Losing it in Winter
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Ms In A Mattress free porn video
Manuscript Found in a Mattress
©2020 Titania Midsummer
Author's note.
The title is a riff on a short story by Edgar Allen Poe.
Preface
It was Sunday and she was walking past a building that had been
demolished. It seemed to have been quite a big brick building, possibly
two storied. Long with its short end towards the street. There were tall
hedges along the side and rear boundaries. Not much view to be had, even
from a top floor she thought. The tall spiked railings on the street
boundary were mostly pushed over but there was a sign still attached
announcing the building as Mrs Sandringham's Orphanage. Amongst the
rubble were barred window frames which made her wonder whether they were
to keep intruders out or the inhabitants in. There were also several iron
bedsteads and mattresses. The covering of one of the latter was torn at
the corner and poking through the tear was what looked like some sheets
of pink notepaper. Being Sunday there was nobody around so she stepped
onto the site and pulled out a dozen or more sheets of notepaper. There
was handwriting in a very cursive script on both sides of each sheet. She
took them all home and began reading.
To whom it may concern.
At assembly this morning Mrs Sandringham announced than soon we would be
leaving here, and that there would be special exercises to prepare us for
our new guardians. She actually said, "new owners" but quickly corrected
herself. I won't know where and with whom I will be going. I'm frightened
and apprehensive and I think someone should know about this place so I am
writing down what I can remember and hopefully someone will find this and
come looking for me.
My earliest memory is waking up here in a sick-bay bed. Strangely I have
no earlier memories, somehow "they" have wiped my mind clean. I felt sick
and groggy when I woke up, my face and throat was aching sore and covered
in plaster and bandages. My guts and hips were also aching sore. I could
hardly move; largely because my legs were strapped together just above my
knees. After a little while a nurse came in. I started to ask questions
but my throat was sore and my voice came out all squeaky and in a high
register. Even when I was fully healed my voice seemed different as if it
were now higher than it had been. The nurse was considerate, but did not
answer any of my questions. She called me "Rose" which didn't seem right
as I was sure I had had a different name, but couldn't remember it.
A little later another woman wearing a white coat came in. I guessed she
was a doctor because she had a stethoscope around her neck. She asked me
a number or questions as to how I felt. She explained to me that I had
had a severe accident and that several operations have been performed to
repair me. Later, when I met the other girls, they had all been told the
same thing. Even if we had all been in the same bus or plane together to
each have the same injuries and the same operations seemed to me to be
too big a coincidence. The operation on my pelvis meant that I was not
allowed to spread my legs until broken bones had knitted and grown
stronger. "That's why they are strapped together. It will be two or three
weeks before we can let you move normally." Then she asked me if I
wanted to go to the toilet. I said, "Yes, I need to have a pee." So she
turned to the nurse and said, "Nurse, take her to the toilet and explain
to her how to urinate and clean up afterwards." I was about to say that I
was a boy and it should be "him" not "her" but decided to hold my tongue
until I was better orientated.
In the loo I was going to pee standing up but but the nurse said very
firmly that I must sit down. Only then did I discover that everything
between my legs seemed different. I could not remember how I used to be
but I felt was all changed down there. The nurse carefully named the bits
of me that I was unfamiliar with. "Where the wee comes out is your
urethra, though you can call it your wee-hole or clit if you like. It
stays tucked inside your vagina. Either side are your labia, which is
Latin for 'lips'. Right now they are taped together else they would gap
apart and that looks ugly. In a few days we can take the tape off and use
some thing else." When the time came the tape revealed a row of little
rings along each labia. I was provide with a clip which held them
together and had a furry cover. It was called a 'merkin' Once every
couple of days I was encouraged to unclip my labia and wash my clit and
the inside of my vagina. Deep inside it were two round things inside
their own thin skin bag. They were "ovaries" I was told. When I had a pee
I usually sprayed a bit around. The nurse said that was normal, just to
use a little loo paper to dry it off. When the bandages came off my face
I didn't recognise myself. It took a while to get used to the new face,
the girl's face, I saw in the mirror. I had pierced ears too, which
seemed new. They had small rings in them called sleepers.
That evening when I was put to bed the nurse pushed something up my anus.
