[This story will make more sense if you read the earlier instalments. There's a lot of severe discipline and a good deal of focus on all bodily functions, so if inclusion of those bothers you, please read no further. All characters are over 18.]
I had been settling into my new life in the capital, both at the capital office of Goose Cookers, which I headed, and in my marriage with Annette, who was the Chief of Staff (with rank of General) of the Corrections Service of the Women's Republic. Yes, my husband Jackson was still living in my flat back in the second-largest city, but he realized that while I was happy to let him stay there in the flat, which was quite spacious, he was not invited to visit me here.
At the office, I found a letter waiting for me from the Dean of the Business School at Capital Women's University, the leading such institution in the Republic. Her name was Jennifer Kenton and she was inviting me to meet her for lunch later that week. She wanted to discuss my teaching a course for them on leadership.
That did surprise me a little because although I've done well as a creative type at Goose Cookers, I wasn't sure I had yet become much of an expert on leadership. But I figured that this woman undoubtedly knew what she was about, so I sent her an email accepting. We met at the exclusive club where she belonged and where I had been provided with a guest membership based on my being a member back in the second city where Goose Cookers was headquartered.
This had all been arranged for me by Janet, our executive vice president who was my mentor, friend, and occasional bed partner. My main responsibility was to come up with ideas and she took care of everything else. I kept thinking to myself about why Dean Kenton had decided that I was the right person to teach this course.
She met me in the lobby as I entered the club. The Dean looked to be a young 40 or so, with pretty auburn bangs and a smart navy blazer with a subdued khaki skirt. She pulled it off and I was glad she hadn't adopted the tweedy academic look. I was a bit more subdued that usual in deference to her position. I had on a white jacket and a dark yellow skirt. I guess that wasn't so subdued.
She summoned the woman at the desk, who promptly greeted her warmly, was introduced to me, and escorted us to a good corner table out of hearing. The waitress came by and I ordered an Arnold Palmer, and she was having a Cosmo. We quickly ordered salads from the menu and then she began to tell me what I had come to hear.
"We've observed your amazing work with Goose Cookers," she began. "And I have only admiration for your ability to build your career after...everything," she added. "You're such an example for all of us."
I hadn't always regarded my past as all that wonderful. People who kept track of these things would recall that I had been quite notorious. I had been convicted of adultery with a sleazy guy who turned out to be married. Well, actually he wasn't but we learned about that too late. Too late meaning that this women's court had sentenced me to a year's infibulation as punishment for my dalliance. The Women's Republic could be very stern with those women it regarded as miscreants. In case the word isn't part of your vocabulary, it means that my cunt was sewn up with small rings for a year and there was just a small opening left for me to pee and have my period. The procedure was reversed after the year was up and after the soreness went away, I had my cunt back.
I hit it off with the Senior Correctional Officer at the court who supervised all of this. We kept in touch even though I had married and moved to the second-largest city. Last year we tied the knot, as women in our Republic can marry one man and one woman. Now I had both.
Not only was the sentence cruel and unusual, but it turned out to be totally wrong. The guy had never married the "wronged" woman and my conviction was thrown out—alas, after I had served my time with a sewn-up cunt. There were efforts made to put thing rights, however. The three judges subjected themselves to severe physical discipline carried out by their Senior Correctional Officer, my wife-to-be, Annette. The woman who brought the charges was punished—not like I was but still... Her lawyer was punished severely, not like I was but still... And my mentor Janet had recently gone about amending the laws so that what happened to me will never happen to another woman, no matter how badly she may have behaved, even if she had done what I was wrongly accused of doing.
Anyway, here I was having lunch with the Dean. We chatted—she was not much older than I am. I realized that I was held in high regard because I was someone who created products. If B School should be about anything—and since I never went, don't go by me—it's should be creativity in enterprise. Of course, usually it's all about manipulatory finance. What was my background? I always could draw. So, I took a B.F.A. in an ordinary art school. No fancy degree for me from Capital Women's University, which should be called the Home of the Networkers.
