TWO TOURISTS - A AND A SEQUEL
By Francine
This is set in the Soviet Union, beginning in the Communist era,
when two women tourists decide to ignore the rules on export of restricted
items. There are consequences for both, for one humiliating and the other
highly inconvenient.
The involves a sequel, when there is a return to scene at a later
time.
Chapter 1
Alone at Last
Irma Bradley and her friend and companion Helen Murzac stood at the
entrance to the modest hotel they had occupied with their tour group for
the last several days. They were waving farewell to the others of the
group with whom they had been touring the Soviet Union for the past two
weeks. The time was 1983, the place a town not far from Kiev in the
Ukraine. Irma and Helen had long looked forward to this tour of the
communist empire, and now it was coming to a conclusion. This was to be
their last stop, but Irma, ever the adventurer, had persuaded Helen to
arrange with her that the two of them might remain for two extra days after
the group left; a time, Irma had insisted, would allow them to taste a bit
of the country without the supervision of the tour guide and enable them to
taste the 'real' Soviet nation - also a time to do a bit of prowling and
shopping of the type that would make them the envy of others when they
returned to their homes in the USA.
As the bus carrying their former companions pulled away, Irma turned to
her friend. "Now it's just the two us for two days. We get our chance to
pick up the things we want to bring home - and not from the shops the
guides steer us to! And we can roam around by ourselves, talk to whom we
wish, and in two days we go home with an experience that wasn't on the
official list!"
Helen smiled back. To be sure, Helen was a bit less adventuresome than
Irma. She liked to poke around in strange places and pick up interesting
bits of artwork or artifacts, but she was a bit more conventional than
Irma. Helen would prefer to do her shopping in stores or museum shops,
while Irma loved to hunt up street merchants, always looking for a bargain
or something that couldn't be found in the conventional places.
Both women were single, fairly independent, and educated. Irma was
thirty eight, a real estate salesperson accustomed to negotiations and
completely at home with the bargaining process. She liked people and had
no fear of anyone she might meet. From long experience she understood
posturing and the processes of deception people often used; yet she
inherently liked people and felt she could deal with such strategies.
Irma, a schoolteacher, was a bit more of a conformist in her habits. She
could be open and friendly with her students, yet she had a private side
that she seldom revealed. She liked her privacy, enjoyed watching others
get into adventures she would prefer to avoid, as she might watch that
activity in her students, yet enjoyed intellectual exploration of the
cultures and varied people she encountered.
Irma wasted no time. "Remember that on the street corner who asked
us about changing dollars? He offered an awfully good rate - twice what
the banks would give!"
"The one our guide said to ignore? Because it was illegal?"
"So she said. What she really meant was that he didn't give her a cut!
If we're going on a shopping spree, we need a supply of rubles. Let's go!"
The two women wandered back along the street, looking for a familiar
corner. After a time they found it. They stood, looking around. Before
long a rather plain looking approached them. He was wearing an coat, his head covered in a gray woolen cap, fairly appropriate to the
changeable fall weather. "Ah, my American ladies!" he greeted them in
rather good English. "I hope you are having good time in our country! We
like our friends!" He went on, complimenting them on their dress, their
hair styles, their smiles. Irma cut him short. "Yesterday - you offered a
good rate on money exchanges - are you still in the business?"
The suddenly became quiet. He looked about carefully, then motioned
them to come into a sheltered doorway.
"In my business, it is good not to be too noisy. I have many
competitors - they would not like to know what good rates I can offer - I
like to do business with Americans, but some of the others are not so
understanding. If they hear the good offers I make for you, they make
things hard for me. You understand?"
Irma nodded. Helen looked on, a bit suspicious. He went on "How much
you want to change? I make very good price - but, you understand, I cannot
let others know what I do for you - so it just between us? So?"
Before long, a deal was struck. Several hundred dollars changed hands,
and Irma and Helen moved away, purses stuffed with wads of rubles.
Irma smiled to Helen. "See why the guide didn't want us dealing with
him? She probably gets a cut from all the places she takes us to, and this
guy wouldn't be cutting her in. So we got a good deal! Now, where would
you like to go first?"
Helen's taste went to small pieces of jewelry, and a bit of hand made
skirts and blouses; things she would use as gifts to her close friends.
They browsed a bit through street stalls and small stores.
Irma had more exotic tastes. She inquired at one small store, "I hear
there are pictures - religious icons - for sale. I'm interested in art - could you guide me?" At first she got shakes of the head, or comments
indicating her English was not understood, but Irma was insistent. She had
a brochure describing artwork sometimes found among merchants selling
antiques, and she used the pictures to help with her inquiries.
Helen was less than enthused. "Even if you find any of the icons, you
know you can't take them out of the country if they're over a hundred years
old - it's not allowed, as the guides told us!"
"So who's to know the birthdates? art doesn't come with date of
manufacture - that's what makes it interesting. I was told we'd find some
old icons if we looked far enough. Oh, I'd love some of that - something
of Russia, from the Czarist times - or older!"
They continued looking, until a shopkeeper showed signs of interest.
"Pictures? pictures? The churches - they tear down - some make
into museums - sometimes, sometimes, people sell pictures from churches. Such is you want?" Irma's interest was immediately aroused.
Both of them were ushered into a small back room. A large chest was
opened, and from it the shopkeeper withdrew several framed pictures,
obviously quite old. Irma's eyes brightened at the site. This might be
what she was looking for.
A number of pictures, obviously church icons, were spread before
her. The shopkeeper offered comments in broken English "old - sixteen,
fifteen century - from church - very rare- you want?" Then he added,
"Old book - too?" Her interest was piqued. She nodded.
After some further search, a very book was produced, illustrated
with several hand painted pictures. She failed to connect with the text,
all in Russian, or perhaps Ukrainian, but the pictures cleared showed her
it was a religious text, and probably at least two centuries old.
Irma employed her negotiating powers. She played the pictures against
the book, seemingly debating which was her real interest. After a time,
she finally had a bargain - the book and four small icons. She smiled as
she paid out the cash, thinking how these would appear as rare finds in her
home. All, she noted, were small enough to fit in her suitcase.
The shopkeeper offered no receipt, no papers. The deal was closed. The
purchases were wrapped in a nondescript cloth and given to Irma. The two
women left the shop, pleased their shopping expedition had yielded such
quick results.
The next day was largely Helen's. Her tastes were less exotic, but
resulted in more bulky purchases. At the end of the day, they retired to
their room to prepare for their impending departure.
Irma had thought it best to place the icons in the bottom of her
suitcase, wrapped in articles of her apparel. Helen was unconcerned about
her purchases, and packed most of them in a carton she had acquired along
the way. They had a late late dinner, and retired early.
The day of their departure began. They breakfasted, and had arranged a
car to transport them to the airport. The driver arrived on time, and they
were off, anticipating a long day returning home. They would not be
disappointed.
On arrival at the airport, they checked in for their flight. After
receiving their boarding cards, they were ushered into a room where
passports and customs papers were checked. Baggage, tagged for their
flight, was still in their care until it was cleared by the customs
officials.
The two approached the customs counter. They were directed to place
their bags on the counter and unlock them. Two customs officers carefully
looked over their currency and baggage declarations, and passports.
One official tapped on Helen's box. He indicated she was to open it,
which she did. She stood as he carefully went through the contents,
carefully looking at the pieces of clothing and jewelry she had purchased.
Helen was a bit irritated as she saw her careful packing being disrupted by
the rummaging hands of the official, as he withdrew item after item and
looked it over. Finally, he seemed satisfied. With a nod of his head, he
motioned for her to close it up. With a shrug she bent to the task of
restoring order to her carefully packed carton.
Next was Irma's suitcase. Again, items were withdraw and examined. The
officials seemed disinterested in conversation, or couldn't communicate in
English. With sour expressions, they explored the contents of the luggage.
At length an article was withdrawn, Irma's slacks, worn and unwashed,
wrapped around one of the icons. The official carefully unwound the
slacks. He withdrew the icon. His face brightened as he drew it out and
held it up to the light.
The other official stopped what he was doing and turned to see the find.
Together they inspected the icon. With an expression of disapproval, the
customs officer looked directly at Irma. "Nyet!" he said, clearly,
followed by a string of words in Russian which Irma could not decipher.
They burrowed further into her suitcase. One official looked over the
customs papers she had completed, and pointed to it in a quizzical way.
Their voices became animated. Irma sensed there was a problem.
"I just bought that - I didn't know there would be a problem with it!
I'm sorry - can I leave it?"
The official clearly did not understand. Then he found a second icon.
He voice rose as he spoke to Irma. She flushed.
One of the customs officers disappeared into another room. It was
indicated that Irma should wait. Helen, her own inspection completed,
stood beside her.
"What are they going to do?" Helen asked. "I think maybe you should
have declared the icons! They seem upset about them!"
"If I had put them on the paper, they wouldn't have let us take them
out. They don't know where we got them. They don't know whether they are
fakes or not - these aren't art experts! Just wait - everything's
going to be all right!"
The customs officer returned with a they had not seen before. He
addressed Irma. "Deutsch? Francaise? Italiano?"
"English! We're American - as you can see from our passports!"
The newcomer nodded slowly. "English. We will try. You ...
together?" he indicated the two of them.
"Yes", they agreed, in unison.
He picked up the two icons, one in each hand. "Not allowed. Not on
form. Who? Which one?"
Irma indicated herself. "They are mine. I bought them!"
"More?" asked the official. "No - just me!" Irma responded, evidently
misunderstanding the question.
"Purse", he said. indicating Irma. She handed over her purse. The
official began to rummage through it. The contents were hastily dumped on
the counter.
After a few moments, he opened an envelope and withdrew a small pile of
ruble notes. He held them up, showing them to Irma. He looked at the
currency declaration, where she had listed no rubles. She knew full well
export of ruble notes was not allowed.
The official frowned. His displeasure was evident. "Not allowed -
forbidden!" he said emphatically. "No rubles can be taken!"
Helen whispered to Irma, "Why did you keep them? You know they were not
allowed?"
Irma answered quietly. "They're what's left of the ones we bought - I
couldn't change them at the bank without an exchange receipt, so I just
stuffed them in my purse."
She quickly addressed the official. "I couldn't change them back- I
lost my exchange receipt. What else could I do?"
He seemed to ignore her statement. "Rubles not allowed - pictures
not allowed - no, no!" he shook his head, and said something in Russian to
the other customs men. They began dumping out the contents of Irma's
suitcase, searching every item.
In a few minutes they had found the rest of the icons and the book.
They began writing, at some length, on an official-looking document. Irma
and Helen were both addressed in Russian, but they could only understand
that the officials were disturbed.
Soon their boarding cards were taken from them, along with their
passports. They were ushered into a small office.
A new, and evidently more senior, official came into the room. After a
long conversation in Russian with the customs who had inspected the
baggage, he addressed them in hesitating English.
"You carry.... forbidden material. Rubles, old, antique - no permits.
No declaration. You cannot go. It is not allowed. " He tried to explain
further, but his command of the language was slight. They understood only
that they were in trouble, and would not be allowed to board the flight.
Irma tried to explain. She protested. She stood up and shouted. "I am
an American! You cannot keep me here! Take these things if you will, but
you cannot hold me! I demand to speak to the American consul!"
