Sunbathing Causes Diaper Rash
Copyright 2009 Fyunch
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Cynthia Maslic spread the blanket on the clean white sand. Christine Vickers raised the colorful beach umbrella. They were alone on the beach. Not a single other person was visible on the beach nor inland as far as the sharp-eyed young women could see in either direction.
Cynthia, a petite brunette with slim legs and a trim waist, pulled off her loose masculine-style blouse revealing a red bikini bathing suit bra that smoothly restrained her small but well-formed and symmetric breasts. She then wriggled out of her tight blue jeans, exposing matching red bikini panties that might have been sprayed on to her firm round bottom. Neatly folding her discarded clothes, Cynthia packed them into a large straw bag sitting on the blanket, extracted a thick novel from the bag, and flopped down on the blanket. By that time, Christine, a tall slim blonde girl with stunning legs, was pulling her own blue jeans down, revealing her own hardly less flattering lemon yellow bikini bathing suit.
As she smeared sunblock on her smooth skin, Christine admired her friend stretched out on the blanket nearby. If I swung both ways, Christine thought, I’d certainly go for Cindy. She’s cute.
“Tina, you’re a genius,” said Cynthia, “our third perfect day on a beautiful, clean, empty beach. The hotel is reasonably priced, the food may not be gourmet, but it’s nutritious and cheap, the people are polite and stay out of our way. I’m glad we’ve discovered it first. I’m sure that next year, if we come back, it will be wall-to-wall people.”
“I don’t think so,” Christine replied, “after all, most people are too fastidious to do what we did.”
“Yeah. But it sure wasn’t hard to get the fake national ID cards we needed to get us in here. When I tell my boyfriend how easy it was, he’ll come with me next year. Then I’ll really have some fun.”
“How’s the book?”
“I’m just getting into it. She writes well, but I can’t say that I’ve fallen in love with any of the characters.”
The two college roommates lapsed into silence, Cynthia reading her book and Christine staring out over the ocean. After a while Christine lay down on her stomach. Within a few minutes both girls had fallen asleep.
Christine awoke with a full bladder. I better go over to the bushes on the dune and pee, she thought. I don’t want to go into the water today, the surf is too rough. Then she noticed that they were no longer alone.
Their umbrella was surrounded by men in green military uniforms. They were carrying guns. “Cindy,” Christine rasped, her voice strained with fear, “wake up!”
“Wha,” mumbled her traveling companion.
“Cindy,” Christine said again, “don’t move. We’re surrounded by army guys.”
Cynthia raised her head and froze when she saw the guns pointed at her.
One of the men said something, a few syllables in the local language, which neither girl could speak or understand. Another man moved forward from the background where he’d been standing. He was heavier set than the men with the guns and his uniform had some silver stripes on the sleeves. Cindy concluded that he was in charge.
“Excuse me, sir,” Cynthia began, “if we’re trespassing or are in the wrong place, we’ll be happy to leave immediately.”
The officer looked at her blankly. He spoke a moderately long paragraph to them. They couldn’t understand any of what he said, but from the way that he spoke Cynthia concluded that he was reciting some sort of formal speech.
“I think we’re being arrested, Tina.”
“Damn it, Cindy, what a drag. And I was just about to go over there and pee.”
The officer motioned with his hands. The girls might not understand his speech, but they could tell that he wanted them to stand up. He pointed at Christine’s discarded jeans and top. As Christine began to dress herself, he pointed at Cynthia, who took her clothing from the straw bag and put them on. Once the girls were dressed, the officer motioned them away from the umbrella. While two of the soldiers packed everything up into a large duffel bag, another soldier handcuffed the two girls with their wrists behind their backs. The soldiers then led them over to a collection of jeeps standing just over the dunes, near the dirt road back to the village.
“We are American citizens, sir. Please contact the American embassy in the capital. American.” Cynthia spoke loudly and clearly, particularly when giving her nationality.
Christine sat uncomfortably on the cot. Her handcuffed wrists made it impossible for her to lie down or even to find a comfortable sitting position. To make matters worse, her bladder was throbbing, demanding relief. On the identical cot across the cell sat Cynthia, similarly miserable.
The jail cell, for that what it clearly was, looked quite ordinary to the two girls. A rectangular windowless room, one end of which was barred and pierced by a barred door, containing two metal-framed cots, two small tables and chairs, one at the foot of each bed. The wall between the cots featured a deep counter built in, running from one side wall to the other. In the center of this was a stainless steel toilet bowl, seatless and ugly. A stainless steel button in the wall above the bowl looked like it might flush the bowl.
“I’ve really got to go, Cindy,” Christine said, “I’m going to call for the guards.”
“Go for it, Tina.”
“Guards! Guards! Help! I have to pee!”
Christine shouted out loudly, repeating her simple message over and over, pausing between repetitions. After a while she resurrected a recollection of the word for bathroom in the local language, so she added that to her shouts. The prisoners in other cells, in response to the disturbance, began to shout.
A matron came to the barred end of the cell. Christine stood up and moved toward the bars, repeating her approximation of the local word for bathroom loudly as she did so. The matron issued an incomprehensible order. She then shouted something loudly. The women in the other cells quieted down. The matron said something else to Christine and made patting motions with her hand before walking away.
“I guess she’s going to get the key,” said Christine to Cynthia.
“I hope so. I could use the toilet too.”
Some minutes later the handcuffed girls heard a commotion of feet coming down the corridor toward their cell. Suddenly the space in front of their cell was full of husky women in matrons’ uniforms. One of them waved at Christine to move back from the cell door. The original matron then opened the door and three of the women stepped in.
Exchanging a glance, the three rushed Christine and grabbed her by the arms, pinning her to the wall of the cell. Cynthia couldn’t see what they were doing to Christine, but she didn’t think they were releasing her hands.
Finally the three women stepped back and quickly walked out of the cell, slamming and locking the cell door behind them. Cynthia looked at her friend in stunned surprise. A thick leather strap ran across Christine’s face, disappearing behind her head and under her long blonde hair. From the angle of Christine’s jaws and the evident bulge of her cheeks, the strap held something fairly substantial in her mouth.
Christine would be quiet now.
Christine stood with her back to the wall of the cell, her legs spread slightly. She shook her head from side to side as if testing to see if she could shake the gag off. She then clenched her jaws several times, causing her cheeks to bulge as whatever inhabited her mouth changed shape slightly. Finally she looked at Cynthia with brimming eyes and issued a plaintive moan.