"You want me to teach a course in leadership?" I asked almost petulantly. The Dean looked nonplussed. I don't think she was used to people like me questioning her ideas. Well, ideas are me. I come up with them. So, I'll say when I think one makes sense or not. I figured I really didn't care if I pissed her off. If she doesn't want me, she doesn't want me.
I told her that if she wanted someone to teach a leadership course, Janet was her person. My mentor made our company and has more connections and classmates and friends in high places than anyone you've ever heard of. Then I said that maybe she didn't want this or maybe she hadn't thought of it, but I would be willing and able to teach a course in how to make creativity work in enterprises. That's what I do. That's what my company does. That's why they pay me, now at least, the big bucks.
She looked up. Here was this asshole, she probably thought, who has some shitty degree from somewhere or other, telling me what kind of courses to provide. I was being set up, however, to be surprised.
"You're right, Eleanor," she responded without any show of doubt. "That's what we want and that's what you can do for us."
I could've fallen off my chair. That also might have happened because I almost had a huge orgasm. I was blown away. Someone like this dean had listened to what I said!
I smiled at Dean Kenton. I told her that I would be happy to do that. She then said that they were ready to pay me well for my work. I thanked her. I didn't wave off the bucks. I'm not that rich yet. I'm not yet rich at all.
I took a swig of my Arnold Palmer. I thought about Arnie, peddling Quaker State and Rolling Rock. She took more than a swig from her Cosmo. We dug into our salads. I felt wet from my almost-orgasm. She was smiling her best professional smile. I told her I hoped she'd be happy with what I would do. She assured me that she had total confidence in me. I smiled back—my best unprofessional smile.
When I got home, I told Annette what had happened. She loved it.
"Eleanor," she said coolly, "you're making it. This is a feather in your cap. And I loved how you led her right down the road you wanted.'
We hugged each other. We're very physical with each other. Annette is a little older than I am, although not that much. But she's also a General, yes, a real general with stars on her shoulders and dress uniforms and the whole deal. She likes to let down her hair. I like it when the General takes off her uniform and I get to pull down her panties and take her into bed where we make fantastic endless love together. Life is good.
Next day, at my office, I began to put the course together. Janet telephoned me—we are in touch on a regular schedule—and I told her about my lunch with the dean. She chuckled and just said, "Eleanor, she was my classmate way back when. She realizes what a catch and adornment you would be for her school so she would let you teach whatever you wanted."
While I guess that was a compliment, it took some of the wind out of my sails, as Janet, who is only the best person I've ever known, tends to do because she knows everybody.
This was definitely an approved activity so I could work on it on company time. I called Bev in and told her that I'd appreciate her working up some ideas for a curriculum and a syllabus for me. She gave me a funny look and then I told her that it was o.k. because this was approved by the company—in fact, by Janet—as a project.
Everything had gone well over the next few months for Denise and Linda. They continued to hit it off with their immediate boss, MSG Wendy. She gave good reports on their effort to LTC Rachel, who ran the unit, which was where correctional officers who got into trouble were sent for re-education. This whole operation was different from the re-education camps and centers for men. Those were in good part punitive.
The female officers sent to this unit were told that it was to redirect them away from whatever behavior had gotten them sent there. LTC Rachel made it clear to her officers that while the women sent to the unit were to be humiliated as a way of reframing their characters, this was to be done for a purpose: not for sadistic satisfaction.
SSGs Denise and Linda had both worked in both the camps and the centers. They had seen many men respond to their training programs. Many of the men fell in love with them as Denise was a stunning blonde with a classic figure and Linda a dark-haired beauty. Linda was tempestuous and it had gotten her into trouble.
In fact, it had even gotten her sent to this very unit where she now with women who were following in that sorry path. LTC Rachel and MSG Wendy felt she had learned her lesson. Her fine performance over the six months since arrival confirmed their expectations.
LTC Rachel called the two in, with MSG Wendy already in the office, and with a smile on her face which more often bore a scowl, she had them sit down on the chairs facing her massive desk. She discussed how the unit had expanded and had been able to move many more problem officers through than it had ever done previously.