The officials did not answer in English. They conferred among
themselves, then left the room, leaving only a guard to watch them.
Irma fumed. "No one understands us! They have made us miss our flight!
This is ridiculous! We bought these things, paid for them with money we
got for good U.S. dollars! How can they do this?"
Helen was a bit calmer. "Irma, you know we were warned. The guide told
us not to exchange money on the street, and we were told taking out
antiques would not be allowed! Maybe, if we just get to someone who
understands English, we can explain. It won't help to shout!"
They were made to wait over an hour. Finally a uniformed officer came
into the room. He tried to speak to them. "Go - go Novorosk! Militia
will handle. English. You go!" he motioned to the door.
They were taken to a waiting vehicle. The uniformed officer ushered
them into the rear seat. He and a driver took the front. Their baggage
was not loaded and their passports not returned.
"Where are we going?" Irma said to her companion. "I can only guess",
Helen responded, "he said something about Novorosk, I think. That sounds
like the name of a little town I saw on the map, a ways from here. They
seem to think someone will speak English wherever we're going. But that's
just a guess!"
The driver and their escort talked among themselves, but they used no
English words. Irma and Helen could only guess at their destination. The
car drove for some time, and eventually they spotted a road sign pointing
to Novorosk. Helen had guessed correctly.
Chapter 2
English at Last
The car stopped in front of an official looking building in the town of
Novorosk. The escorting officer opened the door, and indicated they were
to come out. They entered the rather drab building, passed a number of
uniformed persons whom they assumed to be police, and were taken to a
fairly large room with several benches. "Wait!" the escort ordered them.
They sat down, and waited.
A female in a military style uniform came in, evidently to keep an eye
on them. She sat beside the door. Their escort left.
Time dragged on. They waited and waited. The room had a small water
dispenser, from which a glass of water might be obtained, and two rooms
that were evidently toilets. They made use of the facilities and helped
themselves to the water. The female guard seemed to tolerate these
actions, but said nothing to them.
After they had been in the room almost two hours, a uniformed militiaman
entered, and called out, "Irma Bradley!" Irma stood up. "That's me," she
answered. The indicated she was to come with him. She followed down a
hallway, and then into an office. The room was the usual drab official
style, furnished with an desk, a couple of chairs, and an assortment of
shelves holding papers and books. She was offered a chair.
Behind the desk was a in a military or police uniform, slender,
perhaps about forty. He smiled at her. Then he addressed her, in rather
good English. "I am Vassily Kuznetov. I am, as you might say, an officer
of the Novorosk militia, or police, to you. You have been referred to me,
I have been told, because you do not speak Russian or Ukrainian, and you
are foreigners. Sometimes persons are sent here because my English is
perhaps a bit better than some of our at the customs posts. I have
been given some information about you, and it is my task to deal with you
so we can resolve this matter-"
Irma could not contain herself. "We have been taken from the airport!
Our luggage was taken from us! Our passports were taken! We have missed
our flight! No one understands us, or can tell us what we are expected to
do - then we were brought here and you kept us waiting for two hours! I
insist you tell us exactly what you expect us to do, and let us get back to
the airport as quickly as possible!"
Vassily listened to her outburst with as much patience as he could
muster. He allowed her to finish. Then he told her, "Miss Bradley, you
are charged with violation of the currency control laws and attempting to
export prohibited items. You were found with rubles in your possession as
you were about to embark on a flight out of the country. You were found
with antique artwork in your luggage, for which you had no export permit.
You had not declared either to customs. You had, in fact, wrapped the
paintings in articles of clothing, in an evident attempt to hide them from
inspection. These are serious matters.
"Further, the value of the artwork and the currency in your possession
would seem to considerably exceed the value of foreign currency you brought
into the country and legally exchanged. This suggests that you have
engaged in foreign currency transactions at places not authorized to do
such business. These are serious charges. Do you deny them?"
Irma was furious. "We declared all of the money we had when we entered
the country. Why do you care where we spent it? We paid for everything we
bought! We stole nothing! We're Americans! You can't hold us against our
will! We have rights!"
"In our country," Vassily went on calmly, "We have laws that govern
where you can exchange money, and what you can bring in or take out of the
country. They may not be like the laws of your country, but they are our
laws, and while you are here you must abide by them. The charges against
you are quite serious, and it may take some time to deal with them- "
Irma interrupted him. "We are not going to stay in this place! You
have no right to hold us! If you must, you can keep the things you found
in my suitcase, but you have no right to hold me! I know my position! I
am American, and I demand to see the consulate!"
"You will have opportunity to make your defense, Miss Bradley," Vassily
answered. "In due course. We may allow you to contact the American
consulate, but it is not yet time. As for the items in your suitcase, we
shall indeed hold them. We intend to find out where you acquired them, and
how or if you paid for them. You may have had an accomplice. What is you
friend's position in all this?"
"Helen's not involved - she was only traveling with me! You can't hold
her responsible! Everything that was found was in my suitcase- and I paid
for every bit of it!"
"In that case", Vassily went on, "it is possible there will not be
charges against her. But it is too early to say. We will need some
statements from both of you--"
"I've told you enough! I know how you people try to get confessions,
and I am not about to do something like that! I want a proper legal
defense, and I want to talk to the consulate! And Helen's innocent - you
can release her right now! You're nothing but a cheap bureaucrat trying to
flout your authority! And I won't put up with it!"
Her harangue went on as she continued to protest. The officer's
patience was coming to an end. He was visibly upset.
"Miss Bradley, do you understand your position? You are in serious
trouble, and you're going to make it worse! It will be much easier if you
will cooperate--"
"Cooperate?" she exploded. "Why should I cooperate? You just want me
to confess to something you're going to dream up, so you can make a few
points by shoving your stupid laws down the throats of foreign tourists!
Your government wants us to come here and spend money, which is what we
did! Why should I cooperate with your ridiculous bureaucratic obsessions?"
Vassily had had enough. He summoned an aide, allowing Irma to go on
with her tirade.
He spoke to the aide in Russian, then addressed Irma in clear English.
"Miss Bradley, I think you are not ready to cooperate with us. We need to
allow you some time to consider your position. This will take you to a
place where you may do just that, and we will discuss the matter later. Go
- now, with him!" He spoke briefly to the aide, then waved his hand for her
to leave.
Irma walked out, her head high and her rage unabated. She had not
understood the instructions Vassily had given to his aide. Perhaps it was
just as well, for what he had said, roughly translated, was "This woman is
becoming haughty and arrogant. I do not like arrogance. Take her away,
and bring her back to me in three hours. She is in your care; but when you
bring her back, I want her naked and holding a full bladder. We will see
how arrogant she is then!"
Chapter 3
Preparation
Irma found herself escorted down a hall and back to the room where she
had been earlier held, and where Helen awaited. Her escort motioned for
her to enter and be seated. Still furious, her rage evident in her
expression, she complied, returning a defiant scowl to her escort.
"What happened?" Helen inquired. "He wouldn't listen to much. But he
didn't really do anything, either. Just told the guy in the uniform to
bring me back later. Sounds like they're going to make us wait a while, or
maybe he's just trying to think up how to handle us. He wouldn't really
dare to do anything serious! I'm -" She was cut off, as the who had
escorted Irma now motioned for Helen to come with him.
Helen waited. There was no one around except the female guard, who
obviously didn't speak English. Irma helped herself to a bit of the water,
and tried to calm herself down. Despite her outward defiance, she was
beginning to be concerned over where this might lead. She hope Helen
wouldn't be put through anything difficult. She waited.
Nearly an hour later, Helen was returned. "He just asked a lot of
questions. He did seem reasonably polite, and said I shouldn't worry - I
would probably not be charged with anything serious!" Helen smiled a weak
smile.
"Dad he say anything about me?" asked Irma.
"No - except to say he would see you again, later. I don't know if he
wants me back."
The uniformed escort disappeared for a time. Irma and Helen both helped
themselves to a bit of the water. Then Helen rose and headed for the room
which held the toilet. She glanced at the guard, who nodded permission.
Irma waited.
In a few minutes, Helen was back. "You want to go? No telling how long
we'll be here!" Irma considered her physical needs, then arose moving
toward the door.
This time the female guard called to her, saying something she could not
understand. She motioned Irma back to the bench on which she had been
sitting. "I'm only going to the bathroom", Irma protested, now rather
weakly. The guard shook her head. "Nyet!" she intoned. Irma understood
at least that word. "Seems like she doesn't want me to get up", Irma said,
half to herself, as she sat down again. "Do you really need to go, or were
just going because I suggested it?" Helen asked, not too helpfully. "I'm
not really needing to go too much, but I wonder why she won't let me", Irma
pondered.
They were kept waiting almost another hour. Then the uniformed escort
returned. He approached Irma. "Come", he instructed, calmly. Irma looked
at him, then at Helen. "Guess this is my time in the ring again. Be back
when I can!" Helen grasped her hand briefly. "Good luck", she admonished.
The escort, who seemed to go by the name or nickname of Durv, took Irma
down a hall and up a flight of stairs. She was taken into a room where
there were some chairs, some shelves holding books and an assortment of
objects, and two desks. The floor was a bit dirty, and on the wall were
pictures which appeared to be representative of revolutionary heroes. Durv
ordered her to sit in his broken, limited, and heavily accented English,
He handed her a sheaf of papers, in Russian. "You - case - charge.
Read!" he pointed to the papers. Irma returned a blank look after she
thumbed through the documents, all in cyrillic print which she couldn't
decipher.
They exchanged words in their limited command of each other's language.
She gathered the papers were the charges against her, but she had no clear
idea what the papers meant.
Next, Durv presented her with a large glass of water. He told her to
drink it. "Why?" she demanded. "I'm not thirsty!"
"You drink. Drink all of it. Then photo."
She figured out that she was to drink the water, and they were going to
photograph her. Standard mug shot, she assumed. Inwardly she felt
defiant, but she was wondering where all this was leading. She couldn't
see the harm in the water, so perhaps it was a gesture of hospitality after
the long wait she had been through. She disliked the idea of a mug shot,
but she knew to herself that it was probably inevitable. The would
undoubtedly be unflattering, but why fight it? Perhaps it would be better
to save her energies for later.
Irma downed the water. She reflected that she would be more comfortable
if the female guard had allowed her to use the bathroom, but maybe, she
hoped, there would be another chance soon. She hoped the wait wouldn't be
too long.
The water downed, Durv directed her across the hall to a room that was
obviously where they did the mug shots. A was at one side of the
room, facing a wall with a large white rectangle painted on it, obviously
as a background for photographs. Markings along the edge of the rectangle
appeared to be dimensions. As she entered, two stood up, looking at
her rather curiously.
She was positioned in front of the camera, her back to the wall.
Something in Russian was exchanged among the two and Durv. The was focused on her, and a quick was taken of her, apparently head
and shoulders only. It was repeated in profile.
Irma thought she was through. She was in error. Durv escorted her out
of the room. He tried to explain to her. "Photo must have no make-up.
You must wash face - no lipstick, no - no eye black, no nothing. Then we
come back!"
