“We’ve tried it you know,” says Sarah suddenly.

 

“Tried what?”

 

“The restraint thing. Jack and I tried it for a weekend. I wore handcuffs from when I got home from work on Friday right through to Monday morning.”

 

“Yeah? But then going on today’s revelations, I’m guessing that might be just a normal weekend in the Thomson house?”

 

“Funny. We’re not that kinky.”

 

“And so how was it?”

 

“Well it was actually kinda fun. At least in places, and we had some great sex. But it was only for a weekend, not six months.”

 

“Did you go out in public in the cuffs?”

 

“Oh fuck no. I’d have died of embarrassment. But I suppose it’ll be different when we’re restrained. People won’t think we’re kinky perverts when they see our collars.”

 

“So which is worse, to be seen as a kinky pervert, or a convicted criminal?”

 

“But people will know though Jem. They’ll know we’re not real criminals.”

 

“Will they? And some will consider us worse than ‘real’ criminals if we’re feminists.”

 

“Well I don’t care what people like that think. And no one we know will think like that. Will they?”

 

I leave Sarah’s question unanswered and go back to staring through the bars at the empty corridor beyond. After a while my gaze wanders back into the cell and back to my friend, and I see at her in a way I haven’t considered before. She looks tired and worried, different without her glasses and despite her smudged eye make-up she looks beautiful. If I were a lesbian she would be quite a catch.

 

“You’re lucky you’re married and have Jack to help you through this,” I say, realising I need to push any thoughts of lesbians to one side.

 

“I know,” she replies. “He’s been great about it. I mean, I’m his wife and so he has no choice but to look after me while I’m restrained, but I know he’s there for me in spirit too. And you’ve got Rob. He’ll look after you won’t he?”

 

“Rob and I aren’t married so he doesn’t have to.”

 

“Yes, but he wouldn’t abandon you over this would he?”

 

“No, he’s said he’ll sign up to be my guardian if I get restrained, but he’s not happy about it. We’ve had some hellish rows since I got arrested. I don’t know if our relationship is going to survive all this.”

 

“Oh god, you never said…”

 

“We were just at that crucial point when all this kicked off. Our initial fires for each other had calmed down and it was either going to fizzle out, or take hold long term. I really didn’t know which. We talked about moving in together but I wasn’t in a hurry to do that, and I don’t think Rob was either. And he’s been so angry about the protest and me getting arrested. If he won’t support me willingly when I need help then where are we going together?”

 

“Oh I’m so sorry Jem. I never knew you two weren’t permanent. What would happen if he won’t support you?”

 

“I’d have to find someone else to sign up, or else go to prison. My brother might have done it, but he works abroad. I can’t think of anyone else I would trust enough. I mean, I have to give power of attorney over everything for the duration.”

 

“Well if Rob refuses then I’ll get Jack to be your guardian. You’re not going to prison.”

 

“Aw, thanks Sarah, but I think I’ll be okay with Rob. He’ll do it. I just wish he’d be a bit more supportive rather than just angry with me. It’s good of you to offer though.”

 

“Hey, I’m just thinking of myself. I could have you living with us, in chains.”

 

“Whoa, steady on there. What happened to ‘sorry, but I can’t help it’?”

 

“Well you know…”

 

“And besides Sarah, chastity belts remember?”

 

“Oh. Yes. I wonder what that’s going to be like.”

 

“Bloody horrible I would think.”

 

“Yes, but the thought kinda turns me on. But then I won’t be able to do anything about it. Are the two going to feed off each other and drive me mad?”

 

“Just think about trying to get clean after you’ve done number twos. That should turn you off.”

 

“I know. It’s going to be tough. But I can’t help finding the idea sexy.”

 

“Sexy? Well good luck with that.”

 

“Jack says he thinks it’s sexy.”

 

“He thinks it’s sexy that he won’t be able to have sex with you?”

 

“Well I think he’d prefer it if he was going to get a key. But it’s not like we can’t have sex. I mean there’s still…”

 

“Yes, I know. You don’t have to spell it out. I’m rather hoping I can keep Rob away from my arse. I know I’ll have to let him go there at some point I suppose, being as he’s going to be locked out of other options, but I’m not looking forward to it.”

 

“Are you, err…”

 

“Virgin back there? Sort of. Had a few fingers up it before but never a whole penis. Just not my thing.”

 

“Oh it’s not that bad Jem.”

 

“You’re an expert I take it.”

