Thesis Pt. 03

Chapter 7: Admissions Procedure

Course 8 / Day 1 Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Josephine: Fifty was somewhat surprised by her session with Celia after her admission, but took her initial challenge without protest. There is every sign is that she will quickly adapt to the Inward Bound regime.

Jenny's Recollections

We are taken into a rather well-appointed dining room. Our group of five is shown towards a separate table just for us. There are place cards at each seat with our names on. Mine has the number Fifty in brackets after it. The other girls all seem to have numbers beside their names too. No one explains what they mean. We're left to sit ourselves down to eat.

I'm trying to take it all on-board. Thinking about how I'm going to write this up for the research proposal.

Supper is on the table already, waiting for us. It's fairly Spartan food and makes for an interesting contrast with our gracious surroundings. There's a big bowl of muesli, a pair of stainless steel water jugs, a plate of oat cakes and another bowl filled with fresh fruit. We've each got a plastic beaker, a metal bowl and a plastic spoon. It's all pretty basic, muesli with water, oatcakes, fruit and water to drink. This diet looks like it's going to be good for us, if it goes on like this. One thing is certain; any spare fat will be history for me, if we eat like this for two months!

Nobody comes to take the tape from our mouths. Carrie is the first one to peel it away and start spooning some muesli into her bowl. Her handcuffs clank against the metal bowl, as she reaches for one of the water jugs.

After the long journey and nothing to eat since breakfast, I am hoping for something, well, something more normal, and hot! Something like the richer and more indulgent meal being consumed by Charlotte, Gerry and George, at the next table – with wine! There are some none too subtle messages going out.

None of us say anything. I guess that the others are as nervous as I am. Having the tape and blindfolds on during the journey seems to have put us all into an introspective mood. I look around at the others. They all look about the same age as I am. Sue is maybe a few years older, a little more heavily built than the rest of us. Anna is quite tall and willowy; Judy slim, but with nicely prominent tits. One good thing; at least I'm not the only one that hasn't had her hair clipped really short. Carrie has her hair done pretty much like mine. It's such a beautiful auburn, I can see why she wouldn't want to have it clipped. All the others do seem to have got their extra ear piercing, though. They all have a single gold stud in rather red looking ear lobes.

At the other table "the Faculty", as I've christened them to myself, are all chatting away; inconsequential stuff about the trip up, as far as I can tell.

Eventually the Faculty finishes, pushing away their plates, most of them leaving something. We've been waiting quite a while and even if we haven't found it that appetising, we've managed to clear almost all of the food that they served up for us.

Two more Inward Bound staff arrive. One of them points at me and beckons me to follow her, out of the dining room along a corridor and down a flight of stairs of stairs to an office. She dials a number on the phone and hands the receiver to me. "Your safe call", she says, "Just say you got here OK".

Eventually Angela's voice mail picks up – it's just as well that I'm not in any sort of jam!

"Hi, Angela, it's Jenny," I say. "Just a quick call to say I got here safe and sound. I'm at ...er...(I look down and realise that I can't give Angela the number because there is no number on the phone) ...at IWB. I am just checking in. 'Bye."

I hand the receiver back to the woman. As she takes it, I can see she is obviously very amused by my reference to "checking in", as though I was at some grand hotel. Well, I'll keep up appearances as long as I can.

We leave the office and further down the passage, get to what I guess is going to be my room, at least for tonight.

I'm not sure that 'room' is the right word. This is the first confirmation of what Charlotte had told me at the interview, "We try to push your limits and it can be quite demanding". The room looks exactly like a prison cell. There are three solid walls, but the corridor wall is all bars, floor to ceiling. Inside I can see a couch with a blanket and towel folded up on it. There are en suite facilities, well sort of - a wash hand basin next to a French style squatting toilet with a shower head over the toilet tray. There's one small window, barred of course, high in the outer wall. I presume it will admit daylight come tomorrow but there's no way I can reach it so there won't be much of a view. Maybe clouds if I'm lucky.

My escort engages in a real conversation for the first time. "Fifty, I'm your trainer and my name is Josephine," she says. "You can call me Jo," I hadn't been expecting to be allowed such familiarity, "except when I tell you otherwise."

"Pardon?" I say. "What's with the 'Fifty'? My name's Jenny."