She understood they wanted to photograph her with no make-up. She was
wearing a bit of lipstick, a touch of eye shadow. She didn't think it made
that much difference. Anyway, he took her into a lavatory. There was a
sink and a toilet. He stood behind her.
She took a paper towel, and the bar of soap she found on the sink, and
began to clean her face. Once she had finished the task, she turned to
face him. He looked her over, nodding approval. "OK", he responded.
"Take out clamps on hair!" She hesitated, then realized he was referring to
two clips that held her hair. She removed them. Her hair fell, a bit
tousled. She wanted to comb it, but there was no comb. He seemed to
approve her appearance, and motioned her to leave.
Irma tried to stall. She indicated the toilet. "May I? Would you give
me a minute?"
He clearly understood, but he gave her an immediate and quite negative
response. "No - Nyet! Not now. Do photos!"
She was ushered back into the photo room. They took two more head
shots, full face and profile.
Then she was positioned against the wall, her back to it, as the was readjusted for what obviously was to be a full length photograph. The
men checked her height, then communicated among themselves for a moment.
Durv was apparently chosen to give her the next instruction.
He pointed to a cardboard box laid on a table, as he addressed her. "We
must have photo of all body. No clothes. You must put clothes in the box.
Now!" He was emphatic.
She was totally unprepared for this. "You want me to undress?" she
asked, incredulous. "Here?"
He repeated the command, firmly. "You must take off clothes. We must
make photo of all body - with no clothes on. You get ready!"
She looked at the three who stood watching her calmly. Clearly they
were expecting her to obey. She had never in her wildest dreams expected
this. This was outrageous. Thy wanted to photograph her in the nude. In
her mind she wrestled with how to resist.
"I don't see why- this is unnecessary! You can't make me! You have no
right to!" Her face reddened with restrained fury. She wanted to run, to
escape, to show defiance - but she knew she had little hope. Clearly she
was outnumbered. Physically she had no chance of overpowering the men.
Durv became impatient. "Now! You must take off clothes for photo! You
not be hurt! No harm! Just photo! You must do! If you do not, we must
take off - by us! Maybe - clothes get torn! You do - we - not you!"
He was trying to be reassuring, but nonetheless was firm.
She stalled a moment more, looking at the three men, all standing,
patiently waiting for her compliance. She looked at the large box on the
table. She started to slip her jacket from her shoulders. Carefully, she
folded it and placed it in the box. She unfastened her belt, and slipped
it from her pants, rolling it then placing it in the box. She pointed to
her feet. "Shoes?" she asked.
"Off. Everything off." Durv responded. His instruction, she reflected,
was clear enough.
She sat on a chair, removing her shoes and socks. She took off the
bracelet and necklace she had on, along with her wrist watch. She hoped
they would allow her to put these on again after the photos, though she was
harboring a bit of doubt.
She stood, unfastening the pants of her pantsuit, then stepping out of
them. Her blouse was white and long enough to cover her almost to her
thighs. Small comfort, she thought - it would have to be next. She
stalled as long as possible, carefully folding the pants as she placed them
in the box.
Then she unbuttoned the blouse, trying to turn from the as she did
so. Slipping the blouse off, she folded it carefully, as she stood in her
white bra and underpants. She knew she was blushing, and she averted the
men's eyes as she positioned herself for the next move. Reaching behind
her, she unfastened the bra, then quickly drew it from her shoulders,
exposing her white breasts. She felt embarrassed at displaying her bare, but even more so because she was withdrawing their support. She
hated being braless, knowing her drooped a bit. She thought the
droop was sloppy, and she felt the humiliation intensely as her shook a bit with her movements. Trying hard to keep them still, she knew
she could not. As she folded the bra into the box, she became aware of her
nipples, quite erect, though whether from the exposure or the coolness of
the room she could not tell. She just wished the erections weren't so
obvious.
Facing the men, yet averting their eyes, she grasped the top of her
panties with both hands and then drew them down in a single quick stroke,
then stepped out of them. She dropped them roughly into the box, then
stepped back against the wall, in the position she assumed was required.
The two photographers looked at her for a moment before acting. Then
one approached her, moving her arms and legs into the position they wanted.
They took one full frontal photo of her standing stiffly, legs together.
Then they moved into a large "X" position, her legs spread apart, her arms
stretched upward and outward.
She was then put in a profile position, with her arms behind her back.
They took another photo of her from the rear. Finally they had her stand
in profile, hands behind her back, but bending over from the waist almost
ninety degrees. She couldn't figure out why they wanted this, unless it
was to show how far her unsupported would hang.
Finally, they seemed finished. She had expected they would now return
her clothes to her. Instead, she was startled to see one of the close
up the box containing her clothes, tape it shut, and then call for her to
write across the tape. She assumed this was a way of guaranteeing that she
had witnessed the sealing of her belongings.
Durv now opened the door and told her to come back across the hall.
Again, she was incredulous. He was asking her to step out into the hall
naked. She had not a stitch on, not even her watch or her hair clips.
Even her make-up had been washed off. She felt not only unclothed, but
vulnerable and a real mess with her hair falling about, uncombed and
unclipped.
Durv told her to stand, her hands behind her. She saw him reach into
the desk and take out a pair of handcuffs. He walked behind her and cuffed
her hands together. Then he sat back down behind the desk, leaving her
standing, hands cuffed behind her, as she faced him. For several minutes
he said nothing, just sat there looking at her from time to time as he
occasionally glanced at papers on his desk.
Irma stood, almost motionless. She was stark naked, barefoot, unable to
use her hands to cover herself. She wanted to sit, to try to keep just a
little of her modesty, but she was not permitted. Now she was becoming
even more uncomfortable from her full bladder she had been unable to
relieve.
Chapter 4
Interrogation
It had been nearly three hours since Irma had been in Vassily's office.
Since leaving there earlier, she had been allowed drinks of water, even
told to consume a large glass. She had been given no food, not that she
was hungry. Now she was naked, her clothes in a sealed box somewhere, her
face cleaned of make-up, her hair in disarray, her hands in handcuffs
behind her back, as she stood waiting in a policeman's office. She felt
terribly exposed and humiliated, she was getting tired of standing, and her
full bladder was crying for the relief she had been denied.
Durv left the room for a moment, closing the door. He had instructed
her to stay in position. Within a minute he was back. He left the door
open, and through it two other outside peered in at her. "Now", he
commanded her, "We go!" He indicated the door, and ushered her through it.
She was led back down the hall, the stairs, the hall downstairs, all the
way to the office where Vassily had earlier questioned her. She was having
to walk barefoot, naked, exposed to the view of numerous people who stood
about. Finally she was escorted into Vassily's office. Durv came in with
her, and closed the door behind her. Vassily sat behind his large wooden
desk, and a uniformed aide sat nearby. Irma was made to stand in front of
the desk.
Vassily conversed briefly with Durv, in Russian. He looked at Irma's
naked body, missing absolutely nothing. For a minute or two he kept her
standing there while he just looked, in silence.
Then he spoke to her, in his best English. "Miss Bradley, you do look a
bit different from your appearance in our earlier visit. I hope you have
not been treated too harshly."
There were traces of tears in her eyes, eyes that still projected a
somewhat subdued defiance. "Why have you done this to me? You made me
take my clothes off, your took pictures of me with no clothes on, and
now you keep me naked! And they haven't let me use a bathroom! Are you
trying to torture me? You have absolutely no right! I'm American--"
Vassily cut her off. "We know who you are, Miss Bradley. The
photographs are customary when charges are brought. We must be able to
positively identify you for any future proceedings. I am sorry if you find
it unpleasant, but we find it necessary. The photos will show whether you
have any physical markings or signs of injury. We intend to make it very
clear that you have not been harmed."
"Why am I not allowed to use a bathroom? I have asked and your guards
won't allow me!"
"Are you telling me you feel a need for physical relief?" Vassily asked,
as though unaware of her condition.
"Yes! I am very uncomfortable. Will you allow me?" Irma asked,
nervously and hurriedly.
"Allow you what?" asked Vassily.
"Allow me to use a bathroom - a toilet!"
"Exactly what do you need to do?" Vassily inquired, obviously prolonging
the matter.
"Do I have to spell it out for you? What do think I need?" Irma was
indignant and increasingly irritated. Vassily gave her no answer. He
waited for her next comment.
"I need to urinate! I have a full bladder! They made me drink water.
Is that what you wanted to hear me say?"
Vassily smiled. "It is helpful when you are honest with us. I
understand what you want. There are some things we want, too, and I hope
you will continue to be honest and open. If you are ready to discuss the
matters we had on the table earlier, we can proceed. I find that sometimes
it is helpful if we clearly understand each other's needs and are open to
each other. I know you have some needs, but I must ask you to restrain
those needs a bit longer while we go into other matters. You are, I might
observe, a bit more open, so to speak. Your clothes will be returned to
you at the proper time. At the moment we are keeping you without clothing,
so you are not concealing any of your physical self from us. Perhaps this
will encourage you not to attempt to conceal any of the other matters,
either. If you will be as open in our discussion as you are in your
physical state, we should be able to clear up these things rather soon.
Your physical relief must wait, also; but we will allow you relief at the
appropriate time."
Irma squirmed noticeably. She was sweating, just a bit. Her discomfort
was obvious and growing. Her full bladder was more than just
uncomfortable, it was beginning to be painful. She attempted to squeeze
her legs together, but it was little help. She desperately needed to
relieve herself.
Vassily went on to ask her about transactions she might have had with
the money she had brought in. He probed carefully, seeking to know where
she acquired the icons. Irma was inwardly furious; outwardly defiant. She
wanted desperately to cover herself from the gaze of the questioning
her, but even more she wanted relief for her aching bladder.
After a few minutes she blurted out, "If you don't allow me to use a
toilet, you're going to have a puddle on your floor! I can't hold myself
any longer!"
Vassily simply stopped his questions and stared at her for a moment in
silence. "I think, Miss Bradley, that would be most unwise. If you are
unable to properly control your body functions, we can have you taken out
in the street, where you can display your body and its functioning in front
of all those who care to watch, until you develop the proper amount of
discipline and self restraint."
"You wouldn't dare!" Irma lashed back.
"Shall we go on with the questions?" Vassily asked.
"You can't treat me this way! I refuse to answer your questions until
you allow me to relieve myself in a decent way! You cannot-- "
Vassily cut her off with some words to Durv. He motioned to the to
take her out.
Durv roughly turned her around and pushed her out the door. He led her
down the hall. Two guards quickly joined him, holding her by the arms.
They headed for the outside door.
Suddenly Irma realized they were indeed taking her outside. She
screamed at her captors, "NO, NO. Don't take me out there - Please!! Let
me go back to the office - I'll hold myself somehow -just don't take me out
there!" In her mind she had a vision of being pushed out onto the street
naked, with a crowd of probably waiting out there. She didn't see how
she could restrain her bladder much longer, but she was sure she didn't
want to be forced out to the public street.
Durv seemed to understand. He stopped the two guards. He shook a
menacing finger at her, as if to indicate "only this once!" and turned her
around toward the office she had come from.
They re-entered the office where Vassily sat. He smiled at her. "Have
you decided to be more cooperative?" he asked. All she could do was nod
her head.
"Are you ready to admit unlawful exchanges of money?" He asked her
pointedly.
