Part 1
*****************
It all started four months ago when I got arrested for abuse of Marijuana. It was the
first time I had ever did this, and I did it only because of curiosity. And, lucky as I am,
this had been the evening when they started a police round-up at the discotheque I
was trying together with some friends for the first time. Oh shit. While the officer ar-
rested me and told me my rights, he constantly ogled at me. If you could see me
you'd know why. I'm blonde, 105 pounds, with good breasts and legs. Clothes look
good on me and when I add a pair of my favorite spike pumps, I can usually get a
man to do anything I desire. My best feature is my face. I look even younger than my
24 years and I guess that's partly why I got into this mess. I wished I would not have
been so daring with my outfit because they accused me of prostitution, too. We did-
n't know that this discotheque was a well-known area for hookers, too.
They brought me directly to the courts building. Sitting in the prisoner's room among
the druggies and hookers they had picked up, too, and waiting for my appearance
before the summary court that had been installed recently, I was scared of going to
prison. I didn't want that to happen to me, didn't want to be locked in, especially not
with these "girls". I guess I was pretty vulnerable and showed it. A good-looking
woman of about fourty years, with one of these official's badges came up to me, all
pretty and efficient in her tailored suit, patent pumps and silk blouse and turned on
the charm.
"Hi, I'm Joan," she said. "You're going to get two years, you know."
"So?" I was suspicious. I had heard enough of jails not to trust anybody.
She continued with a charming smile: "If I could get you 3 years of special parole,
would you be interested?"
"Sure, what's the catch?" More suspicion. Nobody gives anything away for free.
"I can't tell you the details. It's an experimental program. You'll have to trust me."
I didn't like the thought of trusting a stranger but Joan only said she was looking for
volunteers for a new special probation program for females. Supervised life instead
of prison. She refused to say anyhing more about the program. I only had a few min-
utes to think about it before the bailiff came for me. I told Joan I would go along with
her plan and as I entered the court room she went up to talk to the judge.
I don't know if that old fart of a judge was in on the deal or not. He sure gave me a
funny look, as if he was pitying me my fate. He sentenced me to 3 years of probation
under Joan's supervision and that was the end of it. Up to this moment I hadn't no-
ticed that I had been without any attorney.
The first time I knew something was funny was when Joan insisted on strapping my
hands behind my back with a pair of cuffs joined by a short length of chain. I was
caught off guard.
"What are these for if I'm on probation?" I asked her sullenly.
"You're still a prisoner of the court until you begin the program. After your indoctrina-
tion you won't be going very far very fast and we'll be able to forget about these."
"What do you mean by that?" I asked in alarm.
Joan had nothing more to say. She led me from the court to her private car and
helped me get in. Sitting in a car while handcuffed isn't comfortable and I told Joan
as much but she didn't even answer.
As we drove toward the suburbs, I tried to get Joan to talk about the program. She
flashed me some wicked smiles but wouldn't volunteer anything except that I was not
the first person to take advantage of the program and that I would better be a model
student or it would look bad for both of us. She got her message across. I had
avoided prison but I hadn't avoided the hassle of being someone's petty servant.
When we turned into the entrance of the State Mental Hospital, I got scared fast.
"What are we doing here? I'm not crazy!"
Joan just smiled one of those wicked smiles of which I was already sick, telling me to
keep quiet and do as I was told.
They were waiting for us. Joan must have called them before we left the courthouse.
There were two burly nurses to greet us who looked as if they enjoyed pushing peo-
ple around. With my hands behind my back, wearing a mini skirt and spike pumps, I
was in no condition to give them a hard time.
They took me to an examination room. My heart stopped cold when I saw the obstet-
rical examining table fitted out with restraining straps. I never did get used to those
damn things and the straps told me that I wasn't going to like what they were going
to do to me once they got me all strapped down with my legs held wide apart.
Despite their advantage in numbers and size, they didn't release my hands before
undressing me. My skirt, pantyhose and panties went first. It felt weird to be bare
from the waist down. Without a word, they hoisted me onto the table and strapped
my legs down tight. By now I was trembling from fear. They loosened the cuffs and
had my blouse and bra off before I could even think about resisting. Then they made
me lie back so they could fasten my wrists in cuffs attached to the table and pull a
wide leather band tight across my middle. I couldn't move an inch.