She explained that it contained painkiller and other medicines and
hormones to help me recover quickly. It was better than a needle because
of the slower absorption. Once pushed in she squeezed the bottom and I
felt the medicines being squirted in. I expected her to take out the
butt-plug but she said that it must stay in all night to stop the stuff
running out.
My legs stayed strapped together so that I could only shuffle around with
little short steps. After two weeks the straps were loosened but not
removed and I went from shuffling to a sort of mincing walk. Another two
weeks and the doctor said that my bones had knitted sufficiently, I could
walk normally but to avoid widening my legs. "Besides it is not lady-like
to sit or stand with legs wide apart."
Getting the plug up my anus dropped from daily to being just once a week
of a Saturday night. The same for all the other girls and we each had our
own. Mine had my name, Rose, embossed on the base. I would have really
nice dreams and day-dreams for a couple of days after getting it, then I
would miss it, and by the end of the week I was almost desperate to get
the butt-plug again. Months later one of girls, Jasmine she was and
looked slightly Chinese, said, ?I knew the smell of my butt-plug was
familiar but I just couldn?t place it. Now I remember, it?s opium. But
how I know I can?t remember.? So we had all gone from having a pain-
killer to being mildly addicted to opium.
Once I was out of the sick bay I dropped into a routine with all the
other girls. There were 20 of us, almost all with flower names. I was
Rose, there was Jasmine, Iris, Daisy, Ivy, Poppy, Violet, etc. Nobody had
any other name. It seemed that we had all arrived within a couple of
weeks of each other and all were about the same age; seventeen or
eighteen at a guess.
It was a school and we had classes each weekday. During the day, at least
initially, we dressed in the school uniform. White blouse, green
patterned skirt in the warmer days, woollen one for cold weather.
Underneath we had a choice of silk or satin knickers, either tight briefs
or loose. We had to wear black stockings held up by a suspender belt. We
were encouraged to always leave a gap between the top of the stockings
and the frilly bottom edge or the pants. I must confess that I always
enjoyed the smooth feel of the knickers, and of the swish of the skirt
against my legs when I walked. Later, to complement the fashion class, we
wore dresses from various classic periods. Everything from crinolines
through long Edwardian pencil skirts through to modern little black
cocktail dresses.
The classes taught were languages, fashion and art, and deportment.
Languages were deemed to be very important. Everyone had to learn French
and furthermore when we spoke English it had to be with a French accent.
We also had to learn at least one other language. Either Mandarin,
Japanese, Arabic, Italian, or Thai were taught. Later some of the classes
were conducted in those tongues. I knew that I knew German and was going
to ask if I could learn it instead, but then thought better of it. Once I
dropped a German word, gem?tlich, I think, and Iris asked, ?Do you speak
German?? ?Jawohl!? I replied. She was also fluent in German and from then
on if we did not want to be overheard we would speak softly auf Deutsch.
Meanwhile in class I struggled with Italian.
The vocabs and practice sessions were usually about bedrooms, clothing,
bodies, fashion, art, cooking, manners. All very female orientated. When
taught the French for ?penis? I suddenly realised that the butt-plug I
had to wear each Saturday looked very like one. Later, from the fashion
magazines, I found out that it was often called a ?dildo.?
There were classes called ?deportment?. Anybody caught walking with even
a slight stoop had to remove her blouse and have her elbows strapped back
to force her chest forward. This was for at least a day, sometimes
longer. We practiced walking with a book balanced on our head to get our
posture right. We were taught to walk in high heels with a hip sway. Done
right it would make ones skirt swing in counterpoint. Dancing was also
taught in this class; really the only exercise we got. Initially it was
ballroom dancing, then the more modern rock-n-roll, twist, hip-hop etc.
Later we were taught the bump and grind moves that go with a strip-tease.
The class included make-up. We were taught how to apply lipstick and lip
gloss, rouge, eye-shadow etc. The emphasis was not to overdo it. We were
young girls and hardly needed make-up at all, but just a little did
wonders. It also covered up the very fine scars in the region of our
foreheads, cheekbones, chins and throats which is where I was really
aching when I first woke up. We were taught how to manage our hair. At
first our hair was fairly short but as it grew longer over the months we
could do more with it. First in pigtails with the ends tied in a ribbon.
