Alice Under Discipline, Part 2

by Garth ToynTanen

  The stiffly abrasive fabric scratched and itched her skin making sleeping near impossible save for fits and starts and head-nodding jolts, the only area spared being her breasts which sweated within their own prison. The latter consisted of a long-line bra possessing rigid reinforced plastic-lined cups designed to keep temptation at bay - except that it didn’t; the bra’s cups lined internally with a circular pad of fine grassy soft polythene fronds managed the exact opposite; boredom did the rest, imagination filled in the gaps making it suitably difficult to concentrate.

  In a similar fashion her pudendum - that shameful thing, as the nuns called it, quoting from the Latin translation - was sheltered behind a small, rigid and roughly ovoid polythene bowl which tapered off towards the rear and was ostensibly designed to protect both from the chafing of the straightjacket’s crotch strap, and any sinful stimulation that might otherwise be derived. This shield-like covering being immovably secured within - and an integral part of - the gusset of a pair of thick skin-tight backless rubber panties was furnished with a small straw-like tube to the fore - this forming the exit point of a urethral catheter - and was lined with an entire lawn of long, soft, grass-like strands that swayed, stroked and caressed with every movement. An additional little rubbery fan of slivers, something along the lines of the body and arms of a sea anemone in form, arose and oozed upwards and inwards from within the front of the gusset cover, its latex tendrils drifting bewitchingly forwards to surround and intermittently brush against that which she’d really rather nothing touched at all than just sort of half-touch. That part of the perineum between the rear of the vagina and the anus, that sensitive area above which the plastic gusset cover tapered to a flat point, was treated to the infuriating attentions of a fine longitudinal fringe of bristly plastic hairs.

  Her anus itself - ordinarily a sweet little pinkish bud - left bare and uncovered by the backless panties was distended and stretched, though not painfully so, by a hollow-centred rubber bung, this in form like a small but wide-centred black cotton reel, albeit soft yet resilient. Locked firmly in place by its shape, the rubbery inner flange being quite large in girth in comparison to the centre part of the tubular doughnut-like body, this dilator - as it was termed - was safe from expulsion during normal voiding and was essentially tamper-proof - even if the patient’s hands were free, which Alice’s most certainly were not - requiring a special tool to fit or remove; it also all but completely removed the patient’s own volition in ‘holding back’, the device rendering the sphincter muscles essentially useless.

  A thick, doubled terry cloth nappy enfolding the whole ensemble, backless rubber pants, catheter outlet, pudenda shield and all, completed the picture. Over all of this paraphernalia went a voluminous pair of all-confining, ‘tamper-proof’ plastic bloomers, the garment a greyish-white semi-transparent institutional monstrosity devoid of any aesthetic or consideration of dignity. Elasticated deep-sectioned waterproofed and rubberized internally-ribbed cuffs bit deep into her lower thighs, nearly as far down as her knees. A chunky polythene covered, rubber lined, waistband, its grip augmented by an enclosed threaded-through spring steel band, squeezed just a tad too firmly where it hugged her middle beneath her lower ribs. The two halves of the flat steel hoop running within the confines of the broad waistband were kept closed by a small but robust padlock mounted at the rear, at the small of her back, which served to wed the two ‘U’ shaped metal hoops formed at the point at which the two spring steel ends surfaced from within the plastic fabric covering.

  The buckled straitjacket crotch strap would be tightened over all this of course. The thick, broad, unforgiving leather tongue would be pulled taut through the locking roller buckle assembly until the crotch, diaper or nappy and that rigid gusset-shield thing were all pressed up unbearably close into her groin and intimacy, the bulk of the terry cloth forcing her thighs apart to the point at which walking would have been reduced to a painfully slow old-aged waddle in any case, even without the padded leather ankle restraints and their short tethering leash which hobbled her further. Then the crotch strap would be locked-off with a padlock.

