Mind Games

Ray Doyle, my tutor at Drama College, can be such a hypocrite. He makes these big speeches about how we are all there to share ideas and we all have valid viewpoints to offer but let anyone put forward a view different from his own and he uses every dirty trick in the book to shut them up. The other day we were discussing hypnotism, after all stage hypnotists are a sort of drama, and he was talking utter rot about what power a true hypnotist has.

I have read up on the subject and I know that no-one can hypnotise anyone into doing something which they really don't want to do. I didn't mind Ray arguing with me but he was so patronising as if he were talking to a little girl who was trying to talk about grown up matters. In the end I put forward a really thorough and well reasoned argument and he just smiled his really patronising smile, as if he were about to pat me on the head, then he used his lowest trick yet.

"Tonight you will have the best orgasm you have ever had."

I couldn't believe it. I wasn't going to have my orgasms discussed in a tutorial group of three other girls and three boys so I gave up on the debate. Everyone laughed and Ray had won again. Well, after the tutorial ended I put it out of my mind but when I was sitting on the bus going home I had cause to remember Ray's words.

There was this guy strap hanging just beside my seat and he did look really cool but that should not have accounted for the definite pressure which I felt building up underneath me. I was actually imagining this guy feeling me up right there in front of the whole bus and it was making me wet. Of course we get these feelings from time to time but this was becoming quite hard to manage and I had to cross my legs and try to press my thighs together in an effort to control myself. I came so close to giving a whole new meaning to the phrase, "I came on the bus."

What Ray had said did come into my mind but I knew it was not hypnotism. It was just psychology. Ray had planted the idea and my treacherous imagination had picked it up. I had to work quite hard at not wriggling about in my seat or gasping aloud and it was a great relief to reach my stop and get out into the cool air but I was still very hot and bothered.

I walked very fast the short distance to the flat and as soon as I had shut the door behind me I let out a gasp, kicked off my shoes and ran for the bedroom with one hand pressing between my legs. I flopped onto the bed on my back, hurriedly unzipped my jeans and pushed down jeans and knickers so that I could more easily reach the centre of the deep tingling sensations which were spreading up towards my belly.

My buttocks came up off the bed as my back arched and I was moaning quite loudly. By now my nipples were swollen and I stripped off my sweatshirt then pushed my bra upwards so that I could get one hand to my breasts while the other pushed into my slit. Of course such intense sensations always trigger my dirtiest fantasies and I saw myself kidnapped by white slavers and held in the hold of their ship. In my fevered mind I was stretched backwards over a wooden crate in the hold with my limbs spread and bound as sailors surrounded me calling me filthy names and taking turns to abuse my defenceless body in every conceivable way.

By this time I no longer even cared if the neighbours could hear my shouts of pleasure and frustration as the shocks generated by my own body refused to ease. I was howling like a bitch on heat and the thought of perhaps meeting a neighbour as I left the flat in the morning, and seeing his face as I realised that he knew exactly what I had been doing, only heightened my repeated orgasms.

In my intense fantasy I was bound helplessly over the crate and the hands at my pussy and breasts were the rough hands of the sailors but in reality it was my own fingers which were clawing at my flesh and my own hands which were now soaked in pungent girl juice.

I tore at my bra so that it came off completely and I threw it towards a corner of the room. All my clothing except my socks had now been dispatched in different directions and I wanted my bare feet to be free of the muffling effect of my socks so I tore my socks off and hurled them in opposite directions. There is something extremely erotic about a totally naked young woman with her clothing thrown about her in frenzied disorder especially when she is normally very tidy as I am. I was shouting at my mythical abusers as I pleaded for relief and yet relief was the last thing that I wanted. I was on such an incredible high that I never ever wanted to come down even though my heart was pounding and my lungs were desperately sucking in air in between my almost incoherent shouts.

"No...Oh..Please let me go..No pleeeese please oh aagh, No No."