This was when we were still wearing training bras. Later we would put it
up, weave plaits etc. I preferred it long and tickling my shoulders. Iris
and I would often take turns brushing each others hair. It was a sensual
feeling that later grew into more intimate caresses.
We had to change our writing into a looping copperplate. There was plenty
of pink notepaper to practice on and I was able to filch a few sheets to
write this.
Clearly we were being taught to be courtesans, but that penny did not
drop till later.
Fashion and art included the history of both. The art classes were
challenging. We had to be able to recognise the work of a great many
artists, both old and contemporary, and to make a good estimate of what a
piece might sell for. For contemporary fashion there was a regular supply
of magazines which we would study and comment upon. The history of
fashion was made interesting as we could dress up in clothes from the
school?s extensive wardrobe. Some items like corsets and crinolines were
uncomfortable but I quite liked being a little constrained.
There was also costume jewellery. We were shown the real stuff made of
gold and precious stones so that we could tell the difference, but never
got to wear it. I did enjoy wearing dangling earrings and the feeling
when they brushed my neck.
Some months into classes we were encouraged to wear more fantasy and
stage clothes, such as cheer-leader or show-girl ones. Typically with
very short skirts intended to reveal the pants underneath. Then one day
the teacher produced some slave-girl outfits which all the girls in a
group had to put on, and put on without anything underneath. I could see
the dark triangles of their merkins through the thin material of their
harem pants and the rear view showed the crack of their bums. The
slippers had turn-up toes with bells on the end and they wore little
veils covering their noses and chins. They wore very brief velvet jackets
the front flaps of which just covered their breasts. But any movement
gave flashes of naked breasts. Then there was the bling; bangles on their
wrists and upper arms and big hoop earrings. Finally the teacher produced
some black leather choker style necklaces. They terminated with little
hoops and when she wrapped one round a girl?s neck she clipped the hoops
together with a little padlock. All four girls in that group had to stay
dressed like that for the rest of the day. On examination each necklace
was stamped with the wearer?s name and a number. There was the same
number on the padlock so I suppose that made it easier to find the right
key. However the teacher did not appear to be carrying a bunch of keys.
The next day was the turn of my group to wear the same outfits and get
our named chokers padlocked on. The teacher did unlock those on the first
group. I felt somewhat embarrassed wearing so little as to be effectively
naked. I kept holding the jacket flaps close despite the teacher telling
me not to. Eventually she lost patience and tied my thumbs by short cords
to my belt. I had enough movement to pull down my pants if I went to the
loo, but could no longer keep my breasts covered. Some of the girls
teased me by coming up behind and massaging my breasts and nipples as I
could no longer stop them. Eventually the day was over, my thumbs freed,
and I could change into normal clothes. The necklace stayed locked on
though.
By the end of the week every girl was wearing her own named and numbered
necklace and they stayed on permanently. I could imagine a leash clipped
to mine and being led around like a pet animal. Not a nice thought.
We ate in a room with four tables of four. Each week four girls were
rostered to do the cooking, serving, and washing up for the week
including the laundry. There were several washing machines and dryers so
that part was not too onerous, but sometimes the ironing was. They had to
eat after the rest of us had finished. The week before the team had to
submit a shopping list of what ingredients they wanted. It worked quite
well, and there was always someone with a talent for cooking. Despite the
quality, the quantity was meagre. We always left feeling hungry. That was
to keep us slim, part of the overall emphasis on making us pretty and, as
I realised later, coquettish. Not long before this story ends they had to
wear really skimpy french maid outfits. The kind where any bending over
to serve food or clear a table would reveal a band of white skin above
the net stockings and further up frilly white french knickers with black
lace trim.
Under the blouse we each wore a bra, which is another story. At first
everybody was flat chested. The bras we wore were just thin cotton
triangles. I?ve seen them on little girls in the kids section of fashion
magazines. After about three weeks my nipples became very sensitive, and
there was a noticeable swelling where my breasts were growing. The others
were the same and we all had to change to using soft fluffy cotton
training bras. After about two months our breasts were fully developed
and we were able to start wearing conventional bras with shoulder and
back straps. These were not really needed as we all had firm breasts
which hardly needed support. Later we were encouraged to experiment with
much more revealing bras.