  It was true a pair of fabric bloomers would then be slipped over the top, these in a soft white satin - whether silk satin or of some man-made fibre she couldn’t be sure - and tying at the waist, over the top of the straightjacket, by way of a huge pink satin bow. But this addition had nothing to do with aesthetics or consideration of dignity, and a whole lot to do with humiliation, being festooned with babyish prints of teddy bears, dollies and other childhood friends and decorated by row upon lavish row of flounces and frills. It all went along with the ankle socks and the manner in which they now arranged what was left of her hair - after her trip to the nun who had laughingly called herself ‘the stylist’ and had doled-out her first ‘hospital cut’ - into two tightly plaited pigtails, each finished off with a massively oversized glossy pink satin ribbon.

  Finally the ankle cuffs would be fastened over the top of the little frilled white turn-over-top ankle socks they made her wear; a fluffy, lacy and babyish confection decorated with pink ribbons threaded around the tops, each tied in a cutie-pie bow at the front. The restraint cuffs each fastened with a double-tongued strap and buckle arrangement, each of the four small stainless steel buckles - two on each cuff - secured by a padlock, one of which on each cuff did double duty by way of securing the ‘D’ ring on each end of the oh, so short, hobble strap.

  She used to sit listlessly against the back wall of the padded cell staring at all that white glossy nothingness, content to hear nothing save the occasional creaking of the quilted plastic or polyurethane padding that covered every surface of her little cuboid inner-world as she shifted her weight. The rhythmic sighing her own resigned breathing and the tinnitus hissing of her blood circulation being recorded and registered in her ears had been her only other companions - that and the occasional word that would trickle past her own lips if and when her self-imposed discipline of silence broke down; talking to herself, she had decided, if she wanted to maintain the dignity of sanity, was a real no-no. Of course there had been her own occasional outbursts of hilarity she’d had to contend with, when some aspect of her situation, perhaps of the contrast with her beloved stepmother’s various jaunts around the globe at her - or rather her father’s estate’s - expense; an inheritance increasingly and frustratingly being squandered - would bring her own laughter ringing in her ears.

  Even more worrying than talking to herself, that was - she would have to give herself a good talking to; she started to giggle at the thought of that, then broke off abruptly as she heard similar giggling emanating from the identical cell next door. Silence again fell and she found herself idly wondering whether sweet, fey Gwyneth next door might not be giving herself a good talking to, at that very moment. She would do the same, in her head of course; talking to yourself in your head was ok, the psychologist had said so; the inner voice, that’s what the doctor had said it was, ‘one’s inner dialogue’: This was something the doctor encouraged - she was to mull over her problems, all those psychological problems, the phobias, the obsessions, the addictions; but she didn’t have any of those, at least she was sure she hadn’t had, not until the doctor had got to her. And as for her greatest, hungriest addiction; that was to doctor herself, the counselling sessions she couldn’t go without, the sedatives and tranquilizers the doctor had prescribed and had left it to her darling stepmother to shoulder the responsibility, wield the power, entailed in dolling out.

  It was hardly surprising her money-grabbing stepmother was going to use that dependency to gain control over her; that was how the woman had got her under her thumb, how she’d made Alice kowtow to all the stipulations, rules, regulations and limitations she had placed her under, how she’d managed to get Alice across her knee, and later to bend for her strap and cane, how she’d managed to put Alice back in school uniform, make her submit to the authority of a governess, forgo her promising and p
restigious university place for the Victorian-style discipline of the home schoolroom.

  Between her stepmother, the school teacher and the governess her stepmother had employed they’d had her writing lines, learning by rote and corner standing with hands on head like a naughty child. Only the doctor had been her lifeline, had been able to whisk her away from all that... But only to this place - she’d said it was a church-run charity home, but something of a sanctuary for abused or exploited young women, not a system of exploitation and abuse in its own right, a type of self-justifying sanctified detention and confinement for those the churched deemed too ‘easily led’ to be allowed to squander freedom.