Jo shakes her head. "No. Not here. Slaves have numbers, not names. You have left Jenny behind. As long as you are here, you're 'Fifty'. See, here's your number on the door. Still, Jen-ny; Fif-ty – your number's not far away from your old name!"

Jo waves me into the cell and takes off my handcuffs. "OK Fifty, get undressed, please, and have a shower and there's a tooth brush by the basin. Be sharp!"

Her snapped instruction spurs me to action. I guess if I'm going to be a slave, I'm going to have to get used to doing as I'm told. The numbers thing is hardly a surprise but it certainly adds to the stress. I'll have to think to remember my number. I can imagine there will be penalties for not responding when I'm called. This could be a focus for some of the research. How people respond to having their identities re-assigned and to what extent their behaviour changes as a result of changes in the way that they are identified.

Of course, there are not many clothes to struggle out of, just the tee-shirt and jeans. I stand with my feet on the footpads of the toilet. The shower controls are within easy reach. The water cascades down over me, into the toilet pan and away down the drain. It's very efficient. In short order, I'm washed, dried and my teeth are cleaned. I turn around to see that Jo has swept the clothes into a bag.

"Very good, Fifty," she says. "The next job is to have you collared and cuffed. If you wondered why we wanted measurements of your neck, wrists and ankles, here is why." She snaps five bands on me. They are flat polished metal and lined with black rubber and clip efficiently into place. "And, that's you done for now," says Jo.

"What about clothes?" I say, conscious that Jo is picking up the bag containing my tee-shirt and jeans.

"Clothes?" Jo seems genuinely puzzled, as though I'd asked for something extraordinary.

"Yes. I wondered what it was that you wanted me to wear."

At this point, Jo breaks out laughing. "No, no clothes for you, Fifty. You didn't follow your first instruction, did you?" I guess that my confusion shows on my face. "You know. About what you were told to wear in your Joining Instructions?"

"But ...," I start to try to explain, but Jo presses her finger against my lips.

"Shhhh!" she says gently. "It doesn't matter why. These things happen, but the why never matters. We just think that the best way to help you avoid similar mistakes is to keep you completely naked throughout your time with us. All slaves get to go naked at some stage; it's just that you will get to be naked right from the start. You might even get an all-over tan, if the weather is good. Well, apart from your neck, wrists and ankles." She laughs again. "Enjoy!"

She stands back and slides the cell door closed with a clang. It seems to lock automatically.

And there I am, left all alone and wondering just what I have got myself into.

Another of the staff appears outside my room. She is tall with red spiky hair and blue eyes. She wears blue scrubs and white surgical clogs – and speaks with a lilting South African accent. It's as if a member of the cast from "ER" has just walked onto the set.

She has all the breezy confidence of a doctor or a nurse. "Hi Fifty, just stand back and I'll let myself in," she says as she swipes a card through a card reader outside my "room".

The door unlatches and she enters, carrying what looks like the sort of utility box you can buy at Mother and Baby stores. She sets the box down on my bed and opens it to show various sterile packets.

"OK, Fifty. I'm Celia. I'm here to teach you a bit about personal hygiene."

"Hygiene? But I've only just had a shower and ......"

Celia is laughing, hands on hips. "No, Fifty. Internal hygiene, silly."

Internal hygiene? What is the girl talking about – oh, but wait a minute, I have just cleaned my teeth, so she cannot be interested in teeth .....

"Fifty, when was the last time you went for a crap?"

I'm not really happy talking about this sort of thing, not even - especially not even - with Joe. I blush and fall over my words.

"Hmmm, well whenever it was, I bet you didn't really clean yourself out, inside. Did you? Well, you see, Fifty, slaves have got to look after themselves inside and out. Owners expect it. And you are going to start doing it. Now, on your knees, over there, by the toilet."

Celia's not expecting any arguments and I'm going redder by the second. Obeying seems best, but surely ...... surely not .....

I am facing away from my bed, but can clearly hear the sound of some of the packs being opened and then I feel Celia rubbing something on my anus. She is wearing rubber gloves. Instinctively, I clench my buttocks, and get a sharp slap on my bum for my pains – which really stings.

"Fifty ......!"

I'm sorry, it's just ...... well it's just .......

"You're not used to having an enema?"

OH! Jeeze! OH!

"Er, well no. I'm just not. Sorry. It's ... I ....."