"We did exchange some money on the street.." she began, tears in her
eyes, her whole body quivering. Vassily then asked her several other
questions, which she only vaguely understood. She simply nodded.
"I think you must be thirsty" Vassily said to her, after making some
notes on the questioning. "Bring her some water!"
"I'm not thirsty - I don't need a drink-- just, please, let me pee!" She
almost cried, tears in her eyes and her voice breaking.
In a moment a guard came in with a pitcher of water. Vassily motioned
for it to be given to her. "Drink it - all of it!" he commanded. "I will
have a statement prepared for you to sign. It will take maybe half an
hour. You are not to relieve yourself until you have signed it! Once that
has been done we will allow you to release your water. Until then you are
to stand there and hold it!"
He started to leave the desk, carrying some papers. "I don't think I
can hold myself - I just can't!" she protested, rather weakly.
"Then", Vassily instructed, "I will have my help you. You will
hold!" He was quite firm. One of the two immediately placed his hand
on her genitals, squeezing the lips together. She glared at him in
protest, then turned her eyes downward. She knew his hand there would not
completely prevent her bladder from releasing, but the invasion of what was
left of her privacy was just one more terrible indignity.
A second guard held the pitcher to her. A glass straw was in it, to
enable her to take in the water without using her hands. She took the tube
into her mouth and began to drink the water. It seemed an eternity until
the pitcher was empty. Her stomach again felt bloated; and she couldn't
imagine the torture which awaited her stretched bladder if she didn't
quickly get relief.
She stood, legs squeezed together as best she could, her guards
alternating holding her genitals closed. Her hands were still cuffed
behind her. Her body was shaking and sweating under the stress. Her
breasts quivered. The minutes slowly ticked by. Her stomach ached with
its load, the pain in her tormented bladder getting worse by the minute.
At long last Vassily returned, a carefully typed paper in his hands.
"Are you ready to acknowledge your breach of the currency and customs
laws?" he asked her quickly.
She didn't care. She didn't know what the paper said. She just had to
have relief from the pain inside her. She nodded.
He had her hands uncuffed, then presented her with a pen, his hand
indicating a spot on the document where she was to sign. She tried to
write her name, her hand shaking.
Vassily held up the finished document. "Now, I suppose you would like
some relief".
At his order, a guard took the now empty pitcher and held it between her
legs, spreading them with his hand.
"You may release your water into the container!" Vassily instructed her.
All the were watching closely.
It took Irma a few moments to get her muscles to relax, but shortly her
urine began to pour from her. She tried to bend a bit into a squatting
position, but the guards held her erect. The contents of her bladder
poured into the pitcher, splattering audibly. She held her head up, her
eyes almost closed. The humiliation of this was such that she didn't want
to see her spectators. Yet, the relief she gradually began to feel was
sublime. The awful ache in her bladder ceased. Finally, Vassily commanded
her, "Stop - it's full - enough for now!"
A bit shocked, she tightened her sphincter to shut off the flow. It
wasn't easy or quick, but she managed. Her bladder wasn't empty, but it
was a lot more comfortable than it had been.
Vassily gave some instructions in Russian, then spoke to Irma. "I am
sorry you were so slow in cooperating. I hope you will give us less
trouble in the future. For the moment you will be held here tonight. In
the morning you will join some other prisoners who will be learning some
lessons in cooperation. Don't make it difficult for us, and learn the
lesson well. If you are not troublesome, you may be out of here in a few
days. If not..." he let her guess the rest of the sentence.
Irma had supposed that, having signed the statement, she would be given
her clothes back. She was wrong. She was led down the hall, where various
men and women stared at her as she passed, and then down some steps into a
basement. She could see a row of cells, some occupied, some vacant. She
was taken to one near the end of the block and ushered inside.
In the cell, there was a cot with a crude mattress, a sink, and,
blessing of blessings, a toilet. A blanket was tossed at her, and the door
was closed and locked behind her.
She immediately drew the blanket around her. Looking to see who was
around, she used the to relieve her bladder. She fell onto the cot,
wondering what would happen next.
An hour or so later, a woman came to her cell door, unlocked a small
opening in it, and handed her a tray. She took it in and looked it over.
There were a few pieces of black bread, a piece of cheese, and a small
slice of some kind of sausage, accompanied by a cup of lukewarm weak tea.
Shaking her head at the prison fare, she ate most of it, then fell
exhausted to the cot and drew the blanket around her body.
Chapter 5
Morning
Irma awakened suddenly in the morning when she heard a banging on her
cell door. A male guard held a tray, quite like the one she had received
the night before. As he gave her the tray, he gestured for her to give him
her blanket. She hesitated and drew back, but he was clearly insistent,
and she relented, handing it to him. She sat on the cot, naked, to eat her
breakfast. She was unable to discern the time, but the dim sunlight coming
through the window suggested it was quite early.
She washed herself as best she could, and used the toilet, wondering
what she would have to face. She had not long to wait.
Shortly a uniformed male guard came and unlocked her cell door. He took
her roughly by the arm, and pushed her down the hall. As she passed other
cells, she saw several male prisoners staring at her naked body as she
passed. The men, she noted, were all wearing clothes.
Irma was taken up the stairs and down a hall to a large room, where she
was roughly pushed inside and the door closed behind her. The room was
large and well lit, but with only benches along two walls and a small table
at one end. There was one other occupant, a woman somewhat younger than
Irma, slender, with dark hair, huddled on a bench, and just as naked as she
was.
The woman, Irma found, spoke no English, but Irma discerned she was
another prisoner, probably a local. The two of them waited, and in a few
minutes two more women were brought into the room, both naked. Within a
few minutes there were others. When the last arrived, there were eight
altogether, besides Irma. Not a one had a stitch of clothing, a piece of
jewelry, a hair ribbon, or anything on their bodies whatever. All were
absolutely bare.
Irma surveyed the group she had joined. Two were quite young, probably
twenty-somethings, and fairly good looking. Another somewhat plumper woman
was probably close to Irma's age, and the others appeared to be older.
Three, Irma guessed, were middle-aged, forties or fifties; one quite
slender with very small but drooping breasts, one rather matronly, sporting
a bit of a paunch, a great bush of pubic hair, and rather large sagging
breasts; and the third, also a bit on the heavy side, had long gray hair.
One woman was relatively young, perhaps thirty, but quite fat, with heavy
thighs and large breasts. The last woman was clearly the oldest, probably
seventy or so. She was not especially small, but wrinkles were evident in
her skin, spotted with brownish age blotches. Her small sagged
noticeably so that the nipples pointed downward, and her hair was almost
white and cut short.
The slender one with the smallish spoke a bit of English, and
Irma attached to her, hoping for some interpretation of what might be said.
Two uniformed females came into the room, pushing a cart on which were
set nine large plastic containers, filled with water. The containers were
clearly marked to show a two liter content. The women in the room were
called to queue up, and each was handed a container. The English speaker,
who Irma learned was Titania, told Irma that they were being told to each
drink a container of water - and "not to leave a single drop!"
Irma began to sense that they were being filled up so as to shortly
create a need to urinate. She was glad she had relieved herself before
leaving her cell. As the women were drinking the water, the two female
guards watched to insure none was spilled and none was left.
Simultaneously, a roll of light steel chain was brought into the room, with
a box of padlocks. Two male guards went to work with the chain. The women
were lined up, and starting with the first in line, the chain was passed
around her waist, padlocked in place, and about a meter of chain measured
out before it was passed around the waist of the next woman, then again
padlocked in place. Eventually all nine women were chained together, in a
line, spaced about a meter apart. A length of chain had been left hanging
in front of the first woman, apparently to be used as a sort of leash to
lead them. The chain around their waists was not tight enough to be
painful, but too tight to be able to be slipped over their hips or
shoulders.
One each woman had consumed her container of water, the guards pulled
her hands behind her back and tied them with a soft cord.
Their work completed, the guards surveyed the result with apparent
approval.
The women were then led by one uniformed guard out of the room, and down
the hall, to the front door of the police station. Then, the door was
opened, and they were marched out to the street outside.
As they passed through the hall, Irma noted from a clock that it was
close to nine o'clock in the morning. She wondered, with some alarm, where
they would be taken.
As they entered the street, it was apparent that they were expected, for
a crowd had gathered. Most were men, though there were some women. She
saw no children, reflecting that probably they would mostly be in school at
that hour.
They presented quite a spectacle; nine naked women, of assorted ages and
shapes, chained together and marched in a line through a public street. It
was cool, not really cold, but in the morning air Irma shivered just a bit.
Her bare feet felt the roughness of the pavement. The leader forced them
to spread apart as far as the chain would allow, so they presented an
unrestricted view of themselves to the onlookers.
Three policemen guarded the group; one leading them by the chain, a
second holding the chain behind the last prisoner, keeping them spaced
apart; and a third walking beside them, watching the bystanders.
Irma had an intense urge to cover her and pubic area, which of
course she could not do with her hands tied behind her. They had to walk
slowly, keeping the spacing, and the view of their bodies was unrestricted.
Irma could feel her swinging and bouncing as she walked over the
uneven street. She could see the bystanders staring at her parts, focusing
as they were on her and crotch. Some of them made comments, in
Russian or Ukrainian, which she could not understand, but she expected were
crude remarks.
Many of the bystanders followed the group as they were led through the
streets. Several women in the crowd stared with open mouthed expressions
of shock. Others just laughed, mocking the prisoners. The policeman
watching the crowd kept them from touching the women, but not from looking
and calling to them.
They were marched slowly around the streets for over an hour, passing
some points several times, which caused Irma to know they were being
publicly paraded, not just being taken to a particular place. Irma's feet
were feeling and looking dirty from the unclean pavement, and the constant
pace was making her just a bit tired. She was no longer cold, however, as
the day warmed and the exercise heated her body. After most of an hour,
however, all of the women had quite full bladders from the effects of
drinking two liters of water. Irma was no exception; her bladder was
becoming quite uncomfortable; and she doubted they would allow her to
relieve it any time soon.
The parade eventually stopped at the side of a small public square,
where several iron posts were sunk in the ground. The women were drawn up
to the blank wall of a building on one side of the square, where they were
made to stand, turning in their chain belts so they had their backs to the
wall and they faced the square. The front end of the chain leash was
attached to a metal post, and the other end was then pulled until the women
were spaced as far as the chain lengths would allow, when it was then tied
to another post with a length of rope. The guards then positioned
themselves in front of the women. A sizable crowd was assembling.
From somewhere a small table and chair had appeared, and one policeman
positioned it in front of the women, at one end of the line, He then sat on
the chair. A conversation in the local language began, which Irma could
not comprehend.
There were perhaps a hundred people now in the square, looking at the
prisoners. Irma had a chance to look down the line, where she was in the
sixth position, to see how her companions were doing.
