Your Master Requires Your Attendance

All Day Long

The night before Cathy had finalized her plan to show everyone the perceived reason for her presence in the school. She had considered several scenarios, settling on oversleeping as the least risk, figuring that minimizing the number of people who saw her performance would influence the guards to go easy on her. That and she didn't have the courage to stand up and openly defy the Wardens. While covered by the blanket no one would see how scared she was.

When the others had been taken away and she was alone in the cell her first reaction was surprise at being ignored. After she heard the corridor doors close she got up to look out into the hallway. She pressed against the bars, trying to see if anyone had stayed behind, but no one else was visible. Her initial trepidation at facing a swift and certain punishment gave way to puzzlement. Had the Director intervened, knowing she was acting? It seemed unlikely since it would immediately single her out as someone who had received special treatment. From her last experience she knew the Wardens reacted immediately and forcefully when faced with any hint of insubordination.

Her hands gripped the bars of the cell door. She had wanted to push the door open and run away, to hide somewhere, but it was only wishful thinking. The door was locked and didn't budge. For the first time she noticed how the bars were recessed into the cell room, limiting her ability to see to the sides.

The sounds of a door opening and marching boots on the concrete floor brought her back to reality. Real fear gripped Cathy. Several men were in the hallway, heading her way. In seconds they came into view, at least four of them, dressed entirely in black, wearing helmets and some kind of mirrored faceplate. All she could see was her own terrified reflection in their faces. She backed up as they stopped in front of her. One of them had a large transparent plastic shield, curved forward at the sides, with what appeared to be strips of reflective tape across it. Another guard began to unlock the door.

Their ominous appearance frightened Cathy, bringing her close to panic. "Please sir, don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you tell me." She pleaded with them, but they ignored her. The guard with the plastic shield entered first, holding it out as he approached her. Two others came in and took up positions on either side of him. The last man stayed by the door.

Cathy backed up as they came closer. She had tried to move to one side, but they tracked her movement, keeping her centered between the three of them. Then she ran out of room as her back hit the wall. They were inches away when in desperation she reached out to push the shield away.

It looked like they were going to crush her against the wall. She put her hands against the shield trying to hold it back. As her hands came into contact with the front she discovered the reflective tape was not a decoration. She saw the man behind the shield press a button on the handle. The shock of the stun gun discharging into her hand from the conducting foil convulsed her muscles, throwing her back against the wall. Before she had fallen the guard used the shield to pin her body against the wall. The jolt of high voltage had left Cathy disoriented and only semi-conscious.

By the time she had become aware of her surroundings again she was on the floor. Something was wrapped around her upper body. Cathy tried to move her arms but they were held tightly against her body. Opening her eyes she saw the front of the straitjacket imprisoning her arms. One of the men behind her pulled on the last strap, the one between her legs, as he tightened it behind her back. She felt something being fastened to her legs too, but couldn't see it.

When they finished with her one man rolled her onto her side. Her ankles had been crossed and tied with some kind of strap. Two more held her knees together. Another ran from her ankles to her back, forcing her to keep her legs bent. She tried to struggle but it was too late; by the time she had recovered from the stun gun they had progressed too far for her to attempt to stop them.

The two who had been restraining her legs picked her up and placed her on the bedding. The third one picked up the blanket and covered her, telling her "since you wanted to sleep in, take all day." After the three men who had subdued her left, the last one closed and locked the cell door behind them. Lying on the floor, barely able to move, she stared up at the lone remaining warden. She could only guess at his thoughts; the helmet hid his face and any sign of reaction. A moment later he walked away as well, leaving her alone.

The shock from the stun gun had hurt. Cathy was content to lie still while the aftereffects wore off. If she had known it was coming it might not have been so bad. She would have gone straight to the floor if he had been approaching her with the kind she recognized. That plastic riot shield had confused her. The metal strips on the front looked nothing like the kind of stun guns she had seen sold in stores. Those were about the size of a TV remote control, with small metal prongs in front.

Feeling better, she started to explore the limitations of her bonds. She managed to shrug off the blanket by sliding to one side. Looking over her shoulder she saw her ankles bound tightly by a wide leather strap. The buckle holding it together had a small slot on top, probably for some kind of key. Straps above and below her knees had the same kind of buckles. Another long strap, of what looked to be nylon, ran from her ankles to her back. She couldn't see how it was attached to her back but the end at her ankles had a large metal ring through which the strap around her ankles had been threaded. The only way to remove it would be to free her feet.

Convinced she couldn't release her legs, she had turned her attention to the straitjacket. The material appeared to be a stiff heavy cotton cloth, probably canvas. Her arms were in sleeves that wrapped around behind her. In the front both sleeves went through a loop of material sewn into the front that prevented her from moving her arms up or down. She could see a wide strap stitched to the front bottom, starting just below her arms and extending down between her legs and up behind her. She could tell it was tight by the press of her chastity belt underneath the crotch strap.

From the feel against her body the neckline ended just below her collarbone. It completely covered her shoulders preventing any attempt to slip it down. Rolling on her back she could feel where the straps were buckled behind her. Just below her neck, several down her back, and one to either side, probably the sleeves. Although she knew there was little chance of success she still tried to get it off, pulling the jacket up, down and to either side, hoping something might come loose. She remembered a scene from one of the Houdini biography movies, where he had managed to work an arm over his head, but apparently the designers of this jacket had seen the movie too. The restraining loop in front made it impossible for her to move her arms up more than a few inches above her waist.

