Rehabilitation Centre

From Blushes Supplement 35, continuing on from Games in a Playsuit and Games in a Playsuit (continued). Poor Linda continues to suffer at the hands of Mr Ranbourne. Surely he wouldn’t get her sent to a Rehabilitation Centre after all, would he?

I’m afraid this story is missing a section due to a misprint in the magazine.

‘Hello, Gregory?’

It is 7 o’clock. At least Mr Ranbourne didn’t keep her any longer. All night. He was saying perhaps he would keep her for the night and would she like that. A night in that lovely comfortable bed. She had finally managed to persuade him to let her go. ‘It’s that boyfriend I suppose. What did you say his name was? Gregory? You’re due to see your dear Gregory. And of course there’s your dear mother too. I suppose she’ll be wondering where you are. Or whom you’re with if it’s not that Gregory.’ Mr Ranbourne’s mocking laugh. ‘You’ll have to tell her, Linda. That a very nice gentleman has taken an interest in you. He’s giving you a little preliminary training. What a lucky girl, eh?’

When Mr Ranbourne said this they were still in bed. Linda and Mr Ranbourne. In that bed that she had to bend over for the caning. After the caning… Mr Ranbourne didn’t do what he was talking about doing. Caning her between her legs. No, that was just to scare her perhaps. Instead… he pulled her to her feet… and pulled back the bed cover. No, it wasn’t more of the cane… but something else. ‘No, we won’t do that, Linda. Not right now at any rate. You don’t want that, do you? What you need is something else. Something that you shouldn’t be getting until Saturday. But as you’ve had a difficult day, with those two awful men I mean, well… I think you need something to relax you. Before you go back to dear Gregory. Eh?’

Linda had to get in the bed. And of course Mr Ranbourne got in too. And screwed her. Linda didn’t have any choice. Well, she could say ‘No!’ and ‘Don’t’ and things like that. But… they didn’t have much effect.

‘Where were you? You weren’t there!’ Gregory’s frustrated, annoyed voice over the phone.

‘No… I… had to do some shopping.’

‘Shopping?’ It is all Linda can think of. She could say she had to stay late at work but Gregory knows some of the people there and they could easily remark that she hasn’t been in most of the day. So that won’t do. Shopping… it is pretty weak but there is nothing else she can think of. It is that… or saying what really happened. Mr Ranbourne. That playsuit; the bath; the cane; and then… No, there is no way… no possible way. So even though she hates lying there is nothing else for it.

Gregory is grumbling. Naturally. But he wants to see her. Linda doesn’t feel like seeing anyone. Not even Gregory. Perhaps least of all Gregory. After all that at Mr Ranbourne’s. She says she’s not feeling too good. Tired. Will that sound odd? Suspicious? After not turning up and not calling for two hours. Gregory tries to persuade her but he doesn’t sound suspicious. He asks about the doctor. Oh the doctor. Dr Fitchley. Linda has almost forgotten about her visit to Dr Fitchley — although that set off this whole dreadful business. But subsequent events — especially the very last event — have driven Dr Fitchley from her mind.

‘Oh… OK,’ she says. ‘All right.’

‘He wasn’t awkward?’ Gregory asks. Because he knows Dr Fitchley has been ‘awkward’ in the past. Searching questions. Does Gregory suspect perhaps that Linda admits things to Dr Fitchley that he himself doesn’t know about? He knows that Linda occasionally has those bad experiences with strange men; but she manages to deflect them from what they want. Or so she tells him. But what if sometimes… she isn’t able to? She wouldn’t want to tell him — but possibly she would tell Dr Fitchley. If only for fear of being found out and then being sent to the Rehab Centre for lying about her sexual contacts. Perhaps Dr Fitchley says if she tells him and it wasn’t her fault, they made her, then it won’t have to go on her report… does Gregory think all this… when he asks about Dr Fitchley?

Anyway Linda says No he wasn’t awkward. She doesn’t want to talk. Not about anything. Certainly not about Dr Fitchley — who in a way got her in to all this. She just wants to go to bed. An early night. And forget.

In bed, though, Linda can’t forget. She is thinking of Mr Ranbourne. Not so long ago she was in another bed… with Mr Ranbourne. Mr Ranbourne on top of her. And tomorrow… she has to see him again. At lunchtime. He is going to phone her boss again and get her off work for the afternoon. So that he can take her… where? To his house again? He didn’t actually say. He must mean his house again. Where there is that little room with the bare floorboards where he cut the playsuit off. Crunch… crunch… the cold scissors running along her soft flesh. And the other rooms: the bathroom. The bedroom. She shivers. He’ll want her in there again. The bedroom. The cane… and that other. Yes that is what he’ll want. But then Linda has another thought. What if he is planning to take her round to the two men? Or… he has invited them to his house. For games. No. He wouldn’t. Mr Ranbourne wouldn’t want those common men at his house. No, that is just a silly thought. Would he? But he might… take her to them. And then… watch like he did in the waiting room. Watch while they… ‘She needs a little training. Would you like to train her?’ Or, ‘She’s very sexy. Over-sexed. She needs it more than once a week. That’s what she gets from her boyfriend but she needs more. Yes, it is strictly against regulations but… why don’t you? She’s not going to tell, are you, Linda dear? She doesn’t want to be sent to the Centre.’