In my undies drawer beside the bed on which I was writhing was a vibrator but I could not spare the time to reach for it. I had to keep my hand frigging in and out of my, now very elastic, slit. I had to actually feel the soft flesh soaked in lubricant. Few people know that the vibrator was actually invented by Victorian doctors who believed that a whole range of feminine illnesses were caused by sexual frustration which had to be released. Of course the devices were not battery-powered; they needed someone to turn the handle. As my thoughts strayed to my vibrator I reflected that respectable Victorian gentlemen would be downstairs in the smoking room while their wives would be naked on the marital bed upstairs with their legs splayed for the family physician to work at their vagina to bring them up to the noisy ecstasy which now gripped me.

My hair was all over the place and stuck to my face by my own perspiration and my body was soaking in sweat so that the room stank of something between a brothel and a gym changing room. Almost every fantasy which I had ever had, and a few which had suddenly erupted from nowhere, paraded across my mind.

I was back in Sixth Form with my dishy History teacher taking me on the classroom floor. I was in a biology class in a boy's school with eighteen year old boys studying and pawing my nude body and making ribald remarks about every part of me. I was tearing my clothes off in the supermarket and I was being brutally strip searched by huge foreign customs officials.

I looked up into a sea of faces and in the centre of them was Ray Doyle looking at his most smug. For a moment I was sure that this was yet another dark fantasy with which my own imagination was torturing me but then I felt the hard floor under my back and I felt so cold as the sweat covering my naked body leached heat from me. Surely no fantasy could be this accurate.

At last I had stopped shouting and my body was no longer bucking about although I was still panting hard. The faces were still looking down at me and I recognised every member of my tutorial group. I looked down at myself and saw that my nudity was no fantasy. I really was stretched out on the floor at their feet as they sat there with their mouths open in disbelief.

The endorphins had begun to clear from my brain and I had that sensation which one has after a wild night on rum and coke.

"Did I really do what I think I half remember doing?"

When Ray spoke he confirmed that reality had now reasserted itself.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Julie's first public nude performance. When you see her on the Hollywood screen remember it began here."

My body was positioned on the floor in such a way that my most personal part, displayed between my widely spread legs, was pointed straight at one of the guys. I sat up and bent forward with my arms across my boobs and my legs together so that I was as decent as a naked girl can be.

Doyle told the assembled company that the tutorial was now over and they filed out with mumbled variations on "Thanks," and "See you next time." I knew that, as soon as they were outside the door they would all have a lot to say to each other and I desperately hoped that they would keep what they had seen between themselves.

As I tried to find my clothes I could not believe how far I had thrown them. They were literally in every corner of the room and I was horrified at the show which I must have put on for the group. While I dressed Doyle just sat there talking. He pointed out that I had been right about one thing in that hypnotism cannot force someone to do something which is totally against their nature. So what did that say about me?

He also said that he took a very dim view of students who shouted at him in a tutorial and there would be a penalty.

"For a start you will not take the bus when you leave here today. You will walk home."

I did not say very much. I just dressed as fast as I could and got out of there but I was thinking to myself that it was not for him to tell me how I would go home from college.

When I came out of my final lecture of the day I was feeling a bit lethargic and could not be bothered to dash to catch the bus so, unsurprisingly, I arrived at the stop just in time to see the bus disappearing down the road. At that time of day buses are fairly frequent so I could have waited for the next one but, somehow, I did not want to hang around. I was still feeling a bit dozy after the lecture so I decided that a bracing walk home would clear my head. This was not hypnotism and it had nothing to do with Doyle. I CHOSE to walk home; I DID, REALLY.

And, as I walked, something odd happened. I began to get that maddening tightness in my pussy. I was thinking of myself stripping and performing in Doyle's study and somehow the crushing embarrassment and shame of it was really affecting me in a way which I could not have predicted. I just could not make the feeling of intense arousal go away and home was still some way off. For a moment I pictured myself falling on my belly on the pavement and relieving the tension there and then. This did nothing to make me feel less aroused.