They were readily available, The school had a huge wardrobe of lingerie,
dresses etc. Once lessons were over we were encouraged to choose
something to wear for the rest of the day, or to continue wearing
something chosen during fashion class. Whilst our breasts were quite
small we wore some floaty art-deco fashions from the 20s because they
suited small breasted women. Later we moved on to the other dresses and
tops which were usually very low cut, so low as to show ones aureole
peeping over the top. It meant that the bras, if we wore them, were the
half cup strapless style.
At night we slept in the one big dormitory, ten beds, two girls to each
bed. The beds were not all that wide so we had to snuggle up close to our
bed-mate. Just as well as the nights were cold and the blankets quite
thin. We each had a nightie, lace round the neck-line and hem, but not
full length. It only came down to just below ones knees. We washed under
communal showers. Hot water only flowed for a short time so one had to
run under, get wet, step out for the next girl, soap up, then duck back
to wash it off. It was never enough to wash ones private parts. That I
would do at other times with a cloth and washbasin.
I shared my bed with Iris. Initially we were a bit shy of each other, but
being so close we started to cuddle which led to kissing. It also led to
fondling each others breasts through the thin nightgown material. When
Iris played with mine I could feel my clit swelling inside my vagina.
Sometimes it swelled so much that it hurt but I still enjoyed her hands
brushing my nipples. Later we would ruck our nighties up to our necks so
as to nibble and suck each others nipples without any intervening cloth.
We got ever more adventuresome with each others bodies. One day I put my
hand between her legs to squeeze her swollen clit. She liked it so much
that she started to make noises and I had to put my hand over her mouth
to quieten her. Then I realised that others had made the same
discoveries, and each evening the dormitory would fill with the sound of
many girls squeaking and suppressing squeals of pleasure.
Some of us, including Iris and I went further. One Saturday night my
butt-plug seemed a bit uncomfortable so holding the loop on the end I
half pulled it out and pushed it in again. ?Did that feel good?? asked
Iris. We were so close in that little bed that each knew exactly what the
other was doing. ?Mmm? I said. ?Different. But I liked it. I just feel a
little guilty as if it were naughty.? So Iris put her hand through the
loop and started to pump back and forth. That felt so good that my clit
could not swell any further. Eventually I burst, or felt I burst. In fact
I made a mess. Luckily, or probably by design, Sunday was clean nightie
and sheets day so we could hide the evidence so-to-say.
The staff knew quite well what was going on. In fact they encouraged it.
We even got sort of harnesses so that we could strap on our partners
dildo. We called them dildos now. This meant that not only could I
pleasure Iris, but the end of the dildo pushing back against my clit
excited me as well.
Those Saturday nights were good nights.
One night I had a dream where I was a schoolboy ogling some girls. Half
wishing to undress one of them and half wishing I was dressed in a skirt
like one of them. Once I awoke I realised that I really had been a boy
and had been medically changed to look like a girl. I examined my ?clit?
more closely and realised that it was really a penis which had been
stitched to the floor of my ?vagina?. I discussed this with Iris, quietly
and in German, and she agreed that it confirmed her own nagging doubts.
We suspected that several of the other girls thought the same. But why
had we been changed into girls?
The answers came a few days later.
Our dining room was separated from the staff quarters by a big window. It
must have been double glazed or soundproofed in some way as we never
heard a sound through it. Anyway there was only the staff to see and
there was never anything of interest. Until one day we could see Mrs
Sandringham talking to a small group of men. They kept looking in our
direction until she made them turn around and face her while she spoke to
them. We could see her face quite well but of course had no idea what was
being said.
However one of our number got terribly agitated. We could see that even
though she was trying hard to hide her emotions. Later that evening she
told us. She could lip-read. She understood a lot of what the men were
saying and almost all of what Mrs Sandringham has said. In short, that
coming weekend we would be called up one-by-one in front of a big group
of men. Each one would have to do a strip-tease until completely naked.
Then she would be auctioned off and taken away by the highest bidder. The
named necklaces were to ensure that having bought a girl the buyer would
not be given a different one in error.
The auction is tomorrow. Perhaps my new owner is not too horrid.
Meanwhile I shall hide this. I know that the chance of it being found by
someone who can help is very small, but that hope may be the only thing
keeping me from killing myself.
Rose. But by another name.
Bess
- 05.04.2020
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