Cynthia struggled to the edge of the cot and stood up. She walked over to her friend and said, “I don’t know what I can do, but if you like I’ll try unbuckle it. Turn around and let me see how it’s fastened.”
“I can’t see the fastening through your hair. You’ll have to get down somehow so that I can back my hands up to your head and try to feel the fastenings.”
“There doesn’t seem to be a buckle. There’s a metal thing where I’d expect to find a buckle, but it’s pretty smooth. I think it’s a lock.”
A muffled series of grunts from Christine.
“I can’t make out what you’re trying to say, Tina. I wish there was something I could do for you.”
The girls sat down on one of the cots. Time passed. Christine began to squirm uncomfortably. After a while, with a grunt, Christine stood up from the cot and moved over to the wall again. Turning her back to the wall, she spread her legs and pushed her bottom out to press against the wall. Cynthia watched all of this with puzzled interest. Christine stood there for some minutes, immobile and silent. Suddenly Cynthia heard a quiet sizzling sound from her friend’s direction. Moments later she saw a dark blue stain appear in the center of the crotch of her jeans and spread rapidly down the inside of the thighs and slowly upward across the girl’s flat tummy. Christine was wetting her pants.
Some minutes later Christine’s breathing had returned to normal. Her crotch was now dark and shiny in a large inverted ‘U’ that ran from just above her pubis and down to her ankles. A puddle of yellow fluid stood in a half circle on the floor centered on the place where Christine had stood.
“Oh, Tina, I’m so sorry,” Cynthia said.
Christine finally heaved herself off of the wall and stumbled across the cell to the cot opposite Cynthia, where with a disconsolate moan she sat down in her wet jeans. Considerate of her not to sit down next to me with her wet pants, Cynthia thought, gazing reflectively at her friend.
By the time an hour had passed, Cynthia was becoming desperate herself. Christine’s plight had made it clear that there was no comfort available from the operators of the prison. She had spent many futile minutes trying to maneuver her shapely bottom through the pinioned inverted arch of her hands in an effort to get her hands in front of her, where at least she could undo and pull down her jeans and bikini so that she could pee on the floor without wetting her pants, but had failed.
“I guess I’m in the same boat as you, Tina, just minus the gag,” Cynthia finally said to her friend. She got up from her cot and moved over to the puddle Christine had left. “I think I’ll stand here so that we have just one puddle rather than two.”
With that, she adopted the pose so recently pioneered by Christine and proceeded to wet her own pants. At least I had the advantage of watching Christine, Cynthia thought, so it’s not such a shock.
Afterwards Cynthia sat down next to Christine. The clammy moist feeling of the wet bikini and jeans against her crotch was almost more than she could bear.
They sat in silence.
After what seemed to the imprisoned girls like a geological age, they heard the sound of voices proceeding down the corridor, punctuated by regular stops and the clattering of some vaguely resonant objects. Finally two matrons pushed a large chromed cart on wheels into the view and stopped in front of their cell. One of the women pulled two trays from the cart while the other began to fuss with the lock at the cell door. Suddenly the woman at the door stopped and stepped back and said something sharply to her colleague, who joined her at the bars. The two examined the imprisoned girls through the bars for a moment and then exchanged several sentences in the local language. The woman who’d been tending the cart put the trays back in the cart. To Cynthia’s disappointment, they moved on down the corridor, disappearing out of view.
“Wait, please,” she called after them, “we’re hungry and thirsty and we’ve wet our pants. Please help us.”
Slowly the sounds of the two matrons bringing the midday meal to the prisoners disappeared down the corridor. Cynthia and Christine exchanged glances. Christine began to cry quietly.
Some time later, after the sounds of the lunch cart had completely vanished, the girls heard the sound of numerous people hurrying down the corridor, much the same sound that they’d heard when the party had arrived to gag Christine. Sure enough, a posse of matrons appeared in front of their cell door pushing a gray cart.
The subsequent events happened fast and neither girl had a coherent image of all of the details, it all happened so quickly and with such energy. Each was picked up and laid on one of the cots. Large strong shears appeared from somewhere and were used to cut the blue jeans from the ankle hem all the way to the waistband, first on one side and then on the other. Thus cut free, the soaked pants were removed quickly. The shears made similar quick work of the sides of the bathing suit bikini panties, the shirt, and the bra, with the ruined fragments of cloth gathered together and unceremoniously dumped into a large plastic garbage bag.
The now nude girls were then treated to a brisk if uncomfortable sponge bath which quite effectively removed all perspiration, dirt, and residue of urine. Then they’d been rapidly dressed in clothing provided by the matrons. In order to put on the new blouses they’d been obliged to unlock the girls’ hands, but they’d been quickly relocked, though to both girls’ relief, with their wrists in front this time.
Within minutes of their arrival, the matrons had disappeared, leaving the two girls seated facing each other across the room, one to a cot. The cots had been stripped and remade with fresh linen while the final steps of dressing had been completed.
Each girl looked at her friend. Cynthia saw Christine dressed in a snug white blouse that showed her friend’s upper endowments to good advantage. In addition she wore a skirt of stiff pleated grey wool flannel. The skirt was quite short, ending well above Christine’s knees, and Cynthia could just see a tiny peek of the pink panties that the matrons had put on Christine. Cynthia knew that her blouse and skirt were virtually identical to Christine’s and she was sure that Christine could see her own panties. She wondered if they were pink too.
“Wow, Tina, that was fast.”
Christine nodded, staring intently at her friend and cellmate.
“Did they do the same thing to you that they did to me?”
Christine looked quizzically at her friend, unable to speak her request for clarity.
“They put me in diapers!”
Christine blushed. Then she nodded.
“Well, I wish they’d put our hands in front before. That would have saved me from wetting my pants. Let me see if I can undo these things.” With that, Cynthia bent her head down and pulled up her skirt and examined her new undergarments.
In addition to the exceedingly thick cloth diapers, each sported a thick pair of translucent pink plastic panties. Examining the leghole and waist hems visually and with her fingers, Cynthia discovered that each hem was reinforced with some sort of strong cord, though whether it was wire or cotton she couldn’t determine. In addition she discovered that the fastenings that connected the waist together were thin smooth metal mechanisms, each sporting what looked like a small keyhole.
