The Girls Home

A prelude

Anita and Sarah had been great friends ever since schooldays, they'd had had a schoolgirl crush upon each other, long before they met their husbands, in fact before boys came along at all. Unlike most such pairings, theirs had endured and they still met up for a little womanly comforting from time to time. Over the years the comforting had expanded to encompass the exploration of their increasingly steamy fantasies: they wondered if other women shared their hidden desires but never dared to ask. Sarah had been rather down of late, her husband John's carnality had dwindled, gradually, from marginal to almost non-existent and recently, on top of everything else, he had discovered Jesus and sin. Anita knowing her friend's eclectic and not always run-of-the-mill tastes wanted to plan a delightful surprise for her friend to cheer her up but oh, to find something new that would really stoke Sarah's fires.

They had indulged in and discovered a mutual love of role play and acted out their various twisted notions for a long time now, but oh for something different. Mistress and servant had been their first roles but they soon ran out of scenarios. Naughty school girl had been fun for a while, headmistress and contrite pupil had lasted longer and the costumes, all grey pleated skirts, stiff starched blouses, white knee socks and voluminous blue or white knickers, were more fun too and really made them feel naughty. Kinky Sarah had preferred socks and knickers whilst Anita opted for the more conventional thick, flesh-coloured stockings held up by suspenders over a bare, if hairy, bush. Then Anita introduced the most dangerous game of all, 'the penitent.' Here she had enlisted the assistance of her rather too enthusiastic, elderly, parish priest. The vividness of his fertile imagination soon became all too obvious as he first sustained and then inflated their perversity by demanding a series of extraordinarily humiliating acts of penance from the pair of them; his own confessions ought to have been interesting, lust and gluttony must have featured large but pride ought to have been included too.

Anita racked her brains, a new angle, she needed a new angle. They'd covered, comprehensively, priest and nun, priest and mother-superior and even bishop and all powerful abbess during 'the penitent' phase. Anita smiled as she recollected some of the acts that 'Bishop Herodious' had been oblige to perform, at the direction of the Abess of Pussrun in order to ensure the complete reformation of their truly repentant, but extraordinarily misguided, sinner. Best of all she recollected poor Sarah scrubbing the stone flagstones of the narthex of his church, on her hands and knees, wearing a chemise which only just managed to cover her bare sex and naked bottom when she was standing up. Even Anita, unsure of her faith as she was, was pleased to discover that the vestibule of the church was screened from the alter; in darker moments she wondered if the old and compliant priest would have been as equally fastidious.

Triumph at last, Anita solved her problem, she took out her sewing box, unfolded her sewing machine and after she had invited Sarah to join her for the weekend, leaving all her inhibitions at home, she began to cut, pin and stitch the new costume. Anita had dreamt up a cocktail whose effects even she could not be sure of but she knew it would be potent, more Long Island Iced tea than Manhattan.

She, Anita, was to be Miss Gorgon, an elderly spinster who directed a Glaswegian, Roman Catholic, reformatory for wayward girls set, in all probability in the nineteen fifties or nineteen sixties. Sarah was to be their latest charge, undergoing her induction and inspection by the church board. A board who would explore fully and then review in their entirety the c omplete depths of Sarah's depravities. All, of course, in order to reveal to her, her total lack of self control and also to teach her to be ashamed of her openly wanton and highly lascivious ways. But rather than dissect the minutiae of Anita's planning, we should study its results, by relating the experiences of the most fortunate, or most unfortunate, Sarah.

Sarah, forty, plump with generous busts and wide hips was not used to complying with commands barked at her sharply; not even from her co-conspirator and slightly younger friend, Anita. From the moment of her arrival at the house that evening Sarah felt wrong footed. "What a singularly useless specimen they've sent us this time! Remove that appalling apparel immediately, you look like a street whore. Don't just stand there girl, get a move on, strip you little tart!" What sort of greeting was that from your best friend? And she had taken a lot of trouble to try to please her friend. Sarah was dressed in a delicate, yet slinky, cream, silk blouse, presenting just enough cleavage to ensure that anyone who saw would discern that the breasts it so elegantly concealed were large, soft and sensuous. Her bright red skirt hung only just above her knees, with thighs like hers, if you wanted to look sexy, it was better to conceal than reveal. Her suspenders and bra were also bright red, but these were well hidden beneath her costume. Her black stockings and heels were sensual but, for a woman of forty, not tarty so there was no way that anyone, Anita included, could have realised that she had rejected wearing black, lace trimmed, seductive silk briefs in favour of no panties at all. Sarah was indignant, she knew that she bore no resemblance to a common street whore whatsoever.