"Much of the credit goes to you," LTC Rachel said. "Now you know that I rely on MSG Wendy, who sets the tone for all the noncoms and sets it brilliantly, I might note. But I've kept my eye on both of you and I like what I see. You have good attitudes, and you carry out the necessary humiliation but also look for the good traits, if there are any, for us to seize on to reform these officers.
"So, it is my pleasure to promote both of you to be Sergeants First Class," LTC Rachel then said with a smile. She handed each of them some papers which were the official promotion notifications.
"I am obviously happy with your work and merely expect you to maintain the same high level from here on," she then stated.
Then she turned to Wendy. This step surprised Denise and Linda, because they figured that if Wendy were to get promoted, it would not include them as witnesses, given the close relationship, at the working level, between Rachel and Wendy.
"MSG Wendy," LTC Rachel said calmly but obviously with pleasure, "you have been the mainstay of making this such an excellent unit and keeping it functioning at the high and always improving level. I've been able to gain approval all the way up the line so that you are now First Sergeant Wendy."
Denise and Linda couldn't help clapping and Wendy smiled as she accepted the papers from Rachel.
"Thanks, Chief," she remarked to LTC Rachel. "You've been my model, even for someone like me who has to work for a living." She grinned and LTC Rachel let a rare smile escape her lips. "I plan to keep up our morale and our efficiency but also our can-do spirit here."
The three noncoms thanked their commander again, saluted, and stepped out of the office smartly. When they had returned to their intake room, they found that a half dozen new arrivals were awaiting them.
Denise strode to the podium and introduced herself, Linda, and Wendy, using their rank titles. She told the women, who all seemed to be in their 20s or early 30s that they had screwed up and that had landed them here. She added that they would be embarrassed at times but that if they stuck to the program, they would emerge with cleaned-up records and good prospects.
"Try to do the best you ever have," she challenged them. "Our chief, LTC Rachel, will write specially to the superior officer of the trainee here who finishes at the top of the group to commend her. That is a prize worth competing for. But you will start at the bottom. You have all been reduced to the rank of Private for the duration of your stay here. If you perform well, you'll get your rank back and will leave on a high. If you don't, you'll be out on your ass."
She then introduced SFC Linda, who began the training.
"All of you, listen carefully because I don't repeat," Linda warned them. "You all will now unbuckle your belts and take off your uniform pants. Then your uniform shirts will come off. I want everyone in bra and panties."
The stunned trainees did what she said without thinking but it was clear that this first order had taken them by surprise and shocked them.
"Does anyone need to use the toilet?" Linda then asked.
Two of the women, Taylor and Glenda, raised their hands. Linda called them to the front, pointed each to a corner and told them to squat on the pad in each corner.
"Pull down your panties and do your business on those pads," she then told them. "When you're finished, roll up the pads and put them in the covered bin over there."
"You mean we have to squat and go in front of everyone, just like that?" one of the women, Taylor, the taller one, with reddish-blonde hair, asked incredulously.
"Yes, darling," Linda replied sarcastically and savagely, "you will piss or shit right there just like I told you you could and if you find that objectionable, stay where you are and you'll wait until we get a break sometime later."
Glenda moved quickly to the corner, pulled her white standard panties to her knees, squatted, and let out a loud fart as she proceeded to drop a long dark turd on the pad, followed by a hot long stream of piss. Taylor gritted her teeth and did the same, but with her, it was only pee.
"All that guff for just a piss," Linda declared as the women wiped themselves, pulled up their panties, and returned to their places. "Private Taylor, you will stay back when the others are dismissed."
There was a clear presence now of fear among the trainees. They knew that Taylor was being disciplined right after they finished and didn't want to be joining her.
"You will now proceed next door where SSG Barbara will lecture you on following the rules when you are dealing with men sent to our facilities where you work," Linda told them. "You've all gotten into trouble because you either were too severe, too lax, or were dumb enough to get into some kind of cozy relationship with one or more men. SSG Barbara is the expert on the rules. Listen to her and she will be there to answer your questions.