The lead woman, one of the youngest, stood rigidly erect, her youthful
breasts high and firm. Her was in disarray, though, and tears
ran down her face. She stood with her feet apart but her knees squeezed
together, probably trying to control her full bladder. The second position
was taken by the rather fat thirtyish woman, constantly shifting her
considerable weight about, her head hung downward. Number three was the
one about Irma's age, a little on the plump side. She stood in a stoop,
leaning forward, her sagging slightly as she stood with her legs
tightly pressed together. Fourth was Titania, the English-speaking one,
slender, head held high, one leg moving in an agitated way. Fifth was the
matronly paunch with the big bush, breathing a bit heavily and squirming
noticeably. Irma was next, and as she looked to her left, the seventh
position was the other woman, holding herself erect and still,
showing no real signs of distress. But beyond her, the oldest prisoner was
grimacing, moving her head around, fidgeting nervously, and muttering
something Irma could not understand. At the end of the line was the heavy
middle aged woman with the long gray hair.
From the looks of the group, Irma guessed they all had full bladders and
were feeling the same distress as she was. Suddenly a guard stood in front
the women and began to address them. Irma got not a hint of the language,
however, the reaction of the women was obviously unpleasant, so she
reasoned he must have said something unsettling. Irma looked to Titania,
about two meters away, her expression asking for some interpretation.
Titania saw the question in Irma's eyes. She looked at Irma and tried
to tell her what they had been told.
"It's to be hard for us - we are all full of water, but we are told not
to let any of it out - we must hold ourselves - sometime, maybe, they let
us let go of our water, but not now. We are told to hold, and stay
standing up. The people are not allowed to touch us as long as we wait.
But he tells us if any woman lets go of her water they will let a come
and put his hands on - on her, her top up front, you know - "
Irma understood that they could not relieve themselves. She expected as
much. For her, it was last night all over again. She tensed her muscles,
trying to hold herself. At least, she thought, "this time I have company.
I wonder who will be the first to let go?"
The guard at the table was apparently doing some kind of business.
Several stood in a queue at the table. The one first in line produced
some money, and the guard took it, making some notes on a sheet of paper.
He gave the a small scrap of paper. The transaction was then repeated
with the second in line. Irma tried to figure it out. She looked to
Titania. "What's going on?" she softly asked.
Titania shook her head with a worried look. "Gambling - tokens, how you
say? Tickets? They make bets - which one of us will leak first. He tell
first man, if you win, she let go first, you get ten minutes your hands on
her - her things in front; what you call?" Titania, slightly shook her
breasts to clear up her point. "Breasts?" Irma asked, "He gets to put his
hands on her breasts?" Titania nodded.
All of the women were showing signs of major distress. The at the
table were eagerly awaiting the first loss of bladder control. Irma
fervently hoped it wouldn't be her.
Then she heard the first failure. A slight scream came from her left.
She looked to see the woman in number eight position squatting
slightly. She could see a stream splashing on the pavement in front of the
lady. Evidently the woman's bladder had given out - she just
couldn't bear the strain of all that water any longer. Irma felt sorry for
the lady, but at least it wasn't her own muscles that had given up
the battle.
A somewhat rowdy discussion took place at the table. Titania looked
again to Irma. "He doesn't want her - he wants someone not so old. The
other - the one with the hat and hair of gray - he wants to play with
the lady's --- breasts? So they are exchanging!"
Irma watched with some trepidation what was happening. After some
discussion at the table, an man, perhaps in his sixties, moved
forward. He went directly to the woman, who looked at him with
obvious great apprehension. The guard allowed him to stand directly in
front of her. He said something to her, and she said something back, her
voice shaking in fear.
He reached out his hands and seized her small sagging breasts. He felt
them with both hands, then grasped the nipples and pulled them both out
toward him, tugging noticeably. Her two stretched out in front of
her, and she winced and cried out. He held them for a minute or so, then
pulled them wide apart, stretching the nipples beyond the width of her
shoulders. He released them suddenly, allowing them to jump back into
position. He repeatedly pulled them, twisted them, bounced them up and
down. He held them up, one at a time, stretching them upward, as he looked
under them. The woman closed her eyes, at times holding her breath, at
times gasping, as she endured the treatment. The turned to the crowd
behind him and received some shouts of approval. He continued to fondle
her for several minutes, until the guard stepped forward and took
his arm, saying what Irma surmised meant "time's up!"
Irma was horrified. She knew it probably was only a matter of time
before she got the same treatment. The prospect intensified the clenching
of her sphincter muscles, trying desperately to restrain those two liters
of water.
Another police guard approached the woman who had just urinated. He had
a plastic container in his hand. He untied the woman's hands, then retied
one hand to the chain at her waist, leaving only one hand free. He placed
the container in her hand and said something to her by way of instruction.
She appeared to protest a bit, but then she took the plastic container in
her free hand and raised it to her lips. Irma turned again to Titania.
"Something good - he tell the he too rough on the woman. He can
have hands on - pull, twist, but not make marks - he her - not
allowed. But anytime we pee, gets ten minutes on breasts, and we got
to drink liter of water. Make more for later!"
The next failure came from the large woman in the number two position.
She suddenly shot a forceful stream out her front, splashing to the
pavement. All eyes turned to see her. Once her urination subsided,
another moved forward to face her. He turned to the guard, who nodded
approval. The then grasped both her breasts, squeezing them, rubbing
them, occasionally pulling the nipples. Irma noticed he was being a bit
more careful than the first one, but his hands were all over her ample
bosom. She stood in silence, uttering no protest, perhaps realizing the
futility of it. For the allowed ten minutes he manipulated her breasts,
then withdrew, smiling. Again the ritual of the water container was
repeated.
Titania called quietly to Irma. "Just tell you - I let mine go - can't
hold anymore!" With that, she turned her face straight ahead, spread her
legs, and released her urination. The stream poured down her legs and the
resulting puddle rose around her feet. She kept her face almost
emotionless, awaiting the penalty but savoring the blessed relief to her
bladder.
The who bought the right to fondle Titania moved forward to collect
his prize. She recoiled slightly, but his hands seized her breasts, a bit
roughly. He worked on her for the allowed ten minutes, not squeezing so
much but doing a lot of pulling. As he finally withdrew, Irma noticed
Titania's reddened from the treatment, but with both nipples
rigidly erect.
Two more women gave up and released their bladders in the following few
minutes. Irma noticed the clock in the square now indicated almost eleven
o'clock. She had been holding her water for two hours - it seemed like two
days. The pain in her lower regions was getting unbearable. She felt she
could hold it no longer - regardless of the consequences. She let go.
A torrent of warm liquid ran down her legs and over her feet. Suddenly
she was the center of attention. All eyes focused on the stream she was
pouring out. She felt as though it would not end, but, oh, the glorious
release from the pain in her lower body. She felt the stream taper to a
trickle, and she tried to bring her legs together. Both of her legs felt
wet. Her feet felt wet. She closed her eyes to enjoy the wonderful
release. She was jerked to consciousness by a firm grasp on her right
nipple coupled with a squeeze on her left breast. She opened her eyes to
look into the face of a dark haired with a short beard, his hands on
her naked body. She winced in pain as a was tugged by its nipple,
and uttered a quick exclamation. The stopped for a second, looked at
her face, then pulled the other nipple, just a bit less forcefully. She
felt his hands roaming over her upper body, pulling, tugging, squeezing,
and just feeling. She tried to hold still, sometimes closing her eyes,
averting his, just trying to get through the allotted ten minutes. She
could feel her being separated, pulled in opposite directions,
lifted, and moved in directions she knew they were never intended to move
in. The ten minutes seemed an eternity.
Finally they were over. He had no sooner left her, than she felt her
hands being untied, and then the container of water placed in her right
hand. Her hands felt a bit numb from the restraints, and she sensed a
pleasant release as the one was untied. She took the container, and begin
to down the water. Her stomach was quite empty by now, and it wasn't
difficult for her the finish the liter of water. As soon as she did, the
container was taken away and her hands again secured with the cord behind
her.
The women in the number three and four positions were the next to yield
to the pressures in their bladders, and in turn their received the
ten minutes of fondling by the next in line. Their stomachs were then
refilled with water.
Now only the woman next to Irma, the woman with the the noticeable
paunch and pubic bush, had not urinated. Irma looked at her,
standing with her eyes almost closed, her face tensed, her muscles tensed
as she tried desperately to keep her urinary outlet closed. Irma guessed
she was in her early fifties, no real beauty, and not looking particularly
fit with sagging and stomach, and that big bush with its hairs
standing almost straight out.
The police guard went up to her and said something that evidently
pleased her. Her expression turned to a bit of a smile, and she seemed to
relax. She released her urine, and a prolific stream shot out, spraying in
front of her and pouring onto the pavement below. Irma was amazed at the
extent of her discharge. When she finished, Irma waited for the next to come forward and put his hands on her breasts, but none moved. Titania
saw Irma's interest, and told her, "She's the last - she held her water
longest, so no hands on her top! No more water for her either!"
Irma began to understand. The one who held her bladder the longest
didn't get fondled, and didn't have to refill her stomach with water. Irma
began to wonder if there would be another round. Her bladder was already
beginning to feel distended again - the residue of the first two liters,
she surmised, plus that extra liter she had now poured into herself.
It was now noon, and the crowd had grown a bit. It was warmer, now, and
the women had been standing for over three hours. The woman had now
urinated at least four times - she was having a real problem with her
bladder. Each time a different had won the opportunity to amuse
himself with her for ten minutes. The last one had made a game of
shaking her a bit, making them swing rapidly, then repeatedly picking up
one at a time and dropping it, to show the crowd how flexible they were.
The poor lady was horribly humiliated as the made fun of her breasts.
They weren't very big, but they sagged with her years and the onlookers
laughed as the played with them and made crude jokes about them. They
tried to get erections from her nipples, which seemed to respond very
little, though they were repeatedly pinched and pulled.
Irma felt her legs tiring. It was half past noon, and she was having
great difficulty holding her painfully full bladder. She had lost track of
how many other women had already urinated more than once, but she didn't
want another set of hands pulling and squeezing her breasts. She tried to
hang on, finally decided it was no use and let go.
Another ten minute session of having a stranger play with her pectoral
appendages. She held her breath, steeled herself, and waited for it to be
over. To be sure, he didn't really her very much, but the idea of
being handled was awfully distasteful. She was again given her water and
gulped it down.
About two o'clock, it looked like the game was over. The policemen shut
down the ticket table and unfastened the two ends of the chain. The tired
women, who had been standing since nine in the morning, were made to start
moving again. They were marched about a half a kilometer to another square
with had a large grassy area in the center, with a poorly kept flower bed.
There was a low wall around the flower bed, and the women were told to sit
on the wall. A large number of people had followed them, so Irma was sure
something further was in store.
One of their guards appeared, with several of the now familiar plastic
containers. He had apparently filled them from a water faucet nearby.
Again the women were told to drink, a liter each. The only exception was
the one with the big bush, who had out-held all the others earlier, and had
been given no more water since.
The guards allowed them to sit for half an hour, then commanded them to
stand and face out from the wall. They were made to spread their legs, and
with the women standing about a meter apart, the length the chain allowed,
a guard used cords to tie each woman's leg to that of her neighbor, as the
chain was pulled taught on each end. This made them stand with their legs
spread quite wide - a difficult posture to hold with a full bladder, which
all but one of them had.
Now a was chosen from the crowd, Irma wasn't sure how. He was taken
over to the woman at the end of the row, and placed his hand on her
crotch. He was allowed to handle her genitals for a few seconds, then
withdrew, then proceeded to the second woman and repeated the handling.