“Well, sweetie, it looks like we’re locked into these delightful new panties. I don’t think they want us pulling them down without supervision, do you?”
Christine grunted her negative.
“It’s a good thing I peed recently. I wonder how often they plan to change us.”
A while later the matrons with the cart reappeared. They opened the cell door and came in. The trays, containing a substantial bowl full of porridge, a spoon, and a large mug full of water, were placed on the small tables next to each girl’s cot. One matron removed Christine’s gag and led her to her table while the other seated Cynthia. A worn steel spoon was placed in each girl’s hands. The matrons filed out of the cell, the last one pausing at the cell door and looking back balefully at the two girls. Christine and Cynthia turned dutifully to their bowls of porridge and heard the cell door clang shut.
“Jeez, Cindy, my jaw is some sore.”
“I can imagine. What was that thing made of?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Did it have much flavor?”
“Please! No, it was pretty much flavorless. It was big though.”
“Well, here’s hoping that you don’t get to chew on it again.”
“If you’re lucky, you’ll miss out on it yourself,” said Christine, with conviction.
“I guess we have to eat this shit.”
“It doesn’t smell too bad. I’m hungry enough to eat it,” said Cynthia.
“It’s certainly bland enough.”
“Lots of fiber.”
“Builds strong bodies twelve ways.”
The cell was silent but for the sounds of spoons against bowls.
“It isn’t ‘Le Bernardin,’ but we can live on it,” said Cynthia, finally, pushing her chair back and dropping her spoon on the tray.
“Not much worse than the food in our hotel,” said Christine.
“Yeah, but the people watching was better, and the clothing was much more comfortable.”
“Good point. Our waiter last night was definitely watchable.”
“Definitely well hung, or else wearing a padded jockstrap.”
“Jeez, Cindy, I know you’re a crotchwatcher, but would you put a cork in it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Prissy. Anyway, the way we’re dressed now we’re going to be crotchwatchees if we’re not careful.”
“Careful won’t do it. With these diapers on, our crotches are hard to hide, and the skirts don’t help, I’d say.”
The girls lapsed into a morose silence. After a while they began to talk of other things, both eager to focus on normal topics and escape their unpleasant present and its numerous unknowns.
“Tina, why are you squirming around so much?”
“How uncomfortable? As if I don’t know.”
“Well, I have to pee pretty badly, Cindy. I can’t believe you don’t have the same problem.”
“What do you mean, you don’t. You drank your whole mug of water just like I did. I can’t believe you don’t have to pee. I’ve spent enough time with you at the dorm and on this trip to know that your bladder capacity is just north of a thimbleful.”
“I wet myself about twenty minutes ago.”
“You did? I didn’t notice anything.”
“What did you want me to do, pant heavily and shout ooh and aah? I wasn’t having an orgasm, Tina.”
“Alright, forget I said anything. Anyway, I do have to pee really badly.”
“What did it feel like?”
“Wetting my diaper?”
Christine saw Cynthia blush. “Well, at first it was hard to get started, but I had to pee really badly. Once it got started, the diaper got wet very fast. It feels sort of warm and cozy, actually. Not unpleasant at all, if you don’t think about it.”
“Let me see.”
Cynthia pulled up the front of her skirt. Christine rose from her cot and bent over, staring closely at Cynthia’s exposed plastic pants and the bulging diaper that they covered.
“I can hardly see anything. I guess it’s a teeny bit darker from here to here,” Christine said, gesturing at Cynthia’s crotch.
“I guess so,” said Cynthia, “now that I look at it. You can hardly see it. But the outside is a lot warmer where it’s wet,” she said, feeling several places on the exterior of the diaper.
“Let me feel.”
“Keep your hands to yourself. You’ll be able to feel your own damn diapers and tell in a few minutes, I’m sure.”
“I’d let you feel mine if they were wet,” Christine protested.
“I’m sure,” Cynthia said frostily.
“And you asked,” Christine amended, flustered by Cynthia’s anger.
“Leave me alone, Christine. Just wet your pants and get it over with. Spare me the scientific method, please.”
“I did. While we were fighting, I just peed myself.”
“Well bully for you. Now you can find out how they feel.”
Christine sat back down on her cot. Silence.
“You know, Cindy, it didn’t feel all that bad. Just like you said, it’s sort of warm and cozy.” Christine lifted her skirt and probed the plastic panties in several places. “And you’re right, the wet places are a lot warmer than the others.”
“Duh. What did you think, that I was lying?”
“Aw, come on Cindy, don’t be like that. I didn’t put you in the damn diapers.”
“Who discovered this fabulous deal? And who got us the fake IDs we needed to get in here?”
“You didn’t have to come with me,” Christine said defensively.
“You practically begged me to come with you. Miss ‘I will not go alone.’”
“Well, I’m sorry if you feel that way, Cindy. If I’d known that this could happen, I’d never have asked you or even thought about coming.”
“Oh, shit, Tina. Let’s not fight. I know this isn’t your fault and you’re getting it just as bad as I am. I’m just miserable right now because now I’ve really got to go number two. Wetting myself wasn’t great, but it wasn’t all that horrible. But I really don’t want to poop in my pants.”
“Jeez, Cindy, I wish I could help. Should we call for the guards? Maybe they’ll let us out of the diapers.”
“Spoken like a true Polyanna, Tina. No, if you shout for the guards again, I predict that you’ll get gagged again.”
“Yeah. You’re right. Can I help you in any way?”
“Sure. Shut up and let me be.”
Christine relapsed into a wounded silence.
Some minutes later Cynthia stood up from her cot. Her face was blushing red and her breathing was ragged. She stood awkwardly on the floor in front of her cot, her legs spread and her knees slightly bent. Christine looked anxiously at her distressed friend. Suddenly Cynthia gasped and then began to grunt rhythmically, clasping her bound hands to her midriff. Christine heard the sound of a muffled fart as Cynthia’s grunting became shallower and more rapid. Finally Cynthia stopped panting and took a deep shuddering breath and sighed. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“I guess you aren’t going to sit down.”
“Nothing I can do?”
Dinner, when it arrived much later, was identical to lunch, though the quantity of porridge in the bowl seemed to be somewhat larger. The matrons forced Cynthia to sit down at her desk to eat, something that she resisted vigorously. It took four of the hefty women to get Cynthia into her chair. To ensure subsequent immobility, they ended up strapping Cynthia down. One of the women then proceeded to feed Cynthia her dinner, rapidly shoving large spoonsful of porridge into her mouth. By the end of the meal Cynthia’s face was covered with porridge and a fair amount had gotten into her hair.