 

“No, but me and Jack do anal now and again. Just for variety. It hurts if he rushes, but as long as he takes it slowly to let me open up and uses plenty of lube it’s okay.”

 

“Do you get to cum?”

 

“Not directly, it doesn’t stimulate the right bits, but if it’s a part of a wider sex session then it plays its part. And there’s a sort of satisfaction from giving him pleasure and not getting it back. Sort of makes it more of a loving gesture, like a blow job.”

 

“Ah yes, blow jobs. I’m hoping to keep Rob happy enough with those to keep my bum intact. I quite like sucking cock, and since I got arrested and knew this was coming I’ve been secretly practising with a rubber dildo. I’m hoping to surprise Rob with some new tricks. I reckon I’ll be quite the fellatrix.”

 

“Fellatrix? Is that even a real word? You’re not damping down my desires for you with this kind of talk you know.”

 

“Oh, sorry. Change of subject needed. Like how are we going to sleep tonight? Second thoughts, maybe that’s a bad topic too.”

 

 

There is nothing in this place to mark the passing of time. No clock chimes, no natural daylight, no noise of rush hour traffic. It’s about as sterile and boring as anywhere could be. We keep waiting for a call of ‘lights out’ or even just for the lights to go off unannounced, but it doesn’t happen. The only clue that we are into the evening is that there is no sound of cell doors being opened or closed anymore. The courts must have finished work for the day long ago and no more fresh meat is being sent down for confinement. Sarah and I decide to try to go to bed. It’s been a long and frightening day and we have more to come tomorrow. I’m not hopeful of getting much sleep, but I’m determined to try. And once again the accursed issue of the toilet comes to the fore. I can’t imagine that I can get through to morning without going and I don’t want to be woken in the night by my bladder when I’ve just struggled to get off to sleep. But the taboo is still there and I’m going to put it off as long as possible.

 

It doesn’t feel right to go to bed like this. It’s not that I’m going to try to share a tiny bed with a self-confessed bi-sexual who has the hots for me. Nor is it that we’re both going to sleep in our chains, it’s that I feel dirty. I want to wash my day old make-up off. I want to take my dress and underwear off. I want to pee and then wash my crotch. I want to clean my teeth. I want to brush my hair. And none of that is possible with my hands fastened to my waist. I can’t even reach my face, let alone wash it. And I’m sure Sarah feels the same. Perhaps we could help each other achieve at least some of those things, but it’s just too personal and intimate. Our friendship is growing stronger rapidly, but could we really wash each other’s faces, let alone our other bits? It takes more than just one day in a cell together to bring friends that close.

 

And so we both just try to lie down together on the bed as we are, dirty and tired. But it’s not working. The bed just isn’t wide enough to allow us to lie on our backs, side by side. And lying on our sides doesn’t work because with our hands secured, one arm is always trapped under us and it’s horribly uncomfortable. In the end we find a compromise. Sarah lies on her back and squeezed against the wall and I perch precariously along the edge of the bed on my side with my arm hanging over the edge. It’s certainly not comfy, but it’s the best we can do and a sort of sleep comes to me eventually.

 

 

oOo

 

 

 

I wake up suddenly and realise it’s not all been a dream. I really am chained up and sharing a far too small bed with Sarah. I have no idea how long I’ve slept or what time it is. The lights are still on and all seems just the same as when we went to bed. Except that now my neck and shoulder are aching and one wrist hurts where my cuffs have been digging in to it. But there’s something worse than stiffness and aches. I need to pee. But it seems like my putting it off may have worked out for me because Sarah appears to be asleep. I can hear her snoring slightly. As gently and quietly as I can I wiggle myself up off the bed and stand in the cell. Sarah’s still asleep. I don’t care about the camera any more, just getting this done without Sarah having to put her face up against my fanny is what matters. But once again it’s my knickers that are the problem. I can’t very well use my previous solution of rubbing my arse on the bed when Sarah’s asleep on it. I need something else to rub my arse on. I look around and a see a possible tool in the barred cell door. The round vertical bars are supported by a few square horizontal ones and one of them is about waist height. As quickly as I can I work my skirt and slip up around my waist and then push my arse against the horizontal bar. It must give the voyeurs behind the camera an amazing view, but it works perfectly. My knickers catch on the bar and I drag them off my bottom like a seasoned pro. As gravity takes over, it crosses my mind that I never actually want to be a seasoned pro at this, and I waddle over to the toilet to relieve the pressure inside me.

