Zippers

Part 34

I stood against the light grey wall. Davina sized me up with her compact camera. She had made me face her, with my hands held down straight by my sides, looking straight ahead; deliberately expressionless and directly into the lens. Then she had had me turn, repeating the position from each side and then from behind so that my back was to her. The flash flickered as she captured the images.

Then she came closer and aimed the camera at only my head.

‘Look at the camera’, she clicked and it flashed at me again and then again.

‘Turn right’, click, ‘Now Left’, click, click, ‘now face the wall’, click.

I felt that this was how a new inmate at a prison was processed; scared and new to institutional life, having her details recorded, by force if necessary. Whilst that aspect of it was frightening, a female prisoner would, at least, be wearing some sort of comfortable clothing and be protected by a ream of legislation against any kind of harsh treatment or cruel or unusual punishment. My processing for this place afforded none of those kinds of luxuries. The ’mug-shots’ for my record left nothing to the imagination. I struggled not to break down as she took the naked full body pictures and close-up shots of my face and profile. Every one of the indignities on my body was being catalogued. Everything was documented; my naked breasts and the new nipple rings, my smooth, hairless pussy and the two piercing balls above it, my face after plastic surgery with its tidy nose, plumped-up lips and my fingernails that currently said ‘slut’ on them. My whole appearance capped off with my ‘essential’ white high heels which it looked like I had elected to wear in preference to either panties or a bra.

Even before I had met Vivienne, I had hated to wear a name badge or an identity card. Those sorts of things made me feel like I was being quantified or objectified. It felt like an affront to my unique individuality. This was much worse than a single shot of my face for a badge so that I could sit and work as a receptionist. Also, I knew that these were for my file that they would keep on me, and that this record would be on hand to any of my new wardresses so that they would know exactly who I was. I was sure that they would file, along with the pictures, other details about me that I did not want them to have. Now they would have a reference of every curve and line on my body and face and it made it feel like that special thing about my body that was uniquely mine was now owned and available to them too. I managed to keep myself from crying by blinking my eyes a lot and trying to concentrate on looking expressionless.

Davina had carefully dried me after my shower and had blow-dried my hair into its big showy style. She had taken my earrings out for the pictures but had then made me put them back in once we had finished. My face was naked now save for the earrings and the increasingly annoying tongue stud.

‘Now for the money shots, bend over that bar’

She pointed to a thick iron rail that stood at waist height, poking out from the wall. I walked over to it and carefully bent around it, inverting myself so that I was fully over, exposing my backside to her.

‘Grab your cheeks and pull them apart just a little’

I burned with anger and shame as I did as I was told. I could see her walking towards me and then squatting down to aim the camera.

Click. It flashed again.

‘Very nice, that captures your pretty little rose nicely Anita’

She stood up.

‘Get up now and climb onto this table’

I did as I was told.

‘Now, sit facing me, put your shoes together…..and take your knees with your hands and open them…..Yes, that’s right….Open them right up…….Yes….Now, push your pussy out to me………Yes……good girl………Now push your tits out to me……Good……..Now open your mouth a little and show me that tongue stud…..Excellent……Look at the camera…….Hold there’

It flashed in my face again. Then she adjusted her position and reeled off a few more shots of me. I had to breathe slowly and carefully as I held myself that way. I could not believe that this degrading pose was the way I would be seen and that I had no knowledge of who would see it. People would think that I was a shameless slut and that I was auditioning to work in the sex industry; as a porn star or as a call-girl.

‘I was not a slut! I had no control over any of this and it was not me!’ I protested to myself, frustrated that this knowledge would not make it onto the camera’s record as a footnote alongside all my exposed female anatomy.

After the photos, she started to measure me. She wrapped a tape measure around my neck, my wrists, my ankles, my waist, hips, my bust and measured my leg lengths. Then she said,

‘On the scales’

I stepped on as she bent to read my weight.

‘I will be strictly controlling your weight from now on’

She grabbed the skin and fat around my bottom and squeezed it between her thumb and fingers.

‘You’ve got flab to lose here to get this ass looking good enough. I’ll bet you’ve been a lazy girl haven’t you?’, she was almost sneering,  ‘What regular exercise did you take?’

I frowned slightly

‘Erm…well….I used to walk to work….And I used to run errands at work…..And I used to carry my shopping home?....’

She was right, I probably had been lazy.

She snorted. Her voice dripped with derision,

‘You see. You girls need to be taken in hand and brought to places like this. Left to your own devices you neglect yourselves. You don’t treasure yourselves and you let yourselves go. I’ve seen what you looked like when you first turned up…..and a fucking shameful state it was too. You need harnessing and you need working on girl’

I looked down. It was true; I had not taken good care of myself, certainly not to the best of my ability in any case. That did not, though, in any way, justify any of what they were doing to me.

‘We will take your weight down, to get rid of this ugly fat’

She brushed me on the backside and on the outside of my legs, scratching at me and then regarding her fingers with disgust, like she had just scraped some filth from me. She grabbed a thumbful of flesh from my belly and shook that as well.

‘And you will be toned up by the time I have finished with you, in fact lets start now. On your knees and give me twenty press-ups’

And so my physical training under Mistress Davina started.