I demanded to know what the hell was going on but everybody ignored me. Joan had
disappeared and the two ape-women pretended they didn't understand English.
After a few minutes of my angry monologue, one of them turned to me and said,
"Shut up if you know what's good for you. We can make your life hell from here on if
we feel like it."
I decided to keep quiet. That lasted until I saw what was on the tray of instruments
she was wheeling toward me. A straight razor, a bowl of water, a can of shaving
foam and some towels. I moaned loudly in despair and let my body go limp. There
were worse things than having your crotch shaved but not too many, or so I thought
then. Why did they want my crotch free of hair? I did my best to keep still but the
sound of my own gasps seemed to echo in the room. When it was over, I had this
tremendous urge to run my hands over my new nakedness down there but I guessed
it was pointless to ask for my hands free.
They left me alone after that. It must have been an hour or more. There were no
clocks in the room but I could see the sun travel across the window. When the next
crew arrived, I knew I was in for something I wouldn't like.
They were all decked out in surgical garb and they brought a lot of stuff on carts with
them. Even though they all wore masks, I was sure that one of them was Joan. No-
body said anything to me or to each other. Panic took over and I began to pull
against the straps, cussing them all the while. Then someone put a rubber mask
over my mouth and nose and that was the last thing I remember until I woke up.
------------------
The first thing I remember feeling when I came out of the anesthetic, was the awful
burning in my pussy. Then I found out I couldn't move my arms or legs. I vaguely
remembered the straps on the table.
It took a while for my head to clear. The room was blurry and spun around a lot. I
had a hell of a headache and my muscles were cramped from being in the same po-
sition so long. A nurse, wearing a surgical mask leaned over me and said something
but I didn't understand. I tried to talk but my mouth was too dry and it tasted like
chemicals.
I don't know how long it took but I finally got my thoughts together enough to try to
find out what they had done to me. I raised my head a little and got the shock of my
life.
My arms and legs were encased in smooth, white plaster casts. Worse, there was
some small, metal-shining thing sticking out of my itching, burning pussy. It was not
big, but it was clearly visible on my shaved, spread-open crotch. I must have grunted
or something because the nurse came back and told be to relax and be quiet. She
gave me a sip of water and that helped a lot.
The nurse had disappeared again. I tried to figure out what they were up to. It was
terrible not being able to move nor knowing what was going on. By the time Joan
turned up, I was most curious and more than a little pissed off. She circled me. I re-
alized that I was still on the examining table but there were no straps holding me any
more. The casts took care of that function. She wore a very satisfied look. She had a
secret to tell and she was going to make me beg for it.
"Don't you want to know what's happened to you?" she asked coyly.
"I'm sure you'll get around to telling me in your own sweet time," I said and grunted
with the effort of trying to lift an arm encased in plaster and to close my splayed legs.
It seemed heavier than I expected. Then I noticed the doughnut-like thing around my
wrist. A weight. A quick check told me that I wore one on each wrist and ankle. I was
helpless. I did my best to hide the shiver of fear that ran down my spine.
Joan came up to the side of the table and leaned so close that I could smell her
perfume and see that her eyeliner needed a touch-up.
"You're in plasters, Sandy. Just think about that for a moment. You're all bundled up
like a baby and helpless to do anything about it."
I felt my lower lip tremble despite my best efforts at maintaining a tough face. I knew
I was in plasters. God how I knew! But, the unspoken questions were, for how long
and why?
"I know," I said quietly, "any idiot can see that."
Moria started her pacing again. It drove me wild because I couldn't keep her in my
field of vision. When you're helpless, you notice these things. I twisted and grunted
but the casts and the heavy weights attached to my limbs were very effective in
keeping me subdued. All I managed to do was tire myself out.
"Go ahead, struggle. It won't do you any good."
I hated Joan for saying that. It was true and the truth hurts. I was losing my cool, and
fast.
"OK, game time is over, you win. What's this all about?"