"Well, it will be another first for you. And, I'm sure you will get used to it just fine. Now. I'm going to do the first one with you and I'm going to watch you do another one right after me. After that, And we will go on doing them till I'm happy you can do it. Then it will be down to you to clean yourself out daily. Got that? We'll check, hmmmmm?"

"Oh, ....."

"No, the right answer is: 'Thank You Mistress!'"

"Oh, look I'm sorry, err it's just well, I'm just not used to ...."

But Celia is laughing and somehow that's encouraging, but gee! High cringe factor, as far as I'm concerned.

Celia again: "So here's what you are going to do. Put some warm water in this metal bowl – warm, NOT hot. Still as its going inside you, I guess I don't need to labour that." She fills a metal bowl from the hose tap next to my toilet. "Next, you fill this enema syringe like this? Now you – come on, it doesn't bite."

I reluctantly take hold of the very large metal syringe. The business end is about as wide as a finger and rounded at the open end.

"Now, I have lubed your anal bud, so take the syringe to your rear end – yes like that – feel it on your bud – do you feel it?"

"Yes, Celia." I'm horrified by the whole process, by what she's doing and by the fact that she's there watching.

"OK. So now, we gently push it in. Make as if you are having a crap. Are you? Would another slap help?" I shake my head. It's the last thing I want right now. "AHHH, there you go!"

The syringe feels cold and slippery .... but finally, it's in up to the hilt, so to speak. A cold, rigid, finger up inside me.

"Now squeeze the plunger with your other fingers."

I've got my forehead resting on the floor, knees apart, bum in the air, one hand on the barrel of the syringe and one hand free to squeeze ..... the water as it enters me is warm and comforting. I must have sighed with relief, because Celia replies with the well worn medical cliché, "There, that wasn't so bad, now was it?"

No, it isn't, except for my pride. But then perhaps the demolition of personal pride and self consciousness is one of the things I am going to be learning?

"OK. Now squeeze your bum tight shut. Slide the syringe out." It's a curious, slippery sensation as it comes away. "And get over the loo." Anxiety must be showing on my face because Celia answers my unspoken fears. "Don't worry, you won't leak if you squeeze tight!"

I squeeze. Boy, do I squeeze!

"Now you are over the loo, Just let go ......"

A stream of water - and other material pours out of me. Yeuch! This is so embarrassing! But, not so embarrassing as to prevent Celia making me go through the whole thing four times, till at last the water coming out of me is clear. We watch it passing across the toilet pan tray and down the drain.

"Now, that's better, Fifty!" I will expect you to do that every day and after clean the kit afterwards. You keep it in this box." She motions to the utility box. "It's got to be spotless. Absolutely spotless. Always. You got that?"

"Yes, Celia. Sorry! Mistress."

"Good girl!" She strips off her gloves and discards them along with the sterile wraps into the flip top stainless steel waste bin in the corner of my room. "Right: now go and wash your bum and hands and clean your teeth, if you haven't done that already. I'll leave that to you. Then it's bed time."

Celia reaches through the bars and swipes her card to gain her exit. I watch as she leaves. It's been an oddly "veterinary" incident, leaving me feeling slightly less than fully human, somehow. I mean having someone else telling me how to look after myself, as if I could not be trusted on my own .....

"Stand away from the bars," she tells me, as she reaches out to press a button on the wall beside the door. There is a quiet whir as an aluminium mesh shutter starts to slide down on the outside of the bars, cutting me off from the rest of the room. It eventually reaches the floor and a clunk announces that it, too, has locked into place. I am left completely alone, taken aback, indignant and shivery. I lay down on the couch. The surface is wipe-clean PVC, but at least there is a cotton cellular blanket. Shortly afterwards, the light goes out. It's very dark. The only light is a tiny red LED glowing up in the ceiling.

I am left alone to mull over the past few hours; the journey, the other girls, the 'Faculty', being collared and cuffed, being given a number, and then the humiliation of the enema. It's odd. I'm here partly because Joe and I are not as complementary as I'd like us to be sexually and I am going to be trained by a girl called, Jo. Strange. Then I think, how will I explain this to Joe when I get back? Suntanned, but with white marks on my wrists and ankles and neck? I'll have to think of something, though heaven knows what. But what would he feel if I just told him the truth?