She worked me hard, for the next hour. She made me hold myself in a plank position, do squats, press-ups and walk rapidly with my knees lifted high up. She made me do each exercise in rotation until the sweat dripped from my forehead, down my naked body and onto the floor. As the time passed, I could see the floor getting wetter and wetter.

She made me do crunches, twisting as I struggled to bring my body up from lying on my back. I did lunges, slowly, getting the movement right, still wearing high stilettos but repeating the movement over and over until my thighs and bottom screamed. She made me stand up onto extreme tip-toes and then come slowly down. She made me do it with my feet turned in, then out, then facing normally. After twenty-five raises in each position my calves were burning and my body was starting to feel weak. It was starting to disobey any instructions that meant using energy. Then she upped the pain.

‘The next sets of exercises come with penalties if you fail to complete them’

I brushed my damp, matted hair away from my face to stare at her, panting, frightened; I didn’t feel that I had much strength left.

‘I have something that will help you focus’

She strutted, a relaxed but perfectly controlled, easy movement, her hips swaying like a hypnotic pendulum in her tight, black but airy looking dress. Her high heeled knee-length leather boots made me think of her as a formidable, fetish-inspired drill-sergeant. She took something from her bag and then swayed her way casually back over.

‘Down on all fours’

I dropped down, relieved to take the rest.

‘Now, offer me your left wrist’

I lifted it up towards her. She bent her knees and then wrapped a white leather strap about my wrist. I looked at it. It looked like a watch.

She stood up again.

The watch was digital, white plastic with a large face, except it didn’t seem to be showing the time. Instead it simply had the number ‘0’ on it in glowing red. It had some little buttons on the side, as digital watches do, but also a larger red button at the top of the face.

I put my hand back down on the floor and looked nervously up at her.

‘That number is to keep you focused. This is your infraction bracelet. At the end of the day, the number on that bracelet determines how you are to be punished’

I could feel my bottom lip start to tighten downwards and my eyes start to swell a little. Please! I didn’t want any more misery and I certainly didn’t want to be punished by her!

‘For every number on there, I will have something unpleasant visited on you, it’ll be a….surprise for you to find out Anita, but let me tell you, after you do understand, you will work hard to try and keep that number down. If you’re a very bad girl and the number gets too high, then you go in the slave box and you experience that punishment that has been fixed inside your head and which you have felt only very, very briefly so far’

She had her hand in my hair as I knelt on all fours, my face down, trying to hide that I was crying from her.

‘So for every failure or lack of application, we will add to your infraction bracelet, so it is really very much in your interests to avoid that. So, now, squat thrusts, bring your toes up to your hands, then jump them back, then back between your hands again. Twenty times, now!’

My vision was blurred with tears as I almost shouted ‘Yes Mistress!’ and set about jumping my feet up. The pointed toes of my shoes made it a little more difficult than it would otherwise have been but it was a relief to have my weight off the stilettos and onto my toes. The exercise was tough and after four repetitions I was starting to tire. I started to cry, out loud, in desperation but also in determination as I tried to make each sob help power my body. I tried to force my way through the exercise. My belly was exhausted and I started to feel sick from all the exertion, but still I carried on. She was right, the glowing red number on my new ‘infraction bracelet’ was a powerful motivator in spite of the fact that I did not actually know what the number meant yet. It was enough for me that it would be some kind of terrible punishment and that if I could possibly avoid it, by any means possible, then I should. When she had talked about the punishment mechanism that Vivienne had hard-wired into me, then it had crystallized my resolve to do exactly as I was told. I would be obedient, even if it killed me.

By sheer force of will, my body burning, I managed to just finish the task, with no reserve of strength, puffing and gasping.

‘On your back, sit-ups, twenty, go’

I could make no effort to hide my obvious weeping as I lay on my back and tried as best as I could to do as she said. After a feeble first attempt, and then an even weaker second attempt I could barely move because my belly was on fire and worn out. I tried again, doing one sit-up but then I was exhausted again. I broke down, put my hands over my face, curled up in a ball on my side and cried; I couldn’t do any more.

‘P-please, Mistress……I’m….’, I blubbered.

‘Bracelet’, she snapped, almost shouting at me.

I looked at my wrist with its new band fastened on and then back up at her, I didn’t understand. She put her hand in my hair, grasped a handful, lifted my face up and then slapped me ferociously around my cheek. My vision swayed before the shockwave of pain slapped me again.

‘BRACELET! Hold it out to me you pathetic little bitch!’

I sniffed and frantically held my left wrist up to her, my cheek burning from her hand. She was frowning and breathing firmly through her nose. I held my wrist out higher, stretching it out towards her as far as it would go.

‘Well. That was a shameful little display’, she relaxed a little.

She held my wrist and moved her thumb over the red button. She pressed down, it beeped and the 0 turned into a 1. I looked up at her, scared, I didn’t know what it meant.

‘And so that you learn to advance your bracelet out when you are told to’

She pressed it again, it beeped and the little 1 became a 2.

‘We will talk about that, but for now you can know that you will be punished later. Now, there is more training to do’

She visibly relaxed.

‘Let’s do something else’