Several were lined up for this procedure, so that in a few minutes each
woman had the hands of several placed on her pubic area, though only
for a few seconds. With their legs widespread, they were extremely
vulnerable to the handling and had no way to protect themselves from this
brief touching of their most private parts. Some of the women squirmed and
twisted through the process, others simply stood still and accepted it.
A number of people stepped forward with cameras, to record the scene
with the women chained and their legs spread. The guards seemed to
encourage the process.
As Irma looked into the crowd, she spotted a familiar face. Her friend
and erstwhile companion, Helen, was among them. As the taking was
going on, Helen came a bit closer and called to Irma. Irma responded with
a glance of recognition, not sure whether to be glad to see a familiar face
or recoil in horror at her friend seeing her in this condition.
The guards now began a new procedure. They unlocked the waist chain of
the first woman, releasing her from the group, and untied her legs, but not
her hands. The policeman put his hand on her abdomen and pushed, saying
something to her. She grimaced noticeably, then nodded her head. He
handed her over to another guard, who then escorted her to the flower bed,
where she was made to stand facing the crowd, her legs spread as she stood
over a row of plants. The guard gave a command, and after a few moments
the woman began to urinate. As she did so, the guard made her move slowly
down the the row a short distance, as her stream poured forth. When her
stream ended, applause erupted from the crowd, and the woman was returned
to her position, her waist chain re-fastened. The second woman was then
taken to "water the plants". The crowd seemed to enjoy this particular
activity, which was repeated with each woman, except the one who had been
the champion holder early on.
When Irma returned from her "watering" chore and was being re-fastened
into her waist chain, Helen approached her.
"Irma- I heard you were being taken out for the 'parade' as they call
it. But - being led around with no clothes on, and made to do things like
this? How can they do this to you?"
Irma was now beyond being shocked.. "Apparently it's quite easy - but
it's got to end somewhere - they've been doing things to us all day! How
did you manage?"
"They released me. I was told I can go, but I wanted to wait for you.
The consulate has been contacted, but I don't know what they can do. The
police said there might be some decision in your case tomorrow. I wanted
to wait to see what's going to happen to you!"
"They've done about everything they can to humiliate us. Some of the
worst is, I don't even know what coming up, because they never speak to us
in English. Fortunately, one of the others speaks some English, and she's
been giving me at least a little interpretation."
"Have they you?"
"Well, I'm still in one piece, as you and the rest of the world can
plainly see, and if I had any scars or bruises you could see those, too,
because I'm sure not hiding anything. We've been paraded, looked at,
handled in the most personal places, filled up with water and not allowed a
bathroom - I don't know what they're going to do next!"
"Just hang in there - I'll keep in touch with the police and see what
they do with your case-" Helen was motioned to withdraw by the guard and
her conversation ended.
The only woman who had not been required to do the watering was number
five, the one with the big bush chained next to Irma. She seemed to have
been exempt from almost all of the extra treatments since she demonstrated
her superior holding capacity. Now she was singled out for something. The
guards took her out of the chain link, and brought her forward toward the
crowd. A big announcement was made, which of course Irma could not
understand.
The woman was now made to stand between two guards, as her hands were
untied. One of the guards now produced three of those loathsome water
containers, obviously filled. The woman had seemed at first a bit pleased
to have been singled out, but now as they spoke to her, her face turned to
an expression of shock. She was handed the first of the three containers,
which she rather gingerly put to her lips. As she did so, a guard placed
his hand on her abdominal region, and patted it gently. The woman reacted
with a movement that showed discomfort. Something was said, and people
around began to smile.
Irma began to figure it out. The woman had been the last to urinate in
the morning, but that had now been three hours ago. One urination, Irma
knew, didn't get rid of all that water they had taken in at the start, and
this woman hadn't urinated since, so surely her bladder was quite full.
The wincing when she was pressed seemed to prove that. Now they were going
to give her three more liters to drink. What were they trying to do? She
glanced at Titania.
Titania tried to explain. "They said she has - biggest - place you hold
pee! It full now - they give her more water - three liters more. Not let
her pee. Show people how much she hold!"
Irma was glad she hadn't won the competition first off. This woman was
going to be publicly tortured, it appeared. Irma watched. The woman had
now managed to drink two liters and had started the third. She was
sweating and shaking - obviously nervous.
All of the women remained standing as their champion completed her
filling. It took a while; her stomach was full and even bulging a bit. It
took half an hour for her to get the last liter down.
Now two guards stood her up between them, her arms outstretched, and one
guard holding each hand firmly. Her legs were tied together. They made
her stand that way about fifteen minutes. Then, a was chosen from the
crowd and given a small rather soft rubber ball, about the size of a small
fist.
He stood perhaps five meters in front of her and studied her carefully.
She looked at him a bit in horror. Then he let fly the ball at her -
striking her pubic bone and glancing off. He was given another chance.
This time the ball hit her right in the middle of her abdomen - right over
her bladder. She jumped at the impact, gasping. A cheer went up from the
crowd.
Titania glanced at Irma to explain. "It's a test. If she takes ten
hits on her place where she holds - very full now - and not leak, her
punishment over - they let her go. If she leak, then she come back with
us!"
Several took turns throwing the ball at her. The object, obviously,
was to hit her over her bladder; but only about a third of the balls hit
there. The guard was keeping count on his fingers. At each strike on the
intended target, she jumped with the sudden pain. The ball was soft, not
hard enough to harm her, but the pressure of even a soft hit on her
extremely full bladder severely tested her holding ability.
The count went on - seven, eight, nine. They waited to see if she could
withstand one more hit on her sensitive area. Finally one more hit struck
the target - with force. Suddenly a of erupted from her. She
tried to stop it, but too late, she had lost on the last try. She was
brought back to her spot next to Irma, and rejoined the group.
Sorrowfully, she was now back with them. The group was now led in their
chained procession. The clocks now indicated nearly five o'clock. Irma
moved with the group, her exposed body now a bit dirty from the street, the
hands that had been placed on her, and her nervous perspiration. Her legs
were tired from standing most of the day. Her hands chafed under the cord
binding them. Her bladder was uncomfortably full again, and she no idea
when she would be able to empty it. Her bounced as she walked, and
she longed for some support for them.
For an hour they were paraded around the streets in their chains.
Finally they were stopped at a place she recognized as quite near the
police station. A policeman she had not seen before came over to them and
began talking. From his demeanor and the respect paid him by their guards,
Irma took him to be a senior officer of some kind.
Titania tried to interpret for Irma. "He say - we must learn
cooperation. Not be difficult. Do what told. He is going to test us - we
must follow his order." Suddenly the women began to nod and give animated
responses to some question he had asked.
"He ask - do we want to pee? Better you say yes - we all need pee!"
Irma joined the chorus in answering, her painful and swollen bladder
giving her encouragement.
Titania continued. "He say - he will tell us to - then we pee; but
when he say stop, we must stop pee. If we do not stop when he say, then he
punish us more!"
The shouted a command. The entire line of women, facing him as best
they could, tried to urinate. Irma understood, she tried to release her
bladder. Nine streams of began to flow down to the pavement. The
flow had hardly begun, though, when he gave another shout. Titania called
to Irma "Stop!" Irma had already assumed that was the meaning. Most of the
women stopped their streams, though some took longer than others. The woman in position eight apparently couldn't stop; her stream continued. He
shouted at her. She said something back.
He gave her a tongue lashing, then ordered the women to turn and start
marching. He marched them two blocks down the street, then turned and
marched them back. Once again he had them turn to face him. He gave the
order to release their water. The woman had nothing more to release;
all the others started their streams again. Once all had started, he
ordered them to stop. Irma found it very hard to stop her stream. Her
bladder complained about the rough treatment. She said softly to Titania,
"This is torture. Why doesn't he let us finish? I can hardly stop once
I've started. Oh, I'm still so full! All that water!"
Titania shot back, "It's supposed to be torture. He may not let us
finish at all."
Five more times he made them stop and start. Most of them still had
full bladders - they had been able to let out very little. The officer
gave some further commands, which Irma could not figure out. Then guards
started untying the hands of the women.
"Are they going to let us go in?" Irma asked of Titania.
"No", she answered. "We are just to use our hands - I don't like it!
He tells us to hold the points of our -- -- we are to pull them up
and out, then put legs wide - it is just to embarrass us! But maybe then
he let us pee- "
Irma followed what the other women were doing. Each took her nipples,
one in each hand, and pulled them as far up and wide apart as they could,
while spreading their legs wide. "At least", Irma thought to herself,
"It's me doing it to myself - not some strange guy handling me!"
The senior officer passed down the line, inspecting the women as they
held this odd posture. To some he ordered them to pull wider or higher, to
some he nodded approval.
Finally, he seemed satisfied. He gave a command. Titania, almost
needlessly, translated for Irma. "Pee - let all water out!" The women
enthusiastically complied.
Relieved, they were allowed to release their and draw their legs
together. They were kept waiting a few more minutes, then they were
escorted inside to the room where their ordeal had begun.
The chains were taken off. They waited. From time to time a guard
would appear, call a name, and take a woman from the room. Irma just
waited.
After a time, a appeared and motioned to Irma. She was led from the
room, back to the office where she had been interrogated by Vassily.
She was ushered into his office, still naked, barefoot, a bit smellier
and dirtier than yesterday. He looked up from the desk and greeted her.
"Well. You are back. And how were you treated today?"
"You know how I was treated. I was chained to eight other women, and we
were paraded around the streets with no clothes on. Strange were
allowed to handle us, and we were denied use of bathrooms. We had to
relieve ourselves, when they allowed us, in front of crowds!"
"And have you learned cooperation?"
"I've learned your people can humiliate and degrade us."
"I see your attitude is a bit calmer. I'm not hearing threats from you.
Would you like another day like today?" Vassily's question seemed
rhetorical.
"No. I would not." Irma wondered what would be next.
"Would you like to be allowed to wear clothes?"
"Of course. Do you think I enjoy being paraded like cattle?"
"Then I have some news for you. After our little lesson in attitude
improvement, I sense you are being more cooperative. We have no wish to
hold you beyond what is needed to teach you cooperation with us and respect
for our laws. I have been authorized to release you on your own
recognizance and send you home, in the custody of your companion, Helen.
You will be taken to your cell for tonight. In the morning your friend has
been notified she can pick you up here, but she must then take you
immediately out of the country."
"And will I be given my clothes back now?"
"In the morning, not now. You will spend the night without them. You
can be taken back to your cell, now."
Irma turned to leave. Vassily called to her, "You know, I rather like
seeing you naked - it certainly has improved your attitude!"
Irma turned away and left with her escort. Inwardly, she fumed a bit at
Vassily's last comment. Then she thought better of it.
PART II
Chapter 6
Return
It was fifteen years after her experience that Irma returned. She was
fifty three now, and went by Irma Mitchell, the name she had acquired
twelve years earlier at her marriage to James Mitchell. Children had been
born to the marriage, but they were now of an age that they could be left
to the care of others, and Jim and Irma were able to travel a bit. They
had lived a fairly conservative life, and now had amassed enough affluence
to be able to see just a bit of the world together - something Irma had
largely given up when her children were born.