I didn't like the sound of my own voice. It was too desperate, too pleading. I was sig-
nalling my surrender whether I liked it or not.
She took her sweet time about answering. I wondered if she knew what "pregnant
pause" meant. She made me sweat those seconds before she replied.
"Oh, it's really quite simple. The Alternative Sentencing Program works on a very
basic principle. Rather than wasting much money to lock people like you up in a
prison as a negative reinforcement against your unacceptable behavior, in your case
drug misuse, we provide a ... special way of negative reinforcement."
She hadn't really come out and said it but a dark suspicion began to form in the back
of my mind at the same time as I remembered this strange thing in my pussy. I was
too stunned to offer any comment and Joan wasn't going to rush in with the good
news. She wanted me to beg for it. I did.
My voice was almost a whisper, not quite what I had intended but it got me an an-
swer.
"What do you mean?"
"Have you realized what you're wearing?"
"Yeah, plasters. I've mentioned that, remember?"
I wasn't sure if I really wanted to hear the rest of what she had to say but part of me
was dying of curiosity.
She slapped my naked pussy hard enough to cause a rush of fresh burning in it. I
moaned despite myself.
She resumed her strutting. I was reminded of a Nazi officer in a war movie. It was
time to clear up the last obvious point, no matter how awful the news.
"Joan," I said as carefully and rationally as I could, "you can't keep me in casts for
three years. It would cost as much as a prison cell."
She paused at the side of the table and began to run her hand over my body. She
pressed harder and it began to arouse me. I wanted to pull away but my legs were
too heavy with the casts and weights. I tried to ignore it while I waited for her to drop
the penny.
"Don't worry about the casts. They're only for a week or so. Just a little appliance to
help your indoctrination. No, the real gem is the hood that we placed over your clit."
She let her stroking get harder, knowing full well what she was doing. I panted
harder from the arousal, but suddenly I made a cry of pain, as she began to stick her
finger into my already-wet love hole. It stabbed terribly.
"This hood has a double function," Joan continued explaining after retreating her
finger. "First, it prevents your lust button from being touched or stimulated otherwise.
Second, it has a nice mechanism implemented. Anytime an object enters your cunt,
small needles will pinch your sensible area."
I looked in shock. This sounded really strange. Although I still didn't understood it
completely, this affair made me feeling terrified.
Fortunately, Joan now continued her explanations without the need for further en-
couragement. She seemed to really enjoy what was going on. "Understand the
meaning of this measure, dear? You're now sort of impotent, Sandy. You have no
choice but to wear this clitoris hood until we decide otherwise. It is fixed in your body
by a really intelligent way I don't intend to explain to you. It could only be removed by
a second surgical operation. You'll not be able to take anything into your pussy. We
help you keeping away from forbidden things."
She leaned close again. "Remember your sentence? It's three years. That means
you can count on 36 months of total sexual abstinence. Now how do you like that?"
That bothered me. Since my imprisonment, I hadn't thought about sex until then. As
soon as she mentioned it, I got horny. I would not have guessed anything like that,
and I had not been willing to admit it to myself. There I was lying on a table as help-
less as an infant and this woman had just told me I was going to be without any sex-
ual relief for years! I sighed and involuntarily tried to touch my bare pubis, but the
plasters denied any movement.
Joan giggled. "See what I mean?" she asked with unmasked amusement. "Although
you are still feeling as the slut you had been, from now on you will have no choice
than to behave like a nun. And there will not be provided any time for accustoming. If
this is hard for you ... well, remember, you're punished, not comforted."
I could have kill her for telling me this horrible news in her cheery voice. And I could
have kill her once again for inventing this devilish torture. But in reality, I could not. I
could do nothing. Only to lay there, sobbing, with itching pussy and tear-wet face. In
this state of multiple desperation, Joan left me alone.
The next days were like hell. I was helpless. Totally. Whoever thought up this crazy
scheme knew what they were doing. They did not provide me anything entertaining
while laying there. With my arms immobilized and nothing else in the room to distract
me, I had no choice but to focus on the dull pain in my crotch, my increasing demand
for sex and my many other discomforts.