Sarah was also not thinking; well her husband was driving her insane. Never one for pushing the boat out in bed, let alone; rowing in the kitchen, sailing in the dining room, floating in the lounge or being becalmed in the bathroom: he had become even more sexually conservative of late, obsessed with lust and maintaining a lack of it. His 'born again' obsessions had already transformed 'making love' into 'marital duties' and, given that 'his wife was entering the twilight of her fertility', had increasingly justified, at least to himself, that resisting the temptation of carnality was godly.

Pragmatic Sarah, true no theological expert, simply employed common sense; God had seen fit to endow the sexual organs of devoted husbands and wives with an enormous capacity for demonstrating their understanding of the wants, needs and desires of their partners; such a magnanimous gift ought to be explored and exploited to the full, not questioned. Pragmatic Sarah had also resigned herself to the fact that indulging Anita in her fantasies and perversions was a whole lot more fun than following the staid and stolid ideas of her boring husband, even if this was rather naughty of her, and the very occasional real infidelities that her roles had demanded of her did give her an occasional twinge of guilt; but then, 'no pain, no gain'.

Sarah attempted to protest but the moment she opened her mouth her friend became wholly overbearing, "strip you worthless slattern, undress this instant or face the punishments of this institution; painful, protracted, subtle, severe and utterly memorable." Sarah noticed that Anita's garb matched her tone: a calf length, shapeless, grey woollen skirt whose only ornament was a simple broad black belt; drab nylons, flat black, lace-up, masculine shoes and a crisp cream blouse fastened at the collar with a simple gold pin, she'd even put her hair up in a tight bun, not at all her usual style, closer to her nun outfit, in fact.

'OK' Sarah thought to herself, 'role playing it is; but did Anita have to be quite so dominant, her friend Anita knew that she, Sarah, was having a hard time of things, she needed bouquets not brickbats.' Sarah hesitated and Anita drew a leather strap from its place, hanging over her leather belt, an evil looking thing with one end divided into two. She ordered Sarah to stand up straight and hold out her hand and when she did so Anita delivered a single stinging blow that was intensely painful. Sarah, winced and resigned herself to obedience, her friend had never introduced an element of violence before. "Now child strip naked or you'll get another five of those and then I'll call my assistants, have them hold you down and undress you by force; I might even let them poke and prod your blubbery bits. Nervous of where Anita was taking this and massaging her sore palm the now somewhat scared Sarah quickly did as she had been bidden.

In truth Anita was rather concerned about how much that strap had appeared to have hurt her friend. She had researched her role thoroughly and discovered that, in bygone days, the tawse was a common instrument of discipline in Scottish schools and had procured one; she had never considered just how effective it might be.

"Now here's your uniform". First, Anita unwound a long, roll of solid white webbing, about an inch and a quarter wide. She hung the middle of the ribbon over the back of her friend's neck, pulled an end over each of her shoulders and made a cross by passing the left strap under her friend's buxom right breast and the right strap under her fleshy left breast, looped it once around her back, twice around her waist and tied it off. "You're a big lass, but bras are too expensive." She had transformed the webbing into a makeshift bra that gave Sarah enough support to prevent her from unsightly sagging but did nothing to cover her big red teats and their encircling, light brown, areolae.

Anita knelt, and bid Sarah step into a voluminous pair of soft, white cotton knickers that she was holding open for her. For a woman of forty they were pathetically childish in design and correspondingly humiliating, not things to be seen in, in addition to the usual stretchy waist, the leg holes were also elasticated; Sarah blushed as she pondered upon who Anita was going to force her to parade herself before, modelling those dreadful pants. "Any stains on those and you'll catch a good dose of the belt on both your bare buttocks and between those fat, wobbly white thighs of yours" and Anita pinched the fleshy part on the inside of one of Sarah's thighs, just hard enough to make her start and wince.