 

When I’m done I tear off some paper and pad myself dry. It occurs to me that the paper roll is actually quite easy to reach as it’s right beside me on the wall, and so why did Sarah need me to get her some paper? Did she actually want me to see her on the loo, and was she perhaps hoping that I’d pad her dry? Fucking hell Jem, get a grip. She said she fancied me that’s all. There are lots of men who I fancy, but I wouldn’t want them padding my fanny dry on the loo. I think I need to chill out a bit about this, not that it’s easy to chill out about anything when you’re chained up and locked in a prison cell, but it’s not like I’m locked up with a lesbian rapist is it. I look across at Sarah, still apparently asleep on the bed, and the narrow shelf of mattress sticking out from under her. I know how uncomfortable it is to lie on, but yet it looks warm and inviting. Or maybe it’s Sarah who looks warm and inviting.

 

 

oOo

 

 

There is no definitive proof that it is morning in this almost timeless cell, but there are a few tell-tale signs. I can hear activity in the corridor, a trolley being pushed around, the sound of footsteps and the occasional voice. Of course the greatest clue is the woman who has woken me from my hard won and inadequately short sleep by trying to climb over me discreetly and quietly, and failing at both because she’s hampered by her chains.

 

“Sorry,” she says. “Did I wake you?”

 

“No, I’m still asleep.”

 

“It’s just I had to get up. My neck’s killing me after a night with no pillow. And I have to go.”

 

“You’re neck hurts? No shit, every bit of me hurts,” I reply grumpily.

 

“Err, Jem. You couldn’t help me with my tights again?”

 

“Oh, err yes I suppose so. Just give me a moment to get my arm to move.”

 

I struggle up off the bed and then almost fall over as I step towards Sarah. It seems my hobble chain is rather shorter than I remember. I look down and the shame and humiliation at what I see shakes the sleepiness from me. My hobble chain is exactly as it was yesterday, the problem is my knickers. I remember now. I couldn’t get them back up after my trip to the loo in the night and so I just went back to bed with them round my ankles. Suddenly I burst into a fit of rage at my oh-so-troublesome underwear. I know I should really be angry with those who insist on keeping me chained up, but my knickers get the brunt of my fury. I kick my legs apart trying to rip them off but despite their delicate, lacy appearance they hold firm. How much simpler everything would be if I could just rid of the fucking things. I start to descend into a major tantrum, but I am saved by Sarah who walks to me and takes my hands in hers. She stands calmly with me, draining me of my anger as she gently presses her cheek to mine. I feel like a baby being soothed by its mother and I get myself under control again.

 

“I’m sorry Sarah,” I say. “It’s just starting to get me, that’s all.”

 

“I know. You’re not the only one.”

 

“I’m okay now. It’s just the fucking knickers thing…”

 

“We must look like a right pair of morning-after party goers. Yesterday’s crumpled clothes and smudged make-up. Failing hairdos.”

 

“And me with my knickers round my ankles. I suppose I must look like I had a really good night.”

 

We laugh and it seals a veneer of calm over what I feel inside. At that moment a woman with a trolley appears at the cell door and pushes two bottles on a tray through it. She moves on without saying a word.

 

“Breakfast I suppose,” says Sarah.

 

“I hope it’s tastier than dinner was,” I reply.

 

“Before we find out, there’s something I need to do first. Is it safe to ask for some help?”

 

“Yeah, I think it’s safe.”

 

I help Sarah once again to get her tights down so she can use the loo. It seems almost more intimate and personal than the last time I did it, but somehow it’s much less awkward this time. I even wet some paper in the washbasin for her so she can freshen herself up a little. When she’s done and her underwear is back in place, I decide that I should even the score, just to keep things level between us. So I use the loo which I can do unaided because I’m already suitably exposed, but then I accept Sarah’s help to freshen up and get my knickers back into place. I can see her expression of surprise when she first sees my fanny and discovers that I keep myself shaven down there, but she says nothing about it.

 

“It’s okay,” I say to her. “You can comment if you want to.”

 

“I err… Well. I didn’t know you…”

 

“Shave? Yeah well. How would you know? It’s not the sort of thing I tell everyone about. So err, does it do it for you?”

 

“Oh fuck yes. Sorry, but you asked.”

 

“I did. I’ve had most of the night to think, and I want to you know I’m okay about it.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.” I lower my voice to a whisper in case there’s anyone listening. “In fact my ego might be rather chuffed about it.”

 

“Oh Jem,” Sarah whispers back.

 

“Does err… Jack know about you?”