By contrast, Christine was a model prisoner, sitting quietly on her chair at her desk and obediently eating and drinking everything.
The meal over, the matron made a sketchy pretense of cleaning up Cynthia’s face, using a rag that she produced from one of the pockets of her smock. She then released Cynthia from the chair and left the cell, her exit covered by two more of the muscular women.
Cynthia squirmed uncomfortably. “My bottom itches something awful, Tina. The smell doesn’t seem to bother me any more, but it still feels yucky. I wish they’d come and change our damn diapers.”
“Me too. I’m soaked and it’s beginning to chafe down there.”
“How many times did you have to pee so far?”
“Three. Four, if you count the time I wet my blue jeans.”
“I meant since they put us in these diapers. I’ve wet twice.”
“Did you pee when you pooped,” Christine asked.
“I’m not sure. I might have, but I wasn’t paying terribly close attention at the time. If I did, then it’s three times, like you.”
“I wonder what time it is. If the first meal was lunch and that was dinner, then it must be seven or eight in the evening now. Time for bed can’t be too far away. I hope they let us out or at least change the diapers before bedtime.”
The two young women lapsed into silence. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time the lights dimmed.
“Oh, shit. Bedtime and they haven’t changed us,” groaned Cynthia.
“I hear something down the corridor. Maybe they’re coming.”
A few minutes later a crew of matrons arrived in their cell with a wheeled cart that seemed to be full of supplies for rediapering the girls. In short order the girls’ handcuffs were unlocked, their blouses and skirts were removed and hung neatly on hangers along the walls, leaving the two in nothing but their bulging pink plastic panties. Changing pads appeared and were laid on the cots. The girls were placed firmly on their backs on the pads and efficiently changed. After the diaper change each was quickly bundled into a large sacklike nightie that came down to mid-thigh, barely covering the bulging diapers and her hands were firmly recuffed.
A matron then briskly pushed Cynthia over to her chair and firmly seated her in front of her table. She placed a large mug of what looked like water in front of the imprisoned girl.
“I think they want me to drink this, Tina,” the bound girl said over her shoulder to her friend.
“Yeah, I get the same idea. I don’t think I’ll challenge them tonight, dear,” said Christine.
“It’s sort of sweet. Kind of like gatorade.”
“Yeah. Not bad really. But I’m not really that thirsty, however. I think this mug holds a quart.”
“I don’t think they really care.”
The girls quickly drained the mugs. The matrons left. The entire production had taken no more than ten minutes.
“Thoughtful of them to double diaper us for the night,” Cynthia said. The matrons had left her sitting on her cot with her legs quite widely spread. She tried bringing her knees together, which she could do with effort, though not comfortably. “And I must commend their fashion coordinator. Those pink plastic panties were a bit over the top, don’t you think? These white ones are much more becoming, what do you say?.”
“Ha ha,” Christine said. She also brought her knees together and then, relaxing her thigh muscles, let the compressed bulk of her diapers push them back out partway again.
“I’m lucky I messed myself when I did. I don’t envy you, Christine. You’ve eaten as much as I have and you haven’t pooped yet. If you poop now, you’ll sleep in it all night long.”
“Yuk. I didn’t think of that. Lucky I still don’t have to go. I hope I can hold out.”
“Good luck. I’m going to have to wet soon, no matter what.”
“I’m not feeling any pressure. I peed just before they came in, so I’ve got a while.”
A few minutes later the lights went out altogether, leaving the cell in almost total darkness. Somewhere down the corridor there was a small light of some sort that produced a very faint illumination of the concrete floor. After Christine’s eyes had adapted to the dark she discovered that there was enough light scattered from the floor of the corridor to allow her to just make out the bulk of the furniture in the cell.
Christine lay down on her cot, clumsily using her joined hands to position the hard smelly pillow under her ear. She lay uncomfortably on her side on the bed. She heard Cynthia moving around on the other cot.
“This sucks,” Cynthia said, “I can’t lie comfortably on my side because the damn diapers are so thick that the up leg sort of hangs in the air. I’m uncomfortable on my back.”
“Try on your side, but sort of scissor your legs with the bottom leg sort of up and the top leg sort of down.”
More tossing and turning from both girls. Finally silence settled over the cell, interrupted only by the faint sounds of breathing.
Christine woke up in the dark, disoriented. Her bladder was painfully full. She was preparing to roll over and get up to pee, when she rediscovered her handcuffs. The memory of the day’s humiliations came flooding back. Shit, she thought. Finally she relaxed and her pee flooded into her waiting diaper. In moments she was asleep again.
By morning each girl had awoken briefly to wet several times. When the lights were turned back on in the cell, each was swaddled in soaked cloth, though no external sign gave her condition away, so effective were the plastic panties.
The morning change was much the same as the previous day’s humiliations. Dressed again in the white blouses and short grey skirts, with clean dry diapers, in single thickness, and pink rubber panties, the two girls sat and wondered about the future.
“They can’t keep us here like this forever,” said Christine.
“Let’s hope not. It would get boring in a big hurry. Anyway, after a while people will begin to ask what happened to us.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“And I wish they’d lose the damn handcuffs. It’s not like we can get out of this cell anyway,” said Cynthia.
Their conversation wandered into other areas.
Some time later the girls heard the sound of people coming down the corridor. Two matrons appeared in the corridor accompanied by a third woman. The new woman was dressed in a grey pinstripe suit that somehow managed to be severe and masculine in cut and feminine and attractive at the same time. Her face and figure were excellent, though she was clearly a mature woman. Her presence was commanding and the two matrons seemed deferential to her, waiting quietly behind her in the corridor as she surveyed the two young women in the cell.
Cynthia sensed that this woman was the key to whatever was to happen next, so she jumped off of the cot and walked toward the barred corridor wall, pausing a few feet back. She heard rather than saw Christine come stand a bit behind her and to her right.
“Do you speak English, Miss,” Cynthia asked. “We’ve been in here in since yesterday and noone speaks English. We were just sunbathing at the beach. If we were doing anything wrong, we’re sorry. We didn’t know and there weren’t any signs.”
The woman looked at her, her expression neutral. She spoke to the girls in the local language. Cynthia shrugged her shoulders, turning her cuffed hands up to indicate her incomprehension.