I had a private room, thank God. The last thing I needed was some horny male psy-
cho taking advantage of me. The hospital wasn't air conditioned and it was July. I
had nothing to do but laying there all day, sweating, being horny, thinking about my
fate and suffering through Joan's cheerful visits.
Well, I did have some amusement. If you've ever had to wear a cast in the summer
time you'll know all about the itch. After a while it drives you crazy. Not mentioning
the other kind of itch between my legs. Not only the one coming from the re-growth
of my pubic hair. With my arms being useless, my legs too heavy to squeeze them
together and since there was no point in asking anyone to do it for me, all I could do
was to grit my teeth and try to ignore the oldest itch of all. And it went not better after
a few days, when the pain from the implantation of this terrible hood had subsided.
Oh no! I became catched up in permanent sexual demanding. I never had been
sooooo horny anytime in my life. I suspect it was not only from my strange situation. I
would not wonder if they had put some aphrodisiac in my food.
As far as the nurses were concerned, I was a baby. They refused to talk to me no
matter what I said to them and generally treated me as a newborn infant. The morn-
ing shift started at 7 AM. Two of them would come in, giving me a bed-pan, and
bathe me. I felt so deeply ashamed, when the nurses could recognize my always
rock-hard, demanding nipples and my dripping pussy. But I looked forward to them
for more reasons than just plain refreshment. There was the sponge bath that went
with it and the careful attention to my shaven pubis. I was starving for sexual contact
and my box had become very sensitive to even the slightest touch, so when they
wiped me there I just about swooned. I had come to understand why my pubic hair
had been shaved. The feel of a washcloth rubbing up against my soft sex lips was
almost more than I could bear, especially if the nurse pressed it more than usual
down.
Then came the embarrassing procedure of re-shaving me. New touches to my itch-
ing pussy. New arousing sensations down there. New humiliation.
Then one of the aides would feed me my breakfast. I liked that because they
cranked the head of the bed up and I got a different view for a few minutes. They,
however, always lowered it again at the end of the meal and only by looking down
my nose could I see Joan as she preached little sermons standing at the foot of my
bed.
Joan would have done well as an intelligence officer. Each day she came in right
after breakfast and gave me lots to think about after she left. I hated her for it. Joan
glowed when she told me about the restraint belt that had been made, just for me.
When I asked her why such a belt would be necessary she replied, "Well, dear, we
can't have you fiddling with yourself, now can we?"
She traced her long fingernails over my shaking belly. It made me horny, all the
more because I wanted it so much and yet couldn't do a thing to stop her.
Now she was stroking my pubic lips. I wanted desperately to close my legs but the
casts and weights were too heavy. I was beginning to breathe heavily and she no-
ticed, flashed me a cruel smile and then continued.
I grunted to stifle a moan of pleasure. The bitch! She was deliberately turning me on
while she talked about the worst fate I could imagine. I looked down at my erect nip-
ples. Joan too was giving them a hungry look. I wondered if she was bi or gay.
Suddenly she snatched her hand away. I moaned in despair and struggled against
my bonds. She watched me with her evil smile, before she resumed her perfidious
task, until I went nearly crazy.
After Joan had left, I was frustrated and mad. The thought that I was going to wear a
chastity belt, too, made me desperate for some relief.
It took her five days to describe just what the ASP was going to mean for me during
the next 24 to 36 months. The more I heard, the more I wished I had chosen prison.
Joan and I were going to be living together. She assured me that her apartment was
big enough and that I should give up mine and put my furniture in storage. As it
turned out, I didn't have any choice. By the time she took me home, she had already
called the storage company and cancelled my lease.
On the fifth day Joan told me I was to be released into her custody later that day.
First the casts would have to come off and a few other "procedures" performed. I
didn't like the sound of the last part but the idea of having my limbs back under con-
trol was wonderful.
As soon as Joan left, the nurses came in, removed my bedcover, and washed me
once again. Then they departed, leaving me with my crotch fully exposed and that
made me nervous. I sensed I wasn't going to like this one little bit.
Joan came back with a cute little beautician who carried a suspicious looking black
case. She couldn't have been more than 18 and she stopped cold when she saw me.