 

“What that I’m… Yes he knows.”

 

“So when you’re out together and you see a good looking woman, do you give him a nudge and say ‘Phwoar, look at the tits on that’?”

 

“I’m more likely to say ‘Phwoar, I wouldn’t mind getting my tongue into that’.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Oh yes. He loves it. It’s good for a couple to have a shared interest don’t you think?”

 

“Yeah, but usually it’s just motorbikes or tennis or something like that. Do you ever, you know, actually do anything with women?”

 

“No. Not since I got married. Jack says he’d be okay with it as long as it’s just sex and not love. But I don’t feel love for other women, only lust.”

 

“Would you do something with me? If I offered myself.”

 

“In a heartbeat Jem.”

 

“Oh god. Well let’s just get out of here first. Then we’ll work out where we are. We’ll have six months to think about it anyway.”

 

“Oh, I forgot about that. I suppose a quick one now before our goodies get locked away is out of the question?”

 

“Sarah Thomson, you just behave yourself.”

 

We giggle about it and it seems the last of the ice between us is melted. I wonder why I’m suddenly leading Sarah on. Is it because she’s the only friendly thing to cling to in this place? Is it because my relationship with Rob is not in a good state and I feel I need to have at least one friend who understands what it’s going to be like to be ‘restrained’? Or is it simply that she’s made me interested in her, perhaps fancy her even? I’ve never really been aware of any lesbian feelings in myself, except I remember having a thing for Tracey Hartwell at school and we snogged on several occasions. I tell myself I should be careful and not encourage her if I don’t mean it. But we both have much to get through in the coming months and I want us to be there for each other. I don’t want anything to make things awkward between us.

 

As with last night’s ‘dinner’, ‘breakfast’ is also a generous word to apply to the contents of the newly delivered bottles which tastes like watered down milk. It’s no substitute for a decent cup of coffee but we suck it up through the straws, mindful that we’re unlikely to get anything else. Then, with our newly found uninhibited friendship knocking away the taboos, I manage to clean the stale make-up off Sarah’s face by having her kneel by the washbasin while I clean her with some dampened loo paper and rinse her face. When she returns the favour, I watch her chained hands straining against their cuffs and belt while they clean my face, and I find it one of the most erotic experiences I can remember. Sarah says we must still look like morning-after party revellers, but now the party doesn’t look to have been so good. I think that means we look a little better, but I’m not sure.

 

A guard appears at our cell door. She looks at us for a moment and then orders us to get our shoes, which we took off last night, back on our feet. It’s easy for me as mine are pumps and I can just step into them. Sarah’s T-bars have to be buckled up which I have to do for her. The guard waits patiently while I struggle to get my hands to Sarah’s feet. Once I’m done she commands us to stand at the back of the cell, facing the wall and then with a jingle of keys and a barked instruction to ‘open thirty seven’ she enters the cell.

 

“Assessor Black will be here to see you soon,” she says. “Now, Melstrom. Stand over here.”

 

I turn and see the guard pointing to the floor in front of her. Nervously I walk over to stand at the spot she indicates where I notice there is a ring set into the floor. The guard bends down, lifts the ring and padlocks it to my hobble chain.

 

“Thomson, you over here,” she barks as she straightens up.

 

Sarah is directed to another ring in the floor a couple of feet from mine. Her hobble is similarly locked to it. We look nervously at each other. Locked to the floor now. As if we aren’t helpless enough already. The guard brings a small table and a folding chair into the cell and puts them down in front of us. It feels like we’re being set up for the job interview from hell, standing side by side to face someone across the table. Someone who will sit comfortably while we stand. Someone who will decide our fate. The guard leaves and the bars of the cell slide shut behind her.

 

“Assessor Black?” I say quietly to Sarah after a little while. “Do you think that’s just his name, or does black mean…”

 

“I don’t know,” Sarah replies nervously.

 

 I can see her shaking a little. We’re only standing a little over a foot apart, but we can’t reach each other. I can’t comfort her except with words.

 

“At least something’s happening though. We’ll be out of here soon.”

 

But my words turn out to be rather optimistic. For what seems like eternity nothing happens. We just stand here, unable to move. Sarah could perhaps get her bum onto the bed and sit with her legs stretched out to her ring, but I can’t get to anything. We could of course sit down on the floor but the intention is clearly that we should be here and ready for the Grand Inquisitor as soon as he comes through the door. We remain standing and our feet begin to ache in our high heeled shoes.



Continued in The Accidental Feminist, Part Four