Having given up hope of escape, she tried to make the best of the situation and find a comfortable position. At first she tried laying on her side, but soon found it hurt whichever arm and shoulder was underneath her. Then she had tried on her back, with her knees raised. That had been a relief for her arms, but all too soon the buckles in back had begin to feel like sharp stones under a sleeping bag. Rolling back on her side, she tried to sit up. That's when she discovered how important arms were to one's balance. Several times she tried to get her legs under her and sit up, but each time she fell over. No leverage , she thought, I need my arms to lift myself off the floor .

After the fourth attempt she gave up. It would have been easy with her legs free, but no doubt the Wardens knew that. Her comfort had not been the overriding consideration. She even tried kicking her legs, jerking against the holding strap on her ankles, but it wouldn't pull loose. There was enough play in her legs that she could manage a slow crawl across the floor. On her side she surveyed the cell, looking for something that could help her to sit up. There had to be some way.

When she finally figured it out the answer was simple. She pushed herself across the floor with her legs, into a corner. With her back against one wall and leaning into the other, she worked her way up into a sitting position, with the added benefit of something to lean against. It had left little play in her legs but if she was careful she could raise or lower her knees to the floor to help keep her muscles from cramping. Sitting up was an improvement over the floor but she still had to move around to give her legs a rest.

If only they had allowed her to straighten out her legs, then she could have sat all day. The straitjacket was more of an inconvenience than a punishment. There was some pressure on her shoulders but nowhere near as uncomfortable as handcuffs behind her back. She could move her arms a little, but the thick, stiff material rendered her hands useless.

The worst part was the boredom. Cathy found herself missing the classes and having others around. The silence got on her nerves. If she could stand she would be pacing the floor by now. She had no idea how much time had passed but it must have been hours. This is deliberate , she realized, the isolation and monotony is the real punishment, not the restraints. The bonds are just to make sure I don't get comfortable. It's working too.

Cathy tried to pass the time by bringing up past memories with Robert. She couldn't concentrate though, her legs and shoulders were starting to hurt, a dull throbbing pain that couldn't be ignored. It was too much; she had to get the jacket off. She started struggling again, pulling on the sleeves with all her strength. In the process she fell over on her side. She started pulling against the straps holding her legs, trying to work them loose. So intent was she on trying to find some escape, rolling around on the floor, that she didn't even notice the Warden standing at the door, watching her through the bars of her cell.

"Take your time, I'm in no hurry," he spoke quietly. Cathy jerked to a stop, surprised by his voice. She hadn't heard him enter or walk up to her room. Breathing hard and sweat glistening on her brow from her efforts, she looked up at him from the floor. Seeing she had finished, he continued, "what are your instructions when a Warden is present?"

Cathy stared in confusion, unsure as to what he was asking. "Sir, we are to kneel at the rear wall in a respectful manner and await orders." He didn't answer. Instead he waited, staring at her. What does he expect? She could hardly move, was that what he was waiting for? She couldn't do it by herself in the middle of the floor, so she began crawling back to the corner of the room. Using the walls she was able to raise herself up again, with her legs under her. She shifted around to face him, back straight, first looking directly at him, and then lowering her eyes.

"That's better," he finally answered. Taking out a key he opened the door and came in to stand in front of her. Cathy could feel the straps on her legs digging in to her skin as she knelt, but knew she dare not break position now. "There will be no sleeping in from now on." He towered over her, not moving. She looked up once then back down again. So helpless , she thought, no matter what I do they will always get their way . "Do you understand? This will not be tolerated. There will not be a next time."

"Yes sir, I understand. It won't happen again." She was trembling as she spoke. Her words were contrite and sincere. The stunt had been a poor choice; she should have thought of something else. She knew they were manipulating her, the confinement, the restraints, and now the Warden's stance as he stared her down, but she could not resist the effects. All she could think of was pleasing the stranger in front of her, doing whatever he ordered, anything to get the straitjacket off.

Holding her shoulder with one hand he reached down behind her back and released the strap holding her legs back. "On your stomach" he ordered, and helped her lie face down on the concrete floor. "Hold still," as he undid the straps on her knees and ankles. He lowered her legs to the floor. Relief flooded Cathy as her strained calf and thigh muscles were finally able to relax. She waited patiently for him to open the straitjacket, but he made no move to release the buckles. After a few moments he took hold of one arm, within the jacket's sleeve, and began to lift her. "Stand up" came the crisp command. With his help it was far easier to get her legs under her and then rise up off the floor.

Cathy's sore legs protested against bearing her weight but he held onto her until the shakiness passed. When she was finally able to stand on her own, he gestured toward the open cell door. "Let's go" was all he offered by way of explanation.

First stop were the showers, where he finally removed the straitjacket. He waited patiently while she took a shower and cleaned up. Cathy was uneasy about the sudden change and what was still to come. A few hours of solitary confinement seemed to be far too little in the way of correction for what she had done. And there had to be some significance to the change in procedure; he had not removed her belt while she showered.

Dried off, teeth brushed, hair combed, she felt much better. Crawling around on the floor in that straitjacket had been sweaty and dirty work. If she was lucky the guard would take her to rejoin the group for lunch. A growl from her stomach reminded her she had skipped breakfast.

"Turn around, hands behind your back" came the expected command when she had finished. In the hallway she tried to spot something she could recognize, to give her some idea of where they were headed. But the same bland paint scheme and lack of signs left her as unsure as ever about where they were. Everything looked the same. Finally he stopped at a solid office type steel door. Cathy sighed inwardly, definitely not the lunchroom.