"Now I want to see hands," she went on. "Who is here because they beat up some guy?"
Two hands went up. "OK, that's Kate and Taylor," Linda said by way of noting this. "Now, who was getting it on with someone they were there to correct," she asked them. Two more hands rose. "That's Glenda and Julie," Linda stated. Lastly, she asked who had gone too easy on inmates. Nancy and Valerie raised their hands.
"You all know you are fuck-ups," Linda told them bluntly. "But by the time you leave here, and it will vary depending on how cooperative you are, you'll have learned how to be a Correctional Officer with the right stuff. You may even get back in the good graces of your superior officer. Were all of you at camps?"
Five of them responded with "Yes, Sergeant" in unison. Then one, Julie, said she had been at a center in a town.
"OK," Linda snapped, "now all of you move out and follow SFC Denise next door.
She turned to Taylor, who had remained, per Linda's direction.
"Bend over the desk," she snapped at the tall trainee. Taylor's exterior toughness had faded. She was now scared.
"Pull down those panties to your knees and keep your legs spread so that they don't fall any further," Linda instructed her.
The trainee did what she was told. Linda picked up her thin cane, lay it on Taylor's bare bottom, and began to apply strokes that became stronger as she proceeded. Thin tramlines appeared in red on the chalky skin of Taylor's bottom and she began to moan and then scream after each hard stroke. Linda stopped at ten.
"Pull up your panties," Linda ordered. "Now go in with the rest and start losing that attitude or you'll be a very sorry girl."
After she left, 1SG Wendy came over and patted her softly on her back.
"You were good, Linda," she said calmly and coolly. "Soon, I'll let you conduct the next event, where we issue and have them wearing the dork panties." She was referring to the infamous training panties that the unit had acquired a bit of an underground reputation for making trainees endure. The vinyl panties—always black—had two dorks in the crotch, one to go into the vagina and the other into the anus. Trainees normally wore these for three days and had to come to one of the cadre to be released to perform bodily functions.
Wearing these was required even for women on their periods. If a trainee slipped up or acted out or in any way caused trouble, the sergeants would extend the time the trainee had to wear these torturous panties. This became one of the strongest incentives for the trainees to behave exactly as directed.
After the trainees returned from SSG Barbara's lecture, 1SG Wendy stepped up and spoke to them about doing what they were told. 'You're going to see what happens when you don't do what you're told," she said, always calmly. "You may get the cane or some other implement, like one of you did from SFC Linda just before. And there are other punishments."
She now had Linda and Denise assist each trainee in putting on the training panties after taking off their white uniform ones. As the trainee pulled up the black vinyl undies, Denise or Linda helped by making sure the two dorks went into the holes they were supposed to.
Each woman suppressed a cry as the dorks penetrated their insides.
"Walk slowly when you have these on, which you will for the next three days," 1SG Wendy warned them. "If you try to run or do something dumb, it will feel like you're ripping your cunt out," she advised.
"You will have to come to us if you need to use the toilet for any reason, including those who are menstruating," she stated. "We are here for you. We won't always be happy but one of us is always on duty all night for that. During the day, come to us during breaks. Don't try to hold it in. You will be in great discomfort if you pee or shit in them."
Having the panties on quieted the group completely. They were accustomed to being in charge when they disciplined the men who had been sent to the camps or centers for strict retraining. They hadn't expected this kind of treatment. But they understood that this was a last chance and that they had been given a chance at redemption in the service. The saving grace, not that it was much of one, was that they wore the panties under their uniform skirts. Thus, it was not common knowledge exactly who had them on.
They did everything together. The cadre found that this built up morale. They all were afraid at the beginning to comment to one another about the ferocity of the sergeants. Two or three them tended toward women in their love lives and they got off on imagining themselves in bed with Denise or Linda. They didn't know that Denise and Linda spent their nighttime in bed with each other, never while at work at the unit but when they were off duty.