches or the electronics linking the tugging of that thin chain to the girl’s instantaneous chastisement, let alone guess as to the juddering jagged electrified urge to work that had accompanied it, pulsating from ankle to ankle across the girl’s lower torso - or, indeed, of the simultaneous and involuntary emptying of the girl’s bladder?