Linda doesn’t want to think these dreadful thoughts but she can’t help it. He wouldn’t do that. He stopped them from doing it in the waiting room remember. Although he did sit there and watch while they made her strip. Made her dance. And then mauled her. But he didn’t let them… do the other.

No… but Mr Ranbourne has done it now himself. She had to let him. Mr Ranbourne saying she is a sexy girl who needs it. Needs it more than once a week and especially after a trying day. Mr Ranbourne saying these things… while he is actually doing it. On top of her. Inside… ‘We won’t tell Dr Fitchley of course… or… report it… to the Records Office.’

The Records Office. The Rehab Centre. Mr Ranbourne keeps talking about it. Jokingly. But sometimes it seems he’s not joking. What if… Linda tries to close her mind to all these thoughts. Perhaps it’s all a bad dream. Everything: the waiting room; the two men; Mr Ranbourne… all a dream. She will wake up and… it will have been a dream.

Eventually Linda does get to sleep, late into the night. She is woken by the jangling of the alarm. She has had bad dreams, nightmares. But she knows at once that Mr Ranbourne, though he may be a bad dream, is real. Lunchtime…

He is there waiting where he said: in the town centre. Oh yes Mr Ranbourne is there — although Linda has been having wild hopes that he might not be. Her boss has mentioned Mr Ranbourne in the morning and smiled. Clearly there is no…

[jumps – part of story missing in magazine. Linda appears to have been taken to a room in Mr Ranbourne’s house and told to put on a Rehab Centre uniform.]

…quickly. Oh yes. In a flash; an instant. Because if you didn’t…

Linda’s hands go to the buttons of her dress. Her fingers fumbling at them, working without guidance, because she has a funny feeling in her head, the feeling that she is not in control of her hands, or anything. This uniform has really thrown her. Why… does she have to put it on…

‘Just keep on the knickers,’ Mr Ranbourne tells her. ‘No bra. Girls don’t wear a bra in the Centre. Not allowed. And of course you won’t want the stockings and suspender belt, not with the ankle socks.’

Everything comes off. Except the brief knickers. Linda’s big tits are again nude. Mr Ranbourne eyeing them… as she reaches for the white blouse and slips it on. It covers her… but it is a Rehab Centre blouse. What is now shrieking through Linda’s head is that Mr Ranbourne is going to send her there. Or take her. To the Centre. Now. This afternoon. Pulling the blouse closed over her jutting tits, fumbling at the buttons, Linda turns a desperate look to Mr Ranbourne. Shaking her head.

‘I don’t… don’t… please you can’t… send me.’

Mr Ranbourne comes close. Smiling a sardonic smile. Evidently enjoying seeing her in this desperate state. His hand reaches to take hold of Linda’s bottom in the brief, tight pants. ‘Can’t send you where, my dear?’

‘To… to… the Re… Rehab…’

‘The Rehabilitation Centre? Oh. Why can’t I? That is what it’s for: to take pretty girls of your age who might otherwise fall into bad habits. Eh? Girls who might let their boyfriends have intercourse more than once a week. Or of course allow other youths or men to have intercourse as well. Exceeding the advised guidelines. That is what it’s for. To counter such tendencies. And pretty Linda might be inclined that way.’

Mr Ranbourne is squeezing her bottom. ‘No!’ she yelps. ‘No. I don’t. Never.'

Another squeeze, Mr Ranbourne’s fingers sliding in the cleft of Linda’s bottom. ‘Anyway, I don’t recall saying anything about sending you there. Did I? Although now you have mentioned it…’

Mr Ranbourne is clearly trying to needle her. To get Linda in a state. And he is succeeding. Two fat tears roll down her cheeks. She dabs them away, then wipes at her eyes. ‘Get the skirt on,’ Mr Ranbourne tells her. ‘And the shoes and socks. Then come with me.’

Linda in the full Rehab Centre uniform follows Mr Ranbourne. Not to any of those other rooms. A new one this time. Upstairs and past the bedroom that Linda doesn’t want to think about. Into a room further along. It is not pleasantly furnished like the other bedroom but it is a bedroom. Because it has a bed. Or rather a bed-frame complete with stark springs. There is a pile of blankets etc neatly folded on it at one end. This stark bed-frame is typical of the whole room with its bare floorboards underfoot and stark undecorated walls. No furniture apart from the bare bed and a wooden kitchen chair and a plain metal cabinet.

‘What do you think, Linda dear?’ Mr Ranbourne gives one of those little laughs. ‘This is how a girl’s room at the Rehabilitation centre is. Exactly… like this.’

Now Linda also notices against the wall a cane. Perhaps she is going to faint. Is this a bad dream? Mr Ranbourne walking over to the bed. Patting the pile of bedclothes. ‘Girls are woken at six and must immediately get up and fold up the bedclothes thus. Then a cold shower.’ He steps back towards her. ‘It’s a very healthy regime of course. Cold showers and hard runs round the grounds. And of course the cane. Plenty of that.’