Finally the grey-suited woman spoke to the guards. Cynthia couldn’t understand her words, but she could tell from the tone of voice that she was giving orders to the guards.
The matrons unlocked the cell door and motioned for Cynthia and Christine to come out into the corridor. There one of them produced a strap with a leather handle not unlike a dog’s leash. The strap had a number of clips on it and the guard attached two of these to rings in the middle of the girls’ handcuffs.
“No danger that we’ll get separated or lost, Tina,” said Cynthia.
The matron shook the leash and indicated that the two girls were to precede her down the corridor. Down the corridor they proceeded, with the matrons opening a series of barred doors using keys they carried with them. Ultimately they were led through a solid iron door, locked like the rest, into a wider corridor that had other people in it.
“I think we’re out of the jail, Tina,” said Cynthia.
They were led into a large room. At the far end was a raised desk flanked by four smaller lower desks that clustered around it like chicks around a hen. Rows of benches like pews filled the rest of the room. In the corner near the desk was another door. Behind them was a larger door that led back to the corridor from which they’d just come, while on the side to the left, just in front of the frontmost bench, was a small door with a square of glass in the middle, about head high. It’s a courtroom, Cynthia thought to herself. The two girls were led forward to a row of benches at the front. The Matron unclipped the leash from their handcuffs. She next attached the chain linking each girl’s handcuffs to a ring attached to an armrest in the middle of the bench. When she was done Cynthia sat on the left with her linked hands to her right and Christine sat on the right with her linked hands to her left.
The girls sat quietly. Over the course of the next hour a number of people came in to the courtroom from the corridor through the doorway behind them. These people sat in the rows of seats behind the girls. A woman and two men bustled in and out through the door in the corner in front of them and to the left, bringing papers in and out and engaging in conversations, not quiet but not loud, in the local tongue. No one seemed to notice the two bound and diapered girls sitting quietly in the front. After a while Christine began to squirm uncomfortably in her seat, closing and spreading her legs.
“I’m going to have to pee soon, Cindy,” said Christine.
“Don’t let me stop you,” came the reply, “I’m already wet. It seemed inevitable, so I didn’t fight it.”
Christine tensed and sat unusually still. Cynthia heard the quiet sizzling sound that revealed Christine’s otherwise invisible activity.
“How do you spell relief.”
The two girls tittered quietly.
Time passed. At one PM by the clock on the wall of the courtroom two uniformed men wearing guns on their belts came into the room. While one looked on, the other released the two girls and led them through the side door and into a small room off the corridor that lay beyond. Along one wall were four metal chairs, bolted to the floor, while against the opposite wall was a metal table, also bolted to the floor. On the table were several plates of food, dishes of what looked like slices of bologna, slices of cheese, and a basket of rolls. Two large mugs stood beside a pitcher of water. The guards motioned for the girls to enter the room, after which they closed and locked the metal door, leaving the two diapered girls inside.
“Oh, God, real food,” exclaimed Christine.
“I’d be careful, dear,” said Cynthia, “I can’t imagine that they’d give us this without some sort of catch.”
“Don’t be paranoid,” said Christine around a mouthful of cheese. Having impatiently stuffed a slice into her mouth, she was rapidly assembling a sandwich. “Nice of them to slice the rolls, since they didn’t give us a knife. No mustard, either.”
“Don’t eat so fast, Tina, you’ll make yourself sick.”
“Shut up. I’m starving. And after all that tasteless oatmeal, or whatever it was, I’m going to enjoy this stuff.”
“OK, Tina, but I hope you stay lucky.”
“Piss on you, Cindy.”
“I already have, thank you.”
Cynthia restrained herself, limiting herself to two slices of cheese and a small amount of the water. Christine ate the sandwich that she made and then followed it up with another.
“This water tastes off. Do you notice it, Tina? The water we had in our cell had the same flavor.”
“A little bit. But everything in this dump tastes weird. It’s probably the pipes.”
“You’re right. I’m probably just paranoid, Tina.”
“Why, what are you worried about? Poison?”
“Nah, forget it.”
Back in the courtroom after lunch with their handcuffs again attached to the ring in the armrest, the girls settled down for more hours of boredom.
The room was fuller now than when they’d been taken out for lunch and the tables in front of their bench now bore several briefcases and a pile of papers.
Cynthia felt pressure in her bladder. As she relaxed and wet her diaper she reflected on her frequent urgency. “You know, Tina,” she said, “something is going on.”
“Duh, hello, are you sure?”
“No, I mean I have to pee about every half hour or so. That’s not normal. I normally don’t have to pee more often than once every several hours.”
“Yeah, now that you mention it, Cindy,” said Christine, “that’s true. Maybe we’re reacting psychologically to the diapers.”
“Mmmm. I doubt it,” said Cynthia.
“What could it be?”
“I don’t know.”
They lapsed into silence. More people filed into the room.
Christine squirmed uncomfortably. “You were right, Cindy, I shouldn’t have eaten so much. I really have to take a dump.”
“Shit,” Christine gritted out. “I can hold on if I sit still and clamp my butt cheeks together.”
“Well, hold on. Concentrate. Good luck.”
Things finally began to get busy. The woman and two men they’d seen before all came in and took seats at the lower desks. One man talked on a phone at his desk, then hung up the receiver. The other man stood up and faced the courtroom and loudly announced something in the local language. Everyone in the room stood up expectantly.
Cynthia stood up, but Christine sat grimly with her legs clenched together. The door in the corner opened and a grey-haired man looking to be in his late 50s and wearing a grey suit came in. The judge stepped onto the raised platform and sat down at the raised desk. He surveyed the court for a few moments. Raising his hand and pointing toward Christine and Cynthia, he spoke. Cynthia couldn’t understand his words, but she could tell by the raised intonation at the end of his sentence that he was asking a question.
The man who had announced the judge’s arrival stepped away from his desk and walked over to Christine. He prodded her with his finger and jerked his thumb toward the ceiling. His intent was clear.
Christine shook her head emphatically.
The man poked her again, this time more forcefully.
Cynthia said, “you better stand up, Tina, everyone’s staring.”
“I can’t, Cindy, I’ll dump in my pants.”
“I did it yesterday. You won’t die.”
The man gripped Christine’s upper arms in his hands and forcibly raised her from her seat. She stood up and he stepped back.