Underwear completed, Anita handed Sarah her masterpiece. Anita was an excellent seamstress and this was a triumphal creation; she made no effort to conceal her pride. Initially Sarah mistook the garment for a simple white smock but quickly realised that it had been designed by the devil herself. The skirt of the garment, which belled out over her broad hips, did not even reach the middle of her thighs, exposing a great deal of soft, pneumatic skin. The fabric of the skirt was a soft, white, densely woven yet surprisingly light, cotton. There was plenty of material in that skirt too; so much that, whenever Sarah moved, the skirt had a tendency to ride up her hips, flare out and then parachute down slowly on a cushion of trapped air, flashing an even greater extent of her thighs in the process. Indeed, if Sarah moved too suddenly you would be given an eye watering glimpse of those distressingly childish, white cotton panties. The waist of the smock was elasticised and set high, immediately below the Sarah's ample bosoms. The back of the short bodice was also elasticised pulling the front, which was made of a double layer of soft cheese cloth, tightly across Sarah's large breasts. The material was sufficiently dense to conceal her rather dark areolea but, combined with that ingenious webbing-bra, whenever Sarah's nipples stiffened, even in the slightest, their state of excitement was instantly be obvious to all and sundry. That smock's sole purpose was to make the wearer squirm with embarrassment as it defeated their attempts to maintain dignity, composure and modesty; and the underwear complimented it perfectly.

As soon as she looked in the full length mirror, Sarah's nipples stood out like tiny thimbles and Anita's intense, gaze fixed upon the marvellous effects that her new creation had produced made Sarah blush. "That's your uniform. Keep it spotless. At least it's easy to go the toilet in. Now give me a twirl let's make sure it fits properly."

Sarah did as she was bidden, caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and felt a lump fall in the pit of her stomach, you certainly could see those hateful knickers if she moved too quickly. Moreover, the tightly stretched bodice actually exaggerated the size of her bust and the cut of the skirt made her hips look even wider. At least Sarah was relieved to discover that with such apparently generous breasts and broad hips they drew attention away rather her rather too round and prominent waistline. Anita completed the little girl lost look by fixing Sarah's hair in bunches. Sarah inspected herself once more in the full length mirror and was startled. She was a forty odd year old, married, woman posing in the outfit of a girlish waif and she looked comical. She thought, 'I'm clearly asking for it,' and her sex became just a little slippery as she wondered who Anita had chosen to make the demands that were inevitable.

"Now, Miss James, that is your name isn't it?"

"Yes miss," Sarah answered in a humble tone.

"It's nearly lights out in this establishment and as a special treat I have decided that you can administer my nightly sleeping draught. Of late I have found it hard to nod off and have discovered that my charges can assist me in finding repose in the embrace of fair Morpheus." Sarah was baffled, Anita didn't inject drugs surely? "Come follow me." And she led a puzzeled Sarah, or rather a complicit Miss James, to her bedroom. "First you must help me undress."

'This is more like it,' thought Sarah and she unbuttoned her friend's blouse to reveal an old white long line bra that reached almost to her naval, washed to a pale grey and reflected, 'when Anita played a role she played it to the hilt'. Sarah did wonder where on Earth Anita had found such a well used bra. She spotted a hanger on the back of the door and fitted the blouse over it carefully. Sarah knelt, leant forwards, pushing her rump as high in the air as she could, hoping that Anita could see her panties, unlaced Anita's clumpy shoes and helped her out of them. Sarah straightened up but remained kneeling so she could unbuckled the belt, releasing that hated strap, which Anita placed on a bedside table. Sarah unbuttoned the fastening of the long grey skirt and drew it down.

What a sight. Under the skirt Anita was supporting those thick, flesh toned nylon stockings with a long white girdle that possessed no less than eight straps each of which was fitted with metal fastener over a pair of white, washed grey, sloggi maxi briefs. Once the skirt was removed Sarah slowly unclipped the stockings, whilst secretly huffing hot breath onto the thin strip of skin that was exposed to excite her friend. She peeled the stockings down Anita's legs very gently; mindful of her friend's mood and love of accuracy she was in no doubt whatsoever that if she laddered a stocking she would be thrashed with that terrible strap. 'That,' Sarah reflected, 'was the problem with Anita, once a fantasy had started she was quickly carried away by it, wholly absorbed in her role and Anita was an excellent actress.' For example, Anita could cry at will and Sarah was both ashamed of, and exhilarated by, the feeling of power that always swept through her when, as part of one of their games where she had to deliver a 'good talking to' it inevitably resulted in hysterical, chest heaving, sobbing from Anita whilst the tears streamed down her cheeks. Stockings gone, Sarah unhooked first the bra, then the girdle and, finally tugged down the briefs, leaving Anita naked.