  Now she was becoming introspective - for some reason the thought made her smile: “I mustn’t laugh, though I mustn’t giggle, I must...” For a moment she thought she could hear the girl next door whispering, giving herself that good talking to she needed; on recognizing her own voice she broke off urgently. From outside the wailing began anew. Trying to bury her head in the padded flooring to deaden the plaintive Welsh-lilted calling out and whining Alice began now twisting herself sharply back and forth, spastically twitching and thrashing before finally, having built up sufficient momentum, she succeeded in progressing from lying on her right to her lying on her left; but still arranged in that knees-to-chest foetal position.

  It was only recently this new variation to the level of her confinement, this new refinement, had been introduced. Now the foetal position was the only position she could adopt; the leather leash customarily attached to the front of the straitjacket’s throttling tight collar was now conjoined at the other end to a steel ring fitted midway along the tether hobbling her ankles, joined to it by yet another of those bloody padlocks. She could flex her knees back and forth a little, but that was about it; she couldn’t straighten out her legs. And that knees-up doubled position made it an even more onerous task to hold back once all those prunes and figs and porridge she was spoon-fed with at intervals throughout what passed as the ‘day’ here got to work...

  How they loved their padlocks in this place - security was heaped on security, however superfluous. If the functionality, the strict utility, was questionable, the psychology behind it was not. There was that new young woman, for instance; the latest white-coated Snow Queen to take it on herself to gatecrash young Alice’s private Wonderland. No bespectacled college blue-stocking, this one, in fact her stockings were habitually dark tan, sometimes smoky black; yes, stockings, Alice could tell. On occasion, if this relatively new tormentress happened to squat to take her canvas shrink-wrapped patient by the chin, as was her habit (and Alice did feel ‘shrink-wrapped’, and in more ways than one), an elastic suspender - sometimes two - would show, snow white or ‘skin tone’ pink but, just occasionally, a rubbery, gummy old-gold amber, like the colour of golden syrup.

  Despite the woman’s relative youth her figure was all restrained voluptuousness, girdled, boned and waspish, with a bottom that seesawed as she walked, calves stretched and moulded into a feminine ideal by the high-heel stiletto’s she was obliged to kick off out in the corridor before entering the padded cell (or ‘soft room’ as she termed it) and a bustline that was more akin to a pair of torpedoes than bullets (despite the term, ‘bullet’ bra) and that seemed to project beyond the boundary her perpetually open, flapping white doctor’s coat. There was a badge embroidered on the breast pocket of the woman’s white coat; a heraldic shield device, like a coat-of-arms, overlaid by a large glistening gold-thread Christian cross entwined by two counter-winding green and blue serpents in the style of Hippocrates (of the Hippocratic Oath fame), topped by the black-lettered title, ‘psychotherapist’ and underpinned by the words, ‘St Ursulain’s infirmary ‘.

  Despite the odd parochial / clinical / medical / psychiatric context, the woman always had her powder-pale face fully and painstakingly made up as if on her way to an important dinner date or crucial business function. Wafting in on, and preceded by, a wave of scent and perfumed cosmetics, she would be all painted-talon nail varnish, iridescent green or blue like a beetle’s wing covers with eye shadow to match, full, luscious (even to Alice’s eye) tomato-red lips, and subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) rouged high cheek bones; the woman’s bone structure was striking - like a photographic model’s off the front of a glossy monthly - despite her corsetry-constrained plumpness, combining, Alice once guessed in an increasingly uncharacteristically lucid moment, the best aspects of a joint European and Asian ancestry. Invariably she would be in an above-the-knee grey hound’s-tooth, pinstripe or plain Welsh-slate-grey pencil skirt, her perky high breasts thrusting and barely constrained by a shockingly prim and proper high-necked blouse that was flounced around the throat almost as if by a miniature ruff and set off by a Whitby jet choker in the style of a cameo broach.

  Alice remembered how, quite recently, having taken her by the chin and tilted back her head to force her to look deep into her deep, dark - almost black - bottomless eyes- that woman had said something about how everything that was now happening to her here was all in aid of something she had termed ‘learned helplessness’.