I was walking fast but I had the terrible feeling that I was not going to make it in time. Damn Ray Doyle. I had to find some privacy. I was walking past some lock up garages and I went down the narrow alleyway beside them; this brought me to the backs of the garages where there was a fence and the railway embankment. The narrow space had obviously been used for a variety of unsavoury pursuits including the dumping of rubbish. There were some cardboard boxes, beer cans, wine bottles and plastic containers for fast food. These containers still held pieces of dried up coleslaw and tomato and a few chips were scattered around among lots of general rubbish.

I sank to my knees and unzipped my jeans, jabbing my fingers inside and yanking my panties to one side so that I could stab two fingers inside my slit. I knelt there among the rubbish moaning with my nipples tingling so much that they positively hurt and I found that one hand had found its way up my sweatshirt and was pushing my bra upwards to gain access to my sensitive points.

I now fell onto my back and wriggled my bum so that my jeans and panties came down to below my knees so that I could spread my knees. I lay there with my head thrown back and looked up at the darkening sky as I tried hard to keep the noise down so that I did not attract anyone into my hiding place. If anyone had come I would have been totally unable to move, run or defend myself as I lay helplessly writhing amongst the rubbish.

Of course I knew how pathetic I would have looked to anyone who did observe me; a girl now covered in rubbish lying on her back with her jeans down and her shirt and bra up around her neck as she rolled around covering herself in even more rubbish. As I told myself how disgusting I was I found that this somehow heightened my unrestrained lust. Everything I had ever done to incur punishment came seeping out of my memory right back to the time, aged ten, when I had given my little sister a "secret" talk about boys and Gemma had gone straight to Mummy to tell her about it. Then there were crushes on girls at school and the haunting picture of Sally Philips as she came out of the shower with her thick pubic hair slaked against her body and dripping wet and her enormous round boobs wobbling and pink from the hot water.

Once again I revisited my memories of Mr Turner and my terrible fantasies about him as he tried to teach History. And since then there had been various not very successful encounters with boys including Gary who tied me up and I hated it when he freed me almost at once. I had wanted real bondage for hours with tight ropes cutting into my soft flesh but he just couldn't wait to get me into bed so that he could cum which took all of two minutes.

There were tears on my cheeks now as I continued to punish myself with my fingers ramming hard into myself and even squeezing my nipples so that they hurt. I was talking aloud although I am a bit unsure to whom I was talking.

"Yes I am a cunt and a filthy whore. I am just three worthless holes for you to use. Use me for your pleasure, hurt me, punish me. I am shit, I am your bitch and your degraded slut. Yes I need your whip and your chains and whatever you want to do to the little animal. Beat me, humiliate me, do anything to me."

Of course, eventually the storms of passion subsided and I just sank back into the mud with bits of grass, and other things, sticking to me. I was breathing deeply and watching my little bare boobs rising and falling. My legs were still splayed and, for a long time, I did not want to close them. I was somehow hot and cold at the same time and, when I moved my head, I found that one of the fast food boxes was stuck to my hair with mayonnaise.

I spoke to myself.

"Come on Julie. We've got to get you indoors."

Very slowly I pulled myself to my feet and rearranged my clothing. Jeans and top were covered in stains of various colours. When I turned to walk back down beside the garages to the road I noticed something which I had been too preoccupied to notice earlier. On the other side of the railway the ground was higher than it was here and a row of terraced houses backed onto the line with a clear view of the spot where I had been lying. Some of the windows had lights showing.

I hurried along the road towards the flat hoping that the dusk would hide my condition. Strangely I found that I was not at all distressed at the thought that surely the law of averages meant that, out of so many houses, it was almost certain that at least one contained someone who had been looking out of the window at the crucial time.

When I arrived into the sanctuary of my flat I peeled off my jeans and sweatshirt and put them into a black bin liner. They were too filthy even to go into the laundry basket. I found that I reeked of stale beer; some of the cans which had been rolling against my quivering body must have had some dregs in them.

I went straight to the shower where I used lots of shampoo and scented gel before turbanning my hair in a towel and wrapping my huge fluffy bath towel around my body and then going to rest upon the bed. I had a vague intention to prepare a meal after resting but I sank into a deep sleep and experienced the most real and detailed dream which I have ever had.