Jim knew a bit of Irma's unpleasant sojourn in the Soviet Union, but
he had never been there himself. Now, at long last, the two of them were
able to have a lengthy holiday in Europe, and Jim had insisted that the
countries of the Soviet Union be part of the itinerary. They had been
to Moscow and St. Petersburg, and then had booked a few days in the
Ukraine.
Once they had been two days in Kiev, Jim chanced to look over a map
posted in their hotel. "The place where you had all the trouble before,
can you show it to me here?" he asked of his wife.
Irma studied the map. She could trace the sites of most of her earlier
exploits from memory. She pointed out the place where she and Helen had
tried to exit the country. Then she frowned a bit.
"The place where we were taken was Novorosk - it's not a very big town,
but, let me see if I can find it." She studied the surrounding area of the
map carefully. Finally she exclaimed, "Here it is! That's the place! I
wasn't quite sure how to find it, but I'll never forget it. We spent
several days there, and oh, what an experience!"
"Yes, you've told me a bit about it. In fact, from what you've said, I
always wanted a chance to see it myself. You're sure that's it?"
"Yes, indeed. I could never forget the name - or a couple of the town
squares! I wonder if they've changed it much?"
They talked a bit of their itinerary. Jim was intensely interested in
seeing the place of his wife's misadventures, and she seemed mildly
interested in seeing the place again, too. The consulted the hotel
concierge. After a couple of hours, they had booked a hotel in Novorosk
and a train to take them there the following day.
Things were a bit freer now than they had been fifteen years earlier,
Irma noted, and she felt more at ease in traveling back to the place she
remembered so well, yet with such awful memories to her. The train trip
was long and a bit complex, but they arrived at a small, somewhat run-down
train station the following evening.
From the station they took a taxi to the small hotel. It was one of the
only two in town, she discovered. "Did you stay here before?" Jim asked
her, as they approached the hotel entrance.
"I didn't need a hotel. The local police put me up all the time I was
here. I hope, though, that these accommodations are a bit better! The
station was lacking a few conveniences!"
"Such as? Didn't you have a private room with a bath?" Jim smiled a bit
as he tweaked her memory.
"Private room, if you want to call it that! Yes, and a toilet. A
personal toilet, but nothing private about it. Anyone who was near was
watching when I used it! That is, when they allowed me to use it!" She
shook her head at the now distant memory, still vivid in her mind.
They checked into a room and made ready for bed. The next day Irma had
promised to take Jim on a tour of the sights she remembered.
Morning came, though they were up none too early. After breakfast, they
acquired a rather poor map of the city, and set out on their tour.
The streets were much as Irma recalled them. Little seemed to have
changed. "Sure you're not lost?" he asked her. "Are you going by looks of
things, smells, or just feeling your way?"
"I ought to take off my shoes," Irma joked. "I never walked on these
streets in shoes before. I can still remember how they felt on my bare
feet!" She shuddered a moment at the recollection.
"Bare feet? I don't remember that part of the story? Did they keep
your shoes too?" Perhaps, Irma thought, Jim was kidding her a bit. "When I
walked here before," she went on, emphatically, "I had bare feet, bare
legs, and absolutely bare everything. There wasn't one thread of cloth or
anything else on my body, except of course for the cords on my hands and
that damned chain around my midsection." She shuddered again, her face
turning to a frown.
She pointed out to Jim some of the sights she did remember. "After all,
you know I spent hours just standing still in the squares - I had lots of
time to memorize how things looked!" Suddenly, as they turned a corner, her
face lit up, and she exclaimed, "There - right there! That's the square we
stood in. I'll never forget it. There were nine of us, all chained in a
line, and they stood us right there, against that wall. See? There's the
post over there - they fastened an end of the chain to that post! And,
behind us," she gestured to the opposite side, as they turned, "there was a
crowd of people standing over there - a crowd that got bigger and bigger
through the day! They all stared at us! Oh, I wish I could have fallen
into the pavement! Ugh! The things they did to us - we were full of
water, we weren't allowed to pee, and if we did they let the come up
and put their hands on our - well, all over us!" Her expression was one of
great distaste.
"Looks pretty dead, now," Jim observed. There were no crowds, only two
or three pedestrians passing through.
"No naked women for them to look at!" Irma noted.
She recounted to Jim more of the events of her first visit, as they
found other places she remembered, including the police station and the
square with the flower garden.
Later, over lunch, she went again over some of the events now being
pulled from her memory. Her husband seemed a bit mystified at her detailed
recollections.
"If the memory is so awful, why did you want to come here? I know I
wanted to see it, but that's because of your experiences. But you seemed
to enjoy going back to these places, and every time you tell me more, you
act like the memory is making you sick."
She thought a bit. "I don't know. It was an awful experience. I would
never have wished it on anyone. Yet, as I look back on it, in a way I'm
rather glad it happened. Now I know that's a strange thing to say. It was
horribly humiliating and painful - especially in certain places. But, I
wasn't really harmed, I wasn't raped, no one beat me; and I did live
through it. In a way, I know I probably deserved some of it. I had been
pretty arrogant with the customs and police, and I think I learned to be at
least a little more diplomatic. Or, maybe you don't think so!"
Jim said nothing, communicating only in a knowing smile. He well knew
his strong willed and her occasional hot temper. He knew she could
indeed get herself in trouble with her quick tongue.
Irma went on. "In a crazy kind of way, it was one of the most erotic
experiences I'd had. You know I don't take off my clothes in public, but
here I was paraded all over town with nothing on. Bare feet yet. And
going to the bathroom in front of everybody; and them handling me and
making fun of my most personal parts. I wouldn't have chosen to do it, but
it was done to me! Thank goodness all those people were strangers - I
never had to look them in the face again!"
"Think they'd recognize you with clothes on? Some of them may be around
now!"
"Would you want me to give them a chance to recognize me like they saw
me before?" Irma asked, jokingly.
"Never can tell. Someone might remember you then. Who knows?" Now Jim
was joking.
"Nonetheless, it was a strange experience. But I have to admit, it
wasn't all terrible. It was scary, but in a way, some it was - well, not
really fun, you could never call it that, but a bizarre kind of experience
that wasn't quite all unpleasant. At least, now that I'm looking back on
it and know I came out of it OK!"
Once again they passed the police station. Irma mused, "I wonder if
they still have those photos they took of me in there". She shivered in
disgust. "I'd never been photographed naked! Not even for baby pictures.
But they took those shots of me, well, all over, and in the most revealing
poses! Jim, can you imagine how I felt?"
"I'm trying to put myself in your shoes, but no one really can. If I
had seen it, I would have felt awful for you - sympathy, anyway; but no,
unless it happened to you, you can't really know how it felt. In a way, I
wish I could share it with you!"
They walked back to the square that had the flower bed. It was now mid
afternoon, and they saw a small crowd congregated at one point in the
square. The went over to see what was the object of interest.
They found an artist at work, an man, perhaps sixty, with a cap,
and suit, and graying black hair. He sat on a chair in the square at
an easel, making a sketch of a who was posing in front of him. The
girl was standing behind a chair, leaning over it slightly. Her blouse was
slightly unbuttoned, and she was showing considerable cleavage. Irma
looked at the artist's rendition of the scene.
"You know, he's quite good. Some of these street artists have real
talent!"
"Here's some of his work," Jim observed, seeing a group of sketches and
portraits set up beside his chair. Several were of women, and two
were nudes. There were also depictions of children and men.
"Would you like him to do you?" Jim asked, "Really, he seems to do good
work. Couldn't be too expensive, and it looks like he works fast!"
"No", Irma replied, deep in thought as she looked over the sample
portraits. She studied them carefully, then suddenly her face brightened.
"Yes! Yes! I'd like him to do one of me - but I want it in a very special
setting! Let's see if he'll do it!"
Jim had learned not to be surprised as what his did. He wondered
what she had in mind, suspecting it would be something radical. His
suspicions proved correct.
Once the artist had finished the girl's portrait, Irma and Jim
approached him. He could manage only a few words of English, but they went
to work with gestures, facial expressions, and markings on their town map.
Irma managed to get across to him that she wanted a portrait of herself,
to be done at the other square; the one at which she had first been chained
to the post. She indicated with the help of her watch that she would need
to get ready for the portrait, and they agreed it could be started there in
about an hour. Irma indicated she would go to the hotel to prepare herself
and then return; Jim would stay with the artist as a guarantee of payment
and to direct him to the right place.
The artist seemed to want to know if Irma would be sitting for her
portrait, or with her husband, or how she would be. Irma immediately stood
straight up, pointing to herself, and stood with her feet apart, her hands
behind her, and again indicated herself, nodding. Then she motioned to
Jim, and indicated "no". Then she pointed to one of the portraits the
artist had on display. She indicated it, and then pointed to herself,
nodding affirmatively.
Jim stood in shock as he realized the she had indicated for a
sample was one of the two nudes.
"What are you going to do?" He asked, a bit worried.
"Jim, you stay with him. Be sure he gets there. Look, I know you'll
think I'm crazy, but I want to do this. It's my only chance, and I want to
pose the way I was those fifteen years ago. Right where it happened. I
know it sounds absurd, but I just want to live through a little part of
that experience again, to stand there the way it happened, naked and with a
belly full of water I'm trying to hold - I want to live that part of it
again, but this time on my terms. I want you to see it, and then you can
share the memory with me!"
Jim stood, a bit perplexed. "Are you trying to wind up in jail? This
isn't the police doing it - it's you. Irma, you just don't do things like
this - it's not you!"
"Watch me. And I don't think anything will happen from the police.
Jim, I just have an inner urge- I can't really explain, but I want to do
it. Indulge me a bit!"
Assuring him she would be all right, she left him with the artist as she
headed the short distance back to the hotel. Jim was filled with
trepidation - he had no idea what to expect of her. He tried to settle the
deal with the artist, observing that the day was late, and in
another couple of hours the light might be fading.
Back at the hotel, Irma hurriedly went up to their room. Once inside,
she picked up two large bottles of drinking water provided for them, and
put the first to her lips, gulping it rapidly. She kicked off her shoes,
and began discarding her clothes into a pile on the bed. She searched
through her suitcase for a small package containing a carefully folder
plastic raincoat, which she kept for weather emergencies.
Having consumed the first bottle of water, she started on the second.
She slipped her feet into a pair of sandals, replacing the walking shoes
she had kicked off. "I suppose it should be barefoot" she mused to
herself, "but I'm not going to risk my bare feet on that rough pavement
when it may get dark. These will give me a little protection."
She slipped on the raincoat, having stripped off all of her clothing,
and turned to the mirror to tidy up her hair and make-up. Satisfied with
her appearance, she picked up a large shopping bag and dropped into it the
case for the raincoat. Carrying nothing else, she took the bag and left
the room, going down to the reception desk.
At reception she requested two more bottles of drinking water, then
signed for the charges to their room account, and put the bottles into her
shopping bag. She drew some stares from the reception clerk as he
perceived her odd attire, a raincoat on a dry day, with no signs of other
clothing under it.
Irma headed for the square she had selected as the scene for her
portrait. Arriving there, she found Jim awaiting her. Several bystanders
had accompanied him, evidently curious as to what was going to occur. The
artist had not yet arrived, but Jim indicated he was coming.