Christine moaned. With a muffled fart that was clearly audible throughout the silent courtroom, Christine proceeded to fill the seat of her diaper.
The judge spoke briefly. Conversation resumed as the courtroom sat back down. Christine remained standing, her face crimson with humiliation.
Cynthia stood, staring in dismay at her friend’s predicament. Finally she turned toward the judge and spoke out.
“Your honor, we’re American citizens and we’ve been arrested improperly. We don’t know what crime we’ve committed, but we certainly didn’t mean it and we’re sorry. We haven’t been treated properly and we demand that you contact the American consulate and let them know that we’re here.”
Christine, taking comfort from her companion’s boldness, straightened up and added her voice, loudly, to Cynthia’s demands.
As the two girls repeated their demands, the judge spoke to the woman seated at the desk near him. She opened a drawer and rummaged inside. Finding something, she rose and stepped over to her male colleague still standing over the two girls, now chanting loudly their demand for the American consul.
With a sudden motion, the man grabbed Cynthia by the head and bent her down with his arm wrapped around her neck. The woman stepped forward and stuffed a large firm object into Cynthia’s mouth, quickly securing a strap behind her head and under her hair. Silenced, Cynthia stood quietly, acutely conscious of the wetness of her diaper and of the tightness of the plastic panties that held them snugly to her loins. Moments later Christine joined her, similarly gagged and breathing heavily through her nose.
The woman sniffed and wrinkled her nose, making a disgusted face. She turned to the judge and spoke, waving her hand at the two diapered girls. The judge spoke to her. She stepped to Cynthia and raised the front of the diapered girl’s skirt. She put her hand against Cynthia’s diapered crotch and pressed firmly. Then she reached around and pressed her other hand up against Cynthia’s bottom. She spoke briefly to the judge and then turned to Christine. Repeating the examination, she then turned and walked back to her desk, speaking to the judge and pointing first at Christine and then at Cynthia.
The judge asked a question. One of the men replied and then rummaged on his desk before producing a folder of documents, which he handed to the judge. The judge leafed through the documents in the folder. Finally he looked up and spoke to someone in the spectators’ benches behind them. A woman’s voice, steady and firm but not loud, answered him. The girls turned to see and recognized the grey-suited woman who’d visited them in their cell that morning. A conversation ensued between the judge and the grey-suited woman, none of which the two diapered girls could understand. During it the woman stepped forward and stood next to the girls. At one point she spoke at some length, gesturing to the two girls, pointing at their handcuffs, at their gagged mouths and at one point even lifting Christine’s skirt and pointing at her bulging diapers. The judge then referred to a piece of paper and asked a series of questions. The woman answered each question briefly with monosyllables. Cynthia realized that she must be hearing the words for yes and no in the local language, though she couldn’t figure out which was which. Finally the judge spoke at length to one of the men, who made notes on a piece of paper and left the room through the door at the corner. The judge then spoke to the uniformed men, obviously guards, standing near the side door. As two of the guards moved toward Christine and Cynthia the grey-suited woman left the courtroom through the door at the rear.
The two guards unhooked the girls’ handcuffs from the ring on the armrest. One guard took led Christine through the side door with the small square window. Moments after the door had closed behind them, the other guard led Cynthia toward it. As they came through the door from the courtroom, Cynthia saw the first guard closing and bolting the door of the small room in which the girls had had their lunch earlier in the day. The guard holding her arm stopped and jerked her handcuffed arms above her head. Cynthia whined in protest around the resilient packing in her mouth.
The other guard, a dark-haired fellow who looked to be in his middle thirties, stopped in front of Cynthia, his face flushed and his breathing heavy and ragged. By now Cynthia knew that something was badly wrong. The guard behind her, holding her hands above her head with his left hand, began to grope her firm breasts with his right hand. Oh, great, Cynthia thought, now they’re going to rape me. To her surprise, however, they made no effort to remove her plastic panties. Instead, while one guard fondled her breasts, the other stepped up close to her, raised her short skirt, and began to grope her crotch through her wet diapers.
The fondling, massaging, groping assault escalated. Cynthia found herself, against her will, beginning to respond. As her arousal increased, she began to pant rhythmically through her nose. Finally, with a despairing moan, she climaxed. The entire episode had taken only minutes.
The two guards stepped back, allowing Cynthia to drop her hands in front of her. As the guard behind her pushed her skirt back into place and smoothed her hair down, the other guard returned to the door of the room holding Christine and unbolted it. Moments later Cynthia was propelled into the holding cell and the door clanged shut behind her. As she stood, face flushed and still breathing heavily, she heard the bolt slam to behind her. Christine looked quizzically at her friend. I wish I could tell her what just happened, thought Cynthia, but this thing in my mouth will help me keep it a secret.
After a few minutes of staring helplessly at Christine, Cynthia shrugged her shoulders and walked over and sat down on one of the chairs against the wall. Christine stood still, not moving from the spot where she’d been when Cynthia had entered the room. Cynthia mumbled through her gag and pointed at the seat next to her with her bound hands, but Christine shook her head, rejecting the offer. I guess she doesn’t want to sit down with her pants dirty, Cynthia thought, I don’t blame her. And she settled down to wait patiently.
Quite some time later the bolt clacked open again. The door opened and a young woman of their own age entered the room. Cynthia and Christine gazed passively at the newcomer. She was dressed in the same uniform as they were, a white blouse with a little bit of lace trimming, and a short grey skirt. Unlike the two friends, however, the newcomer wasn’t handcuffed or gagged. The new girl, a blonde with wavy hair cut neatly to the bottom of her jaw, smiled brightly at the diapered companions.
“Hi. I’m Suzy,” she chirped at them, “how are you?”
The two girls stared. She speaks English, thought Cynthia, we’re saved!
First Cynthia then Christine began grunting through the gags packing their mouths.
“Don’t worry dears, we’ll have those beastly things out of your mouths in no time. I know how uncomfortable they can be. They use terrible gags in these provincial jails.”
“But in the meantime, let me check you out and see what we’ll need to do to get you ready to leave. Would you please stand up, dear,” she said, addressing Cynthia.
Cynthia arose, moving over to stand quietly by Christine’s side.
Suzy began a rapid, professional examination of her two hopeful new charges.
“Let’s see, you’re Tina aren’t you?”
Christine nodded. Suzy proceeded to pull up first the front of Christine’s skirt and then the back, probing deftly at the wet cloth through the plastic panties first in front and then in back.
“OK. You’re pretty wet and you’ve soiled yourself. And you’ve got these ugly diapers on. I hope they’ve been changing you regularly. With the diapers and detergent they use, if you aren’t changed often enough a girl is liable to get a bad diaper rash!”
Stepping up to Christine’s right side, she deftly massaged the blonde girl’s lower abdomen up and down the lower left side.
Moving over to Cynthia she repeated the examination, first feeling her diaper in several places with two fingers and then probing Cynthia’s bottom.
“You’re very wet but your bottom is clean. Now let’s see what you’ve got waiting.”
As she massaged the left side of the bound girl’s abdomen, Cynthia felt some pain, followed by an increasingly urgent pressure in her bottom.
“You’ve got a big poop coming, my dear. Your lower bowel is quite full. Would you like me to help you a little?”
Cynthia didn’t like the implications of this offer. She shook her head vehemently.
“OK, no problem. But don’t blame me if you have to waddle around with a big load in your pants for a couple of hours later on.”
With that, Suzy stepped over to the door and pressed a button mounted on the wall. Within moments the bolt clacked open and two stocky women, dressed like the matrons who’d tended their overnight cell, entered the room carrying a cardboard box.
The first thing to be replaced was the gag. First Christine and then Cynthia had her gag removed and immediately replaced with another one. The new gag, to Cynthia’s horror and fascination, looked strikingly like the end of a penis, even to the hole at the tip. When it was strapped in place she felt like she was permanently giving fellatio to some well endowed fellow.
After that, the handcuffs were replaced. Before unlocking the cuffs, however, the matrons attached to each wrist an odd leather cuff, lined with a smooth soft pad and dangling a long leather strap. Once the leather cuffs were on, the metal handcuffs were removed. Before Cynthia could enjoy her new freedom, however, the matrons briskly drew her left hand up behind her. One then pulled the leather strap under her right armpit and up over her right shoulder. She then repeated the maneuver with Cynthia’s right hand, finishing by buckling the two leather straps together behind Cynthia’s neck. When the matron was done, Cynthia’s hands were more effectively bound than when she’d been handcuffed. Her arms were folded behind her back, pulling her shoulders back and thrusting her young breasts out shamelessly. The pinioning of her arms wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was very definitely and absolutely inescapable.
Cynthia watched Christine receive the same treatment, which the blonde girl did without resistance.
Finally the matrons changed the girls’ diapers, making first Christine and then Cynthia in turn to lie on her back on the grey metal table. The new diapers came, as with all of the other supplies, from the cardboard box. The new diapers were very soft and smelled clean and fresh, with a light scent of baby powder. In addition, instead of the large cloth rectangles with which they’d been diapered previously, these were contoured. The thick cloth was cut out in an almost hourglass shape, making it bunch less between Cynthia’s legs. To Cynthia’s surprise, the matrons pinned two of these thick cloth diapers on her, as if she were about to go to bed. The white plastic panties were far prettier than the ones they’d worn so far, trimmed at leg seams and waistband with lace and showing rows of lace across the broad bottoms and decorated with pretty pastel blue and red flowers. After they let her up from the table she waddled over to the chairs, sitting down next to Christine who, now that she’d been cleaned up and changed, had decided to sit.
The final step, to the shock and amazement of the two imprisoned girls, came when Suzy hopped up on the table, lay on her back and raised her legs, revealing her own white plastic panties over thick diapers. The matrons rapidly changed her into double cloth diapers, adding her soaked diaper to the plastic bag already sagging with discarded diapers.
The two matrons left, though they did leave the cardboard box behind and they didn’t throw the bolt on the door. I guess they think Suzy can control Tina and me without help since our hands are trussed up like this, Cynthia thought.
“Thirsty, girls,” asked Suzy brightly?
Christine nodded. Cynthia shrugged her shoulders.
“I’ll just give each of you a drink. Once we leave here we’ll be traveling for quite a while and we probably won’t have an opportunity to give you any refreshments.”
With that, Suzy opened the cardboard box and produced from it a pair of bulging plastic bags. They looked to Cynthia like the sort of bags that were used in hospitals for intravenous feeding. I hope she’s not going to stick a needle in me, Cynthia thought. Suzy produced two lengths of rubber hose and some small metal gizmos from the box and quickly attached the hoses to the bags and the gizmos to the ends of the hoses. Suspending the two bags from a hook on the wall, leaned over Christine with one of the gizmos. Cynthia couldn’t see what she was doing, but she heard a metallic click followed by a protesting grunt from Christine. When she stepped away from Christine, Cynthia could see that the gizmo was attached somehow to Cynthia’s gag. From the rhythmic movement of Christine’s cheeks, Cynthia deduced that the fluid was flowing from the bag into her mouth, and at a pretty good rate. Moments later the other metallic gizmo was attached to her own gag. Cool, slightly sweet fluid began to flow into her mouth through the hole in the tip of the gag. How clever, thought Cynthia, my little master here is coming in my mouth. Or perhaps they mean me to think he’s peeing in my mouth. How kinky. Cynthia rapidly discovered that she had to swallow regularly to clear her mouth of the fluid dripping into it. I bet I look just like Tina, she mused, with my cheeks pumping like a little squirrel.
“There, that will keep you going for a while. I’m sure this stuff tastes better than that junk the jail gives you. The diuretic they use has the most terrible taste. There’s a liter in each of those bags, so you’ll be properly hydrated for hours, I’m sure, as will your panties,” she finished with a giggle. A liter, Cynthia thought, that’s more than a quart. She’s giving us like five big cups each.
Silence fell in the room. Suzy produced a comic book from the cardboard box and settled down in a chair to read it. Christine and Cynthia continued to nurse at the penises in their mouths. Before hers had emptied, Cynthia had already had to void her bladder once into the thick thirsty diapers now swaddling her. Is there diuretic in this drink too, Cynthia wondered.
Cynthia looked over at Suzy, who was engrossed in her comic book. That’s odd, thought Cynthia, that comic is having quite an effect on Suzy. And it was. Suzy’s face was flushed and she was breathing hard. Then Cynthia notice that Suzy’s right hand had found its way under her skirt. A suspicious rhythmic movement of the grey cloth of the short skirt told Cynthia that Suzy wasn’t just checking to see how much pee the diaper could accommodate, either. Amazing, Cynthia thought, that she can rub herself off through such thick diapers.
Looking more closely at the comic book, Cynthia realized that the pictures, while luridly colored and crudely drawn in common with most of the comic books she’d known, were of a rather different subject matter. The figures in the pictures were mostly women. They were often bound or gagged or both. They were frequently involved in sexual activities of one sort or another. Suzy was masturbating to a book of kinky pornography!
Some time later the bags of fluid empty, Suzy looked up from her comic book. Closing the cover and putting it back in the cardboard box, Suzy stepped over to the two girls and unclipped the hoses from their gags. After putting the empty bags back into the box, she returned to the two girls.
“Stand up, please,” Suzy said.
Christine and Cynthia stood.
Suzy repeated her earlier examination, lingering rather longer than necessary over the examination of the two already wet diapers. As Suzy’s hand rubbed back and forth over Cynthia’s moist crotch, Cynthia felt her arousal returning. Just as the firm motion was beginning to be reflected in Cynthia’s breathing, however, Suzy removed her hand, leaving Cynthia relieved but frustrated. Next Suzy palpated Cynthia’s lower abdomen, again stimulating an alarmingly urgent feeling.
“Yup, you’ve got a big poop coming, dearie, but I wouldn’t do anything to speed it up now, since you’re in there for the next five or six hours.”
Turning her attention to Christine, Suzy repeated her examination.
“My goodness, that was fast. You’re pretty wet. Let’s hope those diapers hold you. Now let’s check your GI …”
Her probing of Christine’s abdomen evoked uncomfortable squirming from the tall blonde, followed by the muffled but audible sound of gas being passed.
“You’re not far behind your sister there. If I hadn’t seen you do it, I would hardly know that you’d pooped yourself silly less than two hours ago. You’ll have a big mud pie in your panties before bedtime, my girl. But don’t worry, Cindy and I will be with you before then.”
The two gagged girls looked quizzically at Suzy.
“What, do you think that I don’t poop? Of course I do, just like you girls will. And in my diapers every day, just like you. The only difference is that I kind of like it. You don’t understand yet, but the freedom and the sense of being taken care of is wonderful. You’ll see. You girls can sit down now, but we’ll be leaving very soon.”
Cynthia was more and more dismayed as the implications of Suzy’s performance sank home.
Before Cynthia had ruminated too much on the future, the door to their cell opened up. Two guards entered, followed by the woman in the grey suit. Suzy produced a pair of dog leashes from the cardboard box which she attached to something at the back of each girl’s gag strap. Then she rummaged in the box, extracting from it a satchel with a shoulder strap into which she stuffed some miscellaneous items, including the comic book that Cynthia had seen earlier.
Gathering the two leashes in her hands, Suzy addressed the two apprehensive girls, “OK, ladies, follow her.”
With that, the woman in grey stepped out of the cell and led the way down the corridor, followed closely by Cynthia and Christine who were in turn followed by Suzy.
After a dizzying sequence of turns and descents, the girls found themselves on the busy streets of the provincial town that they’d made their vacation headquarters. The woman in grey marched off down the street and they followed. Their bizarre attire seemed to attract no undue attention, though Cynthia did notice several young men staring hungrily at them as they passed.
The woman in grey turned a corner and suddenly they were passing in front of their hotel! Cynthia shot a glance at Christine. If only someone from the hotel noticed them being marched past in bondage, perhaps they might be rescued. A large black limousine stood in front of the hotel, its trunk open. As they approached they saw the hotel porter emerge carrying two pieces of luggage. Cynthia’s heart beat faster. She and Christine had been generous to the porter and his smiling friendly face was the last that they’d seen at the hotel that morning before their ill-fated trip to the beach. She was sure that he’d recognize them. Cynthia tried to catch his eye, nodding her head and trying to shrug her shoulders.
The porter turned his head toward them. His eyes lit up and he smiled broadly. He spoke warmly, lifting the suitcase in his right hand in a shorthand wave. We’re saved, Cynthia exulted silently, he knows us. In a second he’ll realize that we’re bound and gagged.
Suddenly Cynthia’s stomach sank like a stone. The bags. The bags he was carrying were hers and Tina’s!
The woman in grey stopped at the limousine. Suzy pulled on the leashes and the two girls stopped just behind her. Cynthia heard the porter loading the bags into the trunk of the limousine and then she heard him slam the trunk lid down. A driver in an olive-green uniform with a beaked cap stepped out of the driver’s door of the limousine. With a flourish he opened the passenger door in front of the woman in grey. She stepped aside, pointing with her hand at the two girls at the ends of Suzy’s leashes. She said something brief to him. He strode forward and took the leashes from Suzy’s hands.
Suzy put her satchel on top of the trunk of the car and rummaged inside, producing from the dark interior a bundle of leather straps like the ones already holding the girls’ wrists so firmly. Suzy quickly attached one of these to each of the girls ankles.
Cynthia didn’t have long to wait to to discover the purpose of the ankle bindings. After draping a blanket over the trunk, the driver came over to her and, grasping her leash firmly right behind her head, firmly propelled Cynthia over to the trunk so that her thighs hit the fender. He continued pushing, supporting her weight with an arm under her breasts, until she lay prone on the trunk with her legs dangling over the side. In a trice he had pulled one of her ankles up, folding her leg at the knee, and attached the dangling strap to something on the back of her bound arms. A moment later her other leg was similarly constrained. She couldn’t move except to wriggle slightly. Her weight now rested on her breasts, her stomach, and her hips. The strained position put a lot of pressure on her abdomen and Cynthia was reminded of Suzy’s warning that her bowels were full and that she’d have to poop soon. Lifting her as if she weighed almost nothing, the driver carried her around to the street side of the limousine where a long sliding door offered easy access to the passenger compartment of the car. He deposited her on her stomach on the lushly carpeted floor.
By turning her head to the side and looking down, Cynthia could see out of the open door on the curb side to where Christine stood with her back toward the car. Suzy was standing beside Christine and Cynthia could see that Christine’s skirt was up in back. Suzy’s right hand seemed to be cupping Christine’s bottom through her diaper. Suzy was doing something with her left hand. Cynthia couldn’t see what it was, but it produced a rhythmic up and down motion of Suzy’s left shoulder. Christine was obviously uncomfortable, as she indicated by lashing her head from side to side every second or two. Suddenly Cynthia heard a whining sound that she realized must be coming from her friend’s gagged mouth. She saw Suzy press Christ