"Oh my God!" she gasped, and turned to Joan. "You can't mean it."
"Indeed we do. Now, just think about that bonus I promised you and get to work.
Your customer is incapable of giving you any trouble."
The beautician took another look at me. I gazed back, too embarrassed and curious
to say anything. I could see the doubt written across her face. She came up to the
bed and put her case down on the mobile table. I was curious as hell to know what
she was up to and yet part of me didn't really want to know at all. I kept telling myself
that, whatever it was, it was also part of my ticket out of there.
After she opened the case and I saw the electrolysis equip-maned I lost control and
went nuts. I started cursing them both and struggling against the casts.
It turned out that I should have kept control of myself. Joan called in the two apes
who shoved a feeding gag in my mouth and then gave me a shot to quiet me down. It
did that, all right, but did nothing for the pain as this little kid of a girl started zapping
my pubic stubble hairs, one by one.
I heard myself give a little grunt of pain every time the electric needle touched me. It
wasn't that each touch was that bad, it was the number of times she had to touch me.
She left in her wake a carpet of soreness that had my eyes watering in a few min-
utes.
The beautician stopped and looked up at Joan.
"I can't do this any more. I'm hurting her and it will only get worse when I get to the
wet parts."
Joan had been watching the whole thing with a big smile.
"Don't you worry yourself about that, honey. This bitch is a prisoner and what you're
doing is part of her punishment. She agreed to this rather than go to prison. Keep
going. The law is on your side."
She went back to work and I went back to suffering. By the end of it, I had quietly
vowed revenge on Joan. Just give me one good chance.
By the time she finished, my entire crotch felt hot and sore. The kid left, looking
shaken. Then the apes came back with a young guy who leered at my bare breasts
and stared at my shaved loins a lot while he cut the casts. As soon as each cast was
off, Joan released the weight on that limb. I tried moving my arms and legs. After five
days of forced immobility, they were stiff and weak but it felt delicious to have my
body back.
Joan reached me a slip. It was made of some tough fabric and clinged very tight
around my hips. I moaned as it rubbed over my tortured pubis. The she helped me
up from the bed. My legs were very unsteady and I leaned on her while we took a
few steps. Any move of the cloth on my swollen and sore pubis made me nearly
scream. I started to cry from the pain but it was still wonderful to be out of that bed.
One of the nurses came in and gave me a shot of Adrenalin. That helped a lot. Then
Joan got my clothes.
I looked at the blouse and mini skirt I had been wearing the day all this started. They
looked as if they belonged to someone else. By now I knew that my fiesting days
were over, at least for as long as ASP had control of me.
"Your mini skirt won't be appropiate," Joan said while I buttoned the blouse with
shaky fingers, "so I brought you a better one."
It turned out to be one of those vinyl types that are supposed to look like leather. I
hated it on sight but was in no mood for a fight. I just nodded and picked up my
pantyhose. Joan pulled them from my hands.
"You can forget pantyhose and bras as long as you're in the ASP program. I want to
have unrestricted access to your body. We'll get you some garter belts later."
I stepped into the skirt and pulled it up. Joan had guessed the size right but it
pressed my legs constantly together, another constant reminder of my condition. I
took a few steps. The feeling of rubbing my legs together was incredible. It shook me
up. My sore pussy burned once again. But on the other side, it gave me the long-
missed sexy feeling between my legs.
"Joan, I can't go out in public like this! I'm so horny, I will come after a short walk!"
She gave me one of her special smiles, "You will not, Sandy. Think of the tiny in your
slit."
And indeed, I realized, that the feeling while rubbing my legs was different to the one
I had before my sentence. Yes, I could feel my pussy lips stimulated, but my clit
seemed to be dead. Walking in this skirt would only make me hotter. I wailed.
I put on my black spike pumps and tried to get used to the height. I was still pretty
weak and it took me a while to get the hang of it. Joan sat on the bed and looked at
me as if I was a thoroughbred colt taking her first steps.
"Let's go," she said finally.
With a pounding heart, dry throat and burning crotch I took my first steps into the
outside world as a chastised prisoner.