"Great," said Irma. Let's get ready. I want to be facing the square,
standing close to that post - because that's the way it was. I want you to
watch while he does the portrait. And there's one thing more - you wanted
to know how I felt, so I'm going to help you. I have two liters of water
here - I just drank that much in the hotel, and I want you to drink the
same amount here. When you have a belly full of water and it starts going
through you, you'll soon know how I felt."
"Why did you have to drink it now? For the portrait?"
"I want to look the way I did. Well - I can't do anything about the
damage fifteen years have done, but I want to feel and pose the way I was.
And I was full of water - to the brim. I am now - and I know what it's
going to do to me in a little while. It's part of the experience I want to
relive, and let him record what he sees of it!"
Jim had great difficulty understanding his wife's intentions. However,
he wanted to please her, and he began to drink the water while he waited
for the artist. Irma stood by, in her raincoat, a gathering crowd looking
at her in wonder.
After half an hour or so, the artist arrived and began to set up his
equipment. Irma was standing in the place she wanted to pose, and she
waited for him to arrange his easel and tools. Eventually he seemed to
have everything in order. He sat beside the easel and looked to Irma. His
look and gesture asked if she was ready. In answer, she removed her
sandals and passed them to her husband.
Irma quickly unfastened the raincoat, dropped it off in one sweeping
gesture, and passed it quickly to Jim. Then she resumed her pose, now
completely naked, full face to the artist, her legs slightly spread, her
hands clasped behind her.
A gasp went up from some of the onlookers. There was now a crowd of
perhaps twenty people, both and women, watching the proceedings.
Irma held her pose, standing motionless, not speaking. While her hands
were untied, she held them behind her as they had been once bound. The
lowering sun streamed into the square, lighting her brilliantly. Her
breasts faced the crowd, sagging a bit, and, Jim noticed, quivering a
little from her apparent nervousness. Below, her full belly protruded
somewhat over a bit of paunch in her lower parts. Her pubic hair, somewhat
trimmed but not shaved, was prominently displayed. Her spread legs clearly
revealed her genital area.
Jim watched as he kept guard over the bag containing her sandals and
raincoat. Evidently she had not brought any other clothing with her. He
stared at his wife, publicly displayed as he had never seen her. While she
was obviously not a girl, she was still in good shape, and Jim felt
his own body responding to the arousing sight of the spectacle before him.
Irma's facial expression was not a smile. She didn't want to reflect
any enjoyment of this situation anyway, but the water was doing its job.
She was feeling a need to urinate, which she knew was going to get a lot
worse before this was over. She wondered if her bladder was still able to
hold as well it had fifteen years earlier. She would find out. Her face
reflected the tension and growing discomfort.
The crowd, for the most part, watched quietly. There were no catcalls,
no obscene gestures. The people just stared at the nude woman in front of
them, with the sunlight flooding her body.
The artist did a good job. He sketched the scene, and carefully added
color and detail. He worked carefully, and Jim carefully watched the
progress. The resulting clearly was recognizable as Irma, with
details of her body he knew no artist had captured before. It really was a
good portrait, he thought, but who would they show it to?
It took about an hour for the artist to complete his work. Finally he
seemed satisfied. He showed it quickly to Jim, then motioned for Irma to
look. She came forward and viewed it, but only briefly. She indicated her
approval.
The artist took down the portrait, and prepared it for his clients.
Then he turned to Jim, pointing to him, and setting up the easel for a new
portrait.
Irma watched. "He wants to do a portrait of you. He's good. Let's let
him do you, too, before it gets too dark. Are you willing?"
Jim had had no intention of having a portrait. He could see the artist
did good work, though, and quite quickly. What was the harm of it, and
anyway, Irma obviously wanted it. He quickly agreed. As the artist began
his preparations, Jim moved over to where Irma had stood.
He struck what he considered a dignified pose. Irma, still nude and
standing beside the artist, called to him. "No! You're not ready!"
Jim looked at her, questions written on his face.
"It's to be a nude! That's the way I had to pose! If you want to share
the memory, you have to do it the way I did! I'll hold your clothes in the
bag!" She held the bag toward him.
Jim had absolutely no desire to pose naked in front of this crowd. He
was having trouble, though, finding a graceful way to object. Irma wanted
him to share her experience, and she was only asking him to go through a
part of what she had done. While he didn't like the idea at all, he didn't
want a disagreement with his in public. Still, he was hugely
embarrassed at the idea. The thought struck him - that was exactly the
feeling she would have had.
Time was running out. It would be too dark before long, and besides,
the water was going through him and he needed to pee. He wanted to get
this over.
He started to take off his clothes and put them in the bag, As he did
so, he noticed Irma had now retrieved her raincoat and put it on, though
she had not fastened any of the buttons, and the front hung open.
He was expecting some laughter or at least some humorous response from
the crowd, but there was none, except for some smiles. He did notice that
a few retired from their front positions and some women pushed forward.
Jim was a year younger than Irma, slender, not overly muscled, and about
the same weight as his wife. He stood a couple of inches taller than Irma,
and displayed a bit of gray at the temples in his otherwise black hair,
worn in a medium cut. Otherwise, he normally kept a well groomed
conservative appearance. This was a new experience for him.
Within a few minutes, Jim was naked and his clothes were in the bag in
Irma's custody. She stood close to the artist, facing him in her
completely open raincoat, both and her pubic region almost entirely
exposed. She stood now clasping one hand to her crotch, a reflection of
the discomfort she was experiencing in trying to restrain her full bladder.
It was getting very uncomfortable for her, but she was now determined to
force martyrdom on it until Jim's portrait was done.
He assumed a pose where Irma had stood. Following her example, he
stood, face forward, hands behind his back. His genital area was
prominently displayed, and his penis projected in a semi-erect state. He
knew his penis was quivering a bit, as he tightened his muscles to control
his filling bladder, and also from the arousal he felt both from his own
state and from the view of his wife's exposed body. He perceived her
bladder discomfort, and suspected it was a lot worse than his own. He
would last through this, however. He held his pose, embarrassed ever more
at the occasional motions of his penis. The artist worked on. The crowd
watched, quietly, staring with open eyes, but making few sounds.
It took a bit less than an hour for the artist to finish. The light was
fading as he applied the finishing touches. The air was getting cooler.
Irma stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, squirming a
bit, squeezing her abdominal muscles. Her bladder really hurt, now, and
she was having difficulty restraining it. Still, she stood with the
raincoat over her body, the front completely open.
As the artist finished and Jim left his pose, he started to reach for
the bag for his clothes, but Irma stopped him. "Not yet", she said to him,
"wait a few minutes!"
They paid the artist, who thanked them and began to pack up. The crowd
began to disburse, evidently feeling the show was over.
Irma picked up the bag with their possessions and the portraits, and
indicated for Jim to follow her. He protested, though a bit weakly.
"Irma, I need to - badly! And I can't walk around without any clothes
on! Have a heart!"
She looked at him, and smiled a bit through her own discomfort. "Your
bladder can't be nearly as full as mine is! We've got to take care of that
situation - and I had to walk miles with nothing on - you can manage a few
feet!"
Hastily she walked away from the square, her open raincoat floating
around her with her motion, he following, naked. Somehow he was expecting
the onlookers to follow them, but they didn't.
The streets were practically deserted as darkness was falling, and the
street lights were illuminating only parts of the streets. It was getting
cooler, and he was feeling a bit chilled in his unclothed state. This
didn't help the state of his uncomfortably full bladder.
Obviously Irma knew where she was going. She turned a small street,
really a bit of an alley. A little light penetrated it, and a few feet
into it a small railing stood, about waist high, separating an area which
seemed to hold several trash containers.
No one was about. Irma stopped, placed the bag on the ground, and let
the raincoat fall from her body. She quickly pushed it into the bag. Then
she turned to face her husband, standing with her legs spread, her hands
gripping the railing behind her.
"Feel my bladder - it hasn't been this full in fifteen years - not since
they made me hold it in front of all those men!" She took his hand and
placed it on her lower belly. He immediately felt the hardness. "I've got
to pee, too - this will do--" he began.
She cut him off. "Not yet!" she insisted. "That experience back there
- it made me feel something I can't explain; but I know I need one thing
worse than I need to pee, and it's this!"
With that, she took hold of her husband's penis and brought it to her
genitals. She moved slightly and received him into her, but only slightly.
"You're holding too tight", he said quickly, realizing what she wanted
and feeling the resistance of her tight muscles. .
She gave him one command. "Push!" she said, emphatically. He did.
Her clenched sphincters were tight around him, gripping him as they
sought to restrain her badly overloaded bladder. His own need to urinate
suddenly seemed to subside, as he began to move within her.
"Don't let my topside fall - the last time I had a bladder this full I
had men's hands all over me - this time shouldn't they be yours!" He got
the hint, seizing one of her sagging in each hand, then grasping
and pulling the nipples.
Suddenly it was no longer cold, no longer painful, not humiliating to be
nude in an alley. She leaned back to tighten the tension on her nipples as
he moved within her. Suddenly she jerked in an explosion of release, a
moment before he achieved the same reaction.
They stood together, breathing hard, for a few minutes, his penis still
within her. Suddenly he felt a warm wetness as her bladder poured forth
his contents, the liquid running over both of them and down their legs. He
started to release her to draw apart, but she wouldn't let him.
She replaced his hands and he gripped her as her urination
continued. After what must have been a minute, she spoke to him softly,
"I'm not through yet - you don't want to go, do you?"
"I'll wait for you!" he replied quietly, as her urination continued
unabated. "Why don't you let go, too?" she asked him, the fluid still
streaming from her. He nodded. He had never tried anything like this, but
his full bladder was beginning to torture him again. He tried to let go.
Finally it happened.
"First time we tried this" she laughed. "Feels strange".
"You did a lot of strange things today," he responded.
Finally, they were both emptied. Irma stepped out of the deep puddle of
liquid that had now accumulated around them, and moved a bit down the
alley. She retrieved her raincoat, and put it on, this time fastening one
button. She handed him his and pants from the bag.
Dressed, at least covered to some extent, they started back to the
hotel. They arrived to receive stares from the hotel staff as they passed
on the way to their room.
Once inside, they closed the door. Jim surveyed the pile of Irma's
clothes laying on the bed, where she had left them.
"Maybe the memories of this place won't all be bad," he remarked, as he
flopped on a chair. "Let's look at our pictures!"
They opened the two portraits and examined them, Irma's first. Suddenly
she let out a gasp. "No one tied me while I posed, did they? Look at
this!"
On Irma's portrait the artist had clearly drawn a small chain around her
waist, linked to the iron post a short distance away.
"How did he know about the chain?" she almost shrieked. "It wasn't
there! I didn't tell him!"
Jim studied the picture. "Maybe - just maybe," he mused, "He may have
seen this scene before. After all, he has probably been here a long time!"
"Maybe even fifteen years!" Irma smiled, shaking her head.
"And are you going to show your portrait to your children?" Jim asked
her.
Irma thought for a moment. "I think", she began, "that might be best
left until they get the as an inheritance!"
No, Jim thought to himself, all the memories she had of this place
wouldn't be bad ones. Not all of his, either.
END
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