  The woman had gone on to say how this ‘learned helplessness’ was something that occurs to animals - or people (it was a point she had been keen to emphasise) - that have become conditioned to believe that an unpleasant situation is unchangeable or inescapable, that if an animal is repeatedly subjected to what she called an ‘aversive stimulus’ which it is unable to avoid, then eventually that animal will stop trying to avoid the stimulus. The animal (or ‘subject’, as she’d kept saying) will then begin to behave as if it is utterly helpless to change its situation. It will fail to run or fight back even when if an opportunity to escape presents itself; in short, it will have become ‘manageable’, by which it seemed she meant entirely docile. Here, Alice was given to understand, it was she - Alice - who was playing the part of that animal. All those padlocks, straps, restraints, barred windows, locked doors, rooms with light switches mounted on the outside - they were all part of the process...And no, that knowledge would not stop that process progressing, she had been told.

  Alice now knew this new nemesis of hers was a newly minted psychology PhD. The woman had been plucked straight from an Oxbridge university, hand-picked, appraised and vetted by doctor Ecclestone herself - and she possessed that haughty ‘chin-in-the-air, head-up-her-own-arse’ attitude and infuriatingly superior drawled-out vowels to match. But there was so much more to this overtly sensual woman than her expertise in the field of psychiatric care. Deep in her eyes there lurked the soul of an out and out dominatrix. A denial-ridden lipstick-lesbian subconsciously terrified by her own sexuality and unexplained (deliberately glossed-over?) inner feelings, in her own way she was every bit as sexually repressed and conflicted as the most hot-bloodedly disturbed of the nuns; and that conflict made her hate her own kind, especially when she found herself attracted to them. If she couldn’t physically despoil that attractive element - though her instructions to shear those under her care, to shave the eyebrows, even clip the eyelashes, were designed to do just that - she could at least disrupt that attraction psychologically, though ironically she found the level of childish dependency she then induced in her charges strangely even more seductive;. There was that sort of look of trust she could see in a girl’s eyes that came on after a prolonged period spent languishing in a straitjacket; it was something she could perceive even while tenderly stroking a girl’s cheek and telling her quite frankly what she intended to accomplish next; it made her go all ‘gooey’ inside; it also made her crueller still, drove her to become yet more vindictive, to seek nothing less than the complete ruination of her charge.

  Poor young Alice’s shoulders and arms ached and throbbed like a nagging toothache and burned as if forced into unaccustomed intense exercise without letup, bringing tears to her eyes, the tendons and ligaments complaining loudly at their unnatural distension and simultaneous immobilisation; they were
supposed to complain. Ordinarily some small amount of slack would be allowed, some slight few degrees of freedom left her restrained torso and upper limbs, while still leaving the jacket sufficiently confining as to make freeing herself absolutely beyond consideration; indeed, all those additional padlocks and locking clasps would have bamboozled and frustrated even the most skilled of escapologists. When the fastenings of a straitjacket were made as constraining as this though, apparently just short of actually cutting off the circulation, it was as a disciplinary measure rather than for reasons of security or of ‘patient safety and welfare’, a means of punishment.

  And there was no point pleading with the staff as they came and went performing their various and often distasteful duties, spoon feeding her being one of the least. They would never help; indeed they would do their darndest to avoid even acknowledging her, even to the extent of avoiding eye contact. And if a pair of nurses was present, they would never speak to each other in front of Alice, let alone speak to her; the only person that ever spoke to her, who ever even acknowledged her, was this new psychotherapist woman. Alice didn’t even get to see Dr Ecclestone any longer; it was as if that woman had washed her hands of her, abandoned her here. If she did call out or try to speak to one of the nurses, for example while being fed, between the spoonfuls of tasteless gruel, the only response would be a sharp slap to the side of her face; and the instant withdrawal of both gruel and nurse in this instance. The hunger of a missed meal or the prolonged discomfort following the abandonment of the changing of a soiled nappy, soon brought home the intended lesson. Even saying that, though; there were times when even the slight acknowledgement embodied by a slap around the face was preferable to the frustration of silence, of being ignored; it provided an albeit short-lived release from what was a surprisingly effective, though subtle, form of mental torture; who would of thought simply being ignored could break a person down so.