I saw myself condemned to the notorious Hellsgate Women's Prison and I had a clear memory of being handcuffed and shackled in the back of a lorry with five other women and driven through those huge oaken gates which swung shut behind us with a loud bang. The lorry parked in a small yard with grey walls rising high above us and we were made to hobble into the reception area. This was a high arched hall with a bare stone floor and dark green tiles covering the walls. Like every room in Hellsgate the windows were very high up and throwing down narrow shafts of sunlight.

We six terrified women and girls were surrounded by black uniformed guards all of them holding the standard issue long riding crops and we were unchained and ordered to strip. Talking was forbidden. One girl of just eighteen was too shy to undress and two guards advanced upon her and laid about her with the crops until she was curled up weeping on the cold, hard floor. The rest of us obeyed very quickly and placed our clothing and jewellery into canvas sacks which were sealed with plastic tags.

They made us line up and each of us had a plastic bracelet snapped onto our wrist stamped with the number by which we would be known. The other girls wore white bracelets but mine was red because Professor Doyle had signed an order marking me down for especially harsh treatment. Still in a line we were harried into a narrow metal tunnel which had a pipe running along the middle so that we had to move along the tunnel, one behind the other, with the pipe between our legs. Nozzles around the tunnel and in the pipe shot stinging high pressure yellow delousing powder all over us and then we had to go through the tunnel again so that different nozzles could rinse us in freezing water making us shriek. As a final humiliation we had to sit on a low bench so that a guard could move along behind us and shear our hair. We were then issued with our coarse brown prison smocks, which were all too short, and our regulation grey knickers. Our footwear was elastic sided black gym pumps. No prisoner was allowed a brassiere.

Admission complete, we were handcuffed with hands in front of us and taken to our separate cells. This involved our first view of the dark inner corridors of the Hellsgate. It was a grim place of cold, echoing corridors and metal grilles which had to be unlocked for us to pass through and then clanged shut behind us.

My cell was an unlit six foot square with a slop bucket and a low, narrow wooden slat on which lay a thin smelly mattress and a single blanket. The tiny opaque glass window was right up at the ceiling and the only other light came from the dim orange bulb in the corridor as it glimmered through the barred one foot square window in the black metal door.

And so I began to learn the soul crushing regime of the Hellsgate. Most of the guards were men but the female guards were even crueller than the men. Any guard could impose a punishment at any time. This may involve a lashing with the crop or a more sustained and inventive ordeal. The day began at 5am with the shrill electric bell and we had to be in the exercise yard for Physical Training at 5.15am. The yard was the quadrangle in the centre of the building with rows of small windows all around us and PT was performed totally naked even when there was snow underfoot.

Meals were taken in silence sitting on benches at the long tables in the refectory unless a girl was "In Solitary" which meant that she was in her cell for twenty four hours per day and she would be served a bowl of "Hellsgate Stew" in her cell. This consisted of nameless lumps of meat or vegetables floating in gravy. Sometimes a girl would be kept "In Restraint" which would mean she would be chained for long periods in a variety of positions. The most common position would involve having a heavy iron collar locked around her neck with chains running down to connect to her ankle shackles and her handcuffs which would be in front of her so that the victim was in a sitting position with her knees bent under her chin.

Mostly the day was split between work and interrogation. Work could be in the kitchen or laundry, scrubbing the prison in a small gang supervised by a group of guards or labouring in the "Iron Room" which was another huge hall. Work in the iron room meant scrubbing scrap iron with wire brushes so that all the rust came off to reveal shining metal. This was heavy, dirty work as the pieces of iron had to be moved around in order to be scrubbed and we became coated in rust particles.

Girls in interrogation would be naked and either chained to a chair or suspended from the ceiling with perhaps three guards working at a time. The teams of interrogators rotated so that they were always fresh and a girl could be worked upon for up to thirty hours at a stretch. They barked questions at us about our sexual history and our most intimate fantasies as well as about every tiny detail of our lives from birth to admission into Hellsgate.