He goes over to pick up the cane. ‘Shall we try it, Linda dear? The first thing a girl gets when she is brought to the Centre and is kitted out in her uniform is a taste of the cane. A first caning right away in her room. So shall we try that? Slip your knickers down please.’

Mr Ranbourne is moving the chair to the foot of the bed. The back of the chair facing the bed and about two feet from it. ‘I want you up on the chair. Kneeling on the seat and leaning over holding the bed-frame.’

Linda has done what she’s been told. Her hands in an automaton-like way sliding her knickers down under the grey skirt. She is feeling a lot worse now. A fainty, sicky feeling. Her head is reeling. She is not at all sure where she is. Is this Mr Ranbourne’s house… or is it in fact… the Rehab Centre? This room… and this uniform. And Mr Ranbourne in his sober shirt and tie. Is that what they wear at the Rehab Centre: the instructors? Not a uniform but a plain shirt, a plain dark tie…

He turns her towards him. The cane has been placed on the bed. ‘Let’s have this open, shall we?’ The blouse. His hands at the buttons. Unfastening them all… and pulling the blouse open. So that Linda’s lovely big tits are free, bare. His hands slipping underneath them, lifting them slightly; then stroking the big nipples.

‘Lovely, Linda. Aren’t they? Right, now up on the chair.’

She is up on the chair. Kneeling. Leaning over and gripping the cold metal bed-frame. The pleated skirt is up over her back, and the brief knickers have been slid down to mid-thigh. The ripe globes of Linda’s bottom thrust out, like exotic ripe fruit. ‘Keep it still, my dear. I’ll give you it now. Keep it nice and still because if you don’t I shall have to give you extra ones. Do you understand that?’

Linda doesn’t answer. She doesn’t think she can speak. Her hands clenching the cold metal. She is in the Rehab Centre. Somehow. Her head is a jumble of sliding, disconnected thoughts, incapable of telling her how it has happened. A black-out perhaps. But…

CRACCK!.. The mind-splitting impact of that cane. Where she is for the moment quite unimportant in the face of this impossible red-hot burn in her bottom…

TRAINING EXERCISE

She is standing with her back against the wall. ‘Stand still and don’t move an inch, Miss. This is a training exercise. You are of course being watched. Monitored.’ Is it true? That there is a spy-hole in the wall opposite and she is being watched, scrutinised, for any improper movement. Linda is desperately trying to keep still. Not move a muscle. Except to do what the notice says. Every ten minutes.

The piece of paper stuck to the cabinet. Which tells her what she is to do. When exactly ten minutes are up. Until then, during the ten minutes, she must remain absolutely immobile. Not even a little twitch, a quiver…

Linda is in blouse and knickers. Plus the ankle socks and low-heeled shoes have been changed to stockings and her suspender belt and high heels. The blouse of course is open, unbuttoned, so that her big bare tits are jutting out. Linda’s arms reach up as high as she can reach. Her legs together. The little clock on the cabinet says 2.16. So four minutes to go before her next change. Already she is beginning to really ache. Her legs and more especially her stretched-up arms feel as if they are going to give way at any moment. But there are four — or almost four now — more minutes to go. Before…

Linda steels herself. In case someone is watching. It is the second ten-minute period. For the first one she had her skirt on but that now has been removed. Placed on the stool. At the next one… she must take her knickers down to the tops of the stockings. This is what it says on the note. Then ten more minutes standing like this, her arms raised in the air but with her knickers down. For the one after that… the knickers come right off.

Her arms are really killing her now. Her shoulder joints feel red hot. Killing. Only two minutes. And then her arms can come down. So that she can slide her knickers down. But as soon as that is done — and it must be done as quickly as possible — her arms must go back up. And the next ten minutes are bound to be worse than this one. Just as this one is worse than the first ten-minute stretch.

What about Gregory? Does he know where she is? No, he can’t know. Not yet. But there will be a letter. To her house. Or perhaps they will phone. To say she has been sent here. So Gregory will know. Tomorrow or the next day. But she might not have to stay more than one day; one night. That was what he said. If…

The clock is now showing 2.20 and her arms are really killing. She brings them down. The feeling of relief in her burning shoulders is unbelievable. But… she has to do what the note says. Pull her knickers down… while drinking in that marvellous feeling in her arms and shoulders. But then… the arms have to go back up again. Another ten minutes. She wants to scream out. Her arms and shoulders want to scream out… but if she doesn’t follow the instructions exactly… she has been told what will happen. A little whimper comes out from the ripe-fruit lips… as the burn in her arms starts at once. Ten minutes to go.

If she can do this properly, exactly as the instructions say… she can possibly go after just one night. If she can do this… and a few other things are satisfactory. That is what he said. But if not… it could be… He didn’t say what the few other things were. For the moment there is only this dreadful burning feeling to think about.

After the knickers come off, the blouse must be taken off. Then she has to stand with her legs wide apart instead of together, arms still stretched up of course. And after that, it says on the note taped to the cabinet, she has to get on the bed. On those bare steel springs. Lie there with her feet, her high-heeled courts, up on the end rail. Legs wide apart. Arms still raised in the air. That is the last position on the list…