Finally I find myself thinking about my safe call to Angela. I really wish that I could have spoken to her in person but I wasn't surprised to get her voice mail. Also, I would have felt happier if I could have given an actual number. Do they allow the transmission of their number on outgoing calls? I called Angela's university direct dial line. Does the university exchange record incoming numbers? That way, she can get the number. Could someone pick out the Inward Bound number from all the thousands which might be logged?

Suddenly, as thought piles on thought, worry on worry, there's a cold stab of panic in my stomach. I could be much more exposed and alone than I thought. Anxiety churns in my mind. I try to calm myself, thinking back to the project working out how I am going to describe this; trying to think how I can separate my responses from my observations; what it might mean for the research. It's a good distraction. At last I am overtaken by sleep.

Chapter 8: A Problem With Puppy Fat

Course 8 : Day 2 Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: #50

Josephine: The first part of #50's induction this morning should not present any serious problems. George and I will take care of her initial physical with the others. We'll start with the standard introduction to the weight loss/ fitness programme and make an assessment of what she might need during the rest of her course.

Jenny's Recollections

Well it's started. I've been anticipating and also dreading this for quite a while and now we're off. After the tension of yesterday's events, the worry about what would happen, the – yes – the stress of it all, it was quite a relief to be left alone in my - ah - room. I worried myself asleep thinking about my safe call – I would have felt a lot happier, if I had been able to speak to Angela in person. Anyway, when sleep finally came, I stayed asleep until the lights came on and the shutter went up.

First thing this morning, we are all collected together and taken to a gym. I'm feeling really screwed up with embarrassment, being naked because of not following instructions! I feel so stupid! Completely humiliated! It's a new building on the other side of a small courtyard just across from the building where we were kept last night. It's awful having to go outside between the two buildings to feel the cool air on my naked skin for the first time.

The gym is pretty well equipped. There are six treadmills, six cross-trainers and a serious collection of free weights, together with weights benches and some other weight training machines. I've never been much into keeping fit. The university has a gym, but I never really find time to use it. This stuff looks quite scary! Thinking back to why I am here, I can see that there would be plenty of opportunities to study a mixture of stress and play in here.

On the plus side, there's also what looks like a rather nice pool which connects through a tunnel to an outdoor pool extension.

Jo and George tell us all to strip. I'm naked already along with Sue. Thank goodness I have a partner in crime, so to speak. We exchange a smile, recognising our shared mistakes. I can see that Sue is a few years older than me. She's built more heavily than I am. She's a bit overweight if I'm honest. What she does have is a great pair of breasts. I've always felt that mine were too small, Sue's are substantial with large dark aureolas. Suddenly I'm conscious that I'm staring at them. She returns my look and grins. I guess we all know why we're here.

The other three are wearing grey track suits and one of them, Carrie, doesn't like being ordered to undress. They ignore her objections and eventually she complies. Their whole approach is very matter-of-fact, assuming we'll do as we are told, treating us as so many units needing to be processed. It's all very impersonal, but not much worse than trying to check out a book at the university library!

We get weighed, measured and have the thickness of our skin folds measured with some distinctly aggressive looking callipers. They look nasty, but they don't hurt. In fact, the sensation is on the pleasant side of strange. Jo and George note down the results without commenting on any of them. They just wave us to come with a click of the fingers, or wave us away as they need us for each stage of the process.

It's only when they have obviously got all the details that they want, that George goes out with all the notes and Jo takes some time to explain what they are doing. She has us line up against the wall, facing out with our hands on our heads. "There are two things you need to be aware of as a slave. One, are you fit enough for the things you'll have to do? And, two, do you look the way your owners – that's us – want you to? We're going to make sure you measure up on both counts. You all probably know about having your Body Mass Index worked out from your height and weight. However, muscle weighs more than fat and BMI becomes less accurate the more fat you lose and the more muscle you put on. At that point, it's better to measure skin fold thickness and look up your Body Fat Percentage. For you girls, we are aiming for 20% of your weight as fat. That will let your muscles show through with lots of sexy definition. We like lean, well-muscled, slaves who look nice and are fit and strong. Unfortunately, this can't be achieved in the time you have with us, but you are going to get a flying start and we'll take you as far as we can - so there will be homework for you after you are discharged. We WILL be checking up on you after you get home, just so when you come back you won't have to start from scratch. .............."