"You may kiss me child." Sarah made to kiss her friend upon the lips but was interrupted, rudely, "don't be so presumptuous and impertinent girl. Here!" And Anita grabbed one of the bunches and tugged, directing Sarah's puckered lips towards one of her nipples. Sarah understood and gladly sucked, licked and gently nibbled each of her friends teats, giving them equal turns of attention, and they soon responded by becoming as swollen and distended as her own. "Now child for my medication. I will get into bed and you will lift the blankets at the foot, crawl under them and up between my legs until you can lick my sex; which is exactly what you will continue to do, until I inform you that you have dissipated all of my tensions. Do you understand?"

"Yes miss." thinking, 'sex at last,' Sarah looked forwards to her turn. "Please miss might I be permitted to remove my smock?" delivered in a perfect weak and chastened tone; Sarah was now also becoming subsumed by her role. Sarah licked and sucked and, sometimes, fingered her sensuous and sensitive friend almost to the point of oblivion. Anita's sighs and cries of passion rose rapidly to a, rather, noisy crescendo but then only subsided slowly as she enjoyed a train of heavenly climaxes; her friend had, after all, had a lot of practice. Unbeknown to Sarah, her anticipation of favours returned had caused a large, dark, wet, stain to form in the gusset of her, otherwise, pure white knickers. Anita had anticipated this when she designed the costume and sketched out her terrible script; but her suspicions about the effectiveness of that tawse stayed her hand.

"Child I am finally limp with pleasure, you performed well but, before I repose in slumber, I must show you to your cell." She directed Sarah to her tiny box room, which Sarah had never entered before. Today, at least, it was Spartan; Anita had even removed the carpet to expose the cold, hard, wooden floor. Specifically, there was a narrow brass bedstead with its head set against the middle of one wall, covered by a thin mattress, that Sarah recognised as Anita's old Futon. At its foot, neatly folded, was a single, thin, grey blanket. Next to it a plain wooden stool with a large, old-fashioned, school hand bell resting upon it. Against another wall there was a simple stand, really a shelf on legs. Upon that were placed; two large bowls, a very large pitcher and two soft flannels. Hanging from a rail suspended below the shelf was a small, course, towel. In a corner, and this puzzled Sarah the most, there was a galvanized tin bucket covered by a thick piece of wood.

"I will undress you." Sarah was relieved by this simple statement, she was not sure that she could unknot that strange webbing-bra on her own. After Anita had rendered Sarah naked, her stern demeanour returned. "Well girl, if you wish to get through the night without shaming yourself utterly you must pee." Sarah started for the bathroom but Anita restrained her, "You are not contaminating my bathroom with your smelly piddle, there is a perfectly good bucket there, use it!" This too was a new kink; she, Sarah was going to have to piss, into a bucket with Anita looking on; and for the third time that evening Sarah blushed.

Anita, who did not miss this, was delighted; she was increasing Sarah's tolerance of humiliation up by, at least, a notch which, given the arrangements she had made for the morrow, was essential. For her fantasy to be successful it required absolute compliance from Sarah. Sarah squatted over the bucket and gradually relaxed sufficiently to allow a stream of urine to tinkle, dreadfully noisily, against the base. Once she had voided her bladder she looked around for toilet tissue, knowing that there was none. "Please miss, is there any paper?"

"You think institutions like mine have money to flush down the toilet? Wash your intimate parts using the bowl on the right, pat yourself dry with the towel, then wash you hands in the bowl on the left, tip the water away into the bucket and don't forget to rinse those bowls clean."

Whilst the room was warm, the water was icy cold, making Sarah shiver. She cleaned herself carefully, she did not want to give Anita an excuse to avoid letting her, in her turn, come; Sarah's servicing of her friend had left her very excited indeed. Anita had a gradual way of love making that built your first orgasm very slowly, ensuring that when, at last it did happen, it was an event; hitting you like a train, then blowing you away like a feather in gale; a feather that promptly smacked into another train, etc.. She lay upon the thin mattress, on her back. "Left hand please." Sara extended her left hand and Anita bound it to the bed head.