Group therapy

The rest of the girls seemed to know where they were going, so Claire followed behind. The journey was just a few dozen paces down one corridor and then another, but with every step sending pain radiating through their tortured crotches, that was more than enough.

The therapy room was as bare and stark as the rest of the clinic. A wooden Windsor chair with arms and an integrated table faced the door, at the head of a circle of dreaded apex stools. These horrid seats had a triangular ridge down the middle, designed to press mercilessly into the genitals of the woman sitting in them. The smartly dressed therapist—a tall brunette in her thirties—gestured them to come in and then sat in the chair, putting her tablet computer on the table and typing something on it. There was much moaning and a few stifled screams as the girls each found a place and gingerly lowered themselves onto the unyielding stools.

"Welcome," began the therapist, "for those who don't know me yet, I'm Doctor Kelso and I will be helping you come to terms with the changes you'll be experiencing in your life as a result of the treatment you're currently undergoing. It's important to know that this is a safe space and you can express your opinions without fear of punishment. If you want to say that Doctor Pierson is a pig and you wish he were dead, then go ahead; you won't get into any trouble." None of the girls managed to laugh at the weak joke, although a few smiled, briefly. "The one thing I would ask is to keep your language clean, purely to avoid causing any of your more sensitive colleagues distress. Now, I know most of you already know each other by now, but why don't we each say a few words to introduce ourselves." She nodded to the girl on her immediate left.

"Hi," the curvy ash blonde began, without stirring from her seat. "I'm Rosalind and this is my third day. My husband sent me here to help me concentrate on his pleasure when we make love."

The introductions continued round the circle until they reached Claire, who had to fight the urge to stand up to speak, as if she were back at school.

"My name's Claire and this is my first full day, too." She nodded at the other two who were also at their first session. "I was offered a place here by the court after being convicted of…of class one onanism with aggravated circumstances." She blushed at the admission and wished she could curl up into a ball and hide, although about half of the others had said something similar and there was none of the disgust or censure she was used to experiencing when people found out about her crime. Still, she was so embarrassed that she barely paid attention to the rest of the introductions.

The therapist started discussions by asking some of the patients how they were finding the treatment. Claire was glad to avoid having to put into words how awful the pain was and how it was helping her regret the actions that had brought her here. If the girls invited to speak weren't crying already, they all were by the time they finished.

Conversation then turned to feelings about the remainder of their treatment. Each patient expressed varying levels of apprehension and fear at the increasing agony and in many cases, concern that they would lack the necessary self control to keep from interfering with the process. The doctor did not reassure them directly, but by encouraging the residents who had been their longest to share their experiences, the girls took heart that they could also survive.

Suddenly, a skinny brunette whose whole body was crisscrossed with welts from a thin whip burst into tears, burying her head in her hands.

"I can't do it," she sobbed, "I can't take the doctor's assessment and they're going to send me back to prison again and then I'll have to start the treatment all over again and it'll hurt even worse next time and it'll never end."

"There, there," the therapist responded sympathetically. "It seems hopeless, I know, but you're stronger than you think. Look at Zadie. She took a flogging for lack of cooperation and now she's almost ready to leave."

"You don't understand. I couldn't keep my legs apart when he strapped me last time and it hurts even more this time round. I'll never be able to manage it."

"I'm sorry," said a brunette with a plummy accent and big teeth. "I don't understand. Surely they strap us down before he examines us?"

Murmurs of agreement and disagreement rumbled round the circle until Doctor Kelso explained.

"Patients who come here as part of an agreement with the court are required to show their enthusiasm for the procedure by not being restrained for much of the process. Elective patients may or may not be restrained, depending upon the options chosen when they booked the procedure."

Several faces looked horrified at that revelation, but perhaps slightly relieved at the same time that they did not have to exhibit that level of self control. A few of the girls who had already endured one or more assessments offered their support to the weeping young woman, who eventually calmed down, but Claire was more concerned at having pieced together the information that every third day she would be seen by the doctor to check how her treatment was progressing and at each appointment, he would strap her genitals more severely than the last. A very pretty young blonde had been here nearly three weeks and the redheaded convict didn't know how she would cope if her stay turned out to be that long.

The therapist eventually changed the subject to the future. Some girls were apprehensive about a life without sexual pleasure, others more concerned that the treatment wouldn't work and they would still suffer temptation. Rosalind was hopeful that her husband would enjoy the changes in her and Zadie said what a lot were thinking, that although she knew that the procedure was effective and she would never climax again, something inside her wouldn't let her really believe it until it happened.

This time, Claire was asked to contribute and she stumbled through some inane statement about how she hoped to pay her debt to society and was grateful that she wouldn't be able to reoffend. To her surprise, several of the others hastened to correct her. The treatment would prevent her from getting any sexual satisfaction from masturbation, but it wouldn't take away her desire. She would still need self control to stop her attempting to pleasure herself, futile as it might be. This was not good news for the pretty redhead.

Eventually, their time was up and with a mixture of relief and agony, the patients eased themselves up from their terrible stools to return to the refectory. Despite everything, Claire felt better for